Inescapable (The Premonition Series) (14 page)

“I’m not certain if it was you forecasting it or if…” he trails off thoughtfully.

“Or if something provided me with the information in the form of a high-powered light.” I pick up his line of thought, remembering just how it felt to get hit by the light that had no heat, but that had felt like a whiplash when it hit me.

“Yes,” he says simply, gazing at our intertwined fingers as if he hasn’t held someone’s hand in a long time, or like it is a new experience for him.

My mind races, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit together. They don’t seem to match up. “Okay, so when is the mother ship coming to pick us up?” I ask worriedly.

“The what?” Reed asks with confusion clouding his eyes.

“The mother ship, you know, aliens?” I ask tensely.

He gives me an impatient look. “Aliens?” he scoffs.

“We’re not aliens then?” I reply, not even trying to keep the relief out of my voice.

“No!” he says emphatically as he searches my face—probably for other signs of mental illness.

Sighing, I ask, “Then what are we, Reed? Because seriously, if some big alien bug cracks me open from the inside and starts wiggling out, I’m going to be really ticked off that you didn’t warn me.” The exasperation I feel is overflowing.

“Genevieve, I am not an alien. You are not an alien,” he says clearly, making sure I understand him.

“Then what am I?” I ask pleadingly, holding his hand in mine now as if I could wring the answer from him.

“I can’t tell you,” he frowns, focusing on our fingers entwined.

“I’m getting out of the car now! Open this door!” I say, trying to disengage his hand from mine.

“I said I
couldn’t
tell you; I didn’t say that I did not
want
to tell you. There are laws, rules that I cannot break,” he lets go of my hand reluctantly and continues. “Remember when I said there is a war and I’m a soldier?”

“Yes,” I reply grudgingly.

“There are so many things that I cannot reveal to you. I cannot tell you what you are, or what I am. But, trust me, it will not be long before you will know what you are.” He brings his hand to his forehead, rubbing it as if his head aches.

“I can’t pretend to have read much of the law of war, ‘jus in bello,’ but I seriously doubt that those are the rules of war you’re alluding to, and can I go on record as stating I really don’t care for your rules?” I ask with a pout.

Reed smiles at my comment, “Genevieve, you are fascinating.”

I know he must be teasing me, so I ignore him and ask, “What are the consequences if someone should step out of line and break one of your rules?”

His face darkens, becoming almost pained. “Let us just say that one is rarely given a chance to make amends for it,” he replies.

I shiver, wondering,
Who’s in charge here?

Then I ask, “What are the consequences for helping someone like me, if it should turn out that we’re not on the same side…if I’m your enemy?”

“Dire,” he replies, and even the sexy tone of his voice fails to stop the chill that runs through me.

I allow what he said to sink in. He does have reason to be wary of me. If he is wrong about me, there will be no amnesty for him.
What would he gain by helping me?
I wonder…nothing. As a soldier, I bet he has learned to reduce his risks, just like Buns had said earlier tonight, a pre-emptive strike. Eliminate the threat and go on with your existence until you detect another threat.
What did he say about me?
I try to recall…
He said that I’m a threat he’s never seen before, something new. But he hasn’t eliminated me, and he’s here tonight because JT and Pete told him about what happened to me. He’s going to try to help me at his own peril.

“Okay, Reed, you’re out,” I say, fumbling with the door handle.

One of Reed’s eyebrows rises in question. “Excuse me?” he asks as if he hasn’t heard me.

“I said you’re out. You can’t help me. Now I can see the risks in this for you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t see the bigger picture before now, but I think I grasp your position. There is no winning position for you where I’m concerned. If I’m your enemy and you help me, then you’re a traitor and you’re toast. If I’m not your enemy and you help me by giving me some information I’m not supposed to know, then you’ve violated some law, so you’re toast. And if I’m a pawn for both sides, then the wisest thing you can do is walk away. So you’re out, you’re not in this with me anymore.” I finally locate the unlock button, but my triumph at unlocking the door is short lived.

Reed growls, “Genevieve, do not even think about getting out of this car until you explain what you meant by saying that I am out. If you’re calling me a coward, I can assure you that—”

I interrupt Reed before he can finish, saying, “The last thing I would call you is a coward. The fact that you’re here with me now shows how little regard you have for your self-preservation. The fact that I’m still alive, even though it’s obvious to me now that you’d be much safer if I were not, proves you’re not a coward. But, I didn’t know that I was endangering you like this. I may be guileless, but I’m not ignorant, and I can see that there is no other way to protect you than to cut you out.”

“Protect me? No one would dare try to protect me!” Reed sputters, taking offense.

“Why not? Are you unworthy of protection?” I ask, trying to understand why my words made him react this way.

“I am not weak! I do not need protection,” Reed says in a commanding tone. “You need me, Genevieve. I’m in this, and you will cooperate with me. I’m not asking you.”

“No, you’re not asking, you’re ordering…it’s that whole arrogance thing again,” I reply, definitely intimidated by him. I try to hide that fact as I go on, “Fine, you want in? I’ll let you know when something else happens. Sheesh, try to protect someone and you get your head bitten off! Just don’t come crying to me when something bad happens to you because I’m the one who suggested you get out!”

“I never cry,” Reed states definitively.

“Well, good for you!” I counter, opening the car door and getting out. I bend my head back in the car and continue, “And I never for one second thought you were weak.”

Reed’s eyes meet mine then, and I see something flicker in them that I think I recognize. He looks…lost…as if he is struggling with something he’s unfamiliar with. I sigh softly and say, “Thank you for your help. Goodnight, Reed.”

Before I could close the door, Reed begins speaking in the language he used earlier, the lovely one. I lean against the quarter panel of his car, listening blissfully to him, not knowing what he is saying to me. I close my eyes and just listen. It is sweeter than music. When his voice trails off, I close the door softly and walk slowly to my room, trying to ease the unaccustomed yearning I feel inside of me.

CHAPTER 10

The Laws Of Attraction

When I meet Russell at Saga for breakfast this morning, he tries to apologize again for his comments regarding the portrait, but I cut him off before he can go too far. “Russell, I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. I thought it was sketchy, too, when Mr. MacKinnon asked me to pose for him. You don’t need to apologize anymore,” I explain. “I’m sorry, too.” I smile at him. “So, how was practice yesterday? Are you ready for your first game?” I ask as I spread strawberry jelly on a half of a bagel.

“Sure, but I won’t be in it. I’m a red shirt so I probably won’t play in the games until next year.” Russell says, pouring syrup on a gigantic, heaping stack of pancakes. “I’ll suit up and sit on the bench,” he explains, smiling at me indulgently. “To tell ya the truth, I think I’m lookin’ forward to watchin’ yer first game more than mine.”

My eyes widen. “You are?” I ask in surprise.

“Uh huh, I can’t wait to see ya in yer uniform,” he replies and winks at me.

“Russell! Field hockey is a serious sport; it’s not just for the enjoyment of the male spectators,” I say, blushing.

“Yeah, it is serious…seriously savage to watch,” he teases.

My eyes narrow in mock anger. “Okay, Marx, you’re getting some serious pay out at your game on Saturday, and I now have the resources to back me up. I’ve made a couple of amazing friends in my dorm, and I’m sure they’ll be game for a Russell take down.”

Russell grins. “Ya mean the blonds that let me in yer room the other night? I got the impression that they’re on my side,” he says, chuckling. “What are their names, Brownie and Bunny?” he asks.

“Brownie and Buns, and you wish, pal. Oh, before I forget, I emailed my uncle last night so he can check out your computer,” I say, struggling to get the lid off of my orange juice. Russell reaches over and takes the juice from my grasp, popping the top off easily and handing it back to me. “Thanks,” I say, smiling at him.

“Ya did? What do ya need me to do?” he asks.

“Just turn it on and make sure it’s plugged into the Internet,” I reply. “You can check your vitals by tonight.”

Russell’s forehead wrinkles. “What am I checkin’?” Russell asks.

I give him a funny look, then explain, “Your vitals—your email and all of the websites you think you need to sweep,” I say, smiling at his anti-geek question.

“Ya know, yer really cute when yer explainin’ yer mouse potato stuff to me,” he says, grinning.

Just then, Freddie shows up and sits down with us. “Freddie!” I smile in greeting.

“Sup, Evie? I heard you fainted at the Seven-Eleven last night. How’re you feeling?” he asks with concern in his voice.

“You heard what?” Russell and I ask in unison. Russell stops chewing his pancakes and looks from Freddie to me accusingly.

Avoiding Russell’s eyes, I ask lamely, “Where did you hear that, Freddie?” I had hoped that I wouldn’t have to tell Russell about anything that transpired last night, but I can see by the look on his face that I have some explaining to do.

“These two guys named JT and Pete live in my dorm. I think they’re sophomores. They said they saw you at the Seven-Eleven and helped you when you passed out. They said you might be anorexic or something because you hardly ate anything and that’s why you fainted,” he explains between bites. “I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your digits.”

“I’ll give you my number so you can give me the four one one on all the dirt blowing up about me. I wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark,” I reply in exasperation.

I program my number in Freddie’s cell, and then giving it back to him, I look at Russell. “I was going to tell you,” I lie to Russell.

“Red, never play poker. Ya can’t bluff to save yer life,” Russell says flatly, finishing his breakfast in silence.

“I just wanted something normal.. just to sit with you and have a normal conversation, eat a normal meal, talk about normal things, just you and me…chill,” I say softly. “Please don’t be bitter.”

“I should be the first person ya tell. Don’t make me the last to know. It doesn’t sit well with me,” he says, and his brown eyes snap at me. “Are ya okay?”

So much for chill.

“I’m fine, and you’re right, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you,” I say as contritely as possible. “I didn’t eat much yesterday, but I’m
not
anorexic!” I add, turning to glare at Freddie.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” he says, holding up both of his hands in surrender.

“Hmm…” Russell says appraisingly, looking me over, “Ya don’t look anorexic to me.” I smile at him in relief that he isn’t going to stay angry. “Ya should eat that oatmeal, though.”

I take a huge bite of oatmeal and chew it demonstratively, “Mmmm…oatmeal…my favorite.”

“Evie, are you going to do that portrait for your professor?” Freddie asks, finishing off his eggs while Russell’s brows draw together again in a frown.

“Freddie, you want to stop throwing me under the bus here?” I ask him sarcastically.

“Wut? I just wanted to let you know that I’m still available to babysit,” he says, grinning.

Make that my evil twin brother,
I think.

Seeing that they’re both interested in my answer, I sigh and say, “Yes, I’m going to do it. I talked to Buns, and she said that Mr. MacKinnon is extremely good at what he does and it’s an honor to have been asked.” Russell’s jaw tightens, so I immediately relent and say, “But, just to be safe, I’d like one of you two big, strong men to come with me, you know, for protection. I have to run to class now. I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

Standing, my chair moves as Russell pulls it out for me. “Thanks,” I say, looking into his warm brown eyes.

“I’ll see ya at lunch. Try to stay out of trouble…please,” Russell says warily as he brushes his fingers over my cheek.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply and leave for class.

Hurrying to my first Latin class, I discover it’s very similar to the high school curriculum I’ve already taken. Immediately following Latin, I go to the science building for my nine o’clock physics class. While walking down the science hallway to the lecture hall, I experience the distinct butterfly fluttering that can only mean that Reed is nearby. I see him as I walk into the classroom; he is seated at a desk taking attendance for the professor.

As I sign in, I say, “You didn’t mention that you were Dr. Farrow’s TA.”

“I know,” he replies evenly. “How did you sleep last night?” he asks me with his eyes searching mine.

“Umm, okay,” I lie, my pulse picking up a little. I’d woken up a couple of times the previous night damp with sweat from reliving the nightmare…premonition.

He frowns at my answer as if he knows that I’m lying, but he doesn’t mention that as he says, “There is something that I failed to think of when I was with you last night. I need to discuss it with you.”

“Okay,” I reply, stepping aside so that other students could sign in. “Can you give me a hint?” I ask, because I want as much warning as possible when Reed is involved in the conversation.

Reed watches my eyes as he says, “I want to go with you to the Seven-Eleven and see if anything else transpires while you are in there.”

Instantly, I feel ill. “You want to see if I have another premonition?” I ask warily. I had secretly hoped to avoid ever going back there. I was thinking that if I avoided all convenience stores for at least a decade, maybe longer, I should be okay.

Reed’s expression is one of concern. “That is one reason for going back,” Reed says gently.

“Another would be to hang around and see if something happens to fulfill the first one?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“That would be the second reason. I don’t want you going there without me, ever…do you understand what I am saying?” he asks me, searching my face, probably looking for any sign of dissention.

“Let me get this straight, what if I got a craving for…I don’t know…Twinkies in the wee hours of the morning and all that was open was the Seven-Eleven. You’re saying I should wake you up, even if you’re crashed out, just so that you can go with me on a treat run?” I ask skeptically, trying to gauge his level of commitment to this course of action.

“Genevieve, Twinkies are really bad for you, but if you had to have one, then yes, that’s what I’m saying,” he smiles at my scenario. “Do you really like those things?”

“I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to tease me, but I will say that it’s suspiciously inhuman not to enjoy a Hostess snack from time to time,” I reply coyly. “I’ll buy you one. You’ll love it, I promise.”

And I’ll be doing the world a favor at the same time,
I think, remembering him without his shirt on.

“When can you go?” he asks me with a sweet smile on his face.

It takes me several breaths to answer him because I have never seen him smile like that—it’s intoxicating, especially because I never thought he would smile like that at me.

“Umm…after practice. I’m supposed to have a meeting for this thing I’m doing with Brownie and Buns. I can say I’m picking up treats and will meet them back at our dorm afterward.” I explain, looking down at the desk so that I can keep my mind on track and not be distracted by him. “We have to be careful not to let them tag along. I don’t want them anywhere near that place if what might happen actually does happen.”

He nods, and then asks, “What thing—what are you doing with them later?”

“Oh, just making some mischief…plotting mayhem, the usual. I better take a seat, class is going to start,” I say, trying not to explain what I’ll be up to with the girls. That’s between us, covert. “I’ll see you after practice.”

Then we’ll see if something is coming for me,
I think with a shiver.

I’m in big trouble in physics class if Reed is going to be there every day. I can hardly focus on anything but him: the way he looks, the way he moves like a predator, the way his green eyes sparkle when he catches me watching him. When the class is finally over, I all but run from the room because I need to get away from Reed before I do something ghastly, like throw myself into his arms.

The day speeds by quickly, and I walk to hockey practice with the girls after having dinner with Freddie. Practice goes really well. My speed gives me an advantage over some of the other girls, and I quickly move into the position of attacker. We do some drills, going over some of the rules and situational plays. We also work on formations for insertion plays. When practice is over, I explain to Brownie and Buns that I’ll meet them back at the dorm.

“I made a bet with Reed the day he helped me with my knee—I said it was broken; he said it was bruised. He won, so now I have to pay up,” I say, being less than honest.

“What did you bet?” Buns asks interestedly.

“A Twinkie—we’re going to the Seven-Eleven to get one. Do you guys want anything? I’ll bring it back for our meeting,” I say, hoping they won’t want to come with us.

“Yeah, I want a Twinkie!” Brownie says with enthusiasm.

“Me too, sweetie. Are you going to be all right with Reed?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, he’s not going to bore you to death is he?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a little bit,” I say, hoping that I’m correct.

Apprehension steals into my consciousness when I turn and see Reed waiting for me at the end of the field. Suddenly, this is not sounding like a banner idea. I swing my stick back and forth along the grass as I walk to him, trying to dispel the feeling of doom that descends on me. When I come abreast of Reed, he falls in step next to me, his lacrosse stick resting on his shoulder as we walk in companionable silence until we get to his car.

He opens the passenger door for me, holding it while I slip into the seat. I have a death grip on my stick, and when he tries to take it from me to put it in the trunk, I won’t relinquish it. He squats down by my side so that we’re eye to eye.

“Genevieve, what’s wrong?” he asks with a look of bewilderment. “You’re not still afraid of me, are you?”

“I need my stick,” I say.

“Why?” he asks me as his eyes search my face.

I don’t look at him, but hold the stick tighter. “Because I need it,” I reply evasively.