The Astral Traveler's Daughter

by K. C. Archer

  Teddy’s brow tightened. What on earth was Yates up to? “Why wasn’t I—”

  “We don’t know who engineered those threats. They could have been made by fringe elements of Eli’s original group. Likely, it’s completely unconnected to recent events.”

  Teddy nodded, reluctantly backing down. She had to quit jumping at every possible lead. Just because she expected to see a monster lurking in the shadows didn’t mean it was really there. “And Miles? What does he know about this?” She paused to swirl her hand around, indicating their surroundings. “About us?”

  “He knows what the general public knows—that Whitfield is a law enforcement institute.”

  Teddy couldn’t see how that was possible, given how close Miles seemed to his grandfather. But she’d continue to keep the Big Secret. “Will I get a partner?”

  “Fortunately, Dara Jones is available. I think her particular set of skills could be useful here. I hope you agree.”

  Teddy smiled. “Pretty sure we can make that work.”

  * * *

  Teddy stood in her dorm room, staring at the open suitcase on her bed. Her wardrobe wasn’t cutting it. Her heaviest sweaters were cotton-wool blends, hardly appropriate for the ski slopes of Lake Tahoe. She stole a glance at the stack of sweaters piled in Jillian’s closet. Heavy wool: East Coast sweaters. Exactly what someone who was headed to Tahoe for a couple of days might want to wear.

  Jillian sat across from her, simultaneously watching Teddy and chewing nervously on her cuticle. Thinking about Eli, no doubt.

  “Aren’t you taking those home with you?” Teddy asked, dropping a hint she hoped was loud enough to be heard over the din of Jillian’s anxiety.

  “Home? I can’t go home. What if Eli needs me?”

  Teddy sat next to her and gave her arm a squeeze. “You know Clint and Nick are both looking for him.”

  Jillian nodded. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

  Teddy didn’t know quite what to say to that. She searched her mental files of Comforting Friend Remarks, because she really did want to help. But all she could come up with was, “It’ll be all right.”

  Jillian caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked away. They attended an institute that prepared them for careers in law enforcement. Which meant they were familiar with missing persons stats. On any given day in the United States, nearly ninety thousand people were counted as missing. More than half of them were adults. Some of them vanished deliberately. To evade creditors. To ditch the burden of a bad relationship, family pressures, or problems at work. To escape the threat of facing criminal charges on everything from tax evasion to felony murder.

  But not all of those ninety thousand people vanished deliberately. Some of them were taken. And in cases like those, the first twenty-four hours were the most critical. The longer it took for a case to be solved, the less likely it was that the case would result in a positive outcome.

  They were on day twenty-nine with Eli.

  Dara had expressed to Teddy that she was convinced Molly’s disappearance and Eli’s disappearance were inextricably wound—but she wouldn’t say why. If the PC was involved, she was likely correct. Not that this was something either of them intended to share with Jillian. Jillian was holding it together by a thin enough thread as it was.

  “You know, it wasn’t an act,” Jillian said.

  “What wasn’t?”

  “What Eli and I had. Have. I don’t care how much Yates influenced him. What we feel for each other is real.”

  “I know,” Teddy said, and she meant it.

  The worry relaxed from Jillian’s forehead. Then something occurred to her, and her eyes lit up as if someone had ignited a sparkler. “Hey!” she said. “You don’t have anything warm to wear in Tahoe. You should borrow some of my sweaters!”

  Now, why didn’t I think of that?

  They set about choosing sweaters. Teddy was particularly fond of a deep red V-neck that was more sexy than practical, and she folded it neatly into her suitcase. At Jillian’s insistence, she tried on a knobby gray turtleneck and had just pulled it on over her head when Pyro appeared at the door.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Teddy’s going to Lake Tahoe!” Jillian chirped.

  “Oh yeah?” Pyro looked surprised, and Teddy felt a pang of guilt for not having mentioned the trip to him sooner. But they’d all been so preoccupied with everything that had been happening, there just hadn’t been time. “What’s in Lake Tahoe?”

  “Wessner gave me an assignment,” she said, and then added, “It was kind of last-minute.”

  “Oh?”

  “She needed someone to watch over Miles, make sure he stays safe after what happened at Thanksgiving. Miles asked for me.”

  “You and Miles, huh?” He shrugged it off as if it were nothing. Pyro was as cool as he was hot, but he couldn’t hide the flash of hurt that flickered across his face, and Teddy caught the whole thing. Once again, she was guilty of letting everything else take priority over Pyro. When she got back, she’d have a little making up to do.

  “Me, Miles, and Dara,” she said, emphasis on Dara. She stepped past Pyro and caught his hand, taking him with her into the hallway. Once outside of Jillian’s view, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “Jillian lent me her sweaters. Now it’s your turn.”

  “You want my sweaters?”

  “Nope. But I was hoping you might give me something to help keep me warm.”

  That smirk. One day, she might get tired of it. But she sincerely doubted it. Especially when one of those smirks preceded a deep, smoldering kiss.

  Almost before Teddy could catch her breath, Dara showed up at the door, dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her.

  “Knock it off, you two,” she said. “We don’t have time for any fire alarms. Teddy and I have a plane to catch.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE PLANE WAS PRIVATE, AS it turned out. So this is what it’s like to be rich, Teddy thought as the car service delivered them to Whitfield’s seventeen-room rustic lodge on the pristine slopes of Lake Tahoe’s North Shore.

  “Jeez, where’s the gift shop?” Dara said, as they stood gaping at the sprawling residence.

  The door was unlocked and they went inside, where they were welcomed by the toasty warmth of a blazing fire. A soaring evergreen decked out with lights and holiday ornaments stood to one side of the room. Across from it was the massive stone hearth, which also twinkled with holiday decor. Teddy pulled off her hat and looked around. Except for the fireplace, the entryway was all knotty pine, from the paneled walls to the sweeping vaulted ceiling with its massive roof beams. It opened up to the back of the house, which was lined with windows, offering an expansive view of the crystal blue lake. Teddy gazed over the magnificent alpine-like vista and had one thought: casinos.

  True, the view was spectacular. The house was spectacular. And she knew that anybody in her right mind would be swept away by the grandeur. But Teddy couldn’t help it. The border between California and Nevada bisected Tahoe, which meant that her home state was on the opposite shore. While people on this side of the lake strapped on skis and filled their lungs with rushing air, people on the other side sat in front of slot machines, roulette wheels, and—her pulse rocketed at the thought, she couldn’t help it—poker tables. She could almost feel the waxy cards slip between her fingers.

  Not that I’ll get to play, she thought, deliberately tamping down her excitement. She and Dara were there on assignment, not to mess around.

  “Hey, you made it!” Miles said, emerging from an arched doorway on the right.

  He seemed to be in a good mood. No, a great mood. As if he were delighted to see them. Or maybe to see her. It was hard to tell. In any case, he appeared to have recovered since the last time she’d seen him. He’d been nearly catatonic at Whitfield’s Thanksgiving party. Now he was all smiles.

  “Nice little cabin in the woods you got here,” she s
aid.

  Miles adjusted his glasses. “You like it?”

  “Guess it’ll do,” Dara said. “If the Motel 6 is booked.”

  Miles laughed, and Teddy introduced him to Dara. “Dara . . . Dara . . .” he said, as if searching for something in his mind. Teddy remembered how he’d told her he was bad at names and surmised that he was groping for a pneumonic. “Dara, my darling,” he finally said.

  Dara furrowed her brow in response. “Um, no.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Teddy said. “He just needs a way to remember your name.”

  “In that case, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ll answer to anything, though goddess works best.”

  Miles gave them a tour of the house and showed them to their rooms. Once they’d settled in, Teddy suggested they take a pre-dinner walk around the grounds. A not so subtle way to accomplish Wessner’s first rule of protective surveillance: know your territory. Check for potential threats and hazards, as well as means of escape.

  That meant putting on one of Jillian’s sweaters, which she layered over a turtleneck and topped with a red fleece jacket. She shoved a pair of gloves in one pocket, just in case.

  Dara studied her. “You realize it’s like forty degrees out, right?”

  “You think I need another layer?”

  Dara rolled her eyes.

  “Hey, give me a break. I’m a Vegas girl. We grab our mittens when the temperature drops below Wayne Newton’s age.”

  Miles waited for them on the back deck. He opened the gate, and they walked down a steep flight of stairs to a path that meandered along the shore of the lake.

  As they walked, Miles kept his hands in his pockets, fiddling with something that made a jangling noise.

  “This is a little weird for me,” he said. “Having bodyguards.”

  “Because we’re women?” Dara said.

  Miles laughed. “I’d rather have you and Teddy than some hulking goons. It’s just that I don’t feel like I’m in any danger. I mean, look around.” He indicated the entire vista, including the lake to their right.

  Teddy did look around. In fact, she’d been looking since the moment she stepped out on the deck. And he was right—there was nothing menacing in any direction. “It’s beautiful,” she agreed, then, “How have you been feeling? Those migraines . . .”

  “I never seem to get them when I’m here.”

  “Even on the medication?” She was being nosy. But she knew Eversley was involved in whatever he was being prescribed, and she couldn’t help worrying that he was being overmedicated.

  “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just that my moods get out of whack sometimes. Or I get these black holes in my memory. The meds seem to help. When I go off them, I can have . . . outbursts. I’m trying to control it. But if it happens, please don’t take it personally.”

  Teddy nodded. “Thanks for letting us know.”

  Clearly embarrassed, he gave them an apologetic shrug and attempted a smile. “It’s a choice, you know? The migraines or the moods. I’d rather not deal with either one, but that option isn’t on the table.”

  He led them farther along the shoreline, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. Teddy got the hint and dropped it. They strolled in silence for a while, until Dara remarked that the setting reminded her of a date she’d once gone on with a girl she’d been crushing on for months. It had ended disastrously when she’d tried to impress the girl with a little impromptu rock climbing. She’d fallen and broken her ankle, and the girl had to carry her back to their car. That story led to another. Eventually, they turned giddy and started recounting their worst-ever dates. (Really, Miles? A girl who insisted on showing you a dozen Instagram photos of her horse with face filters, and you still pretended you were interested?)

  They stopped at a large jutting rock that offered a breathtaking view of the sunset. The moment would have been completely serene if Miles hadn’t continued to jangle whatever was in his pocket. A nervous habit, Teddy supposed, but one that was starting to grate on her nerves.

  Apparently, Dara felt the same way. She extended her hand, palm up. “All right, Miles. Give it up. What are you fiddling with?”

  “What? Oh. Sorry.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a set of worn metal dog tags on a key chain. The name Whitfield, Julian C., was etched on them. “My dad’s,” he said.

  Teddy thought of the photograph she’d seen in Whitfield’s office. The handsome marine with an array of medals pinned to his chest. “Is he still—”

  “No. He died years ago on a tour of duty in Afghanistan.”

  She and Dara murmured their sympathy, but Miles shook it off. “I was eight at the time, and he’d been on tour for most of my childhood, so I don’t really remember him. You’d think I could just let it go, right?” Frowning, he ran his thumb over his father’s name. “Problem is, I still really don’t know how he died, and that drives me crazy.”

  Dara’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  “Well, yeah. Officially, he died from an explosion. I dug around online and found an article about the incident. A bomb killed twenty-two people and wounded fourteen. And I always thought that meant he was a hero, dying that way. But I overhead my grandfather talking one time, and it turns out that’s not true. He said my father made some kind of terrible mistake and set the bomb off. Then my father took his own life. That’s why my grandfather is so worried about my blackouts and mood swings. He thinks my dad lost it. He’s afraid it could be hereditary.”

  “Oh, Miles,” Teddy said.

  “Anyway, that’s what led me to my grandfather. I didn’t even know what was happening. One day I was at my father’s funeral in tight shoes and stiff pants, and the next I was being moved into my grandfather’s house in Tiburon.”

  “What happened to your mom?” Dara asked.

  Miles shrugged. “She told my grandfather she was sick of raising me on her own—that she’d basically been a widow her whole marriage, and she’d had enough. I can’t blame my mom. I was a difficult kid.”

  Teddy let out a breath. “Me too,” she said. Her birth father had also died. And her birth mother had abandoned her. But maybe not by choice, a small voice inside Teddy said as she thought about the memory of Marysue being pulled into the car.

  Their eyes met. The twilight shadows lengthened. A cool breeze rushed past them, rustling the trees. Then the moment passed. She pulled her jacket zipper up to her neck. Miles shoved the dog tags back in his pocket. “It’s hard, you know. I want to move forward. I just have so many questions about my past.”

  Teddy knew that feeling, too. It was a unique kind of pain, being unable to connect with your own history. “Would you like me to help you find out?” she asked.

  Dara’s head snapped up. She shot Teddy a look.

  “How would you do that?” he asked.

  Good question. It was way outside the boundary of protocol. That, and while the dog tags would be a powerful psychometric tool, as they were an object of daily use, she wouldn’t be able to use them for telepathy, as she’d done with Eli’s Greenpeace shirt. She couldn’t scan the memory of a dead person. No, this would require astral projection. And she had done that only with her mother’s necklace. Still, she was eager to try. The only problem was that she couldn’t tell Miles any of this.

  Teddy pursed her lips. “The internet,” she said. “I’m a pretty good sleuth, and I might even be able to access some FBI files.” It was a little white lie. She didn’t have any kind of security clearance with the Bureau. “I’ll just need—”

  “These,” Miles said, and pressed the dog tags into her palm. “With my father’s name, rank, and serial number.”

  “I’ll try my best,” she said, and thrust them deep into the pocket of her fleece jacket. Their mood far more somber than it had been when they’d left, they headed back to the house.

  Ten minutes in, they encountered a paved road. Just as Teddy stepped out to cross, a pickup truck swerved around the bend, music blaring
and tires skidding. The guy didn’t touch his brakes. Just laid down on his horn, causing Teddy to jump back and sprawl on her ass in a mass of pine needles and slushy snow.

  Miles leaped forward. “Son of a bitch!” he shouted after the driver.

  The driver thrust his hand out the window in a single-finger salute.

  Just then a branch split from a towering pine and came crashing down, landing squarely on the truck’s hood. Missed the windshield by inches. The driver slammed his brakes, hit a patch of ice, and went into a 360-degree spin. For one heart-stopping second, it looked like the truck was about to veer off the road and careen down the side of the mountain. It didn’t. Instead, the passenger door smashed up against a protective highway railing, bringing the vehicle to a crashing, wheezing stop.

  White-faced, the driver stumbled out and inspected the damage.

  “You all right?” Dara shouted.

  He didn’t answer. Just shoved the branch off his hood, climbed back in, and limped off in his wrecked truck, going a fraction of his previous speed.

  “You okay, Teddy?” Miles asked, bending to help her up.

  “What just happened?” She looked at the fallen branch, then at the truck’s slowly receding taillights.

  “I don’t know.” Miles looked as shocked as she felt. “But it looks like that asshole got a taste of instant karma.”

  All Teddy could think about was how her charge had stood feet from danger while, once again, she had sprawled on the ground.

  * * *

  After dinner, Teddy sat cross-legged in the middle of the guest room’s plush bed, staring at the dog tags in her hand. She breathed slowly, trying to get herself into a relaxed state, preparing for the painful tug of separation.

  “You’re going through with it?” Dara asked.

  “I’m going to try,” Teddy said. “It would probably be more helpful if you did it.”

  Dara shook her head. “No, ma’am, that’s way above my pay grade.”