“There had to be backups though, right?” Gabe suggested.
“But we don’t know where those are either,” Tye pointed out, crossing his arms and sitting back.
“We need a fucking break,” Jodie snapped. “Where haven’t we looked? What can I do? Do we not have phones or something? Technology should help.”
“We’ve called all the numbers we have. A lot of the phones were burners so they couldn’t be tracked. We really didn’t plan to be this disconnected from one another,” Tye said with a grimace.
Reyna leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up on the antique dining room table. She ignored Washington’s pointed stare at her audacity. Getting Jodie back had been a win. Not only was she Reyna’s closest friend and a link to the Visage prison experiments, but Jodie had special blood too.
Reyna’s blood was the very rare Rh null negative with so few matches in the entire world. And unfortunately, one of those was William Harrington. But Jodie’s had the potential to unlock a possible blood antidote—which would make it so that vampires could drink anyone’s blood, not just their blood type match, and have the same benefits.
Yet, despite having Jodie back, they were still a pathetic crew of six now.
Six people to take on all of Visage.
A week ago, when she’d stepped out of the shower, she had felt so certain that they could do this. Now she was wondering what the hell she’d been thinking. It was still possible to stop Harrington, but was it hubris to believe that six people could succeed where an army had failed?
She shook her head. There was a link that she was missing. Butshe didn’t know what it was.
“What do you think, Rey?” Jodie asked. The nickname that her brothers used hit her like a punch to the gut.
“We need to think about this more. We’re missing something.” Reyna stood from her chair. “It’s almost dinner. Why don’t we all come back after that and plan our next moves? We can go from there.”
Reyna trudged from the room. Sitting around and talking in circles wasn’t helping her. She wanted to walk the grounds to clear her head, but what she really missed was her camera.
Beckham had given her a camera when she had first lived with him. He’d said it would give her perspective. And it sure as hell had. She could use a piece of that perspective right about now.
She walked up the steps and to the landing where Beckham’s bedroom was, but the familiar smell alone made it difficult to even be in there. She hadn’t been sleeping much to begin with. Nightmares haunted her every time she closed her eyes. They made her want to scream like a teakettle to escape. But no, she was trapped in a cage of her own making—a musky smell, fierce handwriting, black suits, an inexplicable presence.
Beckham was the other side of her coin. And now she was one-dimensional.
She went to the bookshelf and gently ran her hand along the leather bindings. She’d already surveyed them, but she couldn’t get enough of it. They smelled like fresh parchment and long days tucked away in alcoves devouring the material. She kept hoping one of the books would reveal a trapdoor. It would swing open and show all of Beckham’s secrets. An easy way to fix everything. A deus ex machina.
But no.
There was just her.
She had to make it happen.
Reyna sat at the desk and pulled Beckham’s papers towardher. As she sat amongst his materials, she felt so connected to him. So close to him. A powerful emotion ripped through her. It started in her heart and expanded outward, encasing her entire body. This was Beckham.
Her Becks.
She coughed as tears came to her eyes. Why did the connection have to be so strong even when he was gone? She didn’t want to lose it either though. Feeling him like this was a grasp at the real thing. It prolonged the inevitable. One day she would wake up and realize that there was no more connection. That he was really and truly gone even from her.
A severed connection.
It struck her and she had to force herself from the chair before she collapsed into sadness.
This wasn’t helping. This wasn’t helping anything.
Reyna rushed from the room, desperate to be free of his ghost.
But as she raced down the stairs and outside into the brisk cold, the feeling only intensified. She wasn’t running from him. She was getting closer.
She clutched her chest. The sensation was so real. She’d felt it before but never this strong, not even when he’d been alive.
As if she could reach out and touch him, even though it was impossible.
