Carter sighs heavily and rubs his face. ‘Another mess. We don’t know where they are. They could be halfway to South America by now, for all we know. They just disappeared like smoke.’
Like Simon when I tried to shoot him.Emma doesn’t want to think about that now, has to keep her head straight.
‘That was my fault,’ Carter admits. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to deal with it. The bureau’s on high alert, and we’ve contacted Interpol as well, in case they try to run overseas.’
‘Europe,’ Emma says – god, her voice is raspy. She swallows more water to give her throat extra purchase. ‘They’ll run to Europe.’
‘Probably via Canada, or do a few hops elsewhere, yes,’ Carter agrees. ‘We don’t know how they’ll get money, but with the world they lived in, it shouldn’t be too hard.’
‘Subpoena their lawyers,’ Emma suggests.
‘I’ve made a lot of mistakes here.’ Carter leans forward, elbows on his knees. His expression is solemn. ‘I should’ve listened to you, to Bell …’ He shakes his head.
‘You should’ve listened,’ Emma agrees. She knows wisdom is easy in hindsight. ‘How’s Travis?’
‘He’s okay.’ Carter drags himself upright, and out of self-reproach. ‘It was a near thing, a very near thing. They had to take the rebar out of him in surgery, and there’s still a high possibilityof infection. But he’s close to stable post-surgery, and they should be able to extubate him tomorrow. I mean, today,’ he corrects. The clock on the hospital room wall ticks softly as the second hand revolves.
Carter takes a slow inhale, to continue with the story.
‘Miss Lewis,’ he says, but Emma puts up a hand. She’s tired. She’s heartsick. She isn’t sure if she wants to speak to Special Agent Carter again in this lifetime.
‘I don’t want to hear any more.’ Maybe her feelings will change. But right now, she’s over all this Monday-morning quarterbacking. She has something else on her mind. ‘My clothes are in this room, right?’
‘Uh … yes.’ Carter casts around, spots them somewhere near the end of the bed. ‘Is there anything you want?’
‘My jeans,’ Emma says, and when he puts the bloodstained denim in her hand, she digs in the pocket a moment before finding what she needs.
Carter stands now, ill at ease. ‘I can call the nurse, if you’d prefer—’
‘I can do that with the button,’ Emma says, and she waves him away. ‘Goodbye, Mr Carter.’
Once he’s skulked, sheepish, back out into the hallway, Emma eases herself up on the bed. She feels dizzy, but it’s okay, she’s not going to throw up again. She reaches out and pulls the nightstand telephone closer, hits the button for a line, dials the number on the scrap of paper in her hand. The phone picks up after five rings.
‘Audrey?’ Emma says, voice halting. ‘It’s me. I’m sorry to wake you, it’s so early. And I feel bad because you’ve been sick—’
‘You know, I was just thinking about you,’ Audrey Klein says softly on the other end of the line. ‘I heard there was some trouble. Why don’t you tell me all about it …’
Emma blinks against the tears in her eyes, and feels – for the first time in a while – that everything is going to be just fine.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The first time Travis Bell wakes up, the world is light and fire, flames sucking into his chest, flames rampant.
He rolls, and there seem to be arms suffocating him. He thrashes, tries to yell, but all that comes out of his mouth is a bright gush of fire and blood, and before he can do any more damage to himself, he’s subdued back to silence and stillness and black –
When he wakes up the next time, the quiet is so loud it’s ringing in his ears. He’s lying on his back. His eyelids are too heavy to open, but he’s determined; he prizes them up a crack. And as his vision stops swimming, he sees an armchair with a girl in it. She’s sleeping there, and while he’s seen her sleep before, he has never seen her in absolute repose, and it’s a revelation; this girl, with the bright-dark eyes that are closed now, her shorn head thrown back, awkward and lovely. She snuffles in her sleep, and he has a moment to thinkEmmabefore the shutters come down again.
The third time he wakes is the first time he feels awake. Same place, same prone position, but now all his body is part of him again. The pain isn’t fun, but it’s manageable.
He turns his head, and there is the armchair with Emma Lewison it, still asleep.Huh.But then he realizes she’s wearing different clothes – some kind of baggy black shirt and her curled-up legs in black sweatpants with a white stripe – and he knows that time is still messing with him.
The ceiling of the room is unchanged, but the light is different. He moves his hand, his right one, rubs his chin and finds bristles. When he looks at the armchair again, Emma opens her eyes, and he tries his words.
‘Hey.’
‘Holy shit.’ She uncurls fast. It looks like it hurts. ‘You’re awake.’
‘Yeah.’ Words are painful somehow, and his mouth and throat are dry.
