Somewhere in Time

by Alyssa Richards

  My heart pounded slowly through black dread.

  “The only decision I’m trying to make now is whether I kill just one of you, or both of you.”

  I swallowed hard when Otto shifted his glance between Philippe and me. He was going to kill Philippe, then either kill me or lock me in some crypt, keeping me alive enough to read art for him. This life would be like the last one where Otto killed Blake, then held me captive until the life drained out of me.

  “Maybe I’ll keep you close. To do a few deals. For every deal that you do well, I’ll let you live a few more months.”

  I stepped backward for every step that Otto made toward me, and our dance continued until I caught sight of a movement in the doorway. I stopped, my eyes frozen on Otto’s. She bent slightly to drop her bag, then stepped into the room.

  “Otto,” she said and exaggerated the t’s when she said his name. “You don’t want to do that.”

  Years dropped from Otto’s features when he heard her voice, as though she’d spoken to him from a dream. He turned first, then walked slowly toward her. I stood ready to run, grab his neck from behind if he tried to hurt her. To my surprise he lifted his hand and grazed his fingertips down her cheek, gently, tenderly.

  Carolena returned the touch, her gold and jeweled bracelet dangling against her wrist. Her long black jacket was cut on the angle and swung around a pair of slim, winter white pants. The scarf around her neck was ever-French and carefree. Her entire presentation was fresh from fashion week, and made her look unaware that people’s lives were at stake around her. She could have swept the entire room into the current of her command.

  “You came back.” He was hypnotized.

  She nodded, her smile warm.

  Carolena traced his face and Otto leaned into her touch. He took her hand and kissed it.

  “You came back,” he said again and this time he swept her up in his arms.

  Chapter 51

  Carolena stared at Philippe’s bloodied face, then glanced at me while I stood stock still, unable to breathe. I knew the sting and swell on my cheeks must have burned brightly against my pale face. She watched us in this godforsaken warehouse, the site of Otto’s dreams and nightmares, our plans and spirits, broken and bloodied. I wanted to tell her to run, that she should try to save herself. I didn’t think any of us would live if she did.

  “It seems things have gotten beyond your control,” Carolena said, her French accent and royal demeanor continuing to ignore the danger of the moment.

  “Yes, well. I was just about to remedy that when you walked in.” He scowled at Philippe. The impatience in his tone made me think he was excited about bringing things to an end.

  “When I walked in I heard you say something about how she helps you with art deals—is that true?” Carolena nodded in my direction.

  Otto shrugged. “You left.”

  “You know I’m the one you want.” Carolena moved her hand over Otto’s chest. “There are no replacements.”

  Otto lifted her hand, kissed her knuckles, and I stifled a cringe. “You have always been the only one that I wanted.”

  “Then send her on her way. And are these your boys, all grown up? Philippe, is that you?”

  Philippe nodded subtly. I hoped they could manage the stranger act with success, otherwise she was as dead as the rest of us.

  “Oh, Otto, I think he needs help. Did you do this, Nicholas? You boys always played too rough.” Carolena reached into her purse, took several tissues, and handed them to Philippe. Her cover for Otto’s cruelty worked. Nicholas released Philippe’s arms and backed away from him. I saw two guns in Nicholas’ waistband.

  Carolena ruled the room.

  She leaned into Otto’s chest, and it was obvious that he was powerless to resist her. “Send them away so we can have some privacy,” she said. “I want to celebrate.”

  Otto breathed in uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? I’ve come a long way to be with you,” she said.

  “They know too much,” Otto said.

  “Oh.” Carolena took in the players around the room. Then she made the move she must have planned since she received my phone message. “Then why don’t we leave? And go back. Let’s go back to the one place where we were really happy with one another. Remember?”

  “I remember.” Otto’s features shone like a young boy, vulnerable and hopeful.

  “I’ve dreamed of it for so many years,” she said. “Si vous plais. Let them go, they can say what they will. No one will ever find us.”

  Otto studied her face, and seemed to search for signs that this might be too good to be true.

  I silently begged Carolena not to do this—the sacrifice was too extreme.

  “I don’t guess there’s much left for me here, anyway.” Otto cut his eyes toward the empty building that used to house his firm. “Except for maybe these.” He walked to the side of the room and picked up three extra-large portfolio cases. “Due to some interference with the FBI earlier today, I missed an important meeting with a couple of members from the Pulizzi family. They were going to purchase these.”

  I assumed the authentic pieces of Gardner art were inside the cases.

  “Then let’s do it. Let’s run away and live the life we always planned to.” Carolena’s eyes sparkled and charmed. Otto was utterly powerless to her.When his expression softened into an uncharacteristic grin, Carolena broadened her Vogue-quality smile, kissed him, then unpacked a traveling outfit.

  It hurt to think it, but they were a dashing couple. Side by side I saw Blake’s features reflected in the both of them. They emerged from the bricked room and appeared almost as stunning as they did on their wedding day. Carolena’s ornate bronze and navy blue dress was cloaked by a brilliant beige coat with long, bell-shaped, pleated sleeves and a high rising burgundy collar.

  She was dressed to kill, and I hoped that she would. That she could.

  “Vous êtes magnifique.” He raised her left hand to show off her outfit.

  “Merci, mon amour. I found it in Paris.” She twirled and her outfit spun.

  “Paris,” he echoed, and brought her left finger closer to his view. “You wore it.” He angled the sugarloaf cabochon ruby ring whose platinum band twinkled with diamonds.

  She simply allowed her hand to his face. “Let’s go. You lead the way.”

  Carolena walked toward the Wentworth that leaned against the wall, but Otto guided her back toward the bricked room. “We’ll use this one in here,” he said. “I kept the path marked off.”

  “Absolument!” she said enthusiastically, but I felt her disappointment. Philippe had told her about the one in the safe. She knew the one against the wall wasn’t it.

  Before they disappeared into his monument to her, Otto turned toward us. As if he’d just realized that we were there. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Are you sure?” he asked Carolena. “I don’t like to leave loose ends.”

  “If we leave together then I must do this without anyone’s blood on my conscience,” she said sternly. “Otherwise it will ruin the trip for me. And besides, we are leaving. No one will ever find us.”

  “I’ll make damn sure of that,” Otto said. He paused after a heavy sigh that filled the vapid room. “Let them go. I’ll tell you what to do with the Wentworths after they’re gone.”

  Nicholas pointed to the oversized portfolios that Otto carried. “If we don’t deliver that art to the Pulizzis, they’re going to search for you. If they can’t find you, they might try to find me.”

  Otto eyed the black cases he held, then raised his eyes to Nicholas.

  “Make a call and tell them how the FBI found us. They can verify the agent’s death with a phone call. They’ll know the art is too hot right now. Then leave town.”

  Nicholas nodded and seemed to only slightly realize that that plan didn’t leave him much of a future.

  “If you’re leaving, then take them with you,” Otto said to Philippe, and
motioned to Elizabeth and me. “Make sure they leave the property,” he said to Nicholas, who removed one of the guns from his waistband and waved us toward the door.

  Philippe met me where I stood, and the three of us walked with caution toward the door.

  “You should try thinking for yourself once in a while, Nicholas,” Philippe said as we walked down the long hallway.”

  “You should try not being such a mama’s boy, you fuck-up,” Nicholas said.

  I prayed with every step that none of us would leave with a bullet in our back.

  “Where to?” Philippe asked once he, Elizabeth, and I made it to the van.

  “To Blake’s penthouse.” My heart shriveled with sadness when we drove away from the firm and the Wentworths. I couldn’t believe we just lost my only chance to get to Blake. I prayed he was alive.

  I spotted my phone in the central console, grabbed it, and called Grace. She, Isabella, and Lexie listened while I told them the story. I felt their hearts tumbling to the depth where mine resided.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” Grace said. “You did everything you could.”

  “She’s right, honey,” Isabella said, her voice thick from silent tears. “There are other Wentworths out there and we’ll find them.”

  “Starting with Nicholas,” Lexie said. “I’ve already texted Fowler, and he’s going to have some men track him down. He can’t be far.”

  I thanked them for their support, then turned them down when they begged me to come home. “I have to stay in New York and close to my townhome to watch for messages about Blake.”

  I called William’s cell phone, and it went to voicemail. I hoped he was okay, and not the agent who was shot at the warehouse.

  Chapter 52

  Philippe dropped Elizabeth and me by the townhouse, where I checked the book for messages about Blake. No new notes had been delivered, but I sent my grandfather a lengthy and hurried letter that described all that had happened. Including the part about how Carolena and Otto might be headed his way..

  Philippe said he would try to track Nicholas and find out what happened to the Wentworths.

  Elizabeth and I took a cab to Blake’s penthouse where she insisted on accompanying me inside. None of them thought I should be alone, and with Nicholas still wandering around out there, we decided that being behind the extra security of Blake’s penthouse was the best idea for all of us. Blake had added me to the security system and all the equipment now recognized my thumbprint, retina and security code.

  Once in Blake’s bedroom, I took off my underused time-traveling clothes and laid them neatly on the chair. Then I crumpled into the bed Blake and I had shared, held his pillow close to me, and sobbed.

  Philippe returned home with no news to share. So, the three of us drank red wine, ate frozen pizza, and sat around a warm fire that popped and crackled in the living room. I’d found sweats in Blake’s closet, and Philippe and I each wore a pair.

  Occasionally, I sniffed the inside of the front collar to find a trace of Blake’s scent.

  “I’ve lost him twice now,” I said and I stared into the fire. “Once when Otto took him away from me, and then again today,” I said. “And that’s only this time around.”

  It hurt when I breathed.

  “I could have brought him and my father and grandfather home. I know I could have.”

  Elizabeth patted my leg. “Stop blaming yourself.”

  “She’s right. It’s not your fault, it’s mine,” Philippe said. “I should have driven faster. I should have made us move quicker.”

  “No, it’s my fault,” I said. “I asked too many questions. I should have just run with it.”

  “I think you’re entitled to a few questions when time travel is the option at hand, and I should have realized he would change the combination on the safe,” Philippe said.

  “I don’t think you could have predicted that. It was a good plan. Otto just has a way of…besting everyone. What we need to do now is to figure out where Nicholas has gone with the Wentworths,” I said.

  Philippe nodded. The orangish glow from the fire flickered on his pale skin.

  It was late but I went ahead and texted Lexie for an update from whomever Fowler had following Nicholas.

  “I think we should kidnap and torture him until he coughs up the Wentworths,” I tapped the final words to my text.

  “I’m impressed that you came up with that idea,” Philippe said.

  “And a little afraid.” Elizabeth’s eyebrows climbed.

  “Desperate times,” I said.

  What little sleep I found overnight was fretful with nightmarish dreams of Blake on the run, and Otto not far behind. By 5 a.m. I headed to the kitchen for espresso, paper, and a pen. I was deadly serious about kidnapping Nicholas, and I decided to make a list of things we needed. I wrote duct tape at the top of the list.

  The swinging door pushed open and Philippe and Elizabeth walked in just as I started the espresso machine.

  “I got a text,” he said.

  The sound of locks turned and security key pad beeps interrupted him.

  I turned and faced the door. There was only one person who could come through Blake’s security system, at this hour or any other.

  Anya, Blake’s sister, emerged from the private hallway. Her black-as-blue hair was shoulder-length now, still just a mite longer in the front, and angled features that any modeling agency would kill for. Her blue eyes danced between the three of us.

  “Anya,” I said.

  “She’s gone, isn’t she?” Anya asked, and removed a stray piece of hair from her lip gloss.

  “Who?” I asked. Although I guessed she meant Carolena.

  “I picked up Carolena when she landed at the airport,” she said. “I figured she left with Otto when I didn’t hear from her yesterday.”

  “Anya, I—I don’t even know where to begin,” I said.

  Elizabeth handed me my espresso and I downed the shot.

  “Well, then I guess we need to bring this inside,” she said.

  We peeked through the doorway and into the elevator where a tall, narrow box leaned against the back wall.

  “Would you help me?” Anya asked Philippe. “She called me after she received your phone message,” Anya said to me. “She told me that she was going to come out of hiding to find Blake.”

  Anya cut the tape that sealed one edge of the box.

  “How did she know where to find us?” I asked.

  “Well, I’ve never lost touch with her,” Philippe said.

  “Still, it was an awfully well-timed appearance,” I said.

  “She told me she got regular tabs on Otto’s plans and whereabouts through someone he knew. Someone named Francis.”

  My mouth fell open at once, and I smiled for the first time in two days. “Francis,” I said. “Holy shit.” Maybe Carolena threatened him. Or maybe he bargained with her to see his mother again. “Oh my gosh!” I gasped when I saw that Anya had unveiled the canvas. “Philippe!”

  Philippe took a quick step forward and stooped in front of the art.

  “Is it…?” I tucked my hair behind my ears and parked my jaw in my hands.

  “It looks like his signature. There’s only one way to find out. Would you do the honors?” He gestured toward the painting.

  I placed the third finger of my right hand delicately on the painting and waited for the ink to run up my hand as it had the last time.

  “Dammit, nothing’s happening,” I said to Philippe.

  He tilted the painting and examined it from a different angle.

  “This is from Carolena?” he asked Anya.

  “She had it shipped directly to me,” Anya said.

  “Otto didn’t have an opportunity to get ahold of it, did he?” I asked.

  “You used your other hand last time. Try your other hand,” Elizabeth said.

  My eyes swiveled to Elizabeth. “It shouldn’t make a difference,” I scoffed. “Not with this.”

 
“Just try it,” Philippe said.

  I placed two fingertips from my left hand to the canvas, and waited. The colors didn’t rise. I shook my head at Philippe.

  “Shit,” he paced toward the window.

  My hand glided along the paint as I repositioned it, and tried to see who really painted this forgery.

  “It can’t be a forgery,” Anya said, her hand pressed against her forehead.

  “It’s not a Wentworth,” I said and left the room.

  After a hot shower and a hefty dose of caffeine I felt slightly more human, but no less desperate. I perched myself on the edge of Blake’s side of the bed and sniffed a heavily scented spot on his pillow. It’s where the left side of his neck would have cradled the pillow, and I inhaled it like a drug. For now the remnants he left behind assuaged the absence of him, though I knew one day they would only remind me of what I couldn’t have.

  “Are you okay?” I heard Anya say from the doorway.

  “No.”

  She sat next to me on the bed and hugged me. “Come on, you’re going to eat.” She led me from the room, leaving me no choice.

  “Your son is beautiful,” I said into the trance-like quiet of Blake’s home.

  “Thank you.” She squeezed my hand. “Family is everything.”

  My expression scrunched involuntarily into an ugly cry face. “That it is,” I finally managed.

  The four of us sat in Blake’s rooftop solarium, subtle crunching noises disturbing the sad stillness. I glazed a piece of toast with bright red strawberry jam, my movements rote, and I dreaded the moment when I would actually have to put the bread into my mouth.

  Controlling the shake in my hand as best I could, I spread the tang of red color across the toasted brown, filled the diagonals first in clockwise order, then worked my way to the flat edges. Then, because I wasn’t yet ready to put it into my mouth, I slowly added another layer until it was apparent I was creating an art project as opposed to breakfast. I pressed the knife against the jam, and the spongey paste was rubbery against the bread.