by Dee C. May
I never found my opening for our ‘beach meeting’ conversation and before I knew it, we were headed back to campus. It was pointless to even try during the drive back—her legs still peeked from beneath her coat, emphasizing the short length of her skirt and making it impossible to think of anything else. Her scent, mingled with the chocolate, was overwhelming. I pulled up in front of her dorm, letting the Jeep idle, as I debated what to say.
“Do you want to come in?” It was all the excuse I needed to turn the car off and walk her up to her room.
She slid her jacket off as we entered, dropping it on the floor and then, turning into me, she kissed me. Her lips were hot with the blood rushing through them, and her breath smelled of cinnamon. She pressed her body into mine, and even if I hadn’t been able to hear her heart beat, I could feel it radiating through her chest. Her warm hand moved over my back, pulling at my shirt and sliding up under. My stomach churned with the thought of feeling her skin. I kissed her back, exploring her mouth, and her fingernails scraped along my back in answer. Sweeping her hair from her face, the silky strands running through my fingers fueled my desire. Every inch of her had a different texture. I wanted to feel it all. One hand on my head, fisted there, she pulled me deeper into the kiss. I obeyed for a moment before running my lips down her jaw line, descending toward her collarbone, my fingers traveling up her leg at the same time, sliding across her soft skin until my fingers reached the top, where lace and skin collided. I brushed along her inner thigh, and she shifted ever so slightly against me, a soft moan escaping her lips. If I had any rational thought, it was gone. More, I needed more. I pushed her against the wall.
It took a second to register. Her breathing, heavy before, was now choppy and strained, like a frightened animal. I lifted my head and looked into her eyes. The flicker of fear was unmistakable, even as she tried to cover it up. I dropped my hand from where I had planted it next to her head, and saw the crack in the plaster. My stomach dropped. I was lucky I hadn’t given her a concussion. Too strong. Too much. Hadn’t I come up here to talk? What the hell did I just do?
“I should go,” I said, moving quickly away from the wall.
She dropped her eyes, looking away from me. “Don’t. I…”
“Wynter,” I cut her off. My voice sounded gruff even to me, but I didn’t know how to soften it. Anger and frustration rolled through me. I was supposed to be here discussing after-life experiences, not raping her. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all right. I just think I should go.” I had to get out. She didn’t stop me from leaving. Not that she could have. I turned in the doorway, looking back at her. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, her hair wild and messy from where I had run my hands through it, her clothes disheveled. I wanted to say something, anything, but I was at a loss. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She smiled at me, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay.”
I paused in the stairwell, waiting to hear her lock the door, then hurried outside. I realized on my way home I had done exactly what he had done in the bar—trapping her, giving her no way out and no control. Of all the ways this night could have ended, this was not what I wanted. It didn’t matter that I had met her before in another place. I was still a freak, and she was just a college girl. She deserved a normal everyday guy who could take her to dinner and the movies and not almost crush her with his bare hands. I had no clue what she needed. I pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment in the Jeep, thinking about the way she had looked at the beginning of the night.
I found Quinn sitting in his usual spot on the porch. He turned when he heard me. “How was it?”
“Fucking disaster. I scared her, cracked the bloody plaster on the wall and almost crushed her, and I also over…” I stopped mid-sentence. Quinn sat, empty handed, no beer, no scotch, and his face appeared tired, worn—and very worried.
“What happened?” I asked, thinking the worst. “Not Sara…”
He leaned forward, running his hands through his hair and smiling wryly. “No, but Sara called. They found Audra. Dead. Bled to death in her own bathtub. Wrists cut.” He paused. “They’re calling it suicide. Like Michael.”
The strength drained from my legs, and I sank into the chair nearby. “What do you think?” I croaked.
“I think … it’s all very suspicious. Maybe it’s time to go home. And … talk to a few key people.”
I sat for a moment contemplating what that would mean. This was more than just visiting London. “Did you book a flight?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll call and see what I can get.” I paused on my way inside. “You worried about Sara?”
“I’m worried about all of us.” He said it vehemently, and I knew exactly what he meant. Our abilities protected us and made us vulnerable at the same time. None of us were safe. I made the necessary phone calls and then rejoined him. We sat silently staring out on the water. I remembered my last conversation with Audra.
“Maybe they have each other again,” I offered. Quinn shrugged and half smiled. No one knew what waited on the other side. Of course, I had an idea, but it didn’t seem the right time to bring that up.
“Maybe.”
“They were good,” I added.
Now I could see him smile. “By our standards, Beck, that’s not saying much.”
“I know. I just hope for the best. I liked them. Remember that time in Venice?”
He smiled broadly and chuckled. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “What really happened?”
I shook my head, turning my attention back to the sea. The waves rolled and tumbled violently. I wondered if a storm was coming in. I couldn’t smell anything amiss, but the water certainly pounded the shore. “I don’t know.” It was my turn to drag my hands through my hair. “It went well at dinner. Then she asked me up and, well, I got out of hand. It’s not only my anger I have trouble controlling. What a bloody mess. What am I doing?” I got up, pacing up and down the deck. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ll figure it out when I get back.”
“Suit yourself, but I would call and set it right or walk away and be done with it.”
I stopped and sighed. Neither scenario appealed to me. “Yeah.” I still wanted to talk about that damn accident, though how I’d bring that up now I had no idea. Hey, sorry for the near rape. Do you remember heading to a beach when you were in a coma? I saw you there. Want to walk down memory lane with me? Christ, I had really fucked things up.
We left for London the following evening.
I called Wynter before I left, letting her know I was going out of town and would be back in a few days. She sounded subdued on the phone. Something in her voice raised my suspicions that something else was going on, but I didn’t have time to figure it out. I tried to put her out of my mind and concentrate on the task at hand.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Wynter—Vertigo
Beck called the next day and made some lame excuse about going out of town. Classic. For someone older and not even American, he certainly knew how to avoid. I laughed, thinking how wrong Jason had been. Beck wasn’t a prude, just the opposite. I’d hesitated, not him. I was crushed. Beck was the first guy I truly felt attracted to since Jason. I’d thought he wanted more than just sex, but clearly I was wrong.
I went home that weekend for some family get together, which was just as well. I needed to get away. I got tired of staring around my room and replaying the whole thing in my mind, wishing for a different ending. I had wanted to fool around, maybe even sleep together, but the whole flying through the air and squished against the wall like a bug had scared me. This was the same guy who gave me a handkerchief. I kept hoping he’d call or show up, tell me it was all a big mistake, but it was useless. Dates that ended that way, never went anywhere else. As much as I said it didn’t matter, I wanted desperately to be right that he liked me, not just wanted me for sex.
But as days passed, Jason was the one who called and texted. More attentive than he’d be
en in months, he walked with me to history class, hanging with me at the snack bar and even playing scrabble over our phones, challenging me to more than one rematch when I won. I didn’t let on to Jason that Beck had disappeared. He asked and I avoided, giving him vague answers. Maybe I was using Beck to make Jason jealous and get better treatment but it wasn’t like Beck was around or that I was cheating on him. He was the one who’d left—and pretty fucking quick, too.
My phone rang as I crawled into bed. My stomach dropped in disappointment at the name.
“Hello?” Jason’s voice slithered into my ear. “Are you alone?” I thought about lying, but I was never good at bullshitting him.
“Yes,” I answered, yawning as if to emphasize the point.
“Where’s your English dude?”
“He had to go out of town.”
“You want to come over?” He was unbelievable, but maybe that was part of the attraction. I didn’t know anymore. Our relationship was so screwed, sometimes I felt like a diver with vertigo, lost in the water, unable to figure out up or down.
“I don’t think so,” I answered. Annie would have been proud.
“Come on. I can’t stop thinking about Abby.”
“No. It’s too cold out.” I waited for him to laugh or say something sarcastic.
“Okay, I understand.” I almost fell out of bed.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I just miss you is all.”
“Where’s your girlfriend?” I tried to ask innocently.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Seriously?”
“We just hang out sometimes. She’s doesn’t mean anything to me, not like Abby or you. I really miss you. Let me come over, just to talk. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
I knew that feeling. He sounded so sad. And lonely. I stared at the picture on my bookcase of Abby and I in lacrosse gear. In the darkened room, only the white of our sticks and smiles were visible, but I didn’t need the light to see it. It would be a year on Sunday.
“Wynter?”
“Alright.”
I hung up and got out of bed to make sure my hair looked all right. Maybe things could work out okay, even if it wasn’t with Beck.
Jason knocked softly. I opened the door and he brushed by and sat on the bed.
“What’s up?” I stood by my desk a few feet away. He reached for my hand, sliding his fingers through mine. He tugged gently, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Come here,” he whispered, staring up at me. His eyes looked the way I felt. I hesitantly moved closer. He wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned his head against my stomach. I let my hands wander through his hair, and he pressed his head closer. We stayed that way for a few moments, our breath the only sound in the room. He dropped one hand, trailing it lightly down my leg. Goosebumps erupted on my arms. Fucking Jason. I should have known.
“I miss you,” he mumbled. “I want you. I love your body. And you know you want this.” I wondered what Beck was doing and broke away, moving to stare out the window. Where had he gone? They had email wherever he went, didn’t they? Maybe Jason was right. I was a guy’s dream for sex and nothing more.
“Come on,” Jason pleaded, coming up behind me. “Don’t shut me out. You know we’re good together.” Did good mean screwing? We were definitely good at that. He threaded his arms around my waist and kissed my neck. His hands traveled slowly up and under my t-shirt. “I need this.” He turned me around and lifted me onto the bed gently. I knew it was wrong, knew I wanted Beck. But did it really fucking matter? Beck hadn’t called now for over a week, and I’d been brushed off enough times to recognize it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lies
He hurried across the square between the buildings, squinting his eyes against the sun as it peeked from behind gray clouds. He was surprised it was even out. Running up the stairs to the brick building, he swung the first set of doors open and set off down the hall. He had gotten an urgent call just moments before. “Baxter, ASAP to my office.” He hated Ledford, this new defense minister. Of course, it was silly to still be calling him the “new” defense minister. It had been two years now, but he had a hard time with change. He missed his old boss.
The heels of his shoes clicked on the tile floor. Placing his hand on the sensors outside another set of doors, he waited. In two seconds, it beeped and the lock clicked. The silver doors slid apart, and he walked through. His heart pounded in his ears. He always felt on the defensive here. He glanced right and left as he maneuvered past desks. Ledford stood in front of a large screen, phone pressed to his ear. On the screen were pictures of two of Baxter’s group, recently killed. Baxter took a deep breath, searching for courage he knew he didn’t have, and approached his boss, who glanced casually his way but didn’t stop his phone conversation. His own phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t dare answer it. Finally, Ledford placed his phone down on the desk and turned to him.
“So, you’ve lost some members.” He motioned to the pictures on the screen. Baxter felt a zing of remorse. He had known the two of them a long time. Unlike most of the others employed here, he had worked closely with his charges, grooming them from childhood, noting their abilities, shepherding them through undergraduate training and then through Special Forces training. True, he hadn’t actually trained them nor went with them on assignments, but he felt like he knew each personally, aware of their singular talents and flaws. The fact that Michael and Audra’s deaths were listed as suicides rankled deep within him, but he was powerless to do anything. He pushed what remained of his brown hair back.
“Who did it?” Baxter asked, well aware he might not be told. Ledford shook his head and pressed a button. Her face filled the screen. Devastatingly beautiful, even after all these years. His stomach dropped, his throat closed.
“How did she get out?”
His boss shrugged. “Budget cuts. This government cannot continue to house mental patients that aren’t really sick.”
“Not sick? She tried to kill a residence hall full of students nine years ago.”
“Her chart just lists depression and schizophrenia. And those conditions are fully treatable with medicine.”
“But sir, you were not here then. She’s crazy. Everyone there knew it. We have no idea what she will do. And she’s super strong.” Another picture flashed on the screen—her sitting next to a nondescript guy eating. He peered closer.
“Is that one of ours?”
“I believe it is. Watson. Didn’t he serve with Beckett in that fiasco down in Colombia?”
“That wasn’t their fault. They were given faulty information.”
“Yes, that’s what you always say. But we’ll never know, will we?”
“Sir, don’t you think if she’s out we should warn Beckett and the others?”
His boss shrugged again, eyes pinned to the screen. “Baxter, this division of yours, all those super-powered thugs, is a problem. It always was. That’s why I ordered it closed. Control issues, inability to follow commands, anger management. If they are so tough, so able to take care of themselves, then they should be fine.”
Anger stirred in Baxter. He hated the way this new minister talked about the Forum, clearly not understanding what they could do. “Sir,” he protested, “she threatened to kill them all when we locked her up.”
“What tempers they all have, especially the early ones.” Disdain was evident in his voice. He picked up a device and pointed it at the screen. A moment later, Michael and Audra’s picture was back, as well as Sara with Quinn and Beck, taken years ago when they were still cadets. He turned and looked at Baxter.
“Wallace was here. Asking to see me. Asking questions about those suicides. You are to meet with her and tell her nothing. Confirm that all evidence points to suicides and let it be.”
Baxter’s heart started racing. He couldn’t do it. Lie to these people that he had helped create. He had been their contact for years. They trust
ed him. “Are you trying to kill them?” This new minister seemed oblivious to the power they held.
“Of course not. But if they can’t take care of themselves, that’s not my problem. I heard Beckett and Quinn are in town. Make sure you see them and give them the same information as Wallace. Then send them away.” He turned his back to Baxter. “Actually, no, bring them in and have them review a bunch of old files we want closed. Then send them away. I’ve had enough with all of them. The quicker they’re gone, the better. That division was a bloody mistake.” He called crisply to a young worker by the door, who brought a file over to him. After glancing at it briefly and signing a few papers, he disappeared out the double doors.
Baxter looked around. Nobody seemed to notice him. He pulled his phone out. Two missed calls. One from Frannie, his wife. The other from Sara Wallace. He wiped the sweat beading on his upper lip away. In the last two years, he’d grown to hate his job. Turning from the screen, he walked back through the doors, down the hall, and out into the brief sunshine.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Beck—Fruitless Search
I had hoped to be back within a week, but our trip stretched to ten days. When we went to see Baxter, he denied all rumors of murder, mumbling vague answers to our questions and jumping a foot whenever one of us got near him. Ignoring our pleas for information, instead he heaped stacks of files on us to review before dismissing us entirely.
When we weren’t tied up with government bullshit, we searched from Bournemouth to Newcastle, through the cities and vacant factories, all through the midlands, and up and down the coast, for anyone we knew. Despite our efforts, our questions went unanswered.
“Pull over here.” I pointed to the side of the road. Fiona jerked the wheel to the left and slowed Nathaniel’s Range Rover. I climbed out, searching the wind for any familiar scents. We were just outside Surrey. There were sheep in the field behind a stone wall, softly mewing. I stared out at the moonlit landscape, remembering the house that once stood there. Years had changed the landscape, but the telltale landmarks remained the same. I heard the car door open then Fiona stood beside me.