Robbie arrived, clad in black tie, somber as a preacher’s son but masking it with an air of forced gaiety. The doorman hailed a separate taxi for Robbie and me; Dad and Lanny promised to see us there as we climbed inside for the brief drive to the event center.
“You look nice. Way better than the other night.” Robbie sat facing me with one knee bent on the seat.
“You look nice, too. I’m glad you’re here.” And I truly was, even if I appeared distracted, staring out the window at the city flashing past, the beaming blur of lights and cars. Rain clattered on the roof of the cab and created smeary trails along the windows. It had become increasingly difficult to prevent thoughts of home – my real home, my trailer in the Jalesville foothills – from entering my head. I wanted Case more with each passing second, until I feared I might rip right out of my skin, burst apart with the strength of my need for him.
“Tish, you wanna have sex quick? I need some relief from this tension.” Robbie managed a small, crooked grin when my head snapped his way; he’d succeeded in catching my full attention.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I muttered, lowering my voice to add, “You have to start using your head, Benson. And not the smaller of the two.” I held his gaze, praying he would listen. “You’re my friend and I care about you very much. Promise me you’ll remember everything that’s happened here, in this time. Remember our conversations and stay away from Christina Turnbull at all costs. I don’t want to lose you again, do you hear me?”
Robbie took my hand and squeezed, momentarily lowering his forehead to our joined fingers. “I hear you. And I promise. You’re the only real friend I have.”
We arrived to the usual bustle and mild mania of well-attended social events, checking our coats and offering greetings left and right. The dissembling occurring all around inspired in me an unpleasant, dreamlike sensation; a slow-motion reel of expensive fabric and flashing jewels, insincerity spilling from shiny lips. Laughter, compliments, and silver trays of champagne flutes all floated through the air.
Robbie and I stuck close; for one thing, I relied on him to guide me through potential missteps. The Tish he knew had worked at Turnbull and Hinckley with him since college and would therefore know the names – not to mention – faces of our colleagues. I held his left elbow as we navigated the crowd, taller than him in my heels; the ballroom adjacent to the wide grand entrance was decked out for intimate dining, the floor scattered with dozens of linen-topped foursomes. Tiny white lights flickered along the length of the bar.
“There’s Derrick,” Robbie murmured, with a discreet tilt of his head. Two seconds later he broke out his most flirtatious smile as a gaggle of twenty-something women approached from the right, fondling drinks and designer clutches.
“I’ll find you before dinner,” I promised in an undertone, leaving him at their mercy.
“Don’t approach him,” he murmured in response.
I had no intention of seeking out Derrick’s company, though I was not blind; his gaze followed me with ill-disguised scrutiny. I nabbed a drink from a server simply to possess a prop, something to keep me from fidgeting, and slipped casually to the far edge of things, near the foot of the majestic open staircase that dropped from the second floor. I positioned myself just behind the gleaming wooden banister, where I could observe without being obtrusive, literally in the shadows. Derrick stood the length of the room away and necessity forced him to abandon watching me; he pasted on a smile to engage in requisite small talk.
My pulse was erratic as I waited for Fallon to appear – but there continued to be no sign of the slender, fair-haired man I recalled from Robbie’s funeral. I watched Ron and Christina Turnbull enter and hot anxiety slithered over my skin. Without realizing it, I ducked farther behind the banister at the sight of them, the champagne flute slipping in my sweaty grasp. Dad and Lanny were next to arrive, Dad with his ‘game face’ front and center. A pang of guilty discomfort struck; this was one of those times my father seemed like a stranger, in no way connected to the man I once idolized. Standing there watching him schmooze his way around the crowd, I missed Blythe with a sudden, painful intensity, my kind and patient stepdad. Blythe, whose presence in this life had been thwarted.
But now we know when it happened – at least, tentatively. It’s a small piece of the larger puzzle.
We have to get a message to Ruthie. She has to know every possible detail.
A stern-faced, imposing older man eventually joined Derrick, impatiently waving aside the offer of a drink. He bent his head toward Derrick and the two conferred.
His father, I thought at once, noting their resemblance, flooded with new terror. I imagined Derrick pointing in my direction and the two of them subsequently striding across the polished marble floor with the intent to drag me outside and extract answers.
I shivered so hard my jaws clacked together.
Stop it, Tish.
They aren’t talking about you.
My own father, however, was looking for me. He’d found his way to Robbie’s side and was casting his eyes over the crowd.
Dammit.
Dad would wonder why I wasn’t mingling and so I squared my shoulders and joined them.
“We’re at table eleven.” Dad brandished a palm to allow Robbie and me to lead the way. Lanny held his arm as they followed in our wake, her beautiful, insipid smile firmly in place.
“Chin up,” Robbie suddenly muttered, tightening his hold on my elbow.
Ron and Christina were in our path, roughly two dozen feet ahead. No avoiding them.
“Robert, Patricia, wonderful to see you two together this evening,” Ron spoke with his usual pompous arrogance; a tall, broad, silver-haired man with eyes like paint chips, whose authority was unchallenged.
I had not been this close to Ron since Robbie’s funeral and a vision of grasping his throat and crushing his windpipe with my thumbs swelled with such strength I tasted bile. This man had ordered Robbie killed, had paved the way for the Yancys to hurt people I loved, had glibly practiced dirty business for the duration of his career. The potent desire to harm him overwhelmed my senses, casting a reddish haze over my perception. Ron must have seen something in my eyes because his condescending smile faltered a little.
Has he spoken to Fallon in this offshoot? Does he know about the real timeline? Does he know that Robbie and I were closing in on Fallon’s secret?
There were too many unknowns to take action and I was a breath away from playing the game and mustering up a polite response when I saw Christina’s lips bend upward in a small, mocking smile. Her eyes were the glacial green of frost-covered leaves and locked on mine.
“Excuse us.” Robbie’s voice was impressively level, his manner calm. He conveyed a sense of joviality tinged with mild impatience, carting me around them and toward the ballroom.
“Christina knows,” I choked, seething with helpless rage. I tried to yank from Robbie’s grasp, almost tripping on my hem as I peered over my shoulder, but the crowd had spread out behind us and only the top of Ron’s head remained visible. “I’m going to fucking kill them. They know what Fallon did.”
“Tish, enough! We can’t stay here if you’re going to act like this.”
People were beginning to trickle into the ballroom; a few couples were already seated, sipping drinks and waiting for dinner. Robbie drew out a chair at our assigned table but I was too distraught to sit and muttered, “I’ll be right back.”
Robbie clutched my wrist. “Don’t make a scene. It’s not the time.”
I jerked free without responding.
Chapter Nineteen
Chicago, IL - March, 2014
I HAD NEVER ATTENDED AN EVENT AT THIS PARTICULAR venue but restrooms would be nearby; I skirted the flow of guests and hurried across the main entrance, high heels clicking over the marble floor, passing the coat check and taking the first hallway to the left, a space blessedly free of people. I hurried along its carpeted length until I could no longer hear the soun
ds of the gala; at last I stopped and leaned my spine against the wall, unaware of my surroundings, overwhelmed by stress. Panic loomed close to the surface, hot and oily. I closed my eyes and pressed the back of one hand against my mouth, afraid I might vomit before reaching a toilet.
You can’t win. You know this. You’re totally and completely fucked.
How can you outwit a man who is capable of traveling through time, who’s protected by people in positions of unthinkable power?
Tell me that!
“Lovers’ quarrel?”
I gasped, eyes flying open to spy Derrick standing a few paces away, feet widespread and hands buried in his trouser pockets. His onyx cufflinks gleamed in the muted glow of the wall sconces.
“What?” My palms were braced against the plaster on either side of my hips, a position of vulnerability, and I straightened to my full height, attempting to appear unruffled.
“You and Benson. I didn’t realize you two were together,” he clarified.
I didn’t bother to correct this presumption, instead seizing the chance to demand, “Is your brother here? Have you seen Fallon tonight?”
Derrick stepped closer and I held my ground. I wasn’t scared of him in most regards but it was beyond foolish to consider dropping my guard. He kept his voice low to ask, “Who told you the truth?”
I ignored his question and continued pressing. “When was the last time you saw Fallon? When was the last time he was here in Chicago, in 2014?”
Consternation rolled from Derrick in waves. “You can’t imagine the level of shit you would be in if my father or Fallon knew any of this.” He all but spit his brother’s name, the word drenched in bitterness. So that particular detail proved no different in this timeline.
“How would they know? Do you plan to tattle on me?” I jabbed his chest with an index finger; I had everything to lose but I couldn’t stop now. I stabbed the same outstretched finger in the direction of the ballroom. “I will march out there and tell every fucking person here tonight what I know about Fallon the time-traveling wonder boy unless you tell me when you saw him last! Do you know what he did to our lives, yours included? Did he tell you?”
“For fuck’s sake, keep your voice down! You would be dead in a matter of hours, do you hear me?”
I gulped back my next threat and searched his eyes; he wasn’t bluffing.
Derrick lifted a hand. It fluttered through the air like a moth, unsure where to alight now that it had taken flight, falling short of cupping my face. I watched an internal battle play out across his sharp, wolflike features. “Listen to me, Tish, even though I know it goes against the grain for you. I wish I could say that I won’t let them hurt you, but I harbor no illusions.” He clenched his jaw before asking quietly, “Did you tell me the truth the other night? You and I knew each other in another life? Fallon actually…changed reality as we knew it?”
Hope seized at my throat. “Yes. I know I’m asking you to believe something that seems impossible, even crazy.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“It is. You have to trust me. Please trust me, I have nothing to gain by lying to you. I need to know everything about Fallon. Where is he? Do you think he’ll show up here tonight?”
Derrick closed his eyes, the picture of a man torn.
I grabbed his arm. “Please, oh God, please tell me anything you know. Does he have a weakness? Is anything capable of stopping him? So much depends on this information. You could never begin to guess.”
His eyes opened and he snaked an arm around my waist, bringing me close to his body before I knew it was coming, before I could step aside or away. “You said we were married in another life…”
“Stop it!” I hissed, shoving his chest with both hands.
“Well, well,” a woman murmured, rife with satisfaction, and we turned as one to see Christina Turnbull ambling our direction, one hand in a loose fist around her long necklace, manipulating the chunky, lustrous gem at the bottom in small circles. “Slumming this evening, are we, Derrick?”
Surprise flattened his features before his cheeks hollowed with growing anger but he held himself in check, not responding to her provocation.
Christina wore a fitted gown of palest green, lined with sleek gold threads; I stepped quickly away from Derrick and closer to her. We were no longer surrounded by hundreds of eyes and I felt capable of dismemberment, capable of ripping the shining, highlighted hair straight out of her scalp. I chose my words, however, with great care.
“I’m sure you’re aware that my father is only using you. The same way he would a rental car, or a set of golf clubs.”
Derrick released a barking huff of astonished laughter before gripping the lower half of his face, as though to contain another outburst.
But Christina betrayed no loss of composure, no hint of shame. She skimmed her gaze down the front of my dress, unhurried and disdainful. “You poor, stupid creature.” Her eyes returned to mine with the force of a physical blow. “You can’t stop him. No one can.”
Her confident scorn rattled me and I tried to hide it; I couldn’t let her claim the last word this way. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” she purred, releasing her necklace to scrape one long pink fingernail down Derrick’s sleeve. She plucked at his cufflink and he drew away from her touch with calm dignity, gripping his lapels and adjusting his jacket.
“Tish doesn’t know half of what she thinks she does,” Derrick said and I realized, belatedly, that he was doing his best to offer me what help he could. I was sinking lower in this shitpile and, worse yet, I had been the one to jump into it in the first place, playing my ace card too soon. It had been a mistake to tell Derrick what I knew.
Christina’s expression more than confirmed her disbelief in his statement and my bravado leaked rapidly away.
Focus, Tish. It’s not like she’s armed. She can’t prevent you from doing anything.
You can survive this. You can tell everyone the truth about Fallon. It’s not too late.
Oh, dear God…
“She’s leaving Chicago tomorrow, aren’t you, Tish?” Derrick spoke brusquely. “For good. Resigning from the firm to work back home was an apt decision for you. If you’ll excuse us, Christina. We’ll see you at dinner.” He appropriated my arm and towed me away, back toward the ballroom; as soon as we rounded the corner and were out of Christina’s sight, Derrick bent to my ear. “Get out of here right now. Leave the city tonight. I’ll make an excuse to Jackson.”
Fear gouged my heart – for a second I couldn’t swallow, let alone reply.
What about Robbie?
He’s not safe here, either.
Derrick shifted me so we were face to face and I witnessed the conflict in his eyes, the faltering; a dam crumbling beneath the intense weight of something far beyond his control as he said, “Fallon arrived in Chicago this morning. I don’t know if he’s still in town, or even this century, but you can’t chance it. Christina tells him everything. Now go.”
“Thank you,” I gasped. And then I ran for the exit.
Rain gushed from a wet black sky, splattering over awnings and creating miniature hurricanes along the traffic-choked street. I staggered in my heels, cursing, and kicked them aside, lifting my hem knee-high. No longer impeded by footwear I dashed away from the event center, not slowing until I reached a corner three blocks away. Heart thrusting, drenched and barefoot, I was too scared to look over my shoulder. I perched on the curb and scanned the array of vehicles for a taxi.
No one is chasing you. But get the hell out of here!
I would call Robbie and Dad as soon as I could.
“Hey!” I shrieked as a speeding car roared past, sending a cascade of dirty rainwater over my thighs. “Asshole!”
The streetlight rotated through its cycle four times before anyone stopped. I could not draw a full breath until the taxi stopped at Dad’s building. Simultaneously I realized I had no money; my purse was back at table eleven. The driver was
unamused, then belligerent.
I pleaded, “Give me a second to run upstairs. I’ll get your money, I swear.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You think I was born yesterday?”
“Seriously, I’ll be right back!”
He glared at me over the front seat. “Five minutes, lady, then I’m calling the cops.” As if I didn’t believe him, he held up and wiggled his phone.
“Two minutes,” I promised and stepped directly in a cold, murky puddle as I climbed out. “Shit. Shit!”
My dress was too long without my shoes and I fumbled with the slippery material, unable to clench a handful to lift my trailing hem. Inundated, my hair swung across my wet face, momentarily obscuring my sight as I stumbled barefoot over the slick sidewalk. And so it was that I thought I was hearing things when someone shouted, “Patricia!”
My heart halted all operations.
It can’t be –
Shock would have taken me to my knees if he hadn’t been there to slide his arms around my waist.
“Patricia.” His voice was low, with a deep husk, and I heard his longing and confusion and sincerity, all tangled together. Rain poured over our bodies as he held me secure, water dripping from his hair and running in rivulets down his lean, sunburned cheeks.
Case, I tried to say but I was crying, clutching his precious face in both hands to receive his ravenous kisses, both of us trying to climb within one another’s skin, to devour each other and become one being, never again separated.
But I should have known better.
We had less than five minutes left together and somewhere, beyond our perception, the clock had already begun a rapid countdown toward zero.
“Case, oh God, Case,” I gasped, forgetting myself in the absolute elation of being near him, kissing his neck, his chin, running my hands over his back as he sought my mouth with the heat of his own, kissing me past all reason, all agony. I knew his taste, knew the blessed feel of this man; he was mine. I was his. Nothing else mattered.
Without breaking the contact of our mouths he hauled us under a nearby awning, allowing for a full aligning of our bodies. He clasped my jaws, studying my eyes with a mixture of amazement and certainty.
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