Revealing Silver Page 20

  Yours ’til the end of time,

  Olivia

  The Quantum Leap reference laid to rest any doubts that Olivia hadn’t written this herself. He read it three times before folding it carefully, putting it back in the envelope, and slipping it inside his pocket. His hands felt numb, and his heart twisted in more directions than should’ve been feasible. She was safe for the moment. That was good news. She wanted him to make arrangements for her, which meant she had good reason to believe she wouldn’t be safe for long. That was bad.

  She was terrified. And he wasn’t with her to help. That was a crater the size of the Grand Canyon left in his chest because if he hadn’t been such a baby about seeing Nathan and Olivia working together, he could’ve insisted they wait to go to the warehouse until after he came back from the station. They would both be safe.

  The letter itself, however, was genius. The details it provided were as good as if she’d recorded them and sent them in. And he knew exactly what town she was referring to, though he’d have to check his file to confirm the address of the safe house. Gabriel probably still thought it was secure, but it was one of the addresses their earlier investigation had turned up. The license plate wouldn’t do much good except to pinpoint location, or if Gabriel decided to move Nathan before she returned, but Stotko would love the tidbit to add to the manhunt.

  The only thing he couldn’t figure out was how she’d gotten it into the box for him to find. Pulling it back out of his pocket, he examined it more closely. Something about it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. He’d never met Olivia before they’d started working together on this case, he was sure of it. Had she concocted some kind of disguise to give it to him and he’d forgotten about her, too? No, she made it clear in the letter how much she was resisting the need to see the younger version of himself.

  That left Remy. And as soon as his brain tripped on that, he remembered the last time he’d seen her.

  She’d stopped by the station to see him. He and Nathan had been busy with something—he couldn’t remember what—but she’d insisted she wouldn’t keep him too long.

  “I was right,” she said.

  He frowned. “About what?”

  “This town. It’s better if I go home.”

  “L.A.’s not that—”

  “It’s not L.A. It’s me. And what I left.”

  “The other guy.”

  Her gaze ducked, unnaturally shy. “Yeah.”

  “Well, if you ever get back to L.A., promise me you’ll let me know.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re right at the top of the list.” Instead of going, she reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. “Hold on to this for me until I do, will you? Someplace safe. Lock-and-key safe.”

  “Yeah, I’ll keep it right here for you.”

  “No, not here. I mean, super-safe. It’s really important to me.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  She grinned. “I’ll tell you the next time I see you.”

  And that had been that. In 2000, he and Nathan had shared the safety deposit box, because it was cheaper to have the one. With Maggie out of his life, he’d forgotten all about it.

  He went through the rest of the box again, just to be safe. Nothing else of interest turned up. Putting everything back inside, he rang for the clerk to lock it back up.

  Five minutes later, he was on the road, the first of what would likely be many calls already underway.

  “How’d Wright get this intel to you?” Stotko asked, after taking all the particulars Isaac had gleaned from the letter.

  “She stole a phone.” It was the only story that sounded remotely plausible.

  “And you trust it?”

  “With my life, sir.”

  “If Gabriel’s crossed the border, there’s not much we can do about bringing him back in. You know that.”

  “Can’t we coordinate with the locals and inform them of the hostage situation?”

  “That’s going to take some finagling to find someone who isn’t in his pocket. We don’t want to tip him off that we know where he is. The last thing we need is him running again.”

  Isaac tried not raise his voice in frustration. It was hardly Stotko’s fault he was right. “We don’t have a lot of time, sir.”

  “Then I suggest you drive fast.”

  “Sir?”

  Stotko went on like Isaac hadn’t just called into question what sounded like indirect permission to pursue Gabriel on his own. “They’re…what? Four hundred miles from here?”

  “Yes…”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, McGuire. Unless I hear from you first.”

  It was permission, but Isaac wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Yes, sir.” He paused, and then added, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  His second call was to Olivia’s parents. He got her dad, which was a mild relief. He didn’t have the time or patience to worry about calming her mom. Though Mr. Wright asked a few terse questions that left Isaac more than a little uncomfortable, he agreed to Olivia’s request, assuring Isaac they’d head up north for a few days until they heard it was safe to come home.

  How many times Olivia had been in enough danger before to have this sort of backup plan already in place?

  He deliberately kept his thoughts focused on the immediate details—arranging a new car from the impound that would both blend in and be fast enough for whatever might come up, running back to his apartment to change his clothes, loading up the trunk with enough weaponry for a small army. He left Tiberius for last. Though Olivia had requested the dog go to her parents’ if possible, Isaac had other plans for him. He’d been trained by the head of the K-9 unit as a personal favor to Olivia, not to mention that other than himself, he knew nobody else on the planet as fiercely protective of Olivia.

  And, all right, the trip south would be a hell of a lot more tolerable with Tiberius in the car with him.

  The huge dog consumed the entire backseat of the car, filling the rearview mirror as they backed out of Olivia’s drive. The ride back to L.A. once he had all three of them would be cramped, but he figured nobody would complain. Remy would be on Nathan’s lap, Tiberius would be all over Olivia, and Isaac would be happy everybody was safe and sound.

  They had to be. He’d never be able to patch up the holes they’d leave in his life if they weren’t.

  His jealousy wasn’t really gone, but it sure wasn’t as important as before. He could still feel it—hell, he could practically taste it—but compared to the possibility he might lose her and Nathan completely, it didn’t matter. She’d made herself perfectly clear in the letter, how much she wanted Isaac there, how much she needed him. Considering his behavior over the damn coins from the time they’d met, could he blame her for relying on Nathan and his expertise when it came to using them? Nathan had as much at stake, maybe more. Isaac should’ve been more understanding about it.

  And he would. When he got them away from Gabriel—when, not if, because he was going to focus on the fact that Remy had disappeared from 2000—he’d focus on everything he had, all the good she brought into his life, how she made him feel. He’d listen to her when she said she needed him, and he’d figure out a way to give her the benefit of the doubt when his insecurities told him otherwise.

  Yours ’til the end of time.

  The Silver Maiden gave her all the time in the world. She had to know that when she’d written the letter, and she’d used that turn of phrase anyway.

  He’d hold onto that, too. Prove to her every day for the rest of their lives that he treasured her, more than she would ever know.

  The six girls stood in a straight line, their eyes down, their hands locked behind their backs. Marisol smiled to herself as she paced in front of them, studying each one, weighing her options. Over the past several years, she’d come to know each of her girls quite well. She knew their likes and dislikes. Knew when they would try to be stubborn, knew how
to break down their wills, knew who would cry out in pain and who would accept it all with a stoic coldness she almost admired. Most importantly, she knew what they were capable of. Gabriel never bothered to ask just what made these particular girls so special. He accepted her word as she used her inherited knowledge and innate powers to find the other girls like her. He believed they would be enough to prompt the Silver Maiden’s return, and he’d never pressed for more details. Lucky for her. It meant she had fewer reasons to lie to his face. Marisol was certain that if he had known the full truth, he never would have trusted anybody—even his dearest cousin—to their care.

  The girls didn’t move. After years of conditioning, they knew to keep perfectly still during the inspection. The punishment for even the slightest fidget was swift and harsh. They were under her complete control. After the incident with Stacy, it was even more important to flex her muscles and make it clear exactly whom they belonged to and what was expected of them. Losing Stacy had been a crippling blow. Without Stacy’s powers or either one of the coins, she was trapped in 2000, which wasn’t exactly what she planned. She couldn’t find Stacy unless she traveled through time, and she couldn’t travel through time unless she found Stacy. Or one of the coins. With that, Remy might have been a help to her, but there was only one way to find out.

  Marisol reached the end of the line for the tenth time, her gaze drawn to Sophe. She was the quietest of the girls. Caused the least trouble. Always kept her eyes down when Marisol was near and muttered agreeable things like “yes, ma’am” to anything Marisol instructed. It was probably safe to say the girl was her favorite of the bunch, and there were scars on her shoulders, her back, and her ribs to attest to that fact. Marisol couldn’t help herself when it came to some of the girls. Their blood sang to her, the briefest touch giving her a buzz for the rest of the day. She never quite absorbed enough of them to manifest their powers. Or if she did, she never exhibited them for long. But she couldn’t afford to drag her heels any longer. One of the girls would have to be sacrificed to the greater good. She needed to bring Remy down. At the moment, they were equally matched, which would never do.

  She took Sophe’s arm without speaking and dragged her away from the lineup. Sophe gave a little cry of shock, pulling against Marisol’s thin fingers, looking back to the other girls in desperation. They watched without making a sound, eyes wide, dumbstruck. Marisol had never been more grateful of their ignorance. If any of them knew what they were capable of, they might be able to stop her. She’d been tempted a few times to explain it all to them, wanting them to understand they were special, that they had an ancient connection to something powerful and greater than anything they could truly comprehend. But the risk was never worth it. So they lived in a perpetual state of confusion, not knowing exactly what Marisol wanted with them or why she found them so fascinating.

  Marisol took Sophe into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. She forced her to strip and pushed her into the bathtub, turning on the cold water. Sophe hugged herself, teeth clattering as the water swirled around her feet. She looked so small and young that Marisol almost felt a twinge of remorse for what she was about to do. But it couldn’t be helped. She needed to defeat Remy without shooting her, stabbing her, or sending a few towering hulks after her to rip her apart. Remy was too much like a feral animal for Marisol to overpower on her own. Not like the children she’d lured into the back of her car, oftentimes in the middle of their very own neighborhood.

  Besides, she always knew it was going to end this way for the girls. From the moment she discovered them and the strange, intoxicating qualities of their blood, she knew it would end like this. So she was sorry, but not sorry enough to stop herself from slamming the hammer against Sophe’s temple.

  The sickening crunch of heavy steel connecting with her fragile skull echoed off the bathroom tile. Sophe had enough time to look at Marisol with surprised confusion before she crumbled into the tub and the pink, icy water. She dropped the hammer and put her hand against the gushing wound, painting her skin a deep crimson as something buttery and hot flowed through her veins. She closed her eyes, dropping her head back, feeling drunk on the fresh power within seconds of touching the dying girl.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The first thing Remy was going to do when she got back to Nathan and 2010 was learn Spanish. Well, maybe the second—okay, third thing. But living and working with him in L.A. meant coming into contact with a lot of people who didn’t speak a word of English. So far, she’d managed to scrape by with the few words Nathan had taught her, but seeing Olivia fly through Marisol’s notepad the night before had sealed the deal for her. She could’ve had the information it contained hours earlier if she could read the language. All of this footwork could have been done already.

  Not that Marisol had laid everything out nice and neat for them to follow. The sole address went to a block of office buildings, short and squat as if they were trying to crawl back into the ground to hide from the California sun. The parking lot was empty when she arrived, and she circled the broken sidewalk twice, looking for the best way to get in without drawing attention from the cars starting to fill the road.

  Most of the doors were chained shut. At least one hadn’t been unlocked in months if the rust and grit was anything to go by. A service entrance at the back had a numbered keypad for entry. She swore under her breath when she saw it. That usually meant an alarm company, which would draw undue attention if she set it off trying to get in. Nathan had a gadget he’d bought from a kid at Cal Tech that plugged in and neutralized the alarm on these kinds of locks, but for the trillionth time, she had to remind herself he wasn’t here to help her. She had to do this on her own. If she failed, or if Olivia failed, he’d die, and no way was she going to let that happen.

  When she rounded the rear of the buildings to check the front out again, she discovered a new arrival parked near the entrance at the far side. A thickset man in jeans and a windbreaker stood at the open trunk of the tan sedan, fumbling with a large box that had been jammed inside. The wispy gray strands from his comb-over blew in the morning breeze, and his breath huffed visibly in front of his face as he struggled.

  Remy jogged closer. “Hey,” she called out with a smile. “Need help with that?”

  He glanced up as she approached. He was easily in his fifties, his bulbous nose red, capillaries broken along his cheeks to spider and disappear beneath the full beard he wore. His blue eyes narrowed as they scanned her, his hands tense and wary. She stopped several yards away to allow him the freedom to relax and realize she didn’t have to be a threat.

  Another jerk at the box did nothing to free it. His shoulders sagged in defeat. “Yeah, if you think you can.” He stepped to the side to give her room to come closer. “My son put this in here for me last night. He must’ve used a crowbar to shove it in.”

  Remy laughed. Tilting her head, she peered inside, behind the thick cardboard. “Nah, it just looks like he skewered it on your tire iron.”

  The man tried to bend in to see for himself, but his bulk made it impossible to get around the large box. “I don’t suppose you can reach in there and get it off for me.”

  “Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing.”

  Bracing her knee on the back bumper, Remy shimmied in around the side of the box, stretching her arm around the rear to grasp the rusty bar. The angle was awkward, but there was no way the guy would’ve gotten in to do it himself. She had to grit her teeth against the ache in her shoulder as she wrenched it free.

  None of that showed on her face when she popped out. “There. Try it now.”

  His meaty hands scooped around the sides of the box. In the watery morning light, the beads of sweat that had started to dry along his scalp shone with his new effort, but this time, he yanked it free on his first try.

  “Whew.” Panting for breath, he rested the bottom on the edge of the trunk and swiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead. “First thing I do when I
get inside is drink two gallons of coffee.”

  She glanced up at the building. “You need help with the doors?” She kept her tone casual, though the excited thought of finally getting inside to check it out thrummed through her veins.

  “You’re a godsend.” His pocket jingled as he pulled out a thick key ring and handed it over. “Big silver key with the blue edge.”

  Remy walked alongside him, matching his pace until he reached the sidewalk. Then, she darted forward to get the door unlocked so he could enter without having to stop. She had to step far out of his way to give him room to enter, but slipped inside behind him once he’d crossed the threshold.

  The man dropped the box to the floor outside a closed door. The placard in the frosted glass running alongside it said, “Wm. Reinbold, Financial Services,” and a whole lot of letters, though she had no idea what they meant.

  “Close enough for government work,” he huffed. As she passed back the keys, he smiled. “Thank you. I would’ve been stuck for hours if you hadn’t come along.”

  “Not a problem.” She nodded at the sign. “You’re a money guy?”

  “Sometimes, I think I’m an idiot guy for choosing this profession. This time of year kills me every time.”

  “I thought people didn’t start worrying about their taxes until January.”

  “Most don’t.” He nodded toward some of the other closed doors that lined the dim hallway. “Four other accountants have moved into this building in the past five years. I’ve got to get started early if I want to stand a chance against them.” He jabbed a thick finger at the one across the corridor. “George is the worst. Biggest shark I’ve ever come across. And some of the clients he keeps…”

  When Mr. Reinbold turned back to his door to open it, Remy took the reprieve to more carefully look at the office he’d indicated. Sure enough, the name on the door read “George Hawkins.”

  The same name on the card from Marisol’s purse. A money man, which could only mean he was handling some sort of business transaction for her. Especially if Mr. Reinbold’s assessment of his clientele was accurate.