Sleep pulled me under like a drug. In waking, I experienced a microsecond of blissful happiness; that tiny space of time that holds the promise of a fresh new day, before the reality set back in and the freight train hit once more.
I knew that microsecond well. I’d lived it many times before, in the mornings after my father died; the mornings after I’d fallen from the sky and woken in the hospital; the mornings after I’d been shot and learned that Jackson was never coming for me; and the mornings after the skin had been whipped off my back. The wallop to my stomach was always the same. I curled into a ball and rolled onto my side, wrapping my arms tightly around my knees.
James. Thank god, it was just the once. I turned onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe years from now, I’d think that was the best sex I’d ever had. Right now it just hurt. He’d used me, and I’d let him. Damn it! I knew he’d been looking for an easy lay. What the hell was wrong with me that I’d cave in with a few lies, a bit of sweet talk? Open your eyes, he’d said. Well, my eyes were wide fucking open now.
I crawled out of bed and steeled myself then unlocked the bedroom door and opened it. There was no sign of James. I went to the bathroom. His Dopp kit was gone. I checked the guest room. His bag was gone, too. He’d taken what he wanted and left. Bastard!
I’d need to change the locks, I thought, heading back to the kitchen. And the security code. There were instructions somewhere around here. I’d dig them out later. Right now, I wanted coffee, though I’d be damned if I was going to use James’s new machine.
I turned into the kitchen to put the kettle on—and jerked to a stop. A bouquet of flowers lay on the kitchen counter hidden by the fridge. A card on top cried out to be opened. I veered away avoiding it and put the kettle on to boil.
My anger prodded me to fling the bouquet off the deck, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. The flowers were innocent. When the kettle boiled, I poured the steaming water over the tea bag in my favourite mug. While it steeped, I took a shower and debated the flowers’ fate.
Afterwards, I dressed in jeans and a sweater, removed the tea bag from the mug and poured in a healthy dose of milk. I slipped on my flip-flops, opened the balcony door and crept down the stairs to the beach. It was a dull day, but at least it wasn’t raining.
My hair, wet in the cool air, chilled me. The tide was out, leaving several sandstone slabs exposed. I sat on the stone and stretched my legs. Crows cawed noisily overhead and the sharp smell of salt air hung heavy in the light breeze. I wrapped my hands around the warm mug of tea, comforting myself in the familiar ritual.
Malcolm was coming by tomorrow. I’d been looking forward to re-starting my fitness regimen for weeks now.
Molly was pregnant and getting married—in Vegas, no less. That was something else to look forward to.
And Mason and Stuart were planning a party. Not that I was looking forward to it, but it was a distraction and I was happy for that.
My life was all about distractions this morning. How pathetic.
Falling into bed with James was a mistake, and a big one. His reaction had hurt, but it wouldn’t kill me. Maybe if I’d let him explain himself last night, then thinking about him now wouldn’t feel like a knife twisting in my heart. Deep down, I knew he didn’t think of me as an easy lay. I could have said no. I should have gone with my initial gut reaction. Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve … as they say. It was all moot now.
I sat up and guzzled my tea. I wouldn’t wallow: I was stronger than that. Hell, he’d left me flowers. That was more than the last two guys had done. I brushed sand off my jeans and headed back to the house. Inside, I rummaged in the cupboard and found a heavy-bottomed vase. When I was done arranging them, the sunflowers, gerbera daisies, verbena, roses and lilies looked beautiful. I moved them from the kitchen counter to the bookcase and finally settled on the coffee table.
The card sat on the table, unopened. I walked around it most of the morning, changing the sheets, doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom and finally vacuuming. By noon, I’d run out of immediate distractions and sat down on the sofa contemplating the card. What could he possibly have to say after last night? I steeled my nerves and slid the card out of its envelope. On the cover, a very sorry looking English bulldog with drooping jowls and a serious underbite looked into the camera.
I’m sorry, Emelynn. I should never have taken you to bed. I knew it was wrong—more than wrong—it was unforgivably selfish. I was jealous of Dean, I suppose—as if that’s an excuse. It isn’t.
The truth is, I have nothing to offer. My life is not my own, nor will it ever be. I work in a dangerous job with dangerous people. I don’t want kids and anyone I get close to becomes a target. I don’t want to put you in that position. This is not a life I would ask anyone to share.
Last night was a slice of heaven I’d gladly repeat, if only the inevitable parting from you wouldn’t hurt so much.
You won’t see me again, but I’ll keep an eye on you from a distance. I’m sorry. Stay safe.
Affectionately,
James
“Coward!” Last night’s heartache flared.
I couldn’t stay in the cottage; I needed air. Grabbing my purse, I tore down the hall, locked the door behind me and jumped into my little red MGB. I headed up to Deacon Street, past the strip and found myself sitting outside Molly’s apartment. I pulled my phone out of my purse, slapped on my happy face and called her.
Today’s distraction would be playing maid of honour. Molly gladly abandoned her laundry in exchange for a day of bridal dress shopping. We headed to South Granville Street to a bridal salon she’d already been in touch with that had all three of the gowns on her shortlist. They were happy to accommodate us on a slow Sunday. The irony of my best friend trying on wedding dresses the day after I’d been dumped wasn’t lost on me.
Molly looked fabulous in all of them, but she was clearly drawn to the number with a bolero-style jacket. The floor-length gown was strapless and completely plain except for a line of pearl buttons down the back. But the jacket—now that was something. It was made of stiff lace with a high collar and closed with three buttons down the front. The tight sleeves ended in a point at the middle finger with a row of tiny buttons at the wrist. The train, made of the same lace, was attached to the jacket. It trailed on the floor for a few feet behind the dress. It looked stunning on her. It didn’t even need alterations.
We drove back to Summerset with the giant white bag overflowing the back seat of the car. It looked like we’d captured Casper the Ghost. I dropped her off at her apartment and headed home.
By eight, it would be dark enough to fly, and that was the only distraction that could come close to restoring my serenity. The nights were getting longer, but they were also getting cooler. Happily, I’d recently discovered Mountain Equipment Co-op, or Mec as it was known locally. They carried outdoor gear and clothing perfectly suited to flying. I’d even found a wind-proof head wrap. In short order, the evidence of my credit card’s workout lay strewn across my bedroom. It looked like there’d been an explosion in a garment factory.
The chime of the doorbell interrupted me. Immediately, I thought of James. But no, it wouldn’t be James. Not anymore.
I got up and headed down the hall to check the peephole. Crap. It was my favourite cop, Detective Jordan. I really wasn’t up for dealing with him tonight.
I exhaled and opened the door. “Detective Jordan.” He stood six-two with his brush cut making up the top inch. I couldn’t decide if he was going for tough mobster hit man, or miserable frustrated security guard.
“Ms. Taylor. Are you avoiding me?” His deep voice resonated.
“I beg your pardon?”
He pulled a business card out from the door frame where it had been jammed and held it up in his thick fingers like a prize. “My card,” he said and handed it to me. Scrawled on the back was Call me.
“I didn’t see it.”
“You would if you’d turned on your porch light. I didn’t think I’d find you home.”
Too bad he hadn’t taken the hint and stayed away. I reached around the corner and flipped on the switches for the porch light and the front hall. “Better?”
“Much. May I come in?”
I held the door open and closed it behind him. He was a sturdy man in his late 30’s or early 40’s. He wore the same tired jacket he’d worn since the first time I’d met him, the one with the bulge under his left arm that gave away his shoulder holster. He might as well have worn a neon sign with an arrow, Gun goes here.
“What were you doing here in the dark anyway?”
“Sleeping.”
“Hmm,” he said, his tone skeptical.
I turned on the kitchen light and directed him to the dining-room table, then passed behind him and turned on the lamps in the living room. He was flipping through his spiral notepad when I returned to the table.
“What do you know about a website called Infinity?”
And so it begins, I thought, barely stifling the urge to shake my head. “It’s a message board.”
“You’ve been on it?” I’d bet he knew damn well I’d been on it.
“I checked it out. Why?”
“It’s a new lead.”
“In the Wrights’ case or mine?”
His dark, deep-set eyes darted and his reaction gave him away. He hadn’t thought of that. Point for me. “Maybe both. What’s the purpose of this message board?”
It was kind of fun putting him on edge. “I don’t know. Looks like some kind of game to me. Why do you say ‘Maybe both’?”
“Just a hunch. How’d you learn about Infinity?”
“A friend sent me an email with the password.”
“Which friend?” he poised his pen, ready to scribble my answer.
“Emery Coulter,” I answered with fingers crossed that James had followed through on his plans to make Infinity look like a fantasy game site.
“Have you passed the information on to anyone else?”
“No. The site wasn’t that interesting.”
Detective Jordan flipped his notepad closed and tucked it away. “Thank you, Ms. Taylor,” he said, and stood.
“That’s all?”
“For now.”
I walked him to the front door. He turned back at the edge of the porch. “Tell James I said welcome to the team, would you?”
I stood there dumbfounded, but managed to squeak out, “Sure,” before he got in his car and drove away. I locked the door and turned off the lights then headed back to my bedroom determined to drive James from my thoughts.
My new gear felt great: lightweight, waterproof and as flexible as a second skin. I’d never blended into the night so well. My hair and neck were covered and the gloves Mason had given me kept my fingers warm. The only white showing was the bit of my face not covered by my Ryders. I stole out of the cottage and headed south.
When I could no longer see the neighbours’ lights, I stopped and caught my breath. The tide was almost in. Waves broke in a low chorus on the rocks where tiny crabs scavenged for food. They clamoured around my feet forcing me to take care not to step on them. I closed my eyes and reached for my crystal. Its warm energy pulsed through me like a live current. I let it build, enjoying the incredible feeling of strength and power that it gave me. Lingering thoughts of James and the detective melted away with the twist of my torso, which released me from my bonds with the earth. I soared up over the treetops and into Sunset Park.
It was odd not feeling the breeze through my hair, but infinitely warmer. Quieter too without the wind in my ears. I dipped up and down following the contour of the treetops. The trail to the lighthouse was below and I circled a small clearing above it with caution. The last thing I needed was to be spotted, but the path below was empty.
I took a swan dive into the clearing, levelling out a metre above the footpath and then flew headlong above it. It was a roller coaster track and a test of my agility. I conformed to the twists and curves, and boldly reached down to tap the largest of the careless roots that grew across the path. The next break in the tree canopy was my exit. I timed it perfectly, shot up and cleared the top of the trees. I poured on speed and blew past the lighthouse straight out over the Pacific.
The rush of speed, the thrill of flight, were happy addictions. I slowed and glided a leisurely circle around the lighthouse then dipped down and flew within arm’s reach of the surf all the way home.
I didn’t bother to change out of my flying clothes before I poured myself a glass of wine. I took my usual seat out on the deck and thought about Dean. There was no comparison between Dean’s version of freedom and mine. We really did live in two different worlds. I may not have liked what James said about me and Dean, but he was right; I would hate the deception game I’d have to play if I got involved with Dean. But if my only possibilities for romance were other Fliers, then my choices were alarmingly limited. Maybe I needed to invest in a quality vibrator. I giggled at the thought, downed the rest of my wine and went to bed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I was up early, dressed and stretched by the time Malcolm wheeled his bicycle around to the front of the garage. He had a lean, runner’s physique. It was drizzling, but the moisture would feel good in about fifteen minutes when we were warm from our run. Malcolm’s tight afro sprung free from his helmet as if the tiny curls had never been restrained. He was soft-spoken, but not shy. Earnest is how I’d describe him.
I hadn’t seen Malcolm since the kidnapping. He’d alerted the police when I failed to show up for our workout. Saying thank you felt grossly inadequate. I reached up and hugged him close. After what he’d done for me, he would never be just my trainer. He was way up at the top of my best-friends-in-the-world list and those friends got hugs.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this,” he said, returning my hug with a little less enthusiasm. Maybe my hug was a bit over the top.
“I’m ready. You can’t believe how ready. Come on—let’s go.” I started jogging backwards away from him, and he instantly started after me with a smile so genuine it lit up his face. We headed into the park and without another word, he put me through my paces. We hit the trails at a slow jog then interspersed sprints of increasing duration throughout the run.
I’d flown over the park a number of times since my kidnapping, but I’d not run the trails. The only time I’d even ventured in was that first week I was home. That was the week the covey decided to use Sunset Park for a game of laser tag. Participating at that stage of my recovery wasn’t an option, but Victoria gave up her place beside Emery so I could help him at the command station instead.
That was a fun night—probably more so because of the threat of being discovered. I’m sure the authorities wouldn’t take kindly to our antics if they’d found us. In fact, we probably needed a permit to play laser tag in a public park. Hell, if they saw the life-like guns we used, they’d probably arrest us.
I remember being mesmerized by the pinprick beams of red light that flicked wildly through the air, bouncing off the tree trunks and flashing through the foliage. If I caught a glimpse of a red dot trained on someone, I immediately checked Emery’s equipment for the beep that registered a hit. The trees proved an interesting challenge for the covey and that made it great training. If we ever had to do it for real, to protect one of us, we’d be ready. Given recent events, my covey’s dedication to tactical training wasn’t overkill.
“Five K—not bad,” Malcolm announced, checking his sports watch at the end of our workout. “Next week we’ll be up over six.” I’d regularly run between eight and ten K before, but it would take time to rebuild my stamina. We walked our cool-down and stretched out.
“I’ll see you Wednesday morning,” he said, heading to his bicycle.
When he was out of the driveway I headed in for a shower. Afterwards, I phoned Emery to invite myself over. I needed to tell him about Detective Jordan’s visit, but I also wanted Emery’s take on James’s plan for muddying Infinity’s user trail.
Emery had a pot of tea ready when I arrived and poured two steaming mugs. We sat at his kitchen table and I filled him in on what I’d learned from Detective Jordan.
“James gave me the heads-up yesterday,” he said, answering my question. “I’ve already touched base with the covey. We’re ready.” He nibbled a double-stuffed Oreo. “It’s a good plan if he can pull it off. Of course, now that he’s on their task force, it might be easier for him.”
“How did he arrange that anyway?” I asked, curious.
“I have no idea. Our James is a man of mystery, but at least he’s resourceful.”
Our James … not anymore, I thought sadly. But Emery didn’t need to know about me and James. Just thinking about him hurt more than I wanted to admit. James had once warned me that everyone had secrets. Perhaps he was talking about himself. What secrets did James hide? Was it a secret that made him run? Then again, maybe I didn’t want to know. I would miss him but, right now, I couldn’t stand to have him near me.
“Speaking of resources,” Emery smirked, pleased with his segue. “I’ve finished deciphering the Reynolds anthology.”
“All of it?”
“Every last page.”
“Did you learn anything new?”
“Nothing striking, though I suppose it was a surprise to learn that Fliers can relinquish bits and pieces of their gift. That’s probably how that Dowling character picked up his kinetic touch.”
“I hope whoever gifted it to him did it voluntarily. Some days I think the Tribunal wasn’t entirely misguided in rounding up those anthologies.”
“They certainly have proven dangerous in the wrong hands, haven’t they? But that’s always been the curse of knowledge. In the wrong hands, it’s a weapon. But I’m not convinced that keeping people in the dark is an improvement, no matter what the cost.”
“Maybe,” I said, pondering his words.
A deep rumble shook the glass in the French door that separated us from his back garden. Emery and I looked at one another in wonder. Thunderstorms were a relative rarity in this part of BC. I glanced outside, hopeful for a glimpse of lightning. Fat drops of rain began hitting the deck outside the door and quickly became a pattering torrent. A bright flash lit up the southern sky followed by another crack of thunder, louder this time.
We pulled our chairs around to get a better view of the garden and watched the storm while we finished the plate of Oreos. The worst of the thunder had passed by the time I left. The smell of ozone was thick in the air when I got in my car and pulled away from the curb. Brown and yellow leaves floated on the small stream of runoff that ran down the street’s gutter.
The steady rainfall put me off flying. Instead, I worked on Rumbles’s paperwork puzzle until I grew too tired to make sense of it. The rain had settled into a light drizzle by the time I slid between the sheets. I kissed my fingertip and pressed it to the glass over my father’s face in the frame beside my bed. “Good night, Dad.” Jeannette’s necklace was still draped across the frame. I straightened the crystal case that hung from the white-gold chain, then rolled over and went to sleep.