Until We Meet Again(59)

My voice drops away, lost in the heaviness of the implication.

Could Lawrence have just created his own fate? Or sealed it?

Judging by look on his face, I’d say Lawrence has already

trudged down this dark road. I pull him into a hug. Seeing

him this way makes my heart burst with a mix of sorrow and

determination.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say firmly. “It’s pretty clear that someone at Cooper Enterprises is responsible for…” I can’t say the

words. I pull away, heading for the house. “Jerome Smith. That

was his name, right? I’ll go look him up right now.”

Lawrence grabs my hand. “Don’t.”

When I turn, his gaunt fear brings tears to my eyes.

“Don’t leave me yet,” he says, his voice soft, almost as if he’s

ashamed of the request. My heart breaks.

I fall into his arms and he closes me in a tight embrace. He

holds me as if I’m his lifeline, as if I’m the lone railing that will

keep him from pitching over the edge of a cliff. I hold him,

overwhelmed by the heaviness of my task. Can I save him? Is

there really a chance, or are we just kidding ourselves?

Lawrence releases a trembling breath into my neck. “Would

you think less of me if I told you I was afraid?”

“How could you not be? I’m afraid too, Lawrence. So afraid.”

His grip tightens. He’s nearly squeezing the breath out of me.

“I don’t want to die.”

Then suddenly he releases me. His expression is desolate as he

stares out over the black, rolling waves.

“Forgive me, Cassandra. I don’t mean to burden you with

these thoughts. I should bear this alone. Like a man.”

I grab his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “You listen to

me. We’re in this together. Understand? I’m not giving up on

you. And you shouldn’t give up either. I was sent here to save

you. I’m going to figure out who wants to kill you so we can

save your life, and then we can be together.”

I listen to myself and a dry laugh escapes. “Trust me, I would

never be this cheesy if I didn’t truly believe what I’m saying.”

He pulls away. “Maybe you shouldn’t believe,” he says quietly.

I’m stung by his words. “What?”

“It’s a fairy tale, Cassandra.”

“Oh, is it? And what about this?” I motion to him and me

and the beach.

I take his hand and press it to my cheek. “What about this?”

He stares into my eyes, as if grasping for the thin strands of

hope I’m offering. He sets his other hand on my cheek. I press

my hands over his.

“If we can see each other,” I say. “If we can touch each other

with almost a hundred years separating us, how can you think

it’s a fairy tale that I’m meant to save you? It’s fate, Lawrence. It’s

destiny. We’re meant to be together. You need to believe that.”

“I want to believe.”

“You have to believe it. It’s the only chance we have.”

He exhales shakily. “Cassandra.”

His lips press mine, firmly, hungrily, desperately. I meet his

with equal force.

We stay there, locked in an embrace. Our kisses are a prayer

of hope and longing. A desperate prayer to whatever force has

brought us to this beach. A prayer to match the beauty and

certainty of the waves that crash against our feet.





Chapter 23





Lawrence


nother sleepless night. Perhaps plain old exhaustion is

A

what will kill me in four days.



But honestly, how am I supposed to lay my head on that

pillow and drift away as if I know nothing? I’m staring death in

the face. Sleep isn’t really an option.

Last night, however, it wasn’t despair and fear that kept me

awake. It was visions of Cassandra. In the black hours of predawn, I walked the empty halls of my uncle’s house, wondering how I deserved such an angel in my life. My delivering angel.

She can save me. I feel it in my very core—hope twisting

and thrumming and alive in my heart. Why else is all this

happening? I’ve never been one to think much about fate or

divine plans, but Cassandra’s theory is starting to seem more

and more plausible.

And so early morning finds me awake and dressed with no

place to go. Cassandra insisted she spend the day researching

Cooper Enterprises. I still can’t picture this “Internet” and

“microfilm” she talks about. Sounds like a bunch of horsefeathers, if you ask me. But she seems to think it can help. I suppose I have no other choice but to trust her.

After grabbing a quick breakfast, I hop in my car and go for a

long drive. It’s supposed to clear my head, but it doesn’t. All I can

think about is Cassandra. About what would happen if we cheat