Drift

by Amy Murray

  Colin.

  I’d taken a bullet for him. I’d died to protect him. Regardless of his lies. Regardless of his betrayal. Colin had found a place to reside inside my heart, and therein lay the conflict. How had I done what I did for Colin, yet remained silent when James faced the same fate?

  James ran his hand through the ends of my hair and down the length of my back. “Please, talk to me.”

  I sucked in a steadying breath. “You need to take me home.”

  There was a gnawing ache inside my chest. With every breath it grew and expanded against my bones. I rolled my shoulders and rubbed a hand across my stomach. I still expected to feel the warm slick of blood but felt only the wool of my sweater.

  James frowned. “Should I be worried?”

  I tried to hold his gaze, but fell short. The truth was, I didn’t know. “I’ll be fine.”

  “But you’re not.” His hands gestured up and down my body.

  The look in his eyes was one that saw through me and made me wish I was invisible, or else a better liar. I cringed and walked toward the street, but he was next to me in two steps, dragging me to a stop.

  “You saw it, didn’t you?” His eyes were a penetrating shade of black. “Tell me,” he said when I didn’t answer. He dug a frustrated hand through his hair before facing me. “You remember what McCormack said, didn’t you? About what would happen if you saw yourself die?”

  The wind whipped through the alley, chilling my skin and stinging my eyes. “Of course I remember.” I crossed my arms protectively over my chest. The air around me was colder than before, but whether that was because of a drop in temperature or the result of my drift, I didn’t know. “How could I forget? I’m a ticking time bomb. You don’t suppose I think about that every second of every day?”

  “You could’ve died. You could’ve died, and I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”

  “You think I can stop this? Do you think I have any control at all where my drift is concerned? Because I have news—I don’t. I can’t predict when it will come on, and once I’m there I can’t force myself out.” I jammed a finger into my chest and listened as my words sank into my own ears. Phantom tendrils of fear snaked around, up, and through me, and I shivered with them.

  “I’m sorry,” James said. “I know you can’t control it. I just…” He rubbed his hands together and crossed his arms. “I want to help you, and I can’t—not while you drift. It’s driving me crazy. The last time I felt like this…” His words fell away and his eyes turned sad.

  I threw up my hands and let them drop to my sides. “Maybe I’m not meant to be saved.” The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back. “Maybe this time, it’s my turn to save you.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” James took a step toward me and bent slightly to better look me in the eye. His brow wrinkled with ferocity.

  “Why?” I asked. Once I’d had the thought, once I’d spoken the words, fears that I didn’t even know I possessed pressed forward to strangle me. “I mean, what if my death is inevitable? My mother died.” I clenched my fingers together. “What if that’s just how it ends for people like me.”

  “Your mother committed suicide.” James was frank and stern.

  “Does the method really matter? The drift drove her to do it. What’s the difference?”

  “Choice,” James breathed with fire. “Your mother chose to end her life to escape her drift. But you and me? We’re going to find a way to stop it before anything can happen to you.”

  “We can’t. If I go back again, I don’t think I’ll return. And without seeing the end, without knowing where the diamond is, I can’t stop it.” My throat swelled until my airway was small and tight. “The drift isn’t going to stop. And being with you… You should go. Somewhere far away from me. Somewhere Roselli won’t find you.”

  “You’re insane if you think I’m leaving you.” He stepped closer, toe-to-toe, and forced me to look up at him. That familiar buzz of heat radiated between us. His hands gripped my shoulders, and I shut my eyes, breathing him in. “There’s nothing you could say or do that will keep me away from you. I love you.”

  Everything around, near, inside and out of me stilled. The very air ceased to move as his words melted over me. I wanted to lean into him, to feel his lips against my own, to taste his words, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.

  I pulled free and stepped back.

  “What’re you doing?” James asked, his hands falling from my body.

  “Saving your life. Roselli is coming for us. He knows what I can do, so he won’t hurt me, but he’ll hurt you to get what he wants from me.”

  “You’re wrong, Abby.” He took a step and I retreated. When my back hit the brick wall, I stepped away from him, slow and cautious.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m going to die. I’ve seen it. I won’t let you die, too. Not because of me. Not when I can protect you from it.” Roselli’s promise rang in my ears.

  His chest swelled with a deep inhale. “I told you a long time ago that I’d do anything to protect the ones I love. I’ve never wavered on that. I’ve never looked at what you and I were up against and had a second thought, because when I’m with you, I know it’s where I’m supposed to be. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

  He lifted his arm, reaching for me, but as much as I wanted this—as much as I wanted us—could I risk his life?

  Just before he touched my hand, I pulled away. “I’ve already seen you die once. I can’t see it again. I won’t.”

  James’s hand crunched into a fist. “Are you even listening to me?” He gestured around us. “I don’t care what happened here a century ago. I care what’s going to happen. I care about what’s going to shape this life, our life, our future.” He reddened with frustration and looked away.

  We stood silent, but the raging thoughts trampling through James’s head were almost loud enough to hear. I sucked in a breath to speak. Twice. But nothing came.

  He turned to me, but instead of talking, he pulled his sweater up to reveal his chest.

  “What’re you doing?” My eyes roved over the scars that rippled his skin, but it was the mark just above his heart that had me staring. A century-old scar that changed both of our lives forever.

  “James—”

  “Look at it. It’s the past. What happened to you in 1922? It happened to me, too.”

  “I know it did, but—” I pointed to his birthmark and James’s eyes softened. He grabbed my hand and placed it against his chest, staring into my eyes.

  “You’re afraid of an end that’s already happened, but this is a different life. A different chance. We choose how this ends.” He placed his hand behind my neck and dropped his forehead to meet mine. “I love you,” he whispered and pulled away just enough that I could see his face.

  “I love you, too.”

  He nodded once and took my mouth in a kiss. Like he had nearly a century ago, he pressed my back to the rough exterior brick, and I felt his body mold against mine. His cheek, rough with unshaven hair, dragged across mine and to my ear. “We need to go.” He gripped my hand in his as we made our way to the car. “We need to find that diamond.”

  The rain let down just before we made it to the car, the chill making our steps fast and hurried. I slammed my door and raked my hands through my now-sopping hair.

  “Evelyn said the house was on Havensent Street. Does that mean anything to you?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking spot. I stared out the window and chewed the inside of my cheek.

  “I know where it is.”

  “All right,” James said. “Where to?”

  “Houston. I’ll direct you once we’re inside the city.”

  The drive was slower than either of us would’ve liked, but with the near blinding rain, there wasn’t much we could do. Nearly an hour and a half later, we pulled onto Havensent Street, and James slowed.

  “Does any of this look familiar to
you? She said the house had white siding, but that was a hundred years ago. We will be lucky if it’s here at all.” He mumbled the last more to himself.

  “Just keep going. It’s up there on the right. Do you see it?” I stared at the house and wondered how I couldn’t have known. It’d been in front of me this entire time, hiding in plain sight.

  James parked the car. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He held my hand as we approached the door, and I knocked without hesitation. Within moments the deadbolt turned, and the door opened. The man who answered stood in a worn pair of jogging pants and had a smile ready.

  “What’re you doing here?” he asked, opening the door wide to allow us inside.

  I looked at James and then back at my father. “Hi, Daddy.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  James stiffened at my side, and I offered my father a trembling smile—one that didn’t last and had to look as nervous as it felt. Two heartbeats later, he pulled me into an embrace I didn’t immediately return.

  “I’ve been so worried about you.” He sighed with relief into my hair. “Why haven’t you called me back?”

  “A lot has happened. Things I can’t explain right now.” I stepped away, and when I turned to James, his dark eyes were confused and maybe even a little hurt.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this was your father’s house?” he asked, keeping his attention focused on me.

  I don’t know why I didn’t tell him. I’d thought about it the entire drive back, but somehow voicing the fact that I’d grown up in the house where Nino Roselli was murdered, where I was murdered in another life, was inconceivable. I was still having a difficult time understanding it myself.

  I nodded. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” I clasped my hands and twisted my fingers.

  “Did you grow up here?”

  “Yes.”

  My father stepped between us. “I’m sorry. We haven’t met.”

  James ripped his gaze from mine and focused on my father for the first time. He straightened and extended his hand. “James Kingsley, sir. I’m Abby’s…” He looked to me and raised his brows.

  “Friend,” I finished keeping my eyes trained on James. I saw the skin around his eyes tighten as he clasped my father’s hand. “We have art history together.”

  “Nice to meet you,” my father said.

  When they dropped their hands, I walked through the small entry and into the kitchen. Turning in a circle, I studied the home’s structure, trying to see beyond the more recent renovations. “Can you tell me what you know about the house? From before we moved in.”

  My father looked confused. “What’s going on, Abigail?”

  “There’s something here—something we need to find. Do you know when the house was originally built?”

  My father’s brows rose. “The entire back end of the house was built in 1956, I believe. The master suite was built in ’92.”

  “What about the original structure?”

  “Well…” He moved to the left of the kitchen and into the family room. “The house was originally built in 1920, but that only included the entry, front living, part of the kitchen and the two side bedrooms there.” He pointed to the small hallway just off the main living area.

  I moved without hesitation and opened the door to my childhood bedroom. It was exactly as I’d left it when I’d moved out four years ago. It was small, square, and held a medium sized window that faced the side yard. My bed, still covered in the light pink quilt my grandmother had made, sat to my left and a dresser from my mother’s youth to my right.

  I ran my hand along the soft cotton bedding and turned to face the opposite wall. My insides twisted with nervous anticipation. The necklace was here, I could feel it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I closed my eyes. Voices hummed with hushed promises and secrets worth dying for. I breathed, heavy and full, and for a moment, I could smell a faint hint of tobacco.

  “I can’t believe it’s been here this entire time,” I said to James.

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  I nodded knowing exactly where the necklace was hidden. “Remember that story I told you? The one about the ghost I thought lived in my room?”

  James nodded. “You think that had something to do with your drift?”

  “I would bet on it.” An oversize rug covered most of the floor in my bedroom. “We’re going to have to roll back the rug before we pull up the boards underneath,” I said.

  “Now you wait just a minute,” my father said. “I haven’t heard from you in days, you’re ignoring my calls.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “And he knows? He knows about your drift?”

  I shrugged. “Daddy…” His eyes widened and demanded an explanation. “He’s a part of it. A part of me.” At the end, my voice was a whisper. James stepped to my side and took my hand. “We’re in this together.”

  My father’s face went slack, and I floundered for something to say. I wanted to assure him, to let him know everything was going to be okay, but I couldn’t.

  “I’m worried. You have to know how worried I am.” His arms hung limp at his sides, and panic creased the edges of his eyes. “When your mother first—when she started drifting—she started disappearing for hours, then days at a time.” The rest of his words were caught in his throat. He swallowed and his chin trembled.

  “I’m not Mom.” I wanted to walk to him, to slip my arms around his waist and let him hug me, but I couldn’t. “You’re going to have to trust me. Trust us. We’re taking care of it. We’re going to stop it,” I told him.

  “You can’t stop it. Believe me, I tried everything with your mother. If there were a way to end it, I’d have saved her.” His lips turned down and his chin crinkled up.

  “I know you would’ve, but what I’m dealing with…” I motioned to James. “What we’re dealing with goes beyond seeing my past. Daddy, it’s repeating. History, our history, is repeating, and the key to stopping it is here.”

  I’d never seen my father look so sad. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his face sagged under the weight of sorrow—he was hurting. He turned toward the door.

  “Dad,” I said. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. The corners of his mouth were pressed into a frown, and tears glistened in his grey eyes.

  “You sound just like her.” A tear fell from the corner of his eye before he walked out. For several seconds, all I could do was stare at the hole he left. Moments later the front door closed, and I heard his car start. He was leaving.

  I took two steps toward the door, ready to go after him, when James spoke. “Abby, we need to find the necklace.” His words were gentle and quiet.

  “Right.” I couldn’t think about my father, or the pain I’d caused. We needed to get what we came for. I pointed to the floor. “The boards creak there. About a foot from the wall.”

  James stepped where I’d pointed, and the floor whined. We moved together, immediately picking up the edge of the heavy wool rug.

  “You’re going to need to push the dresser to the right,” I told him as I rolled the rug back. James did as I asked, and when the floor was bare, we stared at the old wood planks that held scuffs and scars from a hundred years of wear.

  I took a tentative step forward and toed the area that creaked, listening to what was obviously a hollow area underneath. James pulled a knife from his pocket and simultaneously flipped the blade open. He traced the edges of a wood slat until he was able to get enough purchase to pop the board from its place. I dropped to his side and peered down but saw nothing other than a blank space filled with bits of dirt and dust.

  A vacancy settled where hope had lain. “It has to be here,” I said, sticking my hand into the newly opened hole.

  “Hang on,” James said as he removed the neighboring boards. When he pulled up the third, I saw a wadded up piece of fabric. Nervous excitement pounded in my ears.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed. I could
n’t control the tremble of my hand as I wrapped my fingers around the ball of cloth. When my fist closed, the fabric compressed inside my palm as if I held nothing at all. A heavy sigh fell from my lungs, and my racing heart jarred to a halt. “The necklace isn’t here.”

  I pulled my hand from the hollowed space in the floor.

  “What is that?” James asked.

  I turned the bundle over. I didn’t have to examine it to know what I held, and the sick feeling in my stomach only intensified when I saw a single embroidered letter. I ran my thumb over the dense stitching and sat back on my heels.

  “Abby?” James asked.

  “The necklace was wrapped in this handkerchief. It was here.”

  “Where could it have gone?” James’s hand swept the hollow space again, but came up empty.

  “I don’t know, but—” I pulled the handkerchief Evelyn had given me from my pocket and turned it to reveal the embroidered letter B. “This letter. They’re the same.”

  James stared at the blood stained handkerchief. “Evelyn had said it was her father’s.”

  “You know what this means?” I looked up at James. “We were right.”

  “Thomas was Evelyn’s father, but Valentina never told her.”

  I held up the handkerchief. “But she gave her this and told her it was her father’s.”

  He pulled it from my hand. “Bastone and Bellingham. With no other indicators, Evelyn wouldn’t have any reason not to believe it belonged to her mother’s husband.”

  James shook the handkerchief to better see the embroidery, and when the fabric unfolded, something rolled out and hit the floor with a light clink. It bounced once and stilled at James’s feet.

  He bent and picked up the fallen item. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he stood. Neither of us moved as we stared at the diamond ring glittering under the overhead light.