WANTED (A Transported Through Time book) (16 page)

“Whatever you have is fine. Really.”

Hurt tinged her voice. He wouldn’t let it get to him.

The sun was going down. He’d better figure out what was going on here. Fast.

*

Carla wasn’t surprised at the late-night knock on her door, and though she answered with mussed hair and in her robe, she’d been expecting it.

One full day had passed since Sammie had come to sell her inheritance. She’d like to think that was a good sign, but Henry had warned her not to measure her time by what Sammie’s would be. An hour here could mean a day there.

He had only bounced back twice, himself, and he insisted that each time, the two places didn’t match in time spent, lost, or lived. Whatever one called it. Now the police were here at her door.

They didn’t come in a patrol car, but the lanky man dressed to the nines could only be a detective. His partner likely waited in the sedan, that same model bought by every state’s highway patrol and most rental car companies.

Before coming to the door, he scanned Sammie’s car with a flashlight. Or so Carla concluded when her window flashed with light for a split second before the knock came. For a solid two minutes, she waited there, counting them out, so she would be sure. He knocked again.

She called out, “Coming.” She waited again. Ten seconds.

She peered out her peephole, like she would have if she hadn’t been waiting here for him. He was good-looking and young. Younger than any detective she would have guessed to be.

Cracking the door only as far as the chain latch allowed, she peered out. “Can I help you?”

He smiled, but his eyes were cold. He looked pissed and scared. Shit. He wasn’t a cop.

“Yeah. That’s my best friend’s car in your parking lot.”

She should have moved the car to another street instead of around back! “And?”

“And she’s missing.”

Carla played her role as best she could. She’d practiced it enough times with Henry, but the real thing wasn’t as easy. They’d role-played only the police showing up. Not her roommate, and this must be him.

Best friend. She wondered if Sammie thought the same way.

Carla scowled. “What do you mean missing?”

“As in disappeared without a trace. I’ve filed a police report. If you want, I can call them and tell them I found her car here, and we can deal with them. Or you can let me in, pour me a nice cup of tea, and tell me when was the last time you saw her and what happened to her.”

She was going to pee herself. Right there on the doormat, she knew it. She was no good at any of this.

Shit.

Henry would kill her if he could. Henry was not here.

Carla nodded, swallowed back the rising bile, and unlatched the chain. “You can come in. But if you’re a rapist or robber, you’re wasting your time.” He was neither. That much she could read.

He wasn’t the angry, beat-it-out-of-you type either. Call it instinct, her innate ability to read people, or a sixth sense, but she trusted it.

Maybe Henry didn’t plan for this. Surely, she could manage the unexpected twist and stall long enough for Sammie to come back safe and sound and, if all went well, not alone.

His name was Charles. When she asked if she could call him Charlie, he blanched. “God, no,” he said and scowled. “Where’s Samantha?”

Carla waved her hand through the air, at once dismissively and compellingly. “Before we get into your questions, I have a few of my own. You’re not the only person with trust issues. So sit down and have a friggin’ cup of tea.” She went up the stairs to her apartment. She didn’t have to look behind her to see if he followed. His stubborn footsteps told her as much. “Wherever Sammie is right now, I can almost guarantee you she’s in good hands.”

Once they reached her kitchen, Charles’ skeptical look didn’t slow her down. She pointed to a chair and began to pour water into a kettle. How in the world she was going to explain all this? She hadn’t a clue, but it was the only thing she could do.

If he didn’t believe her, well, that would be his problem.

“Did you ever meet Henry, Sammie’s father?”

“No, I can’t say I have. Samantha never introduced us, which she would have if he were ever around.”

Carla smiled at the way he emphasized the name. Samantha. He didn’t like her calling her Sammie, then?

“Well, Henry and I go—went—way back. I hadn’t seen Sammie since she was little. Too young for her to remember—back when her mom was alive. Her mom and dad called her Sammie. It stuck, I guess.”

Charles’ eyes lost a degree of their irritation. “Why did she come here?”

Carla sat down with her tea and gave Charles the mug she’d poured for him. She’d be lying if she said the idea didn’t cross her mind to send Charles directly after Sammie. What better way to prove Sammie was alive and well than in the flesh, right? She figured that was the easy and hard way out of it.

She’d agreed to this madness, so she’d better see it ended as well as she could.

“Henry knew he was dying. He knew he didn’t have much time. After not seeing him for more than a decade, he showed up on my doorstep, asking for a favor. Sammie’s mom and I were best friends, and he used that against me. I should have been too angry to talk to him, the way he up and left with Sammie the day of Lillian’s funeral.”

She took a sip from her mug and gauged Charles. He couldn’t care less about what she’d said so far, but he was willing to wait it out. Half his mind was thinking about the police tearing her place apart top to bottom. Carla almost laughed.

“He begged and told me about his health, and since Lillian was like a sister to me, the only thing I cared about was seeing Sammie again. Henry held that hope hostage.”

Charles blinked. “Sounds like a smart man.”

Carla smirked. Smart-ass. “He was. Very smart. Too smart. So keep that in mind when I tell you what I’m going to.”

Charles frowned. He was obviously running out of patience. Carla held up her hands. “Just saying,” she said, and took a deep breath. “Sammie isn’t here. She came by yesterday morning to sell her inheritance. You see, her father left her—”

“I know what he left her. She’s my best friend. Could you get on with it?”

Carla narrowed her eyes. “As I was saying, Sammie brought me the map and Wanted poster to sell. What she didn’t know was her father planned on that the whole time. Not just to get her the money to pay for school.” She wasn’t sure how to word the next part. “Henry was also playing matchmaker.”

Charles frowned. His eyes softened.

“Henry met a man he was convinced was perfect for Sammie. As part of his dying wish, I had to be sure they met.” She was trying hard not to chicken out.

“That’s it? Samantha’s been on a date this whole time? Jesus, lady, why didn’t you say so? I mean, a date? Wonderful. The girl hasn’t been on one in at least two years. I even bought her some equipment last Christmas, the poor thing.”

Carla winced inwardly. Now for the hard part.

“Yes, well, she’s got a good head on her shoulders, and boys can wait.”

Charles snorted. “I beg to differ. Nothing like a stiff one in the wind, if you know what I mean,” he said with a conspiratorial hand to this mouth, “to get a girl through finals.”

Or a guy, she surmised.

Well, to each his own and beside her point. Although, if he was placated by what she’d said, maybe explaining the exact nature of Sammie’s blind date wasn’t necessary after all.

“When will she be back?” Charles leaned back in the metal and vinyl chair Sammie had sat in the previous morning as she’d drunk the concoction that dragged a person through time.

“I expect her any time now.” Chicken.

“Really? Mind if I wait with you, then, you know, in case you’re lying your ass off?”

Carla smiled. He didn’t act like he thought she was lying and, really, technically, she wasn’t. Sammie was on a date. With an Old West outlaw and in a different year. Carla had no handy reason to tell him “no.” So she nodded and tried to chase away the worry in her belly with another sip of sweetened chamomile.

“So,” Charles said, setting down his mug. “Tell me about this mystery man who’s after my little Samantha’s heart.”

Her next cup would be vodka.

~~~

Chapter Sixteen

He didn’t believe her. However, Samantha got the feeling Jesse wanted to. He wasn’t the kind of man who trusted easily. He needed proof.

She didn’t have any. That, and she began to wonder how much longer she’d be here with him before time snatched her back to Carla’s kitchen. Each instance she’d leapt through time to get to him, she’d remained only a stretch of hours at a time. The first was possibly eight. The second, far less than twenty-four, and she’d estimated around six since they’d left his house.

The way he’d been acting since she woke up made her now think something had happened during that last leap blackout spell. What if she’d said something, or worse, what if she’d disappeared and reappeared right before his eyes?

What would he think? It was too early for aliens. Maybe he’d think she was magical, or that she’d drugged him. Or who knew? Little sense in trying to guess. She should simply ask.

She had no way she could show him proof. Unless she disappeared again, if she had, which she figured must be what had happened.

“Samantha?”

Jerking up her head, she realized he’d been talking to her. Well, whispering to her.

“Yes,” she said quickly. When she looked at him, prickles rushed over her skin. His gun pointed barely above her head, and he shushed her with his finger on his lips.

“Come over here, slowly, quietly,” he said, his voice barely audible, his stare never wavering from the point holding his attention.

When her belly flipped up, the food in it only worsened the tight feeling. Samantha did as she was told. The darkening day seemed to breathe shadows and eeriness.

A horse. Not coming from behind them, where their horses grazed. Samantha glanced at the pair. As though on cue with her thoughts, the black stallion pricked its head, ears twitching.

It nickered softly, a breath snorting out its nose in a thin puff of steam.

Steam. The night was growing cold. Her mind was hot. Jesse moved her behind him.

“Stay close, and try not to move.”

“It’s them. Isn’t it?” They’d come to kill him. The headline in Carla’s file folder flashed in her mind. They’d found them. She knew it.

“Shhh. I’ll keep you safe.”

Samantha’s throat thudded with her heart’s beating. What if this was the past, the ending she knew, and she would be forced to witness it? He’d die thinking she’d led his killers to him, that she’d brought death right to his door.

Rustling sounded in the distance. Behind them, the horses shuffled restlessly. As they waited, the fire died down, nearly embers, making the night all the blacker.

The dark outlined the silhouette of a man on a horse.

Jesse crouched lower, pulling her with him. Samantha hugged his back and held her breath, waiting for the events to play out tragically, searching her mind for a way to prevent his death.

She could think only to protect his back, to block it, and as she buried her head in his shoulder and began to say a prayer, Jesse lowered his gun arm.

“Tommy, what in the hell are you doing, trying to get shot?” Jesse said and uncocked his gun.

Samantha’
s belly and heart dropped so acutely, when Jesse stood, she plopped from her squat into the dirt. The fire’s embers crackled beside her, and she ran her hands through her hair.

“Sorry, Jesse,” Tommy said from atop his horse. “Didn’t think you’d be expecting anyone else.”

“I was. What are you doing here?”

“It’s Ginny. You have to come back with me.”

“What is it? What’s happened?” As he spoke, Jesse kicked dirt onto the fire. “Is Ginny all right?”

Terror edged his voice. His sister. He would do anything for his sister.

It warmed and worried her all at once. If he’d been sure the two men supposed to murder him couldn’t find them, how had Tommy?

Samantha stayed quiet and waited.

“She’s all right. She’s safe, I swear it.”

Jesse paused in kicking at the fire. “Then what is it?”

Tommy hedged and shifted his weight. “She wouldn’t tell me. She just sent me out and made me swear to God I find you and make you come back.”

“Well, that makes little sense, Tommy.”

The man threw up his hands. “She just does, Jesse. Send me back without you, and I’ll pay hell for it.”

“If anyone’ll be paying, it’ll be me. I’m not about to dicker over it. Now get yourself back to her. And I want both of you headed into town. Put yourself up on me.”

With a loud sigh and quite a bit of show, Tommy set off.

Samantha was no clairvoyant, and she really couldn’t say why, but something seemed off. Different. She didn’t know how to articulate it. Not that Jesse would have listened. She had yet to reassure him of who she really was and who she was not.