by Claudia Gray
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask.
“I didn’t want to say anything beforehand, because I wanted everyone else to act normally. That way, Conley would suspect nothing. But I set up an encoded note for Sophia to be delivered forty-eight hours after I left.”
If Theo and I had waited for one more day, we’d have understood everything. “You could have been killed. You still might be.”
“I intend to survive if at all possible,” Paul says, very seriously.
“But you risked everything.”
He glances away, then, with a clear effort of will, makes himself look me straight in the face as he says, “You were in danger—I had to protect you if I could.” His gaze searches mine. “The risks don’t matter. You’re the only one who matters.”
Neither of us can speak. We sit there, all alone in the dim light, sealed in together away from the rest of the world.
Then my phone rings.
We both startle, and Paul laughs slightly, trying to cover the awkward moment. But my skin prickles with fear as I remember—I had set my phone to Do Not Disturb. Nobody should be able to call me.
I take the phone from my pocket. The call is from an “unknown number.”
Like about 75 percent of America, I use a Triad cell phone. I say, “Can Conley hack into tPhones?”
Paul’s face falls as he realizes what’s going on. “Theoretically.”
“I don’t think it’s just theory.” The phone keeps ringing; voice mail should have picked up by now, but he has a way around that too. “I can’t answer. If I answer, he’ll know where I am.”
“The cell phone tower will already have pinged your location.” Paul glances toward the door, like the police might burst through at any moment. Maybe they will. “Go ahead. Answer it.”
My father’s murderer is on the phone. What does he want?
But I already know. He only wants me.
23
I SLIDE THE BAR ACROSS MY PHONE SCREEN AND SAY, “Hello, Mr. Conley.”
“Marguerite,” he says, as chummy as he was back at Triad headquarters. His voice is even younger than his face; he sounds like another one of Mom and Dad’s grad students who’s come by to hang out at the rainbow table. The volume is down on my phone, but both Paul and I lean close to hear him over the hum of the computers. “What a relief to finally hear from you. I take it you found your friend’s bracelet?”
It infuriates me. If Conley were here, I’d smash my fist right into his freckled face. “Oh, please. You think you have the right to call me out on being dishonest? I’m not the epic liar here. So cut the crap and say what you have to say.”
Paul gives me a look like, Damn. I think he’s impressed.
“Cutting the crap, then,” Conley says, as amiable as before. “You’re a talented young woman. I think we need to discuss how best to use those talents, going forward.”
“I’m not your traveler. I’m not your spy. That’s all there is to it.”
“I see you’ve spoken with Mr. Markov. Is he there with you now?” I don’t answer, but that’s probably as good as a yes. Paul says nothing, only narrows his eyes. Conley continues, “If only things were that simple. You’ve become a very important person in a very important place. That means acquiring your talents is one of Triad Corporation’s top priorities.”
“Your priorities don’t interest me,” I shoot back.
“The people who help me achieve my goals are rewarded, Marguerite. I could reward you more richly than you can imagine.”
“Money doesn’t make up for what you’ve done.” My throat tightens as I think of my father, dead in a river a universe away.
“I can make up for a lot.”
Paul stands, slowly. I realize he’s getting ready to move. Of course—if Conley is already tracking our location, he could have people here any second. I stand up too, edging out of the way so that Paul can start unplugging the computers and stuffing them into his duffel bag.
To cover the sound of his packing, I start talking again, “Is this the part where you start threatening everyone else I love?”
“Do you mean Mr. Beck? He’s absolutely fine, at the moment. Slightly annoyed that you stole his car. He’s back in his own office, waiting for the company car to take him home. Eventually.”
The subtle threat to Theo chills me. Paul pauses in his work, as frightened for Theo as I am. But he doesn’t stop packing for long. Time is already running out.
Conley continues, “We need to meet, Marguerite. There are certain tests I need to run to determine the full extent of your potential. Nothing painful, I promise.”
“Your promises aren’t worth much,” I say.
“You’re underestimating me. People don’t do that often.” He sounds almost amused by the novelty. “Just meet with me. Choose a neutral location. Paul can come along, if you’d find that comforting. Let me figure out how much you have to bargain with, and then we’ll bargain.”
How can he not be getting the message? “You don’t have anything I want!”
Conley’s voice gets very quiet. “Yes, I do. I have something you want very much.”
And there’s something about the way he says it that makes me believe him.
Is he talking about Theo? I glance at Paul, whose eyes are wide. He knows what Conley’s referring to—and whatever it is, it’s important. It’s real.
“The Chinatown Dragon Gate,” I say. It’s the first landmark that comes to mind. “Meet me there in one hour. It has to be you, and you have to come alone. Got it? One hour from—now.” With that I hang up the call, and shut off the phone. Even Conley’s hackers can’t undo the plain old off switch.
Paul stares at me. “You can’t meet with Conley.”
“No shit. But I bought us one hour. While he’s in Chinatown, we can get you to the airport.”
“You’re good at this.” A smile spreads across Paul’s face. “Being on the run.”
“I’m getting a lot of practice.”
Paul and I sit next to each other on the BART train, his enormous duffel bag like a third person crammed in with us. It’s about half an hour to the airport, which gives us more time to talk.
And yet there’s so much to ask, so much to say, that I find it hard to find any words at all.
Finally I ask the simplest question I can think of. “Why Ecuador?”
“The other Paul made these plans, not me. I assume it’s because Ecuador has no extradition treaty with the United States.”
Of course. Erasing Mom and Dad’s data was one thing, but when Paul attacked Triad as well, he committed a crime that won’t be forgiven. The Paul from this dimension needs to make his own escape, so this Paul is seeing it through. “You always leave yourself a back door, don’t you?”
“Before you get into trouble, it pays to ask yourself how you’ll get out again.” He looks back at me now, gray eyes darkened by their intensity. “You need to get out of this too, Marguerite.”
“Whoa. You want me to run off with you to Ecuador?”
“You’re not coming with me,” he says flatly. Even though I had exactly zero intention of dashing away to South America, his blunt refusal stings. Paul pauses, then adds, “I meant—you need to go home.”
“We’re both going home now. Right?” I assume Paul’s waiting to jump until he’s taken this version safely to the airport.
But Paul hesitates before answering, one second too long.
“Where are you going now?”
“I can’t tell you that yet.”
I could strangle him. “Has keeping secrets done any good at any point on this journey? Why can’t you trust me?”
He shuts his eyes, like I’m making his head hurt. “It’s not about distrusting you.”
“Then what is it about? I’ve tried to trust you—even when everyone else told me not to—”
“You believed I killed Henry,” Paul shoots back. Which is a good point.
“That doesn’t count. Conley framed you. Made
it look like you cut Dad’s brakes.”
Paul shrugs. He thinks I should’ve known better, and maybe he’s right.
Quietly, I say, “I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t apologize. I understand that you weren’t yourself. And Conley can be convincing, when he wants to be.” But Paul’s entire body remains tense. If he’s not angry, then why . . . ?
Oh.
“In Russia—” I don’t know what to say, where to begin. “You and me—I don’t know if you remember everything, or anything—”
“I remember having sex.”
I want to turn my head away, but how ridiculous would it be to get bashful now?
Paul seems to realize he’s once again been too blunt. “I, ah, I also remember getting wounded. Did he survive?”
“No. You—he—died in my arms.”
Paul’s head ducks, as if he feels the loss as deeply as I do. Maybe he does. “I’m sorry.”
Tears well in my eyes, but I try to fight them back.
Quietly he adds, “I know you loved him. Not me.”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” I whisper.
He takes a deep breath, almost in wonder. I realize that even maybe is more than Paul had dared to dream of. Everything he’s done, everything he gave up and risked for me: Paul did all that without the slightest idea of being loved in return.
“Marguerite—”
“I don’t know where he stops and you begin.”
The train slows as it pulls into its next stop, and apparently half the population of this neighborhood is headed to the airport today. As dozens of people crowd on, hauling their bags with them, Paul and I fall silent, unable to look each other in the eye.
I think about the Rachmaninoff ringtone on my phone. What are Paul and I to each other, in this dimension? We must be very nearly the same, if that one song still reminds me of him. If he was willing to once again give up everything—wreck his own life—trying to protect my parents’ work, and to protect me—
The train slides back into motion, and everyone starts talking or listening to music; the chatter surrounds us, giving us privacy again. Finally Paul says, “What about you and Theo? I thought he was the one who—well. I thought he was the one.”
I care about Theo. There’s no denying that, no setting it aside easily. But whatever it is I feel for him—it’s not what I feel for Paul. “No. Not Theo.”
I fell in love with one Paul. I fell in love with his unchanging soul. Does that mean I fell in love with every Paul, everywhere?
Paul rushes to fill the silence, words tumbling over one another, as if he’d held them back for so long that he can’t last one second more. “I know I’m not—I’ve never been—” He stares down at his own broad hands on his duffel bag. “I’m not good with words. I never know the right thing to say, because with you—every time we talk I seem to get it wrong.”
“You don’t always get it wrong.”
He shakes his head slightly, the smile on his face rueful. “I’m not the Paul from Russia. I can’t speak the way he did. I wish I could.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Everything would be so much simpler if I were sure that I only cared for Lieutenant Markov. But since when did love become simple? “That time you watched me paint, and you told me I always painted the truth—you got that right. Really right.”
Paul’s smile softens, like he’s starting to believe. “You said you don’t know where Lieutenant Markov stops and I begin.”
I nod as I hug myself, and curl down into my seat.
“I remember being a part of him.” His voice is low, and soft. I lift my eyes to his. It feels both like it’s hard to meet his gaze and like I could never look away. “I know we both liked the way you look for beauty in every person. Every moment. He wished he could be funny like you, sure of your words, and I do too. We both daydreamed about kissing you against a wall. Neither of us thought we ever had a chance with anyone as amazing as you. We would both do anything, give up anything, to keep you safe.”
By now my vision has blurred with tears. Paul must see that in my eyes, and he hesitates—like he feels guilty for upsetting me. But he keeps going.
“Lieutenant Markov and I are not the same man,” he says. “Nobody knows that better than I do. But we’re not completely different, either. The one way we were most alike was—was how we felt about you.”
The train rattles into its last stop, at the airport. Everyone starts hauling their bags out, and I wipe my cheeks, then help Paul maneuver his duffel through the doors. Instead of following the crowd forward, though, he lingers on the dimly lit platform, and I know it’s because he wants to tell me goodbye while we’re alone.
As soon as everyone else is farther ahead, I say, “Paul—”
“I love you.”
It makes me gasp. Not in surprise—by now I knew, I knew that as surely as I knew anything in the world. But it still feels like going through the rapids, over a waterfall, falling into the roar.
He keeps going, as if afraid to trust my reaction. “I told myself it didn’t matter if I never got to be with you. It was enough just to love you. When you were in danger, I needed you to be safe. You don’t owe me anything for that. You don’t have to say—to pretend—”
I reach out and press two fingers to his mouth. As overwhelmed as I am right now, I have to touch him. I have to know.
Paul breathes out sharply, like a man struck. He pulls me close, his enormous hands cradling my face as though I were fragile and delicate. Like a little dove. Slowly Paul lowers his face to mine, nuzzling my temple, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth. I breathe in the scent of his skin as I wrap my fingers around his forearms, guiding him gently, gently down.
Of course I’ve always known Paul was a big man, so much taller than me, and yet I never realized how he could wrap himself around me. How he could enclose me here in the darkness and become my whole world.
He brushes the first kiss against my cheekbone. The touch is so soft, even tentative—but the power of the emotion behind it overcomes me, bears me down more surely than force ever could. I tilt my head back, and Paul responds to the invitation by kissing the hollow of my throat, then finding the place on my neck where my pulse is pounding hardest. When he pulls me against his chest, I can feel his heart beating equally fast. We’re both so scared, yet neither of us wants to pull away.
Paul scrapes his teeth along my throat. The sharp edge between pain and pleasure makes me cry out in the instant before he silences me with his kiss.
Our lips part. I feel his tongue brush against mine as we breathe each other in. The world is turning upside down. I clutch at his T-shirt as my hands become fists. His broad hands cradle me at the waist, and all I can think is that this is perfect, absolutely perfect, just like . . .
Just like the way the other Paul kissed me in Russia.
It ought to reassure me. Instead it horrifies me. The man I loved died two days ago, and now I’m in someone else’s arms—except I don’t even know if this counts as someone else—
I turn my head from Paul, breaking the kiss. “Stop,” I whisper. “Please, stop.”
Paul stops immediately, though his arms remain around me. “Marguerite? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.” My voice trembles. “I feel like I’m being unfaithful. Which is completely crazy, but I don’t—I can’t.”
“Okay. It’s okay.” Paul pulls me closer, but not in passion. Instead he rubs my back, slow and gentle, comforting me as I struggle against tears and think of the Paul I lost.
Am I betraying him now? Or am I being a fool, because the man I loved has basically come back to life but I can’t love him again?
“You’re not crazy,” Paul murmurs. “This situation—it’s hard to know what to think. What to feel.”
I nod. His lips brush my hairline, almost too gently to even be called a kiss, as he keeps stroking my back.
Then we hear the crackle of a walkie-talkie—which means the police.
We both go tense at the same moment, hanging on to each other as the officer wanders along the platform. If she even saw us kissing, she gives no sign. This is just a standard patrol . . . I hope. “They’re not coming after us. Why would they be?”
“Conley could have made Theo call the car in as stolen. He might even have argued that I abducted you. Whatever it took to get you back under his control. By now he probably realizes you’re not going to the Dragon Gate.”
Paul has a point. We have no more time to lose. I say, “This Paul needs to get away. You have to go.”
“Right. Okay.” He hesitates one moment longer. I know he wants to kiss me; I can’t tell whether I want him to or not. He doesn’t.
For a moment we both straighten ourselves—me smoothing my curls back from my face, Paul untucking his T-shirt. A smudge of lipstick is deep pink against his cheek, and I reach out to wipe it off with my thumb. He looks at me, smiling at the touch.
But the smile fades quickly. “Go home,” he says. “Tell Sophia what’s going on, and wait for me there.”
I’ve been so overwhelmed I almost forgot that he’s still keeping secrets from me. “I’ll tell Mom what’s going on as soon as I know. Tell me where you’re going.”
“Not yet.”
“But you found the right dimension! You got all this background information on Triad and Conley! What else is there to do?”
“When I went through Triad’s information here, I found—something I need to check out. Let’s leave it at that.”
I didn’t know it was possible to go from making out with someone to wanting to smack them upside the head, hard, in less than a minute—but here we are. “You’re still keeping secrets from me. Still.”
“Marguerite—”
“No more secrets! I don’t know how much more screwed up things have to get before you finally see that.”
“Please listen.” Paul takes my hand and leans close; the way he looks at me isn’t like a guy making an excuse—he’s steady, and strong, and almost maddeningly sure of himself. “I know I’ve made mistakes, keeping so much from you, but this is different. If I tell you what I’m thinking now, and I’m wrong, it would be terrible. No, beyond even that. It would be the most hurtful thing I could ever do to you.”
