Until We Meet Again(56)

drunk one who told me about Cape Row in the first place. What

was his name?

Hank.

He looks so different now. It’s more than the crisp, white suit

or slicked hair. It’s the way he carries himself—ruthless and in

charge. Was his drunkard persona all an act? An act to deceive

Ned and me?

A muffled cry heralds the arrival of others. Two big, burly

types step out dragging a third man between them. This one’s

hands are bound behind his back. A burlap bag has been tied

around his neck, covering his head. Charles and I exchange a

look. Charles’s face is ghost white.

The burly men throw their captive to the ground in front of

them. His head hits the puddle of stagnant water with a dull

splash. He groans and rolls onto his back.

“Lon,” Charles whispers, his voice trembling. “This is bad.”

I shush him and turn back to the sight before us. A cold, deep

sense of dread settles over me. But I can’t look away.

The man with the bag over his head is sobbing, saying something, but I can’t make out the words. Hank smoothes his slicked hair and gives a muffled order to the two bigger men.

One of them pulls something from his coat. Before I can even

see for certain what it is, there’s a fierce bang, and the man on

the ground goes limp.

“Holy Toledo,” Charles whispers.

I can’t take my eyes off the man on the ground. A circle of

red expands from the bag over his head. So is this what Hank

meant by “under-the-table stuff.” Cassandra was right. Cooper

Enterprises is dangerous. More so than I ever imagined.

“Holy Toledo,” Charles repeats, his eyes the size of saucers.

My whole body feels like lead, but I know we need to get out

of here, and we need to go fast.

“Holy—”

I grab Charles by the arm. “Run,” I say.

We dash back to the car. But what if those thugs saw my car?

Other men could be waiting for us. Waiting to see who’s spying

on them. Or someone could be watching from inside the warehouse. The foreman with the cigar.

I grab for Charles again. “Wait!”

He’s panting. “We gotta get out of here, Lon!”

“We have to make sure it’s safe first.”

We creep to a pile of crates near the edge of the building.

Trembling, I lift my face just over the top of the stack.

The car sits where I parked it. Movement in the corner of my

eye catches my attention. Hank strolls out of the warehouse,

wiping his hands with a handkerchief. The two thugs follow

close behind. If they walk another twenty feet, my car will be

in their line of sight.

We have a minute. Maybe less.

“Now, Charles!” I say. “Run!”

I leap out from behind the pile of crates with such force that I

nearly tumble headfirst into the asphalt. But then my feet hit the

ground and I lurch ahead. Just behind me Charles is panting.

Shouts fly like bullets through the air. The men have spotted

us. And if Hank has his wits about him, he’ll know exactly who

I am.





Chapter 21





Cassandra


thought the first day at the library was bad. Today is





I


torture. Maybe it’s because I know what Lawrence is up to today. He wouldn’t tell me any specifics, but I can guess. It

has something to do with Cooper Enterprises, and right now,

he should be staying as far away from them as humanly possible.

He promised me he’d be careful. And I promised him

I wouldn’t worry. I’m trying with every fiber of my frayed,

somewhat damaged sanity to do so, but this is a difficult oath

to keep.

Maybe impossible.

I just need to see him. I want to feel his warm pulse. I want to

lie against his chest as it expands and contracts with air. I need

to keep him alive. A prickly, chilling thought pushes into the

back of my mind. What if we’ve already messed with the timespace continuum? Has Lawrence being aware of me and of his own potential death changed his actions, which have, in turn,

changed the course of the future?

I waited for him for a solid hour at the beach this morning. Only the gulls and the gray waves broke the cloudy stillness. And I know, I know, he has to do what he has to do. But wouldn’t he at least come say a quick hello?

The ever-present knot in my stomach tightens. I’m not sure

how much more anxiety I can take. All I can do is dive deeper

into my research and pray for another breakthrough.

I’m lost in the glowing projection of microfilm when the

scrape of a chair pulling out startles me to attention. Mom sits

down at the desk next to mine.

“Well, well,” she says. “You really are at the library.”

I stare at her, incredulous. “Did you seriously come all the

way down here to see if I was lying?”

“Oh, come on, Cass. You didn’t expect me to buy your story