I gulped huge rations of icy air when it hit me in the face. It was like plunging into the Arctic Ocean. I hurried to climb into the driver’s side, fumbling in Reyes’s coat pocket for the key.
Before I could slide it into the ignition, a knock sounded on the window.
Reyes stood outside. In the towel. With soaking wet hair.
Sure he was barefoot as well, I jumped out. “What are you doing?” I asked, pushing him toward his door. Not that he moved. Not even an inch. And, yes, he was barefoot. Darwinism at its finest.
“You’re not what you think you are,” he said as I shooed him back. That didn’t work either.
“I know,” I said, throwing my weight into it. I put a shoulder against his midsection and heaved-ho. Nothing. “I’ve known for a long time. Duh.”
He finally took a voluntary step back. I was making progress.
“You know?” he asked.
“Yes. I know what I am.”
“You – you do?”
“I’m a time traveler.”
All progress came to a screeching halt.
I leaned against him, panting. “I think I’m from the future.”
“Okay.”
“My question is, where are you from?” I faced him again and poked him. In the chest. With my finger. “What are you?”
He lowered his head, examined said finger, then said, “I’m part of an interdimensional time investigations unit.”
“Shut the fuck up. Are you for real?”
“No,” he said with a snort.
I deflated. “Oh, that’s messed up.” I pushed again. This time he obeyed. The sun was just cresting the horizon, and his eyes sparkled like fire in the glowing light.
“Get inside. I have errands to run, and you have to go cook shit.”
“I thought you were taking Mable’s car back.”
“I am. Then I’m going to ask if I can borrow it again.”
He nodded. The frozen ground, the frigid air, none of it fazed him.
Just before I climbed into the car, I said, “Save me some posole for breakfast. I’ll be in later.”
He chuckled. “How ’bout I make you breakfast.”
“Okay, but it better be as good as that posole.”
“You have my word.”
On the way home, I made another stop at the convenience store and bought a cheap, pay-as-you-go phone for emergency use, then stopped by Mable’s, told her I’d stolen her car last night, gave her the last of my tip money to cover the expense even though I’d filled it up, and drank another cup of coffee with her.
She didn’t say anything about Mr. Kubrick. I took that as a sign that he hadn’t gotten any shots of last night’s events. Too bad. He could have sold them to a tabloid. Made a little extra cash. But it did help me out a lot that he hadn’t. No idea how I would’ve explained that one.
“I hate to say this, but I may need the car again today. I’m… investigating.”
“Oh. Sounds intriguing. Anything I can help with?”
I perked up. She might know where the cabin was. Then again, she could talk to the wrong person and… I couldn’t risk it.
“No, but thanks.”
“Well, you know you can take it anytime you want to. I’ll have to call the police and tell them to cancel that APB they put out on you last night.”
My eyes rounded. “Really?”
“No.” She cackled with delight. “Gotcha.”
Apparently it was National Punk the Amnesiac Day. I walked back to my apartment to plug the phone in to charge for a bit – the battery was low when I activated it – and decided I’d try to catch Mr. P at the café when I went in for breakfast. He’d been a detective. Not here in the Hollow, but he’d lived here long enough to know people. Maybe he’d know about the cabin. Or at least the area. I hadn’t been showing the picture around that I’d lifted from Mr. Vandenberg’s shop because when I took it, I was breaking and entering. Breaking being the key word. A lot of breaking.
But if I had to fess up, I had to fess up. I hadn’t heard back from the FBI agent. She’d sounded competent enough on the phone, but she could’ve been dealing with political red tape.
I had no red tape. I didn’t even have any clear tape or duct tape or electrical tape.
Nope. I lived a tape-free life and liked it. Unless, you know, I needed to tape something.
I lay across Denzel and fantasized about plunging my fingers into a head of thick black hair. Of running them over the top of a damp white towel wrapped around a backdrop of dark, sinuous muscles. Of pressing my lips against a full mouth that defined the word sexy. I’d barely gotten my legs around Reyes’s waist when a knock sounded at the door.
The fantasy incarnate stood on the other side when I opened it.
Guilt consumed me. “You can’t read minds, can you?” I asked, suddenly aghast at the thought. He was otherworldly. Who knew what he could do?
He flashed a set of blindingly white teeth. “Not that I know of.”
“Swear?”
After settling his tall frame against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Pinky swear.”
Good enough for me.
He wore a beige sweater with the sleeves pushed up and dark, loose-fitting jeans. He looked like a model for some expensive cologne.
“I thought we could go to breakfast instead.”
Elation bounced through me like a rubber ball. “Wait, won’t you be late for work?”
“I don’t think Dixie will care.”
“Do you know Dixie?” She was all kinds of wonderful, but forgiving of tardiness was not her strong suit.
“I’ve gotten to know her pretty well. I think I can risk it.”
“Okay,” I said, adding an it’s-your-funeral tone to my voice. “Just let me get your jacket.”
He stepped inside to close the door against the cold wind rushing in and seemed to take special note of the surroundings. Until that moment, I’d never noticed how dreary my apartment was. Or how much the floors creaked. Or how the wind whistled through the ill-fitting windows.
Then again, he lived in a motel. A dive motel at that. How much greater could he have it? Not a lot. And that made me feel better.
“Where were you thinking?” I asked when I walked out of my bedroom with his jacket.
He was checking out the kitchen. My massive supply of coffee cups, all five of them, and my two plastic cups sat on a dish towel. I’d had to put a piece of cardboard over a broken pane over the sink. Something else I’d have to explain to my landlord. My coffeepot was one of those tiny hotel types that did single serve, but that was cool. At least I had one. And a cupboard that was missing a door showed the extent of my food stores, which mainly consisted of saltines, peanut butter, half a box of cereal, and a tube of eyeliner that I’d been looking everywhere for.
His demeanor had changed. He seemed… upset. Angry even.
“Reyes?” I followed his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
He pushed the sleeve of his sweater down to cover his Rolex, the one I was pretty sure was genuine. Did he feel sorry for me? Need I remind him that he lived in a motel? A dive motel? And that the Rolex he was now wearing could probably pay for a fairly decent house? Or at least put a nice down payment on one?
I took a deep breath and chastised myself for judging him. I didn’t know his financial situation or his family situation. He could’ve still been married. Had a kid even. Or several. Who knew? Maybe his dad gave him that watch or his grandfather on his deathbed. Who was I to question him? To speculate?
“You’re amazing,” he said, and that certainly wasn’t the direction I’d expected.
I snorted. “Because I live in squalor? I have it a thousand times better than James over there.” I pointed in the homeless man’s general direction.
I pulled the sturdier of my two chairs to the center of the room, a challenging grin sliding across my face. “Ready for round two and a half?” Since our first round didn’t quite go as pl
anned, it still deserved half a mark for effort. Luckily our second was pretty fucking spectacular.
The hungry look that overcame him told me that he most definitely was. He let his gaze wander the length of me before sitting down.
Reaching down into his pocket, I said, “I don’t have a timer.” I took out his phone and set his timer for fifteen minutes.
“I can’t wait to get my hands on that ass,” he said.
I straddled him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’ll finish you first.”
One corner of his sensuous mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. “Not this time, sweetheart.”
Oh, it was on.
19
I don’t like making plans for the day.
Because then the word “premeditated” gets thrown around the courtroom.
—INTERNET MEME
After the most incredible breakfast I’d had in ages, I untangled Reyes’s limbs from mine, crawled off the bed, and sought out his phone. It was still in the kitchen, the timer still going off. I hit the STOP button right when a text dinged. The message flashed across the screen, so it wasn’t like I was snooping. It was from Garrett Swopes. The same Garrett Swopes that came into the café?
It read simply, You need to check this guy out. He’s the only unknown in the area.
Intrigued, and now truly snooping, I tapped the message. It brought up a picture of a half-fallen storage shed with cardboard boxes inside. It was James’s place right across the street.
I looked toward the bedroom. Toward Reyes. Why would they be checking out a homeless guy?
An hour later, after we’d made a picnic of crackers and peanut butter on top of Denzel – aka, the second most incredible breakfast I’d had in ages – we headed to the café.
“Is Erin working today?” Reyes asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said, curious about the inquiry.
We walked in, and Reyes had been right. Dixie wasn’t the least bit concerned at how late he was.
I glared at him. “Are you trading sexual favors with our boss for special consideration and advancement opportunities you are under qualified for?”
A lopsided grin spread over his face. “No.”
“Oh. I was going to say that if that’s what it takes, I’d do ’er.”
“What about Cookie?”
“I’d do her, too, but I don’t think it would get me very far with Dixie. Unless, you know, she was into that sort of thing.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I meant, is she working today?”
“Oh, right. Looks like it.” She walked out of the bathroom, a mortified expression on her face, her blouse splotched with dark espresso. “Short controlled bursts,” I reminded her.
She gave me a murderous glare worthy of Lizzie Borden.
“That color looks great on you,” I said, trying to help.
That time, she flipped me off. I decided to stop while I was ahead.
Reyes wrapped his arms loosely around me and pulled me closer. “You need to come back for lunch if you can.”
“I bet I can,” I said, intrigued.
“I think you’ll like what I have in store for you.”
“Okay, but it can’t be better than posole for breakfast.”
“You might be surprised.”
“I can hardly wait. And looks like she is.”
He turned to see what I was talking about as Erin walked in, looking both haggard and… at ease. Reyes gave me a sweet kiss, just enough to get my juices flowing, then went to the kitchen to start his day. Erin walked over to me. Francie was already there, and she watched us with a certain kind of bloodlust in her eyes.
When, without saying a word, Erin hugged me, I thought Francie’s jaw would fall off it dropped so hard.
Erin set me at arm’s length but again said nothing, and I realized she couldn’t. She was too choked up. Too grateful.
“You’re welcome,” I said, giving her hands a squeeze. “I’m so happy for you, Erin.”
“I am, too,” she said with a hiccup of emotion. “I can never repay you.”
“What? Erin, no. Please, please, please, don’t ever feel like you owe me.”
“Okay.” She sniffed. “I’ll try, but just so you know, Billy has vowed to build you a gnarly hog when he gets the money to.”
I burst out laughing.
“He loves motorcycles.”
“Well, tell him thanks, but he needs to save that for Hannah’s college fund. I have a feeling she’s going to be incredibly artistic.”
Just as I was about to lose all hope of seeing Mr. P today, in he walked with the stripper in tow. Or, with Helen in tow. I’d gotten to know her a little more over the last few days. She had a great sense of humor and offered me some tips from her hooking days. I’d used one on Reyes last night, and he almost came unglued. I totally owed her.
“Hey, Mr. P,” I said as he sat in a booth. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”
“Well, hello there to you, too, and of course. Sounds serious.”
Francie took his order as I settled in across from him.
“Do you know the Vandenbergs?”
He nodded. “Not well, but I do know William from the club.”
“The country club?”
He snorted. “No, the strip club. The one in Tarrytown.”
Helen suddenly made a lot more sense.
“Mr. V goes to strip clubs?” I asked, trying not to look too surprised.
“Only with his wife. It’s her idea, I think.”
When I had an even harder time getting past that, he added, “Don’t worry. They’re not swingers or anything. Just like to appreciate what God put on the earth every once in a while. And I promise you me, that woman did not leave him.”
Finally, someone immune to the gossipmongers. “I don’t think she did either. Do you know if they have a cabin?”
“Oh, gosh, I just don’t know, hon.”
My hopes fled the scene like a parolee at a busted meth lab. I took out the picture I’d grabbed out of Mr. V’s store.
“Does this area look familiar?”
“Looks like it might be up at Blue Mountain Lake, but I can’t be sure.”
“It’s Lake Oscawana,” Helen said, taking a look herself. “That’s Doc Emmett’s place. I been there plenty. Lots of floor space.”
“Sorry I can’t be of more help,” Mr. P said, and I got the bizarre feeling that he wasn’t. “Why are you asking?”
Excitement swelled inside me nonetheless. Helen knew. “Oh, I just love the area,” I said, lying through my teeth. “And I thought if this was their cabin, I might ask to rent it for a weekend.”
“Good idea, Janey. Get out of the city. Get some fresh air.”
“Exactly. Well, thanks anyway.”
I got up and motioned for Helen to join me in the little niñas’ room. She did, and five minutes later, working from her verbal directions, I had a crude map of the area. I also knew that while Helen was her first name, her stage name was Helen Bedd, and that Mr. V’s friend Doc Emmett liked fine whiskies, lap dances, and hunting. He’d gone hunting, in fact, last week, and nobody had seen him since.
Using Helen’s map, I took the Taconic State Parkway for about forty-five minutes to Lake Oscawana, where Doc Emmett’s cabin sat nestled on the waterfront. I drove around the lake to the northeast shore, taking this turn and that, until I finally found Chippewa Road. The cabin I sought was somewhere on that road, but it was broad daylight. Well, cloudy-with-a-chance-of-rain daylight. I couldn’t just drive up there and ask if the Vandenbergs were home. I’d been hoping an idea would magically pop into my head as I drove. Sadly, nothing popped, magical or otherwise. I’d just have to do some recon and see what I could see. Hopefully, without getting anyone killed.
I parked the Fiesta and hiked up the road, passing by a house now and again, but nothing that looked like the cabin in the picture. I was beginning to worry Helen had been wrong when I spotted a canoe I’d seen in one of
Mr. V’s photos. The cabin looked different. It could have been the starkness of the forest as compared to the lush greens of the summer camping pictures they’d taken.
Either way, this had to be the place. By the time I found the cabin, I was too close. They would look out a window and spot me, if they hadn’t already. I didn’t see any vehicles, but they could have had them all parked out back. I walked until I could no longer see any part of the cabin, then doubled back, taking a trail that led farther inland. If I circled around, I might spot cars or other outbuildings where they could have stashed cars.
I fought the cold with my evolved powers of shivering. As I got closer, every twig that snapped under my feet, every branch that broke as I picked my way through the brush, seemed to echo across the land to announce my arrival. I was scratching the heck out of Reyes’s jacket. Maybe he’d like it even better. It now had a cool “worn” look. People paid out the ass for that crap.
Hidden by a hill behind the cabin sat two vehicles. The pickup they’d used the other day to bring in the equipment and an older-model PT Cruiser. That had to be Mr. V’s. It just looked like him.
Without having thought to hunt down a pair of binoculars, I had no way of getting a closer look. So I squinted really hard and saw no movement. Their vehicles were not proof that the Vandenbergs were out here. I needed something good to give Agent Carson. I took a couple of pictures on the phone, then used the camera to zoom in. The picture was so blurry, I still couldn’t make out anything.
I did, however, notice a man sitting in the brush south of the house. He looked like a hunter. Great. Now I had to worry about being mistaken for a deer. If only Angel were here.
“What are we looking at?”
I squeaked and jumped thirty-seven feet in the air. Angel had appeared beside me and was now laughing at my reaction. I held one hand on my chest, the other over my mouth so as not to squeak again.
“You are so jumpy, chica. People like you make life worth living.”
“This coming from a dead kid,” I said in a loud whisper.
“True. We looking for dead people again?”
“I’m hoping, if the Vandenbergs are in there, they are very much alive. Can you check?”