“Thank you,” she whispers.
After a few minutes of silence in this position, I say, “Can I call you grandma?”
Jean laughs. “Honey, you can call me anything you want.”
Her hand moves to caress my arm. Then, with reluctance in her voice, she says, “Stacy told me you and Sam... broke up?”
I turn my face toward her arm, not wanting her to ask me, but knowing that more than anyone, she’ll understand what that means. I nod against her shoulder.
“What happened?” she asks.
I take a breath, hold it, then blow it out. “He told me he can read minds by holding someone’s hand.”
“What?” Jean sounds stunned. I sit up to see that she clearly didn’t know. She’s as surprised as I was when he told me.
“He said that he doesn’t just read minds, he can see every memory a person has, know everything they’ve ever thought, or done.”
“He’s read your mind?” she asks, anger and sympathy warring in her tone.
“Yes.”
She looks as if she wants to explode, seems to be searching for the words she wants to say as she looks around the room. Then her eyes come to my face, and all the anger drains out of her.
“That’s pretty rotten for him to do without your permission,” she says without malice.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’re angry at him?” she asks.
“Furious,” I say, the word coming out sounding pathetically forlorn. I can feel the pain at the base of my throat fighting its way up.
“He loves you,” she says, surprising me. I shake my head in denial. “He’s caught in a strange place with you. He’s bound to you, which forces him to need to protect you. But he also loves you, which makes you even more precious to him.”
“You’re defending him?” I should be affronted, but I only feel amazed by her defense.
“No.” Her denial is immediate. “Yes, I suppose I am just a little.” Her half-smile is apologetic. “I haven’t ever been bound, but he and Shane explained it to me. It’s not really an emotional thing, but more of a duty thing. An immortal might be upset when their bind dies, but it isn’t the end of the world for them. What Sam feels for you goes beyond that. It is emotion for him.” She reaches up and wipes my tears away. “His need to protect you and keep you safe goes deeper than anything he’s ever known.” She shrugs. “If I had that power, who knows, I might be tempted to use it on those I cared about as well if it meant the difference between keeping them safe or not.”
“How does spying on my mind keep me safe?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Maybe it’s more for him, to make sure you’re happy. But he might have a good reason. You should ask him.”
“You’re being pretty magnanimous toward him when you’ve only ever shown him dislike.”
She puts her arm around my shoulder and pulls me against her side.
“I’ve changed my mind about them both. I think they’re good people who would go to any lengths to protect you. How can I dislike someone who would do that for my granddaughter?” She squeezes my shoulder. “You don’t seem all that upset about this,” she observes.
“I’m trying to stay angry so that I don’t start screaming,” I say. “Since I’ve known Sam, my life has been an emotional rollercoaster. I guess I’m just kind of tired from it all.”
“Do you still love him? Even knowing what he did?” she asks. I have to think about her words. Immediately my mind says yes, of course I still love him. But there’s so much more to the answer than that.
“I wouldn’t ever be able to have secrets from him,” I say.
“Secrets aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” she murmurs.
“I wouldn’t have privacy,” I say.
“Okay, that would suck,” she says and I choke on a half-sob, half-laugh.
“Yeah,” I agree. “And I don’t know if I can trust him again. He lied to me for so long. He didn’t ask if it was okay to take my memories. It was like he just swooped in like a buzzard and picked what he wanted without checking to see if it was his or not.” She nods against the top of my head. “Staying with him would mean leaving Goshen eventually.” I pause. “I can’t have children with him,” I whisper.
Jean kisses the top of my head as my tears begin anew. “I wish I could tell you what to do, Niahm, but this one has to be your own decision.”
Yeah, I think, and that’s what really sucks.
Chapter 50
Niahm
We manage to talk Stacy into spending the next day with us. We go to a movie, but in a different theater than the one I went to with Sam all those months ago. I have no desire to walk into that place and those memories. We gorge ourselves on ice cream, and find a Farmer’s Market in one of the city parks. As evening closes in, Stacy goes back to Jean’s house, leaving us to go to dinner on our own.
Jean takes me to a Chinese restaurant that she says she went to quite often when she lived with her husband and daughter, like a “real” person she says. It’s a bit of a dive, everything inside red and gold and covered with a light layer of dust.
“I don’t think they’ve cleaned this place since I was here twenty-five years ago,” Jean says. “But it’s still the same owners, so the food should be good.”
We order too much food, and Jean shows me how to use chopsticks, which I can’t really master too well. I decide that must be the reason Asian people are always thin, and that if Americans could just start eating with chopsticks, we might all be thin as well.
The front door opens, the little bell over it announcing the arrival of new customers. Jean stiffens in alarm as she looks toward the door. I instinctively follow her gaze, and see two men standing there. They are dressed in casual suits. One is tall, with dark, slicked back hair, quite good looking, the scar that runs along his jawline adding to his looks rather than detracting. The other is shorter, a shock of silver hair on his head sticking out in deliberate spikes. There isn’t anything particularly menacing about them.
I look back at Jean and see genuine alarm is evident in her expression. She’s lowered herself in her chair a bit, her hand up next to her face as she brings some noodles to her mouth with her chopsticks. She’s purportedly watching what she’s doing, but it’s clear she’s watching them. A thrill of fear runs up my spine.
“What is it?” I ask. “Do you know them?”
“Who?” she asks, trying to feign innocence, but the fright in her voice is obvious.
“Je—I mean, Grandma, you know exactly who I’m talking about—those two guys who just came in.”
She looks at me, and my fear ratchets up to terror to match her own.
“We have to get out of here, Niahm. Now.”
“Okay, uh... ” I turn back toward the door and see the hostess leading them to a booth not far from the door. Crap. I look around. “There has to be another exit somewhere.” I lean toward her. “Who are they?”
She swallows, and as if afraid to say the word aloud, she mouths, Sentinels. I jerk in shock. Those are Sentinel’s? I somehow imagined them to be hulking thugs with horns, scars, and missing teeth. Not a couple of average looking business men.
I gasp a couple of panicked breaths. Okay, okay, the important thing is to get Jean out of the restaurant safely. I look around again. A server comes through the swinging kitchen door and I get a glimpse of an emergency exit sign at the back of the kitchen.
“There,” I say, pointing just above the table top. She glances behind herself, a look of confusion on her face. “An exit, at the back of the kitchen.”
“I can hardly go traipsing through the kitchen,” she whispers, her voice tight with tension. “And I’m not going to leave you.”
I wave the server over.
“Hi,” I say with a note of beseeching, lifting my eyebrows, silently asking for understanding. “Listen, one of my gr—friend’s old boyfriends just came in. It was a really bad break-up, you know?” I watch her fac
e change from polite interest to sympathy. “Do you think it would be possible for you to sneak us out through the kitchen?”
She’s already shaking her head, “I ca—”
“Please?” I ask, handing her a hundred-dollar bill. “If she tries to go out the front and he sees her, it could get... ugly.” I drop my voice menacingly on that last note and her eyes widen. She glances at Jean, then back to me and down at the money.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll take her out that way, but I can’t take both of you.”
“No,” Jean’s denial is immediate.
“Gra—Jean,” I say firmly, changing the word I almost called her, aware that it might seem a little strange for this young woman to be my grandma. “They don’t know me. They have no idea who I am. I go up front, pay, and leave. They won’t even look at me twice. I’ll meet you at the car.” She’s shaking her head, but I don’t acknowledge it.
“Go with her,” I urge, pleading now. “Do you have our bill?” I ask the server. She fishes it out of her pocket and hands it to me. “Thank you,” I tell her sincerely. She nods and turns toward the kitchen. “Go,” I say, squeezing Jean’s hand, trying to look confident in the plan, which I am anything but.
“Be careful,” she whispers.
“You, too,” I say. “I’ll stand up at the same time to block you. Don’t look that way, just go.”
She nods and we both stand. She follows the server, who is glancing nervously over her shoulder. I take a breath and turn toward the register at the front. I make my way over, trying to be casual, trying not to break and run as I’d like to. I have to wait a couple of minutes for the hostess to come up to take my money, minutes that feel like eternities as I force myself not to look their way, not matter how much I want to.
Finally, the woman comes over and takes the bill from me.
“Excuse me,” a masculine voice says. I glance over my shoulder and see the scarred Sentinel right next to me. My heart stops dead even as blood rushes to my head, filling my ears with a whooshing sound. “Can I get a menu?”
“Sure,” the woman says, pulling one from the slot on the side of her desk. “You change your mind?”
“My friend is rethinking his choice,” he says, smiling at her. He glances quickly at me, a polite stranger’s glance to include me in their exchange. My blood turns to ice. I quickly look away.
He takes the menu and returns to his table as she takes my money. I’ve given her way too much, but say, “Please give the change to our server for her tip.” The hostess raises her eyebrows a little at the gesture, but I need to go now before I make some stupid mistake.
I move to the door, and as I’m stepping out, I glance behind me. The man is watching me. His look could easily be interpreted as benign, but I don’t know that for certain. I step through the door, forcing myself not to rush to the parking lot which is on the side of the building. The car is already running and I breathe a sigh of relief. I open the passenger door and slide in.
“Let’s go,” I say, glancing over—at Sam. “What are you doing here?” I demand angrily.
“I called him,” Jean says from the backseat. I look at her, see that though she’s still worried, she’s slightly more relaxed. I know I should be grateful she made it out okay, but I’m furious. I turn my gaze back to Sam.
“What, you have some kind of transporting power also that you forgot to tell me about?”
“He was already here,” Jean says. “Please, let’s go.”
Sam continues to watch me for a few seconds before putting on a baseball cap and shifting the car into gear.
“Get down, Jean,” he says, and she lays herself flat on the back seat. As we pull around the building, I see the two men exiting the restaurant. They look at us, Scars eyes meeting mine. He acts casual, but it seems as forced as when I was doing it. Sam also looks over at them, though he looks quickly away, as if dismissing them as casual strangers.
“This isn’t right,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Sam asks.
“They shouldn’t be leaving the restaurant yet. They haven’t been there long enough to eat.”
“Take out?” Sam questions.
“I don’t know. Maybe. But I kind of doubt it since they were seated at a booth.”
“Okay, well, let’s just remain calm, not panic yet,” he says, glancing in the rearview mirror.
We drive in tense silence for a few minutes.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
Sam’s jaw clenches, as if he’s fighting answering.
“I followed you,” he finally says.
I huff out an affronted breath, but before I can say anything, Jean says, “I asked them to come.”
“Them?” I say.
“Shane is here also,” Sam says.
“Niahm, I knew there could be some danger in coming here,” Jean says.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, turning toward the backseat where she’s still lying, though now propped up on one elbow.
“Are you kidding?” she laughs. “I wasn’t about to pass this trip up. I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a little backup.”
“But you knew that Sam and I were—” I stop, not quite sure how to finish.
“Yeah, but I didn’t know why.”
“Even if she hadn’t called, I still would have followed,” Sam says.
Before I can respond, Jean says, “I was hoping you wouldn’t have to know they were here.”
Her words bring back to mind our current situation, and I glance behind us.
“Yeah, they’re back there,” Sam confirms. He pulls his cell phone out and punches a single number. “Shane, I think they’re following us.”
He’s silent for a moment, then hands the phone to me. I stare at it blankly.
“Just hold it for a sec,” he says distractedly. “We’re going to see if they keep following us. See that black SUV a few cars back?” I look back and see it. I nod. “Keep an eye on it and tell me if it follows us.”
He makes a sudden right turn, without any warning. The SUV, being some space back, has more time to make the turn without it seeming so abrupt.
“Still behind us,” I say.
Sam takes another left then right again. I watch the SUV follow, fear crawling up my spine.
Sam grits something out beneath his breath that sounds garbled and foreign. He gives up trying to appear casual and speeds up. “You’re going to have to tell Shane where we are, tell him every time we turn and what street we’re turning on.”
It takes me a few seconds to realize where we are. “Hello?” I say hesitantly as I bring the phone up to my ear.
“What are your coordinates?” Shane demands.
“Uh... ” I look out the window, trying to spy the street signs. “We’re on 4800 west,” I say. “We’re just going through the intersection of Fredondo Avenue.”
“Which direction?” Shane’s abrupt question deflates my pride in telling him where we are.
“I don’t know.” I turn to Sam. “What direction are we going?” I ask him.
“North.”
I repeat the information to Shane, and suddenly Jean sits up and takes the phone from me. “Hey!” I exclaim.
“I know the area well,” she says. “I can give him a more accurate idea of where we are.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be hiding?” I ask.
“I think it’s a little late for that now, don’t you?” Her gaze is unwavering and full of fear. I open my mouth, but she says, “Don’t argue with me, Niahm. Let’s get safe first and then you can lecture me all you want.” I swallow over the lump lodged in my throat and nod.
Sam says some more of the strange words more vehemently. The SUV closes on us. Jean shouts speaking directions into the phone. Unthinkingly, I reach out to Sam who is gripping the steering wheel with both hands. His eyes scan my face. His intense worry for me is deeper than any emotion directed toward me, including from my own parents.
“Hold on,” he sa
ys, turning his attention back to the road. He stomps the gas pedal and we jump ahead. The SUV doesn’t hesitate to follow suit. We rocket around other cars on the road, then through a red light, brakes squealing as another car avoids hitting us. The SUV weaves around the stopped car in the intersection. Reality has been suspended and I’ve been thrown into a stereotypical action movie.
“They have guns,” Jean warns frantically as we swerve around another corner near an industrial area, away from traffic. The buildings are large and flat, empty this time of day. A loud pop sounds, and suddenly our own car is fishtailing out of control. Sam frantically pulls at the steering wheel, trying to retain control. The car is leaning unnaturally to the side. Time slows for me to watch my own destruction and that of the two people I love most. The car flips up onto its side, sliding along the pavement, sparks flying. Sam grips my hand in his. I grasp his desperately, realizing that the screaming I can hear is my own.
A loud, grinding metal sound drowns out my voice as I realize we are now upside down. I have time to gasp out one word before my world goes black.
“Sam.”
Chapter 51
Sam
The car finally stops its movement when it slams into the side of one of the buildings. Before it stops I’m unbuckling my seat belt. With an oof I drop to the ceiling of the car. Niahm’s eyes are closed and she’s not screaming anymore. I fumble with the buckle holding her suspended, catching her as she falls. In the back, Jean is moaning. She hadn’t been buckled in and so her fall had been a bit more painful than mine.
“Jean, move,” I command. She nods and crawls toward the shattered windshield. The SUV has screeched to a stop. We have seconds at most. I slide out the opening, ignoring the pain from the tears in my skin caused by the twisted metal of the windshield frame, trying to protect Niahm’s fragile skin. Once through, I reach behind and pull Jean out. She’s still sluggish, but recovering.
With Niahm in arms, I run toward the nearest warehouse, Jean on my heels. I pull the gun from my pocket and shoot at the nearest glass door which explodes inward. I continue past the door as Jean shoots me a questioning look, but I don’t have time to explain. We round the corner of the building, not slowing.