by Julie Cross
I heard the sound of a helicopter coming closer. I closed my eyes to keep the dirt from flying into them as the wind churned everything into the air. I forced myself to think only of the little girl whose eyes were bright with tears as she left me on the beach. Whatever she was heading back to wasn’t pleasant and somehow I needed to help her. Though I had no idea when we would meet again. Sometime in the future. That’s the only clue I had.
Dad lifted Holly up and waited for me to climb in before helping her inside. Adam helped him buckle Holly into the seat next to me. Her eyes opened again and she sat up … alert from the loud noise of the helicopter. I leaned back against the seat, trying to keep my mind off the pain. Holly’s hand slipped into mine, her head resting against my good arm.
As soon as we were in the air, I looked down at the hotel. One entire side had collapsed while I had been time jumping and climbing the roof. Emergency vehicles were everywhere.
A man in a paramedic uniform had an IV in my wrist quicker than I thought possible, considering the sharp turns the helicopter took. Whatever he put into my arm dissolved the pain and a hazy fog took over my brain. But just before I nodded off, Thomas’s words played in my mind again: “She’s disposable. She’ll always be disposable.”
Holly would never be safe. Not as long as she knew me. And the pain came roaring back, but it was a different kind of pain. The worst kind.
* * *
“You were pretty lucky. This is one of the cleanest gunshot wounds I’ve seen,” the resident stitching me up said for, like, the tenth time.
“Yep.”
“Will he need a sling?” Dad asked.
“Yeah, probably for a few days,” the man said. “But we’ll have you out of here in less than an hour.”
“What time is it?” I asked Dad.
We had been here all night, except I was knocked out and Holly and Adam had been returned safely home.
He shifted in the chair he sat in beside me and looked at his watch. “Eight o’clock. I promised Holly you would call her as soon as you woke up.”
I nodded slowly, feeling the worry and fear sink back in. I waited for the doctor to finish stitching and putting on a bandage before answering Dad. “I don’t … know if I should.”
Dad stood and peeked around the curtain, watching the doctor shuffle down the hall away from us. He sat on the end of the bed and spoke in a low voice. “Did he threaten to hurt her? Thomas?”
“Not exactly, but I know he’ll do whatever he needs to in order to get to me.” I hadn’t told Dad about my DNA theory and I didn’t plan to tell anyone. Not just because Emily said not to. The CIA would try to stop this experiment from happening and I had already sacrificed so much just to let it happen. I allowed Thomas to escape. Probably for all the wrong reasons. But I wasn’t like Chief Marshall. I couldn’t always look at the bigger picture, not when I had seen the little pieces.
“We can double the protection we have now—”
Dad stopped talking when I shook my head. “It won’t be enough. You’ve seen how they just appear and vanish. We can’t fight that off. Not forever.”
“But if you distance yourself from Holly, they’ll have no interest in killing or harming her. Remember what I told you about their philosophy of only killing for power. They won’t understand the sacrifice you’ll be making to stay away. They’ll just assume she’s no longer good leverage.”
I could hear the desperation in his voice. This was the choice he wanted me to make. It’s the choice he would have made with Eileen. Let her live and be safe but not be in his life. That’s real love. But what if I wasn’t as strong as Dad?
“It’s hard, isn’t it … being alone?” he asked.
I stared down at my hands and nodded. “Yes.”
“But if it keeps her alive…” Dad prompted.
“I know.”
What was I supposed to tell her? I had an incurable disease? No, she’d hold my hand and be prepared to wait with me while I died. Should I tell her I never really loved her? Just the thought of watching her face as she absorbed those words was worse than getting shot again.
But what choice did I have?
Just a little while later, the doctors released me, and Dad and I took a cab home. When we pulled up to our building, I got out first and told him I was going for a walk. My arm rested in a sling and pain medication still ran through my veins, so I only walked a little ways before finding a bench in the shade to plop down on.
“You don’t even have to tell her.”
I looked up and saw Dad standing in front of me.
“Just disappear and not say anything to Holly?”
He sat down next to me. “I know what you’re thinking … either stay with her twenty-four/seven or break her heart. But I think there’s a compromise.”
I turned to face him, desperate for any solution. “What?”
Dad took a deep breath before speaking. “You can never tell Melvin or Marshall about this … or anyone.”
He reached into his pocket and handed me a tiny memory card. I flipped it over in my hands. “Okay…?”
“Adam Silverman isn’t the only one with his own spy code.”
“I’m still not getting it.”
Dad did a quick sweep of the area with his eyes before continuing. “This is for me. I want to update my slightly younger self with these recent events. Remember how your timeline works. Think about it. It wasn’t that long ago that Holly didn’t even know you. And if she doesn’t know you…”
I stared at him, unable to form any words as his plan sank in like a heavy weight pressing on my chest. “I’m not even sure I can move my home base again.”
He nodded. “You’ve done it at very important moments. This is completely your decision, but I understand what it feels like … losing someone close.”
My cell phone sat on the bench next to me. Dad picked it up and slowly placed it in my hand. “Call her, just don’t say good-bye. Then she won’t feel anything but good things.”
He walked away and I opened my phone, staring at the picture of Holly and me on the beach just a couple days ago. My throat tightened as I flipped through the phone for her number. It took a couple rings for her to answer.
“Hey, are you still up for coming over this morning?” she said.
I forced my voice to come out calm. “Yep. I’m leaving now. I should be there soon.”
She sighed with relief. “Great!”
Just hearing that little bit of excitement, the longing in her voice, hurt so much. I had to clear my throat before saying anything else. I stared out at the trees in front of me and focused on the idea of life. Of Holly’s life being long and happy. “Hey, Hol?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I could practically hear her smiling through the phone. “I love you, too. I’ll see you soon.”
Not if I can help it. “’Bye, Holly.”
I closed my eyes and attempted a full jump back to one of the most important days of my existence. I immediately felt the weight of my entire body going with me and knew Dad was right. I could choose to do it.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
MARCH 15, 2009, 5:38 P.M.
My new home base. And I managed to land exactly where and when I needed to be. I entered the Ninety-second Street Y and walked up to the receptionist. “I need to leave a note for Mr. Wellborn.”
“Sure.” She handed me a piece of paper and a pen.
I jotted a quick note explaining my resignation from the summer job I should have started on this day. I left right away, but stood next to a light post quite a distance from the front doors. I had to see her.
A few minutes passed and then, far down the sidewalk, I saw the blond ponytail swinging back and forth, the big pink smoothie in one hand, and the book hiding her face in the other. I thought my emotions would win and I’d rush over to her, but instead I leaned against the pole and watched Holly get closer and closer.
; Right now she was happy and safe. I hadn’t let her down yet or broken her heart … Or caused her death. I remembered the words she spoke to me so long ago: “It’s like you have this whole other life and I can’t be in it.”
But it was just the opposite now.
I sucked in a breath as Holly approached the steps, not even looking up from her book. But my feet stayed firmly planted the whole time she walked up the stairs. This was the exact moment our lives had collided. Two paths that would now likely never cross. I felt a mixture of relief and crushing grief as Holly Flynn stepped through the doors, completely unharmed. History was changed forever. She and I had never met.
I dug inside my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the ring Emily had given me. She must not have known the choice I would make … or maybe … just maybe she did know. I pushed that small glimmer of hope out of my mind as I turned around and walked away from Holly.
The farther I got from her, the more it hurt. A bitter ache I didn’t think would ever dissolve.
Without thinking about it, I stopped right in front of the playground where 007 Holly and I had spent one morning laying in the grass. An unexpected peaceful feeling swept over me, just like it had that day. Seconds later, I was stretched out in the same spot, staring up at the clouds, hearing her voice like she was right beside me again.
“Jackson?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re so different than I thought.”
“You’re exactly how I thought.”
And I knew, without a doubt, I had finally done something right. Completely right. After all, pain and grief are nothing compared to regret.
I retrieved my journal from the bag lying in the grass and wrote only four words. A reminder for days even more difficult than this one. Because the truth is … even though I have no idea what comes next … at least for today …
I have no regrets.
Stay tuned for the next book in the Tempest series, available in early 2013 wherever books are sold.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many individuals contributed to the creation of this book. I realize every author says this, but now I actually understand how much each and every author truly means it. Nothing about this process was a solo effort, and I hope that I can properly recognize every single one of my supporters in these pages.
I’D LIKE TO THANK:
My husband, Nick, whose opinion and words of encouragement I value above all others (even if I don’t always admit this to him), and who was and is the sole inspiration behind my main character’s unwavering love and loyalty. He deserves more than half of any success this book gets because if there’s one thing harder than being a writer, it’s living with one. Thanks for never giving up on me and for waiting up late at night for me to finish working or writing so we could spend time together. And most of all, thanks for being the kind of man whom it’s nearly impossible to properly acknowledge in a single paragraph.
My older sister, Jenni, for her candid approach when reading versions of this book and for her constant encouragement and support all through this grueling process. So many additions and edits were a result of her top-notch advice with a true reader’s perspective, not to mention the moral support only a close family member can give.
My grandfather, Elm, one of my favorite people in the entire world. Also, a fantastic writer and my earliest supporter once I decided to pursue publication. As all the rejection letters began to pile up, I’d get the most beautiful, inspiring e-mails from him telling me how proud he was and how much I was improving and growing as a writer, and I’ve never been able to delete those e-mails, nor have I forgotten their impact.
My mom, Colleen, because she’s always proud of me, whether I’m writing an article for a small magazine or a three-book series for a major publishing house. She’s never once told me I couldn’t or that I wasn’t good enough—quite the opposite.
Also, my dad, Tom, who not only gave me the writing gene but gave me the discipline to put that gift to use, for providing a daily reminder that loving and worrying about your children continues far beyond their childhood. My stepmom, Joyce, who has always treated me like her own child and is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.
My mother-in-law, Marcia, who has been a fan of this book from day one. Both Marcia and my father-in-law, Tim, have provided me with a great example of love that lasts years and years, when life is great but also when it isn’t.
And of course, my babies—Charles, Ella, and Maddie—who are growing up way too fast. I hope someday, when they’re old enough to read this book, they discover little bits of their childhood sprinkled throughout, such as dinner conversations where I discussed plot or characters, and they’ll be able to put the story together with those memories and it will be that much more special for all of us.
Jamie, my little sister, for her “fan-girl” encouragement and Jacob, my youngest brother. And my other little brother, Ryan, who I just know is going to write some amazing songs for Tempest. Assuming he hasn’t already by the time this book is released.
Tracy, Kathy, and Dawn, my favorite aunts, and three women whose support and encouragement go back as long as I can remember. Each of them has been a big reason I’ve worked so hard to produce something that I knew they’d be proud of.
My grandmother, Maureen, the backbone of our family and someone who has always shared my love of books.
Rhiannon, my cousin and “almost sister” for her willingness to read the unedited versions I’ve sent her way and for all the wonderful book discussions we’ve had.
I can’t forget all my younger cousins. Each of you has read and influenced something I’ve written with your invaluable teen perspective. Kevin Robbins, one of my earliest readers; his helpful comments had direct influence on the final version of this book. And the rest of the little cousin clan that I roped into being test readers long before my writing even resembled something clean and publishable: Lauren Robbins, Kelsey and Kayla Wilson, Grace and Sarah Geehan.
Shannon Slifer, a longtime friend and the very first person to read the very first novel that I wrote back in the summer of 2009. Laurel Jukes, my most devoted teen reader. She’s also sifted through the best and worst of my artistic journey. Our “workout chats” have been invaluable to me throughout this process. Sarah Thorman, my good friend for so many years now who shares my love and passion for the sport of gymnastics and is someone I can always count on when I need to vent or share good news. Amanda Koba, my oldest friend, for holding on to several pieces of my childhood, especially those early teen years, and bringing them out at just the right moments. We have enough memories to create a twenty-book young adult series. My old neighbors and good friends, Justin and Tori Spring … who I’m nearly positive were the first people I ever told about my desire to write a book.
My fellow management staff teammates at the Champaign County YMCA for all the kind words and encouragement, but most of all, for the daily reminders of where I came from and the thick roots the Y plants in its key staff, lessons I hope I never forget. This story was born under that roof, and my children have grown up being a part of the CCY family.
Roni Loren, one of my first online writer friends and critique partners and my “release day sister.” It has been amazing having her support, having someone to walk with through the exact same process at the exact same time.
Suzie Townsend, my agent, who shares my true love for young adult literature and is someone who always knows exactly what I need to hear in moments of stress or excitement. She keeps me grounded and focused and is forever patient with my endless questions and story ideas. And her love for this story and my characters is apparent in every bit of feedback and critique I receive. I look forward to many, many years of working together.
Also, the entire team at FinePrint Literary Management, those I’ve met and those I haven’t, but I’m sure all of them have done something to support this book or me as an author, and I’m so grateful for the wonderful team effort that comes
out of a top-notch agency like FinePrint.
Brendan Deneen, my editor, my friend (to whom I’ve dedicated this book), for taking a chance on a newbie author and for not only believing in Tempest but in me as a writer. Because of him, I’ve enjoyed the process just as much as the result. Developing this story together was truly an unforgettable experience. He’s the equivalent of an Olympic coach, and I wouldn’t be the same writer without him.
Some of the great guys at Thomas Dunne Books—Pete Wolverton and Tom Dunne—for also taking a chance on a newbie author and believing in this book enough to let me write two more.
All the awesome people at St. Martin’s Press—so many of them I haven’t even met or heard of, but they’re behind the scenes or on the front lines making my dream come true, an everyday task for these folks. I have a feeling, when it’s time for book two acknowledgments, I’ll have met many of them. But no matter how many hands Tempest falls into, I’ll never forget sitting in Matt Baldacci’s office during my first visit to New York and hearing him quote a line from my book and admitting to shedding a few tears while reading that morning. That was probably one of the greatest moments for me as a writer and proof of the entire publishing house’s passion for the books they represent and for the authors.
Summit Entertainment for its continued effort to help bring Tempest to the big screen. Summit Producer Sophie Cassidy, for believing in Tempest from draft one. Producer Sonny Mallhi, for his dedication to this story and his continued encouragement of me as a writer. Roy Lee, for that amazing message he sent me saying how much he enjoyed reading my book. I know Tempest the movie couldn’t be in better hands.
Some of the authors who have influenced and inspired me before I began writing and early on in my journey: Courtney Summers, J. K. Rowling, Stephen King, Judy Blume, Lois Lowry, Jay Asher, Ally Carter, Stephenie Meyer, and Ann M. Martin.
And last, but not least, thanks to anyone and everyone who picks up this book to read it for whatever reason—without people out there reading and buying books, my inspiration would be lost.