by Robyn Nyx
Caitlin was right. It wasn’t like Landry had access to an endless pot of dollars. “But what?” But my mom is one of the best surgeons of her generation.
“I don’t know what you actually do for a profession, and I know Lizbeth likes to tease you about it. But is there anything you can do to help?”
Landry sighed. She wasn’t expecting that question. She thought they were under the impression her job was in military or intelligence. Unless Jade had hinted at something else, but Landry was sure she would’ve mentioned it if she’d let anything slip. And after all the conversations they’d had about the importance of keeping the Pulsus work quiet, Jade wouldn’t have said anything deliberately. Would she? “I’m sorry. My job isn’t anything medical.”
Caitlin looked like Landry’s words had smashed her last vestige of hope onto the ground and tap-danced on it with size-twelve work boots. She picked up her beer, emptied it, and placed the bottle back on the table gently.
“Let’s play some pool before I go back down for the next shift. You can tell me how things are going with Jade.”
It was an abrupt subject change, but Landry didn’t push for more. Caitlin wasn’t really a talker, and she’d come back to it when she was ready. Landry had to speak to her mom about Priscilla and the possibility of her being a test subject. She wouldn’t burst onto the island demanding she fix her, as she had with Jade, but it was another life-or-death situation. And this was a child, the beautiful little girl who called her Lan Lan. She had to give it her best shot and hope that Jenkin had the capacity to consider helping despite their current crisis. There was no rush to jump back to fix the Muniz mission, no matter how the board decided to proceed. But Priscilla’s situation was time-sensitive. She just had to figure out the best way to approach them with it.
Chapter Eleven
July 6, 2055—Washington, DC
Delaney watched fourteen-year-old Landry emerge from the garage and take off on a bike like her ass was on fire. She had a hefty pack strapped tightly on her back, and Delaney wondered if today was one of the many times Landry had decided she was better off on her own and was leaving home. Landry had told her she usually only stayed away until dusk, long enough for Elena to begin to worry, but not so long that she called the police. She was still grieving the loss of her dad, and it seemed she’d done that right up to the point Jenkin had told her he was more or less a war criminal. Delaney briefly contemplated following her but quickly dismissed the idea. What would she say anyway? “Sorry I fuck you over when you grow up,” or maybe, “Try to love me back, and I might not betray you.” She shoved the thoughts to the back of her mind and tried to pull a visual of Ilsa forward. Her love was real, and she wasn’t afraid to show Delaney how she felt. Delaney closed her eyes and imagined Ilsa’s soft body in her arms, her gentle moans as Delaney gave her release.
Simson leaned in and whispered, “Couldn’t we just save ourselves a whole heap of trouble and kill Donovan now? Wouldn’t she just disintegrate in the time tunnel before she even got back to 2076?”
“Shut up, you asshole.” Delaney shivered involuntarily. A world without Landry. She didn’t know what that would look like, and she didn’t want to know.
Muniz let out a short chuckle. “Are you two always this mean to each other?”
“This is her being nice,” Simson replied.
Delaney ignored them both. Muniz had been surprisingly vocal on their long cross-country road trip, and he was starting to grate on Delaney’s nerves.
Elena ran out of the garage and called out after Landry, but she was out of earshot and wouldn’t have turned back even if she had heard.
“Elena was a nice piece of ass when she was younger.”
Delaney shook her head at Simson’s crassness. She silently agreed, though she thought Elena was still just as sexy twenty years on. Elena pulled a phone from her pocket and began a conversation that she took back into the house. Delaney suspected it was Jenkin she was calling. She flipped open Landry’s pocket watch: 9:05 a.m. It was time to stop the charade and strap Muniz into his new jacket. “Simson. Give Muniz his reward for being such a gullible prick.”
Simson grabbed hold of Muniz’s shoulders and hauled him over the seat back into the rear of the van. Delaney held up her hand to protect her face as he thrashed and kicked.
“What? What’s going on? If this is your idea of fun—”
His protestations were halted with a swift punch from Simson rendering him unconscious and mercifully silent. Delaney watched through the rearview mirror as Simson went to work, injecting him with ten micrograms of etorphine. She tore off a piece of duct tape and pressed it over his mouth, before propping him up and carefully dressing him in the digital camo tactical vest she’d prepared, its pockets stuffed with tiny wads of C4. She zipped it up then ran a tube of superglue along its length to seal it shut.
Simson looked up and grinned. “He’ll be out for at least a couple of hours.” She pulled out a piece of C4 and pushed the relay switch into it softly before replacing it in Muniz’s top pocket. “I’ll keep this safe,” she said, slowly placing the remote detonator into her shirt pocket.
Delaney turned to face Simson. “If this goes wrong, get a safe distance from him, and flick the switch. Jenkin isn’t getting her hands on Muniz, no matter what happens. You understand me?”
Simson nodded but looked puzzled. “I thought we were all in? I mean, I wasn’t happy about it, but it makes sense if you’re sure Donovan is coming back for us.”
“Let’s just see what happens. Even without him, we can still get to Jenkin and Elena. I wasn’t thinking straight the other night. We’d just lost Kelly and Donovan.” Lost…stolen, more like. “I’m nowhere near ready to give up.” She said the words, but she wasn’t certain her conviction sounded credible. She had to keep going for Ilsa’s sake, if not her own. Their mission had resulted in her death and a torturous one at that. There was a chance to make a new future from the past, and Delaney was desperate to hold on to it.
Simson placed her hand on Delaney’s shoulder. “I’m with you to the end, boss.”
Delaney smiled, comforted that Simson was still invested in her plans despite the setbacks. “Thanks, Sims. We’ll get through this.” And if not, Landry will come through for us. She had no right to expect anything from Landry, but she felt sure that she wouldn’t come back and execute them no matter what the orders from Pulsus were. Well, she might be tempted to end Simson, but Delaney knew Landry wanted to believe there was still good in her. Landry’s attempt to reconnect with her while she was strung up was proof of that. There was still a stubborn part of her that wanted Landry’s permission to do what she was doing, that wanted Landry alongside her. But that wasn’t something to share with Simson when she’d followed her this far.
* * *
Brooke pulled up a safe distance from Delaney’s van. A quick check of the Department of Revenue had yielded no results for Elena Donovan. All other databases she checked were no more helpful, so Brooke had switched to Jay Jenkin. Her records showed she moved around a lot. And everywhere she went, she registered two addresses relatively close together and leased two cars, and this was one of the streets where Jenkin’s two addresses for DC were. It looked like she was harboring Elena or maybe even protecting her from something or someone. The whole situation was off. Brooke felt like she was chasing ghosts down a never-ending corridor. And she had no plan as to how she was going to stop Delaney and Simson from getting hold of Jenkin and Elena, or how she was going to free Muniz. She slammed her hand against the steering wheel and dropped her forehead onto it. What the hell am I thinking? For the first time since she’d started tailing Delaney, she began to doubt her actions. She was still sure her career with the FBI would’ve stalled for blowing her cover to rescue Donovan, but was tearing off solo after a couple of coonhound crazy time travelers really the right play? Where did she think this was going to end? With Donovan coming back, recognizing Brooke had saved the day, and taking her to a
new life in Pulsus? What was so bad about this one that she was desperate to leave everything behind and start anew?
She lifted her head in time to see a woman disappear back into her garage, but it was too late to see whether it was Jenkin or Elena. Brooke leaned back in the seat, shifting slightly to avoid the broken spring that had been pushing on her right shoulder for the whole uncomfortable journey. It had her wishing she’d fixed it before she’d gone undercover. She smiled slightly at the memory of how it’d broken. Her last girlfriend liked frantic sex in every place other than the bedroom, and the front seat of Brooke’s car had been her favorite. Describing Tatiana as her girlfriend might be a stretch though, Brooke hadn’t had a girlfriend in the usual sense of the word since joining the FBI. The very occasional one-night stand and FBI fuck buddies were the extent of her personal life. Is that what I’m running from? She cursed herself for going down this road. Overthinking everything was a strength and a weakness. In truth, Brooke knew she wasn’t running from anything. What she did know was that this life wasn’t enough. It wasn’t thrilling enough, and it wasn’t fulfilling. It wasn’t enough of anything. Landry Donovan represented everything Brooke wanted a piece of. And Brooke had nothing to leave behind, no attachments to anything or anyone. Her family was gone, and her career was in the toilet. There’d be no advancement after blowing an operation like the Cagle Gang. The CIA and military wouldn’t touch her. She’d shown sentimentality, a weakness from their point of view. And if Donovan was coming back, Brooke would have to convince her it wasn’t sentimentality, but a considered decision that freeing Donovan was for the greater good and a belief that what Pulsus was doing was far more important than the trifling activity of the Cagle Gang. All will be well. Her mother’s stock phrase was currently scant comfort that Brooke would get the outcome she was after.
Delaney’s van rocking pulled her out of her meandering thoughts. Was Muniz okay? They’d run a killer road trip to get here, stopping only once more after the initial pause where they’d had some engine trouble. Muniz had looked fine, happy even. God knows what lies they’d told him to keep him so apparently docile and cooperative. Brooke had tried to get a look inside the van, but their stop had been brief. They were on their way back to the van before Brooke could figure out her way into it but not before she’d smelled the almost imperceptible scent of tar. Either they were planning on doing some road fixing in DC, or they had another use for the explosives Frankie Calvin had sold them.
Brooke wrapped her hand around her pistol grip. She waited for inspiration and hoped for Donovan.
Chapter Twelve
“What’s our next move?” Simson asked as Delaney pulled into the Washington Harbor parking lot.
“Coffee and something to eat.” Delaney felt like her insides were being gnawed away by rats trying to escape a blowtorch. The Ruffles, Twinkies, and Gatorade stock Simson had selected for their road trip were just empty calories, and Delaney was desperate for something hot, dead, and medium rare. “They’ve got a Fuddruckers and a Starbucks. If I had two mouths, I’d be employing them both right about now.”
Simson laughed. “Do you want me to babysit Sleeping Beauty while you go settle your craving?”
“Yeah. I need to stretch my legs. You want the same?”
She nodded. “With all the fixings, curly fries, and enough ketchup to drown a small child. And I’ll take a white chocolate mocha.”
“Elena will be able to make us younger, but there’s no guarantee she’ll be able to fix your clogged arteries, buddy.” Delaney slammed the van door shut without waiting for Simson’s response and took a moment to breathe in the summer heat and the fresh harbor air. She looked out toward the Potomac and wondered what Ilsa would make of America. Anything would be an improvement on Hitler’s Germany, but what would she think about Delaney’s country one hundred and thirty years into the future? She felt sure Ilsa had the mental strength to cope with the change, and in Delaney’s world, Ilsa could be whatever she wanted to be.
Delaney stretched and strode across the street to Starbucks. She placed her order and as she reached over to pay, her stale body odor assaulted her nostrils, and she pulled her arm back quickly. “Hold my order. I just need the bathroom for a moment.”
The barista nodded with an enthusiasm that indicated Delaney’s less than fresh fragrance had also reached his nose. It’d been two days since she’d taken a shower, and the van’s broken air conditioning hadn’t helped the situation. The lemon-fresh scent of the restroom replaced her own unpleasant stench. Delaney locked the door behind her, plugged the sink, and ran the hot faucet. She pulled off her shirt and tossed it on the door hook, wishing she’d brought a spare one to change into. As the sink slowly filled, she took the time to check her reflection. I look like hell. Lack of sleep and bad food had resulted in her skin looking tired and greasy. She cupped some water and splashed it onto her face, appreciating the warmth even though it was eighty-two degrees outside. Delaney balled up some paper towel, dipped it in water, dispensed some generic-flavor soap, and rubbed at the pungent funk under her arms. She pulled her shirt back on and stopped to look at the mirror once more. Where are you, Landry? What she wouldn’t give to have Landry waiting back in the van instead of Simson, but it was such a bone-headed thought. During the long drive from Chicago to DC, she’d had time to rake over the happenings of the past few days, and in no way was it satisfying. Fucking over her best friend wasn’t sitting as well as she’d hoped it might when the dust had settled, despite being sure she was still doing the right thing. Seeing Landry hurting for Delaney’s cause had knocked hard against her resolve to push forward with her plans. She knew she’d been close to dropping everything when Landry tried to talk her down. If it hadn’t been for Simson’s timely intervention, Delaney would’ve cut Landry loose and set aside her takeover plans for Pulsus.
But they owed Ilsa. She owed Ilsa. Their relationship had resulted directly in Ilsa’s death. Delaney was already living with a bucket-ton of foul actions from her missions, and she simply couldn’t let this one lie. And that was regardless of the small fact that Delaney was in love with her. Ilsa made Delaney want to be the version of herself Ilsa had fallen in love with. Though their relationship had started on false pretense, Delaney had quickly found she didn’t need to act. Ilsa tore down her walls and made her feel safer than she ever had before. The only part of her she didn’t share was her work, and she was doing all of this so her work would be more palatable for Ilsa, so she’d never again have to do the heinous things she’d done on past missions.
Delaney smeared a soapy paper ball across the mirror and distorted the image cast back at her. She didn’t want to see herself. Whoever she was anymore. Was love to blame for this whole mess? When did she soften and allow those emotions to burrow into her brain and take residence? Life had been much simpler in the military pre-Pulsus. Pre-Landry. Maybe she was kidding herself, thinking that she could stay like that forever. Unconnected. Humans were innately wired to seek out companionship. Who was she to believe she’d be any different, and that eventually, the natural yearning for a partner to share her life with would rise to the surface like oil on water.
She slammed her fist into the mirror, and it cracked, embedding splintered shards in between her knuckles. Someone knocked on the door.
“Are you okay in there? Your order’s ready.”
Delaney flexed her hand and picked out the broken glass, dropping the bloody decorated pieces into the soapy water. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She wrapped a paper towel around her fist and took one last look at her shattered reflection. I look exactly how I feel.
* * *
As she watched Delaney leave, Brooke also saw her opportunity pop up. Taking the two of them on looked more like a suicide mission than a viable option, and the various scenarios she kept running through her mind ended with her on the wrong end of a gun barrel. She didn’t like her chances of success with Simson in hand-to-hand combat, but catching her by surprise might work
with her Sig in hand.
Brooke got out of her car and slipped behind a concrete upright between her and Simson’s van. There was no sign of her in the front seat. Brooke figured she must be busy with Muniz in the back. His absence implied a lack of cooperation. Maybe he’d finally discovered they weren’t bona fide Pulsus operatives and that they were actually using him for their own ends.
Delaney had said all of this was about the Pulsus takeover, but Brooke felt certain there had to be more to her actions. When Donovan was strung up, there were several mentions of a woman called Ilsa, and that seemed more important to her than her talk of becoming a billionaire. If that was Delaney’s driver, maybe Brooke could get through to her if she could silence Simson first. Get to the van. Neutralize Simson. Talk Delaney down. Then it’d just be a case of waiting for Donovan’s return, regaling her with her exploits, and talking her into giving her a shot at Pulsus. It sounded simple if she said it really fast in her head. She pushed away the thought that Donovan might come back in time way before she’d done any of this, and Brooke wouldn’t even know that she’d stopped them from getting to Jenkin and Elena. That’d be a bummer. But Donovan would know. There’d be arrest records, and she could make sure Muniz got to Jenkin and Elena. He’d be able to tell them who helped him escape from their own operatives, and in turn, they’d tell Donovan when she got back to 2076. Brooke didn’t want to join Pulsus in her time, not right now. She wanted to know Donovan in the future. She wanted to learn how to be like her, and the current teenage version of Landry couldn’t teach her squat, other than maybe a few skateboard moves.
Brooke knocked her head gently against the solid post in an attempt to stop her wandering mind. Concentrate. None of that would ever come to be unless she worked this scene right and didn’t mess it up. She withdrew her gun from its holster, turned, and peered around the corner to the van. Still no one up front. She checked her watch. It’d been five minutes already since Delaney had left, so she needed to move fast. Brooke worked her way across the parking lot, crouching behind cars until she was alongside the van. One curious shopper began to wander over to her, but a quick flash of her gun and badge saw them scuttle away like a baby crab from a hungry seagull.
