by Jena Leigh
Closing the distance between them, Trent reached out and gripped Aiden’s free hand, embracing him with a hard clap on the back.
“Welcome to the uprising, invisible man,” said Aiden. “And yeah, I brought your damn beer. I guess you earned it this time.”
“Damn right I earned it,” Trent mumbled. He snaked a beer out of the cardboard container, gripped the glass bottle between both hands, and scowled. “Aw, c’mon dude. It’s warm.”
Aiden snatched the beer back from Trent, held it up to the light, and glared at it for a couple seconds. A layer of frost soon lined the glass bottle all the way up to the fill line.
“Yeah, well,” said Trent. “Now you’re just showing off.”
“When did you get here?” Nate asked. “Are Jezza and our guest of honor here, too?”
“What?” Trent was turning out his pockets in search of something. “Oh, right. Yeah, they’re both still up at the house talking to Grayson and Alex’s aunt.”
“What are you looking for, man?” Aiden asked as Trent continued to pat down the pockets of his jeans.
“Bottle opener,” he replied.
Nate detached a metal opener from his key ring and tossed it to Trent.
“Seen Trouble yet?” Aiden asked with a smirk.
Trent arched a brow. “Trouble? Actually the whole extraction thing went pretty smoothly, so… oh. You meant the other kind of Trouble. The one with a capital ‘T.’” He shook his head, popping the top on his beer. “Nah, she was holed up in her room when we arrived. I went to knock on her door and Kenzie damn near took my head off. Something about Alex needing rest.”
Alex and Declan had already returned?
Nate frowned, glancing in the direction of the main house. He thought back to the hollow, exhausted look Alex had been sporting the last time he’d seen her, then wondered if Holls’ regenerative ability could do anything to help the girl get some real sleep.
Something cold pressed against the bare skin of his bicep and Nate snapped back to the present.
He accepted the now perfectly cooled bottle of beer as Trent stared at the car, his head cocked to one side.
“The Charger looks even worse than it did after you drove it through that rec center wall.” Trent eyed the dented front end and door panels with curiosity. “At least back then it still had most of its paint job. What did you do to it this time?”
At that, Aiden snorted in amusement and Nate shifted uncomfortably.
“What?” asked Trent. “What’d I say?”
“He hasn’t done anything to it,” said Aiden. “Aside from stripping some of the finish away to prep for a paint job that he’s yet to actually get around to.”
Trent looked back and forth between them, bemused. “I don’t get it.”
Scowling, Nate ignored the bottle opener in Trent’s outstretched hand and pulled off the metal cap using his TK instead.
“I’m working on it,” said Nate. “It’s… a process.”
This time his cousin laughed outright, shaking his head. Trent tossed Aiden the bottle opener, still watching Nate with a furrowed brow.
“A process?” asked Trent. “You mean the Charger’s looked like… like that… for over a year and you’ve yet to fix it?”
“It runs fine,” said Nate, defensive. “The engine’s even more powerful now than it was before.”
His words were met with a few moments of silence.
“Yeah, no.” Trent shook his head. “Still not getting it.”
Nate sighed.
Trent pointed at the Charger with his beer. “That car looked twice as bad as it does now and was missing half its engine block when you first bought it—and you still had it looking mint and running perfectly within three freaking months.”
He left the ensuing question unspoken, but his raised eyebrow asked it anyway.
What gives?
Nate sipped his beer and didn’t answer.
What could he say? How could he explain it in a way that either of them would ever begin to understand?
Aiden crossed his arms and leaned back against the Charger, eyebrows raised and a small smile twisting at the corners of his mouth, waiting patiently for Nathaniel’s explanation. It was a topic Nate had been carefully avoiding since Aiden first relocated to Florida and caught sight of the still-mangled muscle car.
He’d lost count of the times his cousin had asked him when he planned on getting around to repairing his most prized possession.
When nearly thirty seconds had passed and the two were still staring at him expectantly, Nate grimaced and set down his beer.
“I left it looking like that because…” Nate blew out a tired exhalation, swallowed his pride, and came clean. “Because I needed a reminder. Something physical. Something real.”
Nate stared hard at one of the depressions in the passenger side door. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Aiden’s smile evaporate.
“It was all so… insane. Everything that happened. The way it all happened.” Nate shrugged. “Some days I’d wake up in the morning and have this—this moment of doubt that it had ever happened at all. Then I’d see the Charger. The busted front end. The dented sides. Actual concrete evidence that my memories were real. That Alex Parker was real. That a future version of Declan really was locked up in a cryo unit underneath some godforsaken mountain in Virginia. The Charger was my constant reminder of what was at stake. Of why I was spying on my own damn family and keeping secrets from the people I cared about the most.”
Nate lowered his gaze, not wanting to see his friends’ reactions, and got to his feet.
As he turned to walk back toward the main house he said, “And that, Aiden, is why I never got around to fixing the damn car.”
* * *
Alex sat cross-legged atop one of the two quilt-covered twin beds in the room she shared with Kenzie, flipping through the pages of Hanako’s journal. Shortly after returning she’d retreated to her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her. First, however, she’d made certain that everyone else at the compound was preoccupied with other endeavors.
Last she checked, Kenzie—the person most likely to come knocking—had assumed an all-important undertaking: teaching the youngest member of the Grayson clan, her brother Brian, how to play Texas Hold’em.
Apparently, the redhead had forfeited one too many games of Go, and was now bound and determined to challenge the boy genius to a game that relied less on strategy and more on dumb luck and people-reading. As a result, poker appeared to be the new distraction du jour.
From the theatrical groans radiating down the hallway every few minutes, Kenzie’s plan had backfired.
Brian was winning anyway.
As for Alex herself, she was lost in the task of studiously analyzing the thirteen-year-old diary entries for anything that might prove relevant.
Anything, such as an earth-shattering revelation regarding the Grayson family patriarch.
When she first lifted the cover and began to examine Hanako’s carefully printed entries, Alex felt a momentary twinge of guilt.
Ever since she was old enough to put words on the page, Alex had been keeping journals of her own. The thought of someone she hardly knew reading one of her diaries from cover to cover filled her with no small amount of dread.
Opening Hanako’s book, Alex felt like an intruder—as though she were crossing some terrible line by reading these words, taking an uninvited glimpse behind the metaphorical curtain to uncover the woman’s innermost thoughts, desires, and secrets.
She soon realized that she needn’t have worried.
After reading the first few pages, it became obvious that the book wasn’t a hiding place for Hanako’s most guarded secrets. Instead, it recounted the overwhelmingly mundane events of her day-to-day life and chronicled any headway she made on the various jobs she’d been assigned.
The journal was simply a tool Hanako employed to organize her thoughts and to review her progress at the close of each day.
Fr
om what Alex had read so far, Hanako worked closely with many members of Grayson’s original team on any given mission, and so the information that Hanako chose to transcribe were all details that were well-known to the entire group.
The contents of these journal entries weren’t secrets to anyone except Agency outsiders.
Alex had no clue what could possibly be written in this book that would prove as revelatory as Kento Nakamura had implied.
Roughly two dozen entries in, Alex set the journal down and pinched the bridge of her nose.
It wasn’t that she had a headache, exactly. And, thanks to Holls, the pain of her former injuries was fast being swallowed up by the detachment of memory.
At the moment, Alex was blissfully free of anything resembling physical pain.
But for all the miraculous, restorative powers a healing ability offered up, there was one thing it couldn’t save her from: exhaustion.
And man, was she ever tired.
Since her return, the prospect of a good night’s rest had morphed into little more than a sick joke. Every time her eyes closed for more than a moment—every time she traded her wakeful awareness for the surrender of sleep—she was drawn right back into her own private hell. She became trapped in the pitch black void of limbo, her muscles wrenched apart as Declan’s fingers slipped from her wrist and she found herself alone.
Alone, and more terrified than she’d ever been.
Each night she relived the nightmare, certain that this time she wouldn’t be finding her way home again. That this time, she wouldn’t be able to make her escape.
Each night she woke to the flickering light of the lamp on the bedside table and the sound of her own screams ringing in her ears, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she stuttered through yet another useless apology to Kenzie.
Even though Alex was definitely in the running for the title of Worst Roommate Ever, Red steadfastly refused to bunk anywhere else. She’d long since proven herself as loyal a friend as Cassie Harper, Alex’s lifelong bestie back in her hometown of Bay View.
Cassie.
It had been three weeks, four days, and—Alex checked the time on her cell—seven hours, now, since she’d last spoken to the spirited blonde who had watched her back since elementary school. A confidante she missed dearly, right about now.
The lack of contact came courtesy of her Aunt Cil and Grayson.
They called it a safety precaution. Though not for Alex—for the sake of Cassie and her family.
It was their reasoning that, so long as Alex kept her distance from the Harper clan (and Cassie in particular), the family would be shielded from the Agency’s interest. For a while, anyway.
Alex had been allowed a single phone call to Cassie after she’d returned from the past, and nary a text or email since.
Truthfully? The bestie-deprivation was bordering on torture at this point.
If it weren’t for Kenzie, Alex would have straight up lost it ages ago.
A loud knock sounded at the bedroom door and Alex choked back a cry of alarm. Slamming the journal shut, she scrambled to hide it beneath the quilt.
“Y-yes?” she called, fluffing a pillow and straightening the edges of the bedding underneath.
It wasn’t Declan. His familiar electrical signature had yet to return.
He left half an hour earlier, presumably to scrounge together the money he needed to pay off Benji for the surveillance gear he’d ordered. He’d also insinuated she shouldn’t bother waiting up for him.
Declan had assigned her the task of reading Hanako’s diary, then teleported to parts unknown without another word.
Frustratingly vague, as ever.
“Hey, Lex.” Nathaniel’s voice carried softly through the door. “Can I come in?”
Alex focused on the doorknob with her thoughts, using telekinesis to flip the flimsy lock, turn the handle, and tug the door open.
Being at war with the Agency also meant that Alex was walking around with at least four borrowed abilities at any given time.
Telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, and water-wielding had become her constant companions.
It had been overwhelming, at first, the constant awareness required to hold them all in check. A wall around her mind to keep from accidentally reading someone’s thoughts. A strict hold on her telekinesis and control over nearby electrical currents when her emotions flared. Constantly surrendering to the gentle flow of every water source on the property to keep from accidentally freezing the pipes…
After a week or two, she’d thankfully grown accustomed to the balancing act. Now it all came as naturally to her as breathing.
Not that her breathing was altogether “natural” right now.
Nate hesitated in the doorway, standing half in and half out of the room. Meanwhile, Alex’s heart hammered in her chest as she struggled to portray herself as calm.
“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” he said, when she didn’t speak. “Looks like that visit to Holls paid off.”
Alex nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah. Good as new.”
For whatever reason, her reply elicited a frown from Nate.
“I noticed you didn’t make it to dinner,” he said. “I made a plate for you. Left it in the microwave. Assuming someone hasn’t raided the kitchen in the last hour, it should still be there if you’re hungry.”
“Thank you,” she said, the tight upturn at the corner of her lips softening into something more genuine.
Alex had been so distracted with the chaotic events of the day she hadn’t even realized she’d missed dinner. And lunch, too. Come to think of it… had she eaten breakfast?
Her stomach rumbled at the prospect of a decent meal and she resolved to find that plate of food ASAP.
Just as soon as she finished thumbing through Hanako’s journal. Earth-shattering secrets to find, and all that.
A crinkle appeared on Nate’s brow and his frown deepened. “Is everything…” He paused to rethink his words, then asked, “Are you okay?”
The query caught her off guard and Alex hesitated, unsure of how she ought to reply.
She fielded that exact question on practically a daily basis—any time she took a heavy hit during a sparring match, every time she fell victim to her own inherent clumsiness—but never in the way that Nate was asking her now.
He didn’t want to know if she’d just broken something.
He wanted to know if she was broken.
The knee-jerk reply sat heavily on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be spoken: I’m fine, no worries. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud. Maybe it was the genuine look of concern in Nate’s eyes. Maybe it was the fact that, on some level, she knew that she needed to talk to someone, anyone, about everything now haunting her.
Her past.
Her present.
The distinct possibility that she wouldn’t live long enough to see her future.
Was she alright?
Alex already knew the answer.
She was also working studiously, twenty-four seven, to avoid acknowledging it.
“I just mean…” Nate stepped fully inside the room, closing the door silently behind him. “With all that’s going on right now, it’s okay if you’re not okay. No one’s going to think any less of you.”
Unable to hold Nate’s gaze, she chose instead to pluck at a stray thread in the quilt beneath her.
Through the closed door, she could hear Kenzie shouting about the statistical impossibility of Brian having been dealt two aces in his opening hand, two rounds in a row. She was demanding the immediate return of her forfeited Oreos until an independent party could be brought in to figure out how the boy was managing to cheat while wearing a short-sleeved shirt.
Long, silent seconds passed, and it became clear that Nate wouldn’t be leaving until she conjured a reply.
“I’m fine, Nate,” she said at last. “No need to worry.”
He hesitated, then drew a breath, clear
ly prepared to argue the point.
Before Nate could give voice to his concerns, however, Kenzie’s telepathic projection rang out clearly in Alex’s mind—and in Nate’s, too, judging from the way his mouth snapped shut in response.
We’ve got a problem. Kenzie’s words were laced with a heady mix of anxiety, surprise, and an undercurrent of dread. Nate. Lex. Living room. Now.
Seven
Cassie Harper jolted upright in bed.
On the nightstand, Carrie Underwood belted out a familiar chorus about revenge, slashed tires, and a well-aimed Louisville Slugger—and that could only mean one thing.
With a groan, Cassie snatched up the cell and muted it, annoyed that she’d forgotten to silence the device before falling into bed three hours earlier. She was ready to commit a crime against the caller that was far worse than the property damage being described in his customized ringtone.
After the hell he’d put her best friend through, he deserved worse. A fact she was eager to remind him of every time she got the chance.
He’d called her once a week like clockwork after Alex disappeared—and then kept up the habit even after Alex returned the month before.
Well, returned in the sense that she was home from the past, anyhow. Alex had called her only once since getting back. A thirty second phone call from a number Cassie hadn’t recognized, wherein Alex assured her she was fine, told her she loved her, said Aiden missed her like crazy, and then warned her that they’d be out of touch for a while.
Alex said it was to keep everyone back in Bay View safe.
Cassie didn’t think it would matter one way or the other to the Agency. They’d already proven that the people Alex cared about were fair game.
She stared at the phone’s illuminated screen for a full five seconds before giving in and answering it.
“Someone better be dead or dying, Toad,” she muttered. “Or I swear to God I’ll—”
“Cassie! ” On the other end of the line, Connor Talbot struggled to catch his breath. “Check the news.”
“What?” Cassie scrunched her face in confusion. “It’s the middle of the freaking—”