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A lump forms in my throat as we pull apart. I swallow uselessly. The pain of my next words spreads into my chest. “I’m sorry.”
I break away from him, ripping my heart out and leaving it with him when I stumble from the room without looking back. I press my hand to my lips with double motive: trying not to let the kiss slip away and battling with the irrepressible urge to sob.
I rush toward the entryway and the front door, putting distance between me and the temptation to run back to Quint. People don’t stay in the past to fall in love—I shouldn’t even be here! And the repercussions of taking him with me are too great. Besides, spending several years in prison because it’s not authorized by Burke and Dr. Cooper and company are the least of those. How many more seams will I rip with my selfishness?
People aren’t destined for each other. It’s the right choice to walk away. I let the tears slip down my cheeks but chide myself for emotion over what must be a crazy infatuation. I know better, and the tears don’t give me any kind of comforting release. The pressure still beats hard in my chest, behind my eyes.
I come to a halt in the entry when I meet a familiar-looking man standing just inside the door. “Clara Granville?” he asks.
I nod before gasping at the realization that he knows my real name, not Miss Mitchell, as I’d been introduced to the one person I’ve met outside the Allen family. I recognize Simon Gibbons in that instant.
“Where have you been?” I ask, stepping back. It should be the least of my thoughts, but satisfaction at being the one to catch up to him trips through me. What will Ben say now of keeping me locked up?
Gibbons’s expression narrows, looking far more menacing than the surprised look he’d worn when I’d caught him coming out of my condo. He’s shaved since the picture taken in Grand Army Plaza, so the several days’ worth of scruff is gone, leaving a smooth jaw. Up closer, I can appreciate the size of his muscles and the broadness of his shoulders, shown off well in the double-breasted suit he wears. I don’t doubt he was very good at his black ops assignments.
“Where is the McCann mirror?” he snaps.
I scowl at him, and before I can stop myself, I glance at it resting against the wall, paper still littering the floor around it where I unwrapped it to inspect it. He knows about it, which means the task force was right that he used this one to travel and he planned these actions before he went to 1901. But for good or evil?
“You need to learn to mind your own business, Miss Granville,” he says in a low voice, the cold tone going a long way to convince me—definitely evil purposes. His arm rises. A crack splits the room. I try to cover my ears against the instant ringing. Pain shoots through my left shoulder and something throws me to the ground.
Footsteps move quickly across the floor, vibrating around me. Gibbons bends over. “I don’t care if Dr. Cooper and Burke have a new pet—this is to teach you to stay far away from me, okay, sweetheart?” He rises, his figure blurring as more tears fill my vision.
“Help me.” I lift my hand and try to touch my shoulder, where it feels as though someone has jabbed a red-hot iron through it. Blood comes away with my fingers.
“Clara!” Quint’s voice rings through the hallway, muffled by a buzzing in my ears. “What are you doing? Get away from that mirror.”
Another crack. A yelp from Quint. Wood splintering. Slap, slap, slap, slap, more footsteps across the marble floor of the hall.
Quint falls to my side, his hands in my hair. “Clara, Clara, love, open your eyes.” His voice is urgent and desperate.
“Quint?” When I force open my eyes, I can’t focus on him. I hear Mrs. Allen’s voice but can’t make out the words.
“Find Ben and Dad!” Quint shouts. “Any way you can!”
I want nothing more than to stay with Quint, that I know, but blackness overcomes me in a wave of unconsciousness.
Chapter Fifteen
I reach out, touching his cheek. Fingers press over mine, honey-colored eyes never leaving mine. This time, I ask him, “Don’t go.”
“It’s okay, Clara.” His voice breaks on my name.
“Don’t go.”
“Clara … Clara. Please wake up.”
The tone is soft, concerned, but not a desperate plea like my last memory of Quint’s voice. I draw in a deep breath and force my eyes open, blinking at the dim light in the room and closing them again after a brief glimpse of Ben. I open them again to find him standing above me.
“Where am I?”
“An estate I have in New York.”
I laugh at that idea. “Happened to have that lying around?” I ask in a weak voice. “Why did we leave William’s home?” And then the many reasons that might happen flood my brain—Gibbons broke into the Allen home with a gun and shot me and maybe Quint and who else? A beeping escalates next to me, and Ben squeezes my hand.
“Everything’s okay. We’re in the present. We left William’s house because I wasn’t going to let some doctor in the past butcher you trying to remove a bullet from your shoulder. I took you through the mirror.” He strokes the back of my hand as he says it.
Scattered memories of the pain searing through my shoulder as Ben and Quint held me up flash through my brain. Both of them holding my hands to the surface, Quint’s lips in my hair as he whispered words of comfort. The passage opened, and he hefted me into his arms, handing me through to Ben when he stepped one foot through. Come back to me, love. He had been okay—physically, at least. My heart rate slows, and so does the beeping, but a glance at the doorway shows a nurse there.
