So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) (18 page)

Unfortunately, it’s also the last place I want to go.

Wes stares at me for a long minute, so long I start to worry that he can tell what I’m thinking. But he just says, “Good,” and then turns to the door. As soon as his back is to me I slip the metal key into the pocket of my skirt. “We need to get you out before the guard wakes up.”

I follow him into the hall. “Won’t he be suspicious that he was knocked out in the first place?”

Wes raises his hand, signaling me to be quiet. He moves silently down the hallway, with the purposeful, quick movements I’ve come to associate with him.

The guard is sprawled on a chair, head lolled to the side. He looks like he’s sleeping. We slip out the front door. The sun is setting and the clouds are pink and purple above the tree line.

As soon as we’re in the middle of the clearing, Wes turns to face me. In his borrowed uniform and in my stained apron, we look like just another soldier and volunteer nurse talking in the late afternoon.

His face is set in hard lines. “I’ve explained the consequences of staying in the past. How else can I convince you that you need to go back to your own time, for all of our sakes?” He keeps his voice low and private.

“I’m not ready, Wes.” I whisper the words. “There are things I
have
to do here.”

“Lydia.” He looks down at me through half-closed eyes. “I’m worried about what I suspect you’re planning. I should stop you. I know it’s what the Project would want me to do.” There’s something dark in his expression that makes me want to step farther away from him. I don’t even ask him what he means, though I’m dying to know. “But I’ve never … I don’t … I want to …” His brows draw together. He looks confused, like he doesn’t know how to find the words he wants to say.

His expression is the same one from that first day in the bunker, and then again at the fundraiser when he saw me from across the room. Wes seems so confident, but I keep seeing these flashes of vulnerability in him. It makes me wonder what he’s hiding from me. It also makes me want to touch his arm and tell him that everything will be okay.

Before I can respond, Mary walks up to us. She has taken off her apron, but I notice blood on her sleeve. “Lydia. There you are.”

She comes to a stop when she sees that I’m talking to Wes. “Who’s this?” Mary scans Wes’s long, lean body.

“This is Wes—” It occurs to me that I don’t know his last name.

“Private Wesley Smith,” Wes cuts in smoothly. Any trace of vulnerability has disappeared now that Mary is here. His voice is steady and sure again.

Mary beams up at him. She looks like she’s about to melt all over the lawn.

“I’m Mary. I haven’t seen you around here before. How do you know Lydia?”

He looks at me. I see his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “We met in the hospital on Wednesday.”

I nod and glance down at my feet, suddenly embarrassed but not sure why.

Mary gives me a knowing look. “Well, I’m sorry to steal Lydia away, but we have to be going. Daddy is ready to drive us home, and we have to get back for dinner.” She puts her finger on her chin, like she’s just had a brilliant idea. I’m afraid to hear what it is. “Why don’t you come to our house for dinner, Private Smith? Ma always makes extra food and I’m sure Lydia would love to have you join us. Wouldn’t you, Lyd?”

I grit my teeth. “I’m sure Wes has other things to do.”

He half smiles. “I’m sorry, but I have to decline. I always eat in the mess with the other privates.”

“Phooey.” Mary sticks out her bottom lip, then brushes her hand through her curls. I notice the gesture and automatically look at Wes. He raises one eyebrow and I bite back a smile.

“Well, let’s go Lydia. Daddy’s waiting.” Mary takes my arm and we start to walk away. We cross the clearing and head toward where Dr. Bentley parked his car.

Wes’s gaze never leaves my back. I can feel it on my skin, as intimate as a touch.

O
n
the drive back to the Bentleys’ house, I can’t stop thinking about Camp Hero. If I’m going to find out more about Dean’s involvement with the Montauk Project, I have to sneak back into the Facility. And I need to do it tonight.

Dean disappears in three days. I’m running out of time to find answers. I pat the pocket of my skirt, feeling the outline of the strange metal key. It must open one of the bunkers, and I wonder if it’s the same one Wes and I snuck out of. If only I had found a way to test it this afternoon. But first I was with Wes, then I was with Mary, and there was never any time to sneak away.

It’s probably for the best. I don’t want to draw any more suspicion to myself, and I need the cover of night. Now I just have to figure out how to get back there.

As we pull into the Bentleys’ driveway, the first thing I notice is that Lucas’s truck is here. A truck he’s driving back to Camp Hero later tonight. And it has a large, canvas-covered truck bed. Perfect for someone to hide in undetected.

“I didn’t know Lucas was coming to dinner,” I say to Mary and Dr. Bentley as we get out of the car.

“He’s always welcome.” Dr. Bentley pulls his medical bag out of the backseat. “And he usually takes us up on it. Hates the mess food.”

Mary grins at me, and I know she’s thrilled Lucas is here. I grin back, thrilled for a different reason.

That night at dinner I pick at my food, half listening to the conversation around me. We’re eating something called liver loaf, mashed potatoes, and tomato salad with chunks of cheese on top. Mrs. Bentley cuts a thick slice of the loaf and puts it on my plate.

I glance at the black curtains pulled tight over the windows. Out in the fading twilight, Lucas’s army truck sits in the dirt driveway. I think about what’s ahead of me tonight: sneaking into Lucas’s truck, around Camp Hero, into the underground labs. Trying not to get killed.

Wes was so appalled when he thought I was going to talk to Dean, and this is—potentially—an even bigger step. But now that I know Dean really is somehow connected to the Montauk Project, I need to find out how. Both for my own desire to know the truth, and because knowing that truth is the only way I can hope to save Dean.

I promised Wes I wouldn’t talk to Dean, and I won’t … at least not yet. Three days. It’s not a lot of time, but it could be enough to stop a man from disappearing.

I push at the liver with my fork, staring down at the plate.

“Lydia, are you all right?” I look up to see Mrs. Bentley standing over me. She has a glass in her hand, and she’s obviously trying to clear the table. “You’ve been so quiet all night.”

I hand her my plate. “I guess I’m feeling a little tired. I’m all right. Thank you, Mrs. Bentley.”

Dr. Bentley leans forward. “I meant to tell you, Lydia, I’ve been asking around town about your aunt.”

I sit up straight. “Really?”

“No one has heard a thing about her. Are you sure you have the name right? Julia Roberts?”

I press my lips together and nod.

“I asked my church group, too,” Mrs. Bentley says. “No one has heard of a Julia Roberts.”

“That’s strange.” My voice comes out sounding a little strangled. “I know I had the address and name right.”

Mrs. Bentley waves her hand at me. “Don’t worry about it, dear. You can stay with us for as long as you need to. You’ve been such a help, volunteering with Mary and going to tea this morning at Elizabeth’s.”

I suppress a wave of guilt. I only did those things to get more information about Dean. “Thank you, I really appreciate it,” I answer quietly.

“You’re not getting sick, are you?” Mary looks concerned. “The dance is tomorrow. Can you imagine if you missed it?”

“Mary,” Dr. Bentley scolds, “there are more important things than dances.”

“Well, I know that! I was just saying.”

Lucas smiles, though he looks worried as he watches me. “
Are
you getting sick?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” I’m not, but it’s a good excuse to leave the table before I have to sneak out into Lucas’s truck without them knowing. I lean forward and press my hand against my forehead. I can hear them all murmuring as I close my eyes.

“Maybe you should go lie down,” Dr. Bentley suggests.

“Yes, that would probably be a good idea.” I get up from the table slowly.

Lucas stands up from the table as I do. “Let me walk you upstairs.”

“Um …” My eyes dart from him to Mary.

“Let him,” Mrs. Bentley says. “You shouldn’t go up the stairs alone if you feel faint.”

“Okay.” I awkwardly wait as Lucas comes around the table. He grasps my arm gently and leads me out of the dining room.

The trip upstairs seems to take a thousand years. I’m pressed up tight against Lucas’s side and his arm is around my waist. Finally we get to Dean’s old room, where I’m currently sleeping. Lucas seems reluctant to let me go. I pull away and hold the door with one hand as I turn to look at him.

“Okay, well, thanks for walking me up.” I smile, hoping to dismiss him quickly.

He leans down, looking like he has every intention of sticking around. “Are you sure you’re okay, Lydia?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep. Why don’t you go back downstairs?”

His eyes go soft. “I hate the thought of leaving you like this.”

“Lucas, I’m just feeling a little tired. I’m not dying.”

He smiles, then straightens a little. “Lydia, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Lucas!” Mary’s voice calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Ma cut you a piece of cake!”

He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. He hesitates.

“Lucas!” Mary yells again.

He shrugs. “Well, good night, Lydia.”

“Good night.” I watch Lucas walk down the stairs, a little confused by his attentiveness.
Could he like me?
The thought starts to twist and turn in my head again.

Lucas is cute and sweet, and I enjoy being around him. He’s also a soldier in World War II, and I’m pretty sure my great-great-aunt has a crush on him. Maybe if I met him in my own time, then things would be different. But they’re not.

I think of Wes and those flashes of vulnerability I keep seeing in him. He’s an even less realistic option than Lucas. So why can’t I stop thinking about how his hands felt on my bare arms? How black and impenetrable his eyes are when he looks at me?

I shake my head and step into Dean’s room, shutting the door firmly behind me. I don’t have time for boys; I need to prepare for tonight.

I rummage through Dean’s closet, looking for something to wear that won’t draw attention to myself. There are no army uniforms. I pull on a thick blue work shirt that’s so big I have to roll up the sleeves three times before I find my hands. There’s no way his pants will fit me, so I yank on my own jeans, washed and folded on a chair near the bed. I tuck in the shirt, then pull on the saddle shoes Mary loaned me—the only pair of shoes I have that fit. I twist my hair up into a high ponytail.

Then I sit and wait.

I cross my legs and jiggle my foot impatiently and think about my plan once I’m in Camp Hero. I have no idea where they might be keeping information about Dean, but if it’s there, I’ll find it. This is 1944, and there are no security cameras or thermal alarm systems yet, so I have some hope of being able to sneak inside the bunker. And I have Dean’s key. I try not to think about those endless white corridors, and the fear that a guard is hiding behind every corner. If I think too much about it then I won’t go. And I
have
to go if I’m going to solve this mystery.

Restless, I get up and wander around the room. I pick up a trophy and put it back down. I run my fingers along the belly of a model airplane. Then I notice Mary’s sketchbook is sitting on the bureau. She must have left it here after she showed it to me last night.

I was amazed by her charcoal portraits, her ability to capture not just the likeness but the essence of her subjects. It’s the perfect thing to distract me while I wait. I pick it up and carry it to the bed, where I start to leaf through the pages.

The first sketch is of Dean, the lines of his face serious, a touch of laughter in the shape of his mouth. There’s one of Mrs. Bentley and Dr. Bentley sitting in the parlor, listening to the radio, theirs heads close together. A self-portrait of Mary. I am again startled by how similar we look. I have slightly darker hair, and larger, wider eyes, but we have the same pointed chin, the same full shape to our lips. We could definitely be sisters.