WANTED (A Transported Through Time book) (18 page)

The palpable, physical side effects told her what she felt wasn’t natural. She hurt. Everywhere. In places she didn’t know could hurt, and in ways she’d never experienced.

She couldn’t seem to stop the tears. She had to get back to him. She could be wrong. Anyone could have been coming, not Jesse’s murderer.

She’d left him there, alone, and hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell him how she felt. What would she have said if she could have? What?

Samantha didn’t know.

She knew only one thing. She had to get back inside Carla’s auction house and get her hands on whatever sent her back to Jesse, and save him. Where was the building?

As she moved to lift herself from the curb’s edge, dirt ground into her palms and under her nails. Another set of blinding headlights whooshed past her, the warm rush of air from the car sending a wave of nausea through her system.

She rose, her legs wobbly. Carla’s storefront windows gleamed blacker than the night sky. She looked higher for a sign that the woman waited somewhere above, inside— where they’d last seen each other.

She didn’t care about answers any longer. She cared only about returning. Her legs ached but moved, and before long, Samantha stood at the door, banging, knocking, and preparing to yell “Carla” louder than Marlon Brando had ever yelled “Stella.”

With every beat of her heart, another second of precious life might be slipping away a hundred and more years from her. She had to return to him.
Jesse
.

She had to save him. Who else would?

Another loud
bang
on the door, and a light lit inside the barred interior. Samantha sighed. She thanked God. The inner door pulled open with a squeak, and then the glass outer door. She stepped inside, amazed at how awake Carla looked, considering the time must be well past midnight.

“Send me back,” she said, unable to do anything but get straight to the point. “I need to go back now. They’ll kill him.” She went to the stairs, not caring that Carla hadn’t replied, and only partly aware of her surroundings.

The lock clicked behind her; the chain dragged along its sleeve hold. Samantha stepped up another stair, glancing down at Carla. Was she going the right way? Why wasn’t Carla coming, following as she should? Why was she looking that way, shaking her head, reaching out a finger as though to say ....

“There you are!”

Samantha stopped. She looked up the stairs.

“Charles? What are you doing here?”

“You forgot to pick me up at the airport.” He slowly plodded down the stairs.

Samantha nearly looked back, but quick thinking stopped her. She had to act normal. If she sent up alarms, she’d never get back to Jesse because Charles would stop her.

Whatever had happened to her in the last two days, Charles couldn’t be aware of the truth. Carla knew, she had to—having witnessed it. But Charles would never believe a word of it. He’d laugh his ass off.

She ascended the next step and stood on it until he joined her. She forgot to pick him up. That’s what he’d said. Racing to keep up the deception, Samantha clapped her hand to her chest.

“I did,” she said. “Oh, Charles. I’m so sorry.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that.”

He stood one step and quite a few inches above her. Carla had fallen too quiet behind her. Samantha wondered what had gone on in her absence. She decided she didn’t want to know.

Deal with Charles. Get Carla alone long enough to get the drink that would send her back. Nothing more had to be done.

“Why didn’t you call my cell phone?” She wasn’t sure yet where she was going with this. Anything to buy a little time, to get him to leave.

“I did.” He crossed his arms in that nice-try kind of way, normally reserved for mothers catching their teenage daughters sneaking back into the house. Or so she imagined when she was one. “Five times.”

“Five times?”

“Five.” He enunciated each letter and held up his hand. Clearly, he wasn’t buying any story about her not getting the message.

“That’s weird.” Not able to do much else, she patted her pockets, as if her phone rested in one of them. “Oh, wait. I don’t have it.” She turned to Carla, who’d reached a lower step and waited, fingers twiddling the pendant on her necklace and looking like Samantha was on her own. “I must have left it.”

“Where?” Charles asked.

Had he been home? Had he tried to call it? “I must have been out of the service area, too.”

Charles’ eyebrows arched. “Where?”

Good question. Her mind scrambled. “The ocean.” Crap. Too late. She couldn’t back down.

“You were out on the ocean?”

“Mmm. Hmmm.” Samantha nodded, keeping her gaze on his, but not for too long. Some random class on body language and lying flashed into her mind, and she changed the steady gaze to a gushy, can-you-believe-I was-out-on-the-ocean eye-roll.

Charles’ eyes narrowed. His lips twisted and pursed like he was turning her words over in his mind. Judging their quality like he would judge a wine. Testing their acidity.

“You bitch.”

Samantha gasped, but Carla’s was louder.

“I want to hear every last detail. Now.” Charles smacked her arm and, if he’d had long hair, she swore he would have switched it, along with his hips. “Starting with where the hell you’ve been all day and night.”

Oh,
phew
. He thought she’d met someone. If he only knew. Samantha sighed like a lovesick fool, feeling more like a teenager than she cared to admit and followed Charles back up Carla’s stairs. At the top, she threw Carla a silent scream for help.

Carla nodded and shrugged.

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, glad Charles had his back to them. She sent Carla a meaningful look and got another nod.

“Here, let me show you.”

Charles sat at the table. “Hurry up. I can’t begin to tell you how worried I’ve been. I almost reported you missing to the police.
They even sent an officer out.
”

“Missing? Jeez. I’ll be right back.” Her body ached less, but she still moved stiffly. “Is he drunk?” she asked once they were in the next room.

“He should be. I fed him enough of my vodka to have him stumbling.”

“He’s got a rather high tolerance,” Samantha said. Charles didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting back. “I need more of whatever you gave me.”

“I can’t.” Carla shook her head. “I really can’t. It’s too risky.”

“You have to.”

Carla pointed to the bathroom. Samantha shook her head.

“Oh sheesh, I’m sorry,” Carla said, flapping her hands. “I forgot you just wanted
to talk to me.
”

“Ms. Sanger, I’ll take a refill, if you please,” Charles called.

Samantha took the woman by the shoulders. “Carla, I need to get back to Jesse. Now. I realize the risks. He’s in trouble. Okay?”

“Look,” Carla said, pushing Samantha’s hold away. “Charles has been here for hours, and I’ve been keeping him occupied with a story about a made-up guy and a blind date, but he won’t be willing to sit around if you leave again.”

Samantha winced inwardly, noticing the lavender crescents under the woman’s eyes. She didn’t feel sorry enough for Carla to back down, though. “Jesse could die. Please just do something with Charles. Drug him. Let him pass out. Whatever. Jesse’s life hangs in the balance, and I don’t know how much time will pass where he is while you and I stand here and argue about it.”

Carla pursed her lips. “It’s not just Charles. Your dad made me swear not to let you jump more than two times in a single day. He said it’s too dangerous, and too hard on your heart.”

Samantha gasped. She was right. Her dad had orchestrated this bizarre affair with a dead man. “
This
is too hard on my heart. This powerless worry about someone technically dead and about to be shot!”

“Your father entrusted your safety to me. Wait a day, two days, and I promise I’ll give you the whiskey again.” Her expression became resolute. “But not until then.”

Whiskey? Of course it was the whiskey. At this rate, she’d fail Jesse for sure. She had to make a plan. “Why in hell did he do this to me?”

Carla gave her a weak shrug. “Because he loved you.”

“Love?” Not answer enough. If her father loved her, she could count a hundred other, better ways for him to show her his love. “If he loved me, he would have been there for me. He would have explained why he wanted me traipsing through time, why each jump brings me directly to Jesse.”

“I don’t know why,” she hissed, her eyes darting the direction of the other room, where Charles was probably growing restless. “All I know is he wanted to give you the world. Yes, he had shortcomings. But he tried to make up for them in the end.”

“No. He did it because he was obsessed.” Samantha’s words practically dripped bitterness. Even in death he kept love from her. By keeping her away from the very man he made sure she would fall for.

Fall for? God, when did that happen? No, it hadn’t happened. She had confused sex with love, science with magic. How could she love a man she hardly knew and had spent only a matter of days with, less than that?

Worse, how could she fall for a man who didn’t even really exist, not in this world, in this time? It seemed cruel and unfair and impossible. Not what she would call a gift of love from her dear dad.

“Yes, he was obsessed,” Carla said after a moment. “But once he met Kincaid, he changed, at any rate, his obsession changed. He went from treasure-hunter to matchmaker. He said he’d been all wrong. I can’t tell you why, but he was convinced Jesse and you were meant for each other, that the real reason he always was so drawn to the man was because of you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” This wasn’t Carla’s fault, but Samantha couldn’t remove the anger from her words. It rushed up inside her, and Carla was the only person to take it out on. “My father wasted his life on a criminal. Now he’s toyed with my life. All I wanted, and all I ever asked for, were some scraps of attention. Some time. No, he gives me this.” She shoved out her hand in her fervor, almost jabbing it into Carla’s belly.

Carla stepped back. “Your friend needs a drink.”

Samantha wanted to stop her, to turn her around and demand she hand over that whiskey. As her anger dissipated, only fear remained. She was scared. Scared of her feelings for Jesse and even more terrified of what might be happening to him in what felt like this very moment.

Shutting herself inside the bathroom, Samantha sat on the toilet lid and dropped her face into her hands. Think. She had to think. On at least one point, Carla was right. Charles would flip out and cause all sorts of problems. There had to be some way to make sure Charles passed out and to convince Carla she could weather another leap through time.

Would she land back at the scene she left like the last time?

An image of Jesse’s face formed in her mind. He was capable, and knew someone planned to kill him. He was ready, armed, and aside from the shock of having the woman in his lap disappear, surely he could handle whatever he’d seen coming. Whomever he’d seen.

It was his cohorts. She just knew it. He was a clever guy, though. He’d be okay. This might be the wrong date. He’d be okay.

She took deep, long breaths and told herself more of the same. He was armed. He knew someone wanted him dead. She’d told him some of what she believed to have happened. He was smart. He’d recover from her vanishing and remain alert for approaching danger. Maybe it had been only Ginny, impatient at her husband’s taking so long. Samantha didn’t know the woman well, but she had the feeling Ginny was the kind of woman who would do something like that. She’d been a take-charge kind of wife in the small span of time Samantha had observed her.

Suddenly, Samantha stood up. Carla’s newspaper clippings. Maybe the headlines and articles could tell her what happened. Samantha flushed the toilet, splashed water on her face, and returned to the kitchen.

Charles sat up from his slumped-head-propped position. When he spoke, his eyes wandered. “Finally,” he said and gestured to the seat. “Now I want to hear every last detail, starting with another sincere and contrite apology for abandoning me at that Godforsaken airport yesterday.”

~~~

Chapter Eighteen

One minute she sat in his lap, and the next she was gone. Jesse looked at the ground and the sky, but she had vanished. Disappeared. Evaporated into the ether. In that split second of distraction, his attacker took advantage.

The rifle barrel glinted in a shaft of moonlight. Jesse froze. He might be a quick draw, but with his attacker still obscured in shadow, he delayed palming his weapon.

She’d said they would kill him, shoot him in the back, but they would want his money, and they’d never get the location off a dead man. He only hoped their minds ran in greed’s general direction.

Tommy must’ve led them to him. Unwittingly, no doubt, but he was responsible, nonetheless. Jesse’s anger flared. At least Samantha was gone. Part of him had trouble believing she’d even been here. Now, nowhere in his mind or heart did he think her a part of this. Not anymore.