Shadow Boxer: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 2) (30 page)

A thousand things don’t line up. His death date is tomorrow. Not today. Why?

I wheeze like I just took a fist to the guts. Because I chased a guy instead of staying with him. I collapse.

Tears blur my eyes again, but this time they’re tears of frustration. I’m never going to get these alterations right. And Nikola’s dead because of me. The tears fade and the fog clears from my mind. The alteration can’t have been about getting the patents… or saving Nikola’s life.

Because I’m still here.

Nikola’s death didn’t fling me home.

There’s a reason the alteration brought me to now. Not yesterday, not last week. Only my foolish naïveté thought I could land when I wanted. If the alteration didn’t end when I picked up the patents, and didn’t end when I got the final paper from the safe, then there’s something left. A final piece I have to alter.

But not necessarily a single one…
 

“So what is it?” I whisper to his corpse.

I jam the note in my front pocket and wander through the room, lifting random piles of paper and pushing aside stacks of books. I have no idea what I’m looking for, or if there’s even anything left to find. He gave me all his patents.

I always duplicate everything.

His voice is clear enough I spin around to make sure he’s not rising from the bed, trickery over. But he’s not. His prone form is still silent.

“So where’d you put them, Nikola?”

I stare at the ceiling, but any access would only lead to the room above. I press my temples.
Think!

In the storage room adjoining the bedroom, I open the oversized file cabinet to find stacks of papers and files. These?

I thumb through them quickly, feeling like someone’s going to come in any moment. There’s a ton of stuff here, but nothing that jumps out at me as
the
piece I’m here for. I glance over my shoulder at Nikola’s prone form. I guess I could arc the whole cabinet, but it looks like it’s been here forever. If he wanted me to have it, he’d have mentioned it last time. And neither J.P.’s men nor the strange foreigners thought it was important, or they wouldn’t have bought his story about destroying all the weapon patents.
 

As I stand, the sun peeks from behind a cloud and illuminates the ornate bedside table, bare save a lamp and ashtray. The clouds shift again and the sunbeam brightens, setting ablaze a diamond bracelet and pair of earrings nestled in the ashtray.

I cock my head and watch the sparkling specks of light dance across the wall.

Rounding the bed, I drop to a crouch and study the jewelry. They’re very similar to the set I wore the first night I dined with Nikola and my escort told me to take them off. I scoop them up and bounce them in my palm. No way he’s been feeling up to entertaining. And knowing Nikola’s aversion to earrings, he’d never have been interested in a woman wearing them, let alone invite her into his room until she stowed them in her purse.

Because these aren’t from any woman.

He bought these deliberately… And left them out for me to find. I stand and study the end table. Marble-topped, with one leg flared to three claw feet, there’s nowhere to hide a special paper… if that’s what I’m here for. They can’t have been taken, or I wouldn’t have arced here.

“I need help, Nikola.”

I run a finger along the top of the beige, marbled surface. Powdery residue comes off on my fingers and I brush the tips with the pad of my thumb, studying the powder. I nudge the ashtray to the right and lean closer. I blow the same layer of residue away and set the lamp on the floor so I can get a closer look. The sunlight wanes, casting a soft glow around the room. Bending, I angle my head to the right, and can just make out an etching in the marble. I dig my fingernail into the groove and carve a circle of residue away. Excited, I race back to his desk and steal a letter opener.

Using it to pry at the circle, I finally manage to lift the small piece out, revealing a cavity beneath the marble and extending all the way into the table’s hollow leg. I jam my index finger in the hole, and my fingertip brushes paper. Gripping the edge of the marble top with one hand, I hook my thumb in the hole and lever the top up an inch until it slides free of the base. It’s heavy, but I manage to slide it off and rest it on the mattress.

“Nikola, you sneaky bastard.” I lower my hands into the recess and pull out two small notebooks and a neat stack of papers. I flip open the cover of the first one and his frantic handwriting tugs at my heart.

A knock at the door spins me around and I grasp the documents tight to my chest. Easing my way across the room, I nudge the storage room door closed and hold my breath. I’d like to think these are doctors finally arriving to take his body, but a dark foreboding crawls across my skin, leaving a chill. I should answer the door, but I can’t move back into the main room. What if they blame me for his death? No one knows who I am or who I am to Nikola. Just George.

George!

He has to know about the threats from Morgan. Is he still in Nikola’s life?

Focus! I grip the papers tighter against my chest.

Another rap of knuckles against the door. “Mr. Tesla? FBI. Open the door.” Based on the rumble of voices coming from the other side of the door, the two guys I met decades ago brought friends.

My entire body convulses with a shiver. Are they the reason I’m still here?

I can’t think. Maybe that’s common when a friend is murdered and the FBI is at the door, but I’ve got to be better than this. Why would they be here? For the meeting? Because he didn’t show two hours ago?

No matter why, they’re not going to be keen on me. I guarantee I won’t have a good answer for a single one of their questions. I frantically search for a hiding place inside the tight space of the storage room. Opened boxes are piled high between machinery parts. My breath is quick and shallow.
 

The papers are heavy in my arms.

“I don’t give a goddamn what you think your jurisdiction is.” The main door bursts open with a
bang,
and I jump and twist so my back’s pressed against the warm wood of the interior door. I glance at the end table, but there’s no way I can put it back together without drawing attention. I swallow and turn my head just enough to see through the crack. Half a dozen men in dark suits comb through the room. They reek of cigarettes and bourbon.
 

“You’re going to care when I bring the hammer down on you.” A short man is yelling at a younger, taller one who looks like he’d like to pound the little one. I lean closer, trying to remember faces and voices. The short one has his back to me, and a fedora obscures his face.

“Old man,” the young one says, “you have two seconds to leave this room. I don’t care who you work for, even if it is the president.”

My mouth goes dry, and I know before he turns, whose face I’m going to see. I wait for it anyway, just to be sure.

“Let’s go, boy.” The old man turns, shifting his hat to tuck the strands of gray hair beneath.

I gasp and flare my lightning, plunging the scene into darkness.

C
HAPTER
31

T
HIS
TIME
, I land in my living room. “Ohmifuck, ohmifuck, ohmifuck.”

I wheeze and try to hold on to the papers, but they slip from my trembling hands and flutter to the floor. The journals catch on my boot and slide onto the messy pile, and I follow in a heap of shaking limbs.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. My breathing slows to normal and I press my palms to the floor.

This could not get any worse.

Opening my eyes, I study Nikola’s minuscule, barely legible script covering the pages and cringe. I have a freaking time bomb upstairs.

And then there’s Ilif. I’m on borrowed time for a pop-in from him, but I half want him to show up so I can figure out if he’s the one leaking information to Morgan.

That gets me on my feet and gathering the papers. I don’t bother to make them neat before arcing into the spare room and flaring my lightning to dissolve my web again. I juggle the papers and get them balanced in one hand while I open the right-hand trunk this time. There’s more room in this one, but otherwise it’s identical chaos. I settle the stack on top and close the lid and rock back on my heels. I tug a few pages out, but they’re undecipherable to my meager brain. Drawings and formulas. Pages and pages of notes.

All papers that are supposed to go to this Camaria? Or only the most recent set?

And who is this Camaria from Nikola’s dreams?

After I relock the trunk, I flip the latches on the other one and pull out the envelope from the hotel safe.

More important than all the others.

Is that still true? This can’t be more important than ones you hid in a nightstand… Ones you’d rather die for than reveal.

I slide my thumb beneath the flap and pop it open, revealing a single page filled with mathematical equations. Lined up neatly, it’s the most precise document I’ve seen yet. Each equation appears to be numbered and solved. There are six. Nikola’s name is written after the third, Westinghouse’s at the bottom.

I sigh and tuck them back in the envelope and return them to the trunk. Hopefully Penya will know what to do with them. For now, I just have to keep Ilif—and half a dozen long-dead FBI and Secret Service agents—away from them. I set my locks and trap, then close the door and wander into my bedroom. My king-size bed stands sentry, facing floor-to-ceiling windows and a killer view of the city nestled in the valley. I step to the windows and pull the end of my braid forward, unwinding the rubber band.

Beyond the far mountain range, night is setting, bathing the entire valley in a molten glow. I unbraid my hair and rub my scalp, letting my eyes drift closed. Spending more time at Papi’s might make me miss the view, but not the yawing loneliness. I slip the rubber band around my wrist and cross the room to the bathroom, trailing my fingers across the gray embroidered bedspread on my way.

After the shower, I take a few minutes to actually dry and curl my hair and swipe mascara over my lashes and gloss my lips. The woman staring back at me is a stranger. But she’s also not who left a genius to die alone.

Shame washes my features as effectively as my foundation.

I sigh and pull a burgundy cashmere sweater down from my rack and pair it with a cream linen pair of pants. Dumping my boots in a duffle along with my jeans, I lift a gold pair of heels and slip them on. I feel like a stranger.

I am a stranger.

Not a lightning rider. A failure. Who let a friend die. I was supposed to be there for him—to keep him from dying like I did with the ladder. Protect more than just his legacy. I don’t deserve this ability. My throat tightens.

On my way down the stairs, I stop at Mrs. Steinaman’s.

When she opens the door, she jerks upright and lifts a hand to her chest. “Evy! We haven’t seen you for ages. Not since—”

“I know. I’m sorry. Thanks for taking care of Ike.”

“Oh, no problem, dear. No problem at all. I think he likes when I add pineapple. Shakes it up a bit, you know.”

I smile. “I bet he does. Could you feed him for a couple more days? I’m going to be”—I wave my hand—“traveling more, and haven’t quite decided if he should just go to Papi’s.”

“Of course.” She tilts her silver head and stares at me. “Everything else alright, dear?”

I force a smile. “Just a busy day. Do you think Mr. Steinaman would mind if I borrowed the car?”

“Come in and ask him.”

She turns and I cringe. I was hoping this was going to be a quick visit.

“Evy!” Mr. Steinaman scoots to the edge of his recliner and leans against his cane until he’s upright. “You’re quite the looker tonight. Big date?”

“Dinner at Papi’s.”

“Well, you look beautiful.”

“She needs the car, honey.”

He bats her away like she’s a horsefly. “I’ll take you.”

“That would be great, Mr. Steinaman.”

I wait for him to put a jacket on and give Mrs. Steinaman a squeeze.

After he gets me settled in the car, he turns to me. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

I choke and clench my fingers together in my lap. “Why–why do you ask?”

“It was a yes or no answer, girl.” He shifts the car into drive.

“No. Sir.”

He nods, his wrinkled face only a few inches from the steering wheel. “Didn’t think so. Coupla’ men were nosing around your place earlier today.”

My heart pounds and my throat goes dry. Not possible. The only men who possibly know I exist would be ancient by now.

I steal a glance at Mr. Steinaman. About his age.

“Did I ever tell you I started in the FBI?”

“No, sir.”

“Didn’t stay long. Went back to police work.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Those boys today were FBI.”

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t answer, but flips his signal to turn into Papi’s subdivision.

“Whether you think you’re in trouble or not, if the FBI is snooping around,
they
think you’re involved in something.”

I close my eyes and force my hands to relax. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t.