Wynter's Horizon (9 page)

“Easy, buddy.” Quinn. Cupping my elbow in his hand, he dragged me after him. He knew I needed to exit and fast. Faces I passed changed into men I’d known, men who had served under me. Men I’d killed.

I glanced over my shoulder. Through my foggy vision, I could see Wynter perched at the bar watching the scene develop, concern on her face. Closing my eyes, I let Quinn steer me through the crowd and out the door.

I hit my knees on the side of the Jeep, retching up my beer. Quinn stood guard and then helped me up. I could hear the approaching sirens as he started the Jeep and pulled out of the parking lot. The wind whistled through the gaps in the canvas top, and I welcomed the fresh air. The cold slowly brought me back to the present. I leaned against the plastic window.

“That was close,” Quinn commented. “But you
are
getting better.”

I met his eyes, able to see clearly for the first time since the blood sprayed across the bar. A truckload of memories passed between us. “On the date or the blood?” I asked.

“Both. But the last time you saw that much blood, you destroyed the place.” I pushed the memory to the back and thought about how fate had intervened at such a cataclysmic moment.

“Some paths just shouldn’t be traveled,” I stated, staring ahead and watching the black road roll endlessly in front of the Jeep. Maybe some questions just didn’t get answered. Heaven and Hell were meant to be unknown, ghosts and spirits were supposed to stay in their plane of existence hidden to the rest of us—and some people, especially human killing machines, were intended to be alone.

“Yes, heartbreak is the only thing that awaits there,” Quinn added. Wynter’s lips flashed into my mind. I bet kissing her would have been nice.

Chapter Seventeen

Wynter—The Formal

Jason took the sophomore, Leslie, to the formal. Cute, with big doe eyes, equally large boobs, and a small ass, she followed him from room to room, staring adoringly up at him. She annoyed me. It was rumored they were dating, but I had yet to see them together at meals. I wished I had someone on my arm but, after the fiasco with Beck, I’d given up asking anyone. Hailey and Sophie went alone, too, so it didn’t matter anyway. The party, thrown in the Humanities Hall, sucked, with too many people crowded into a small space. The band, some retro group, played only seventies music, and we wandered around the building for an hour or two then headed for Jim’s, even those with dates.

Jim’s was disappointingly quiet. We were the only ones besides two old men sipping glasses of whiskey and staring at the television. I went to the bar to order drinks while the girls deposited themselves at a table near the jukebox.

“You look nice,” Jim commented.

I pulled the hem of my black dress down a bit. “Thanks. Winter formal. Where is everybody?”

“It gets quiet this time of year. People have holiday parties to go to. Sometimes, it picks up later but doubtful tonight. It’s already midnight. What can I get you? Shots?”

I shook my head. “No. Just a round of beers.”

“You girls are mellow,” he observed, filling up one glass after the other and sliding them across the bar to me.

“Finals start tomorrow.”

He nodded in understanding. I scanned the bar, looking for Beck. I hadn’t seen him since I had asked him out. Jim deposited the last beer near me and smiled knowingly.

“He’s not here. Hasn’t been in since the accident night.”

“I’m not looking for him.”

“No. I know, and he doesn’t look for you.” He picked up my twenty and retreated to the other end—laughing as he did.

Chapter Eighteen

Beck—Florida

We went to Florida to spend Christmas with Sara, Fiona, Nathaniel, and the rest of our homemade family. Christmas, like any other holiday, was difficult when you were involved in military operations, subject to other people’s time frames, involved in covert missions that required utmost secrecy and the ability to drop everything at a moment’s notice. There was little room for family time, and a lot of us were single children with no siblings and aging or dead parents. Our unnatural powers separated us even further. Having each other was the only constant through our lives.

We met at Nathaniel and Katherine’s condo, two floors with incredible views of the gulf. They had bought it back in the early 2000s, and it served us well as a meeting place. A little out of the way, it let us be secluded from the rest of the world, and warm.

Quinn and Sara, reunited after a separation of months, quickly disappeared into their bedroom. They were the only ones who had a designated bedroom but, after replacing more than one antique set, Katherine decorated their room with Ikea furniture and told them to have at it. Controlling our strength while succumbing to desire was a difficult balance—one which we didn’t always achieve. Also, Sara had a temper that was even worse than mine; after sex, they always resumed fighting. It was only a matter of time.

Nathaniel grinned as he poured a scotch. A soft breeze from the open doors brought the smells of the ocean into the room. “We won’t see them for days.” He nodded in the direction of Sara and Quinn.

“As long as I can’t hear them, I don’t care,” I replied.

He raised his glass to me, chuckling. “Good luck with that.”

“I know,” I admitted. Katherine, Nathaniel’s wife, breezed into the room. Her long skirt fell almost to her flip-flops, her flaming orange hair spilling haphazardly in waves below her shoulders.

She planted a kiss on my cheek. “You all right, Beck?” Her voice was smooth as silk.

“I’m good.” She cocked her head to one side, looking me up and down, and I felt a wave of guilt. I hadn’t been all right now for months, if not years. We had an unspoken code about lying. When we were home with each other, we dropped the charade of who we were and what our jobs were. We told the truth on all matters.

If Katherine noticed any difference in me, she didn’t let on, instead, her eyes sparkling, she said, “You look all healed. Fiona will be happy to see that. She’s coming after Christmas. She got delayed getting a flight from India.”

Fiona was an old friend, one whose bed I found myself in more than anyone else’s throughout the years. She knew me almost as well as Quinn and Sara. She tolerated my many moods and, on some level, understood my ghosts better than anybody. Though we enjoyed each other’s company, we never discussed altering the arrangement. It seemed pointless to change something that functioned well.

I smiled back at Katherine in appreciation, but Fiona was not the image in my mind; Wynter clouded my thoughts. I could trace the outline of her face with my eyes closed, hear her whispered voice, and smell her perfume, even a thousand miles away.

We spent the next few days swimming, boating and fishing, knowing that, at least for a short time, we could just be ourselves, unnatural abilities and all.

But our euphoria over being together didn’t last. Halfway through dinner on Boxing Day, we got a call about an old friend, Michael, who had been planning to join us for New Years. He had been found hanged in his apartment in Paris. As with anything involving us, the Forum—our secret division with the British government— had swept in and taken over the scene, whisking the body away. The preliminary report called it a suicide, but they wouldn’t release the body or any other details.

Michael’s partner, Audra, arrived the next day. Barely speaking, she wandered the rooms of the condo like a lost soul, pausing to pick up a figurine or picture, then returning it to its place without looking at it. She had been the one who found him.

“Hello, Beck.” She finally greeted me after several hours. She looked haggard and haunted. I reached out and hugged her.

“How’re you holding up?” I asked. She shook her head in answer, the tears spilling down her cheeks, gulping in a breath to control the sob that struggled to escape.

“I had a job. In Berlin. He seemed fine. Maybe a bit sad but okay when I left. We made plans to come here after Boxing Day.” She paused, staring at her hands for a while. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She played with the tassels at the end of the drapes. “Really? It feels like it. If I had stayed, he would be here.”

I searched for words but found nothing.

“What am I going to do without him? No one else will understand me,” she moaned, sitting down on the edge of an upholstered bench, holding her head in her hands.

“He was everything. He made me laugh, he made me angry, he made every day and night better. It’s all gone. I’m all alone.”

My stomach churned. I sat next to her and awkwardly put my arm around her shoulders. I was never adept at the comforting thing. “You’re not alone.”

“Don’t belittle me, Beck, or delude yourself. We are alone, and you know it. The odds of me finding anyone close to what Michael was are a million to one.”

“Look at Quinn and Sara,” I volunteered, “and Nathaniel and Katherine.

“Quinn and Sara are hardly the couple I want to be. And you? Have you ever found anyone?” I thought of Lilly and Wynter.

“No. But I have … issues.” That was a nice, generic word for commitment phobia and a tractor-trailer load of emotional baggage.

“Don’t we all.” She got up then, moving to stare out at the night. “Do you think it wasn’t suicide? There are plenty who might want to hurt him. .” It was a difficult question to answer. We lived in a world of secrecy while also living as part of society. We saved some while killing others. We had enemies and allies. We were a threat to some governments and an asset to others.

“I don’t know.” I felt lame but had nothing more to offer.

I urged Audra not to go, but she said she had friends to visit in Miami. It seemed unlikely, but I couldn’t convince her to stay. I walked her outside and, as I watched her drive away, grief overwhelmed me. We were, on the whole, alone, set apart from the rest of the world by whatever weird idiosyncrasies we had. To lose a mate—someone we could share our strange aberrations with, someone who understood us—was devastating.

Audra’s words and the image of her driving away without Michael haunted me as I flew back to New York and then to Newport, alone and in a cloud of gloom. Quinn was returning after he and Sara traveled to see a few old acquaintances.

***

I met with Drew on the Friday before Quinn was due back. He hadn’t found the missing executive yet. I offered whatever information I had, but I knew, the longer it took, the less likely it was he would be alive. It put me further into the funk that had started with Audra’s visit. I hated failing. I returned to my house in a black mood and wandered into downtown Newport, trying to escape my morbid thoughts. Newport comforted me. The smells of the ocean were like an old familiar blanket of seaside picnics with my parents, before anyone knew who and what I was. In January, Newport was close to deserted except for locals and the occasional couple taking advantage of winter rates for a romantic weekend away.

I eventually tired of downtown and walked Second Beach, listening to the crashing of the waves and enjoying the frigid sea water on my legs. Sometimes the cold seemed to be the only thing I could feel.

I made it back to the house before sunrise and sat on the porch watching the waning night. I thought of Wynter. I still couldn’t tell how much was attraction and how much was interest in her accident. But, after three months, neither had faded; she still haunted my thoughts. I waited until Quinn called from the airport, his flight having just landed from DC, and told him to meet me at Jim’s. I had stayed away long enough.

***

The place was already crowded, but Quinn hadn’t arrived yet, and Wynter wasn’t there either. I settled into a seat at the bar, glancing around. Jim dropped off a beer and stayed to chat. The bar back who had ruptured his artery maneuvered a fresh keg at the taps.

I motioned to Jim. “I see he’s okay.”

“Yeah. I even promoted him. He serves, too. On crowded nights.” I turned around at the sound of the door opening, hopeful, but it was only a bunch of college guys. Jim grabbed something taped to the mirror behind the bar, handing it to me as he poured up another beer. It was a picture of Wynter and her friends dressed in black dresses, glasses in hand, smiling broadly. I looked at him blankly. “Don’t bullshit me. I know why you come here. Before, maybe you stopped in once a month. Since September, you’ve been in here every week. I know you and Quinn like the wings, but come on. I’ve been doing this gig way too long.”

I opened my mouth then closed it. There wasn’t much to say.

“They came in after their formal and convinced me to get in the picture, then they gave it to me for Christmas,” he explained. Wynter looked stunning in a sleeveless, short black dress with some kind of detailing all over it. Her legs were long and lean, as I had speculated. A wave of regret washed over me. I could have been there.

Jim moved back down to the other end so I kept the picture on the bar, glancing at it every now and then. An image of Lilly flashed in my mind, her dark red curls escaping from her ponytail. I’m not sure how long I was lost in thought when the distinct smell of vanilla and cinnamon pulled me back to the present. Wynter, sandwiched between some burly patrons, couldn’t get a clear shot to the bar, and I could see the mix of frustration and anger cross her face.