“Day by day, memory by memory, mistake by mistake we built a life of love and dreams and forgiveness.”
~ excerpt from Love, Lies, and Happiness by Erin Li I2—2076
Thursday December 5, 2069
Cannonvale, Queensland
Australia
Iteration 2
A gray mist of soft rain swathed the house like a familiar blanket. Sam stretched, peeking out the window as fat teardrops fell from the clouds. This was orange-juice-eggs-and-bacon rain—rain meant for cuddling or reading books. This was the rain meant for cartoon mice with heart-shaped noses and daisies for umbrellas. The shops would be empty of tourists today. A sad, still end to the week.
“Mac?” Her voice echoed down the tiled hall. Neither Mac nor Bosco was in the kitchen. The stove sat cold, the curtains closed. A chill premonition of danger crawled up her spine.
From the back door, she heard Bosco whimper, the sorrowful whine of a puppy in the rain.
Shaking off her nerves, Sam went and opened the door. “Hey, love . . .” Her sentence trailed off as a soaking-wet Bosco stepped into the kitchen and shook off. There was no way Mac would have left the dog out in the rain long enough to get that wet. A lump of fear formed in her throat. “Hey, Bos. Where’s Mac? Where’s your other human?”
Bosco shook again, then walked over and flopped onto his oversized mat with a grumble.
Sam went back to the bedroom. Mac’s phone was still on his nightstand. His keys were in the hall, and his car was in the double-wide garage. She checked for his gun under the mattress and found nothing.
Tight jawed, she grabbed her CBI-issued splat gun from the bedroom closet and stepped into the armory-turned-office that they’d set up a few years ago. Originally, it was intended to be the nursery, with pale blue walls and glass hot air balloons hanging near the window to catch the light. After the miscarriage, she hadn’t been able to walk past it without crying, and Mac had decided to turn it into a fortress.
Metal plating in the walls, rows of weapons and currency, and several sets of identity papers from around the world for both of them. While he turned it into a bunker, she’d read physics papers about time travel and other theories aloud. They’d made contingency plans. Talked about what they’d do if Emir came for her, or for both of them. The idea that Emir would only target Mac had never crossed her mind.
Now she flipped on the computer and pulled up the security-camera footage from around the house. It had seemed like overkill at the time. Cannonvale was hardly a bustling hive of crime, and between Mac’s Ranger training and Bosco’s loyal bulk, she’d felt perfectly safe.
The black-and-white image on the screen came on, the cameras tripped and turned on by movement in the kitchen. Sam crossed her arms. The face on the screen was familiar . . . thin, too bony to be healthy, but still hers.
She had seen this woman once before, in Alabama, when an Emir from another timeline insisted she come home with him. They’d stood face-to-face for seconds before Sam bolted for safety, but the woman’s burning hate and contempt was seared into Sam’s mind.
Bosco nudged her knee and whined.
Out of habit, she petted him, rubbing his ear like a lucky penny. “Want to go on a trip, Bosco?”
His ears perked up, and his heavy tail thrummed with excitement.
“Car ride?”
Bosco’s bark made the grating of the gun case rumble in response.
“Good boy. Let’s go pack. We have to fetch Mac.”