“Brandon Fairbanks,” Zeke said dryly. “And she isn’t dating him anymore.”
Marc grinned widely. “You stole Nicole Cunning from Brandon Fairbanks. Wow!”
“I know I’m not exactly in the male-model category.” Zeke chuckled, fingering his large, crooked nose. “But Nicole seems to like me.”
“That proves she’s not just a pretty face—she has remarkably good judgment as well. She’s lucky to have you.”
Zeke’s smile faded. “I’m not so sure about that. Being my girlfriend has put her in danger. Poppa says there’s an 87 percent chance that Drake’s going to attack Nicole as a way of getting to me.”
Uncertain of the right words, Marc said nothing.
Zeke took a deep breath. “There’s a 72 percent chance that the attack on Nicole will happen at her house, so I’m staying with her. I can’t let that monster get his hands on her, not after what he did to Phoebe. I wanted to take Nicole out of town, but she’s famous enough that Drake could find her no matter where she went. At least if we stay in D.C., Andy’s agents can help protect her.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“We sit tight and keep Nicole and the Wave Trapper safe while figuring out Drake’s real name and the old case linking him to TEMCO. Drake wants to steal a Trapper in order to change something in the past. We need to know who he is in order to learn exactly where he’ll try to go. Poppa says that if Drake’s agenda is unchecked, a Time Tsunami will be unleashed that will obliterate the current timeline.”
“No pressure, huh?” Marc cracked his knuckles. “I’m glad Andy’s agents are on the job.”
3
June 9, 6:36 PM
Number One Observatory Circle—Official Residence of
the Vice President United States Naval Observatory,
Washington D.C.
Sitting behind the huge, mahogany desk in his study, Vice President Andrew Hamilton steepled his fingers, listening intently as Agent Scott Ruthford filled him in on the progress—or rather, lack of progress—that had been made in the search for Drake Procerus.
“The night of the hospital disturbance, we believe Drake entered through a side entrance. A doctor is missing…” Agent Ruthford consulted his files. “Dr. Lawrence Ember hasn’t been seen since that night. If we find the doctor, we may find Drake.”
Andrew nodded. “That seems reasonable. What are you doing about Zeke’s protection?”
“We’re keeping him under observation, and considering the threat, we have a man stationed outside Nicole Cunning’s residence at all times. Drake won’t get close to either of them.”
“What about Crystal Stuart?” Andrew asked.
“I have an agent keeping tabs on her, but I don’t think she’s in any real danger.”
“Do you have any idea where Drake is hiding?”
“I’m sorry, sir. The man’s a ghost. Whenever we get close, he disappears.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened. He stared at the photographs of Phoebe that were spread across his desk. Her hideous injuries were documented in gruesome detail. He felt bile rising in his throat. His hands clenched into fists.
“I know you’re doing your best,” he said, keeping his emotions firmly under control. “But we need to catch this animal as soon as possible. I want updates on your progress every morning and night.”
“Yes, sir.”
~*~
A grin tugged the corner of Drake’s mouth as he watched Gerald hiking through the woods in front of him. In his head, a singsong chorus played. He’s a squirrel, a squirrel, just a stupid little squirrel. He’s a squirrel, a—
“I don’t see a picnic area,” Gerald said, pushing through the trees. “You sure you got the right place? It’s getting late. I need to get home.”
“It’s right ahead,” Drake murmured, pulling the knife from his pocket. “Just keep going.”
“I think you’re lost, man.” Gerald ducked beneath another branch. “Or maybe your girl stood you up.”
Drake fingered the blade and narrowed his eyes. If he slit Gerald’s throat, the jacket would be covered in blood. He needed that uniform.
Patience wins. Slowly wins. Never-but-ever-but-slowly wins. Be smart. Be quick. Be wise.
Stowing the knife back in his pocket, he picked up a thick branch. He tested it in his hand, feeling its weight.
Gerald stopped walking and turned around. “I don’t know how to break it to you, but I think your chick gave up and went home.”
“You think so?” Drake smiled.
“Hey, why do you look so spooky? Your eyes have gone funny.”
With his grin widening, Drake swung the branch with all his might. It caught Gerald in the jaw. The deliveryman crumpled to the ground, his face a mass of mottled blood. Running forward, Drake knocked the Jefko cap from Gerald’s head and stripped off his jacket. He tossed them out of the way.
“Whatcha playing at, man?” Gerald groaned, blinking up at him with wide eyes.
Drake laughed. “Patience wins. Slowly wins. Never-but-ever-but-slowly wins.”
Still laughing, Drake slammed his foot down, intending to grind Gerald’s face beneath his heel.
Gerald yanked his head out of the way. Twisting in the dirt, he rose to his knees. Drake kicked him in the stomach. Frantically, the deliveryman tried to crawl away.
“That’s right,” Drake cooed, following the crawling man. “Let’s have some fun.”
Feeling like a cat with a mouse, Drake kicked Gerald’s rear. The deliveryman crawled faster. Drake’s steel-toed boots caught him in the side, flipping him over. As Gerald rolled in the dirt, Drake slammed his branch down—over and over—until the deliveryman stopped moving.
4
June 9, 7:32 PM
Riverview Apartments, Washington D.C.
Opening a folder, Crystal sat at her living room table and stared at a picture of Drake. He was smiling. She flipped the photo over and looked at the information printed on the back. The picture had been taken Drake’s first week on campus. She shivered. She couldn’t believe she’d been on friendly terms with a monster.
She rubbed the tender spot on her skull. It still hurt, and getting her hair stuck hadn’t helped matters. She stared down at Drake’s photographed eyes. The dark, black pools seemed to mock her. The more she studied his face, the more she could see past his friendly mask and down into the rage that smoldered behind his easy smile.
What kind of twisted pain drives a man to become so evil?
After taping the photograph to the wall, she thumbed through a sheaf of papers. She didn’t like mucking around in the brain of a killer, but that was what she needed to do if she wanted to figure out his real name.
Her heart jolted painfully as she came across a photograph of Drake posing with Phoebe. It’d been taken the day they’d been partnered for their field exam. Phoebe’s pretty, freckled face was full of joy; she looked like she’d just been given the moon. Crystal’s hands shook as she ran a gentle finger over Phoebe’s trusting face. A painful lump rose in her throat.
Glaring at the picture of Drake, she hissed, “I’m going to bring you down. I’m going to find out who you really are, and I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born.”
~*~
As Agent Ruthford left and closed the door, Andrew unsteepled his fingers and rubbed his tired eyes. His stomach churned. The photographs of Phoebe’s injuries had been horrific. He wanted Drake caught. Having a maniac loose in D.C. was unacceptable.
The memory of Phoebe’s burned arms attacked his mind.
Popping an antacid, Andrew tugged at his necktie. Agents were actively seeking Drake, and Drake’s primary targets had been relocated. With Zeke and Crystal working to uncover Drake’s true identity, there was nothing else to be done—at least, for now.
The words carved into Phoebe’s flesh invaded his thoughts.
Trying not to retch, he sprang to his feet, went to his living room, and turned on the television. He needed to focus on someth
ing soothing, and one of the cable stations was showing a series of concerts that would fit the bill. He found the channel and tried to relax as chamber music filled the room.
Once again, Phoebe’s injuries came to mind. Closing his eyes, Andrew forced himself to think of something else. Gripping the armrests of his chair, he reviewed the events of the day. His early-morning jog had been the only peaceful moment. Immediately afterward, there had been a discouraging update about his sister’s physical therapy, a budget meeting with the President, lunch with visiting dignitaries from China, an afternoon Congressional meeting, an interview with Nation Today magazine, and finally, the meeting with Agent Ruthford. Sighing, he knotted his hands into fists. He knew that being the vice president would be a challenge—and he never backed away from a challenge—but he hadn’t expected it to be a nonstop sprint.
At thirty-eight, he was one of the youngest vice presidents in United States history, and he’d been holding the job for several years. As a successful businessman, he’d never intended on entering politics, but when his good friend, Paul Freemar, decided to run for president, he’d been persuaded to join the ticket. He and Paul had won in a landslide victory, and their popularity continued to remain solid among the public. It was time to run for their second term, and all the polls indicated that they would likely win the upcoming election just as easily as they had the previous one.
Music soared around him, filling the air with vibrant notes.
Andrew’s thoughts drifted to the magazine interview. Pulling off his necktie, he grimaced. Nation Today was naming him America’s Most Eligible Bachelor. Snorting, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Most women are already intimidated by my job and security concerns,” he grumbled. “Now I must contend with a silly eligible bachelor title to boot.” He stared up at the ceiling. “Being looped together with movie stars, male models, and rich playboys will practically ensure that the only women who will look my way are publicity seekers and gold diggers.”
Sighing, he tried to focus his churning thoughts on the music. It didn’t work.
He prayed daily that God would bring him a wife, but in reality, God was going to have to gift wrap the lady and drop her on his doorstep. With his hectic schedule, he’d never have the time to find her. And even if he did find a nice woman who wasn’t intimidated by his job or enticed by his wealth, frankly, the thought of dating in the public eye gave him chills. Any courtship he held would be public property right from the start.
He drummed his fingers against the armrest. Although his current chances of getting married were slim, he could still dream. He’d love to find a sweet, spunky woman who had a strong faith in God. He smiled. As long as he was dreaming, he’d also like her to be gorgeous.
“Glossy golden hair, blue eyes, and a terrific figure,” he murmured.
The music climbed slowly to a crescendo. Wincing at the noise, Andrew lowered the volume. He closed his eyes as the chamber music faded away. In a wave of hauntingly beautiful notes, violin music filled the room. Feeling his tension melting, Andrew allowed the music to carry him away.
When the violinist began another song, Andrew cracked an eye open, curious to see who was playing with such skill. He blinked rapidly at the vision on the screen. The violinist was an extremely beautiful woman. Her golden hair was tumbling loosely down her back, and her white dress was moving gently in a soft breeze.
Andrew sat up straight in his chair. It was as if his daydream had suddenly taken form.
A glittering necklace shot sparks of fire and twinkled around the violinist’s delicate throat. Rose-tinted color rose and fell in her cheeks as she played. Her eyes were closed as she concentrated on her music. Slowly, she opened them. They were a deep, brilliant blue. In simplest terms, the woman was breathtaking.
Leaning forward, Andrew blinked again. “Wow.”
As he watched the violinist, his grin grew. During their last racquetball game, Zeke had asked him to describe his dream girl. He hadn’t answered at the time, but if Zeke were sitting next to him right now, Andrew knew what he’d say. He’d say that his dream girl was the lovely violinist in the filmy, white dress.
As the woman played, he looked at her left hand and saw that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Peering at the information on the bottom of the screen, he chuckled. Whoever the woman was, he’d never get the chance to find out if her mental and spiritual characteristics lived up to his ideal. She was currently thousands of miles away in Ireland.
~*~
Half a world away, Angelina Ableman, Dan and Alex’s sister, looked at the Blarney Stone and shuddered. Shaking golden hair from her blue eyes, she grimaced. She thought the Blarney Stone would be a rock sitting in the middle of a green, Irish pasture. She thought kissing it wouldn’t present a problem. She hadn’t realized the stone was set in the wall below the battlements of Blarney Castle. Nor had she realized that she’d have to climb 127 steps to the roof, lie on her back, and lean upside down over a dizzying gap to kiss it. Even though there were iron bars over the gap and a spotter was on-site to hold the tourists’ waists as they balanced over the chasm, it still looked pretty scary.
Fidgeting with her bracelet, Angelina stood in line and watched as her turn kept getting closer. She gave a little chuckle—it was a perfectly horrible time to discover that she was afraid of heights. Acrophobic. That word described her flawlessly.
As each person shuffled forward and was given aid to lower themselves upside down to kiss the stone, she tried to determine if she truly had the courage to hang out over the edge. A sheen of perspiration dotted her forehead. She brushed it away impatiently.
I’m going to kill my sweet, baby brother when I get home. She shuffle-stepped forward with a giggling groan. Yes. I’m going to kill him slowly.
Before she’d left on her concert tour, she and Alex had studied her itinerary. While they discussed European tourist spots, a mischievous grin had formed on Alex’s face. Grabbing a pen and paper—and chuckling like a fiend—he’d written a list of things he wanted her to do in each country. He said he was sure she wouldn’t have the guts to complete the list, especially one of the tasks he’d assigned her in Paris.
They’d had a good laugh over his list of dares, and Angelina was determined to bring home photographic proof that she’d completed every one. As her months in Europe passed, she’d faithfully marked off each of Alex’s tasks—even the Paris one—and she thought she was on the homeward stretch. But now, she was facing the blasted Blarney Stone.
Fear shivered down her spine as she took another step forward. A single important question burned in her brain. Kissing it can’t be any scarier than skiing the Mt. Titlis glacier in Engelberg, Switzerland, can it?
~*~
Drake studied Gerald’s body. Nudging it carelessly with the toe of his boot, he yawned. Discarding the branch, he flexed his bloody fingers. His stomach growled. Killing always made him ravenous. It made him feel like a wolf. Grinning at the jacket and cap, he began to whistle. He had what he needed.
~*~
Looking up from the notes she was compiling, Crystal shivered and murmured, “Grandpa used to say that goose bumps came when someone walked over your grave.”
Shuddering, she flipped the photograph of Drake around so that it was facing the wall. Pausing, she deliberately flipped it back again. After staring into his photographed eyes, she went back to work.
~*~
As Angelina’s turn arrived to kiss the stone, the Irish spotter said, “Who’s next now, pe’ople? Keep it roll’ing.”
Feeling her knees quaking, Angelina stepped forward.
Her manager, Karl Fagan, grinned. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Sitting down, Angelina grimaced. “I’m sure I don’t want to do it, but neither do I want to give Alex something to tease me about. I’m going to finish his list—especially since I managed to get through the Paris tasks. But I’ll tell you one thing, I’m going to make my rascally brother pay for
this when I get home.”
“Com’ on now, luv,” the spotter said. “Lay down.”
With dive-bombing butterflies invading her stomach, Angelina wiggled herself over the gap.
“Grab the bars,” the spotter instructed, clutching her waist. “Watch yer ’ead.”
Angelina grabbed the two parallel bars embedded in the stonework and let herself tilt slowly upside down and backward off the castle.
“Lower yer ’ead. Lower,” the spotter coaxed. “Jus’ a bit lower.”
Lowering herself further, Angelina saw a dizzying expanse of ground far below.
“Tha’s it,” the spotter said. “Kiss it now.”
Feeling lightheaded, she swung up and pressed her lips to the Blarney Stone. A giggle rose in her throat as Karl snapped her picture. All she had to do now was find a four-leaf clover and dance with a leprechaun.
~*~
Whistling, Drake piled branches over Gerald’s mangled body. The burial was a sloppy job, but it would have to do. He didn’t have time to fetch a shovel and do things properly. Besides, he doubted if anyone would stumble across the corpse for a while, and when they finally did, there was nothing connecting the Jefko deliveryman to him.
Lighting a cigarette, he filled his lungs with smoke and closed his eyes. A grin tugged his lips. Phoebe and the heads of TEMCO were as good as found. They were scared little squirrels—too afraid to face him. He’d find them, and Andrew Hamilton’s agents didn’t have a hope of stopping him.
Triumph surged through his veins as he washed his bloody hands in the river. He was going to win. He was going to get his vengeance. He was going to make them pay for what they’d done. And once he had his hands on a Wave Trapper, he’d take back what they’d stolen.
He chanted, “Patience wins. Slowly wins. Never-but-ever-but-slowly wins.”
~*~
Shoving a pile of notes away, Crystal sprang to her feet. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something evil had just happened. Chewing her lip, she went to the window and stared down at the street. Drake was wandering free, and she was sure he wasn’t knitting in some corner.
Time Search (The Time Counselor Chronicles Book 3) Page 3