Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10) (11 page)

“Why not? I bet I can shop circles around both of you with one credit card tied behind my back.”

Victor arched an eyebrow, reminding her so much of Simon in that moment. “No doubt, but it is safer for you here.”

Elizabeth started to protest, but Victor continued, “Your time will come. When they initiate their full offensive on history, I have little doubt that all of us will have a role to play.”

She hated sitting on the sidelines, but he was probably right. She had to think of the baby. And as though she could hear the conversation and wanted to add her own thoughts, the baby moved.
 

Elizabeth gasped at the new sensation. It was the first time she’d felt anything like it.
 

“Are you all right?” Victor asked as Teddy came to her side.

She put her hand on her stomach and waited. There it was again. A grin spread across her face. “I think she moved.”

Without thinking, she grabbed Teddy’s hand and put it on her stomach under her own.
 

He grinned expectantly. They both waited but nothing happened.

“Sorry,” she said and instantly felt Simon’s absence all the more keenly. Her face must have shown it because both men looked ready to ask if she was all right.
 

“I just wish Simon were here.”

Victor grunted and looked at her with an unreadable expression. It lingered for a long moment before he pulled himself back and turned to Teddy.

“I shall make a trip this afternoon. Collect a few things.” He started for the door then turned back. “I almost forgot. They gathered the DNA from the scene, but they have not sent it to the lab, yet. I will check again with Travers tomorrow.”

With one final glance at Elizabeth, he left.

“DNA?”
 

Teddy frowned and busied himself with the stack of books. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m apparently not going anywhere, so I all I have is time.”

It took some doing to wrangle the story out of Teddy. And now that she’d heard it, she understood why. She’d been lying awake all night trying to wrap her head around their plan.
 

As if faking her death weren’t complicated enough, they also had the task of convincing people she was actually dead. That’s where Simon’s grief came in, of course, but alone, it wouldn’t be enough. The new Powers That Be at the Council would want old-fashioned proof, and that meant DNA evidence. The obvious problem was that because Elizabeth wasn’t exploded in the blast, there would be none to test.

Elizabeth threw off her covers and got out of bed.

That’s where it got even more complicated. There was no way to plant the evidence they needed to be found. She was still in one piece, thanks ever so much, and liked being that way.

But the investigators would have to find
something
. A cadaver matching her basic age and size was found. Parts of it—Elizabeth shuddered at the thought—were planted at ground zero. The biological matter would be retrieved and sent to be tested.
 

Since they couldn’t plant the evidence they wanted to be found, they had to change the evidence after the fact. Someone in Travers’ network of moles would extract Elizabeth’s DNA from samples they’d been given, prepare it in the proper solution and give them to Victor to swap when the time came.

The little cadre of friends she thought were behind the plot to save her was larger than she’d imagined. The whole of the Council wasn’t corrupt, and there were people there who wanted to help. To help her. It was humbling.
 

The missions she and Simon had gone on didn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated. And now, instead of them saving the Council, the Council, some of it at least, was saving them.

She looked out of her window but the moon was obscured by clouds and the night was dark.

The results would confirm her death and, hopefully, set the rest of Hawkins’ plan into motion. And free Simon.

She’d spent every night here so far in restless sleep, unable to stop thinking about him. Maybe some warm milk or an entire plate of leftover chicken would help.

Grabbing her robe, she headed down to the kitchen. At the foot of the staircase, she saw the tell-tale flickering light of a fire coming from Teddy’s study. A true sense of déjà vu overcame her. Maybe Teddy couldn’t sleep either.

But it wasn’t Teddy she found in the study; it was Victor. He was dark and brooding, even for him, as he stood holding a glass of some amber alcohol and staring down into the flames.

He glanced up as she came to the doorway.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

He frowned at her for stating the obvious, and she felt foolish, but it didn’t stop her from joining him in the room.

“I haven’t been able to sleep since I got here,” she said. “I can’t stop thinking about him. I feel so guilty.”

“I could build you a bed of nails if it will help.”
 

The jab took a second to sink in and Elizabeth frowned.

He finished his drink in one swig and turned to her. “Punishing yourself will not aid your husband.”

He moved to refill his glass. “Trust me.”

“The voice of experience?”

He gave a short laugh. “Perhaps. But is it not possible I was this charming before I lost my family, hmmm?”

That clearly wasn’t his second glass.

He threw back the whole drink in one fell swoop and then refilled it.

Elizabeth had never seen him like this. She knew he wouldn’t welcome sympathy, and just remained silent and present.

He sat down in a chair close to the fireplace and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The firelight danced in the empty crystal of the glass he held in front of him.
 

“When my wife was pregnant with Juliette, not much more than you are now, she asked me to feel our child moving inside her. Just as you did today. I did as she asked, but I did not feel anything. When I saw the hope in her eyes, I lied to her and told her I did.” He shook his head at the memory. “It made her happy, and her happiness was mine.”

He leaned back and then stood. He glanced down at his glass, considering another, then thought better of it.
 

He walked back over to the butler’s tray and held the glass above it.

“Loss carves out pieces of who you are. Sometimes they are small. Sometimes they are all you are. I am a hollow man,” he said and put the glass down before turning to her. “Your husband will return to you. He will be able to touch you, to hold you again. And the hole inside him will fill.”

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. He sensed her emotions and frowned, closing off whatever door had opened inside him.

“I should ….” He looked down and started for the doorway.

“Good night,” she said and laid a hand on his arm as he passed. “And thank you.”

His eyes never met hers, but he nodded once and continued on his way up to his bed and another sleepless night.

~~~

Simon stood in the foyer and felt like a stranger in his own house. It had been nearly three weeks since she’d been gone. He loosened his tie, but couldn’t seem to do anything more.

He just returned from the memorial service he’d refused to allow, until now.
 

For days, he received packages from his attorney’s office that contained more papers that he refused to sign—the petition for her death certificate, wills, all of it could go to hell. And then the DNA report had been delivered.
 

He’d sat and stared at the unopened envelope for what seemed like days. He’d spent his life not simply believing things, but needing proof. Now, that proof sat in front of him, ready to take away his last bit of hope.

And it did. One simple sentence:
 
The DNA found at the scene and the sample provided for Elizabeth Cross were a 99.9% match.
 

He’d known. He’d been told again and again, but somehow, some part of him hadn’t believed it. He’d kept hold, deep, deep down that somehow this was all a mistake.

But even he couldn’t hold out in the face of the report. Part of him had given up that day. And so, he finally allowed the memorial so many wanted.

He didn’t hear much of it. He sat there numbly, thinking this was someone else’s life.

But when Jack dropped him off, Simon knew it was his.
This
was his life now. Rattling around an empty house that would never feel like home again.

He pulled his tie off and tossed it onto the table. It dangled there before sliding to the floor.

He ignored it and went upstairs. He was tired. All he could think about was sleeping. Finally, sleeping.

He walked upstairs and paused at the landing. Slowly, he walked over to the nursery. He stood there a moment, then reached out and closed the door. There was no reason to keep it open now.

He was making his way to his bedroom when he heard Wells’ heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“There you are,” Wells said as he entered the room.
 

Simon sighed. “Yes. Here I am.”

Wells checked his watch and took a step closer.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

Despite his protest, he did, but he was feeling tired and petulant.
 

“I am sorry about all this,” Wells said.

“Then leave me alone.”

“I can’t.”

Wells took a large skeleton key out of his pocket. Simon felt a prick of curiosity, but it died quickly. He started to turn away, but Wells took hold of his arm.

Simon glared down at it. “What are you doing?

Simon started to pull away, but Wells wouldn’t let go. His grip was like iron.

“I said—”

But the rest of Simon’s protest faded away as a familiar blue light arced from the key in Wells’ hand and snaked up his arm. It captured Wells and then jumped to Simon.

“What’s going—”

The rest of Simon’s question was lost as the light took hold of him and the world shook itself apart.

S
IMON
’
S
HEAD
THROBBED
. A
GAIN
. He’d grown used to the pain, almost welcomed it. His mind was wrapped in gauze as he opened his eyes. Had he passed out again? Was he even truly awake or was this just another alcohol-induced dream state?

He was on a bed, but not his own. Where was he? He rolled his head to the side. The room was familiar, but not his own.

He lifted his head and looked around.

Then he saw her.

She stood by the window looking as beautiful as she always did. He’d had this dream more times than he could count. Carefully, he sat up. The bed creaked beneath his weight as he shifted position and she turned toward him.

There were tears in her eyes. Why was she crying?

Why was this different?

Slowly, he stood.

She swallowed and another tear rolled down her cheek. He wanted to go to her, to tell her everything was all right, but his legs wouldn’t move.

“Simon.”

Her voice was so real. So clear.

She stepped toward him and his heart began to race.

She stood in front of him now. His chest rose and fell with the effort to keep his heart in place.

She was close. He could feel her in the air.

“Am I dead?” he asked.

She shook her head and fresh tears fell. She reached up with one hand and touched his chest. It sent a bolt of electricity shooting through him. His breath caught.
 

“You’re alive,” she said. “We’re both alive.”

He didn’t dare believe her. This was some new trick his mind had found to torture him. But he wanted to believe so badly. So very, very badly.

His hand trembled as he reached out to touch her. It hovered there, just an inch from her cheek. Every time he’d tried before she’d vanish. He didn’t think he could bear that again.

He didn’t have to.

She reached up and covered his hand with hers and pressed it to her cheek. He felt her tears beneath his palm, the warmth of her skin, the life inside her.
 

His eyes blurred with tears of his own. “You’re real?”

She nodded and his heart leaped from his chest. His breath was quick and short. Could it really be her?

His voice was barely a whisper. “How?”

She shook her head and suddenly he didn’t care how. None of it mattered. How didn’t matter? She was real and alive and here.

“Oh, Simon.”

He cupped her face in both of his hands and leaned in to kiss her. He could barely breathe as their lips touched. He pulled back and then kissed her again and then the dam inside him broke.

He pulled her toward him, crushing her body against his. He buried his head against her neck and sobbed.

He didn’t know how long he held her, how long she held him, but he finally pulled back to see her again, to reassure himself again.

“You’re alive.”

She nodded, that smile he’d missed so much gracing her face. His knees felt weak, and she helped him ease back to sit on the edge of the bed before he collapsed to the floor.

He caressed her cheeks and pulled her close for another kiss. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, feel every inch of her. She knelt in front of him and he gazed in awe at her.

She touched his stubbled cheek. “You’ve lost weight.”

He shook his head. What did it matter? What did anything before this moment matter?

“You’re not hurt? The baby?” he asked, fearing the worst.

She smiled through her tears. “Fine. We’re both perfectly fine. Just … waiting for you.”

Thank God. Thank you, God.

He pulled her up and into his arms. He kissed her again and held her and swore he would never let her go.

~~~

Jack stood in the doorway to Teddy’s study and glanced back at the stairs down the hall and the landing above. He’d done all he could; Elizabeth would take care of him from here. He just hoped, someday, Simon would forgive him. But even if he didn’t, Jack didn’t regret it. They’d done what needed doing. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a Hobson’s choice. It wouldn’t be the last, either.

He stepped into the library where Victor Renaud was busy pouring himself a drink. He held up the decanter in a silent offer, but Jack shook his head.