Flirtinis with Flappers (23 page)

I pulled aside the box and opened the door. Sunlight streamed through, forcing me to squint into the alleyway. I must have been out for hours. At least that meant the gangsters probably weren't still poking around, looking for me. Sure enough, the alley was deserted. Only a rat (and unfortunately not
The
Rat) scurried by.

I looked up at Nick's window. It wasn't hard to identify. The blackened frame and cracked glass gave it away. My heart ached in my chest as I pondered the possibilities. What had happened to him? Had the gangsters got him? Or was he…? I couldn't bear to think that thought.

Seriously, why had I allowed myself to pass out, left him up there to face the bad guys by himself? If Sam's lungs had collapsed—if his heart had stopped beating—what did that mean for Nick? Would he be shot back to the twenty-first century as soon as his host body gave out? Or was this game over for him as well?

My heart spasmed at the idea. Could Nick really be dead? No. It was impossible. He'd been in a million tight jams in his lifetime. There was no way he'd allow himself to get killed while in someone else's body in 1929. He was too good for that.

Wasn't he?

I limped down the alleyway, determined to see for myself. I had to know. Each step was excruciating. My ankle throbbed. My ribs ached. It hurt to even blink my eyes.

I made my way into the apartment building. The place was deserted. I dragged myself up the stairs to his unit, praying, hoping, begging that everything would be okay. That he'd be there, waiting for me. Ready to tend my wounds because miraculously he'd suffered none of his own.

I remembered a movie I once saw.
The End of the Affair.
When a World War II bomb blasted a London apartment, the married heroine had promised God that she would never see her lover again, if only his life would be spared. Perhaps it would be worth making that kind of bargain myself. If only I believed something like that would work.

But when I turned the corner and saw what was left of the burned out apartment, I knew that Nick's life was beyond bargaining for. The grenade had done its worst. The place was gutted by flame. No one could have survived. There was absolutely no way.

I stared at the devastation for a moment, not knowing what to do. My body kicked into autopilot, concentrating on essential functions like breathing and keeping my heart beating. But there was little else going on, save a nonstop rapid repeating thought running on endless loop in my horrified brain.

Nick was dead. Nick was dead.

He had to be. No one could have survived this. All I could hope was that the real Nick was sent back to the twenty-first century. That Sam's body was just a dead, empty shell.

But how could I find out for sure?

Then I remembered the one person, well, rodent, who would probably know.

I had to get back to my apartment, pronto.

Shivering, terrified, and too freaked out to cry, I managed to steady my trembling hand to get the key into my lock. I wanted to know—
needed
to know—what would happen to Nick if Sam were really dead. And only one person, one rodent, had the answers.

I limped inside. "Ratty?" I called. My voice surprised me, hoarse and raspy. I guess from the smoke. "Special Agent Rogers? Are you here?"

The apartment was empty and silent as a tomb. Great. Rat Boy was probably off on a cheese binge or something. Just my luck.

I felt my knees wobble, and just as I managed to close the door behind me, I lost it, collapsing to the floor. I let out a groan as my knees and then chest collided with hardwood. Walking back to my apartment had been too much. My body was bruised, and my ankle throbbed. I considered crawling over to the bed. To at least pass out on something soft but then decided it wasn't an achievable goal at the moment.

Instead, I closed my eyes and let the blackness sweep over me right where I lay on the floor. I thought of Nick. My darling Nick. He had to be alive. He just had to.

Then everything went black.

"Dora? Wake up! Are you okay? Do you see a white light? Don't walk into the light, Dora!"

"Argh," I moaned. All I wanted to do was sleep for like a thousand years, but an incessant voice kept squeaking in my ear. "Five more minutes, Mom."

"She lives! Hallelujah, praise the Lord!" the voice crowed. Then it added, "But, uh, please, never
ever
call me Mom again. That's just plain creepy."

Groggy, I opened one eye, then the other. I was still lying where I'd passed out, in the middle of the floor of my apartment. The Rat stood by me on his hind legs, not two feet away, his nose twitching anxiously. Had he really been worried about me?

"Wow, Ratty. I didn't know you cared."

"Heh. I don't really." The Rat plopped back down on all fours. "It's just that, um, if you die, I, uh, lose my bonus. And I really wouldn't want to show my face 'round town without that fat wallet in my pocket. Disappoint all the ladies."

"Ah. Of course. Silly me." I rolled over onto my back and then propped myself up to a sitting position. While I still smelled like a mixture of smoke and garbage, which was not a fragrance Chanel would be marketing anytime soon, I did feel a little better, actually. I was still tender and bruised, of course, but my ankle no longer throbbed, and nothing felt broken. And after what I'd been through, I considered that somewhat of a miracle. Louise must have been drinking her milk. Good girl.

"So what happened to you, anyway? I get back from a night out with this really adorable mouse named Missy—you should have seen her, by the way. Cute pink feet and a very sexy tail. Never had an albino chick before." Ratty beamed proudly at this studly accomplishment.

"Uh, Congrats?"

"Right. So I get back, and I find you lying on the floor, looking like you've been trampled by elephants. What did you do to yourself this time? I'm thinking that convincing Nick to help you accomplish your mission didn't exactly pan out as well as you'd hoped?"

"Uh…" I rubbed my head, trying to remember everything that had happened. Suddenly, it all came rushing back, knocking me down like a hurricane wind.

"Nick!" I cried, the memory of the charred embers and rubble smoldering in my brain. My heart panged and my next breath was painful. "Ratty, I think Nick—or I mean Sam—was killed in a grenade attack."

"Grenade attack? Are you sure?"

"No, but, well, we were in his apartment and—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? I knew it. I shoulda taken that bet with Missy."

"Will you listen to me for a moment?" I cried. "Something really horrible happened!"

"Sorry. Jeesh." The Rat scratched his ear with his back paw. "Please go on, sweetie. Was it good for you?"

Why was he being so flippant? I wanted to reach over and smack him upside the head, to crush him for his indifference and snide remarks. Nick could be dead, and he didn't care one bit. What was wrong with him? Didn't he even have a shred of rodent decency? If not for Nick, how about for me?

I swallowed hard. "As I was saying, we were in his apartment, and these gangster men arrived. Demanded we come out and surrender ourselves. Said Machine Gun wanted to talk to us. We tried to escape, and they threw a grenade. The whole place exploded. I was thrown into a pile of garbage, and when I woke up, everyone was gone." Tears welled up in my eyes. "He was still in the room. I don't see how he could have survived the fire. And smoke. Oh Ratty, it was—"

"Good." The Rat nodded, looking very smug.

I stared at him, my mouth open. "What?"

"Good." He grinned. Actually curled up his whiskered mouth and grinned. I couldn't believe it. "If he's dead, then he can't screw up the future. Sure, the Feds would have preferred to catch him alive, put him on trial and all, but hey, this works too. So now all you have to do is make sure things play out the way they should, and then we can all go home and sleep with our wives."

"Wait. You mean…?"
I panicked so much I couldn't breathe. I literally couldn't suck in a breath. But I had to ask the question even though I was nearly positive the answer would stop my heart. "If…" I swallowed hard.

Oh, please don't let it be true! "If, uh, Sam dies while Nick's in his body, where does Nick go?"

The Rat shrugged. "Heaven? Hell? Nirvana? Reincarnated as a cow in India? That's one of life's great mysteries, right? Trust me, if I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't be working Rat Duty at the Bureau."

My entire world spiraled out from under me. I couldn't speak. Then it was true. My worst fears had been confirmed. I'd been praying over and over that if the host body died then Nick would wake up from his time leap and be fine and dandy to anchor the evening news.

Evidently, not so much.

"So, if Sam's dead, that means Nick's dead too?' I asked, my voice quavering. I had to be sure. "Like, he doesn't bounce back to his old body in the twenty-first century?'

"What, do you think you're made of rubber? There's no bouncing in time travel. The host body dies, you're toast too. Don't worry, Nick knew that going into this whole thing. It's in the contract. The liability clause. The risk of death is part of the time-travel high, they say."

I dropped my head into my hands, no longer feeling any physical pain as all my senses numbed in shock and horror. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't face the fact that the man I loved, the man whom I so recently had found out still loved me, was now dead. Dead and not coming back.

I had wasted a whole year hating him for no reason. A whole year spent away from his welcoming arms and soft touch. A whole year of misery that could have been spent in pleasure.

And now he was gone forever. I'd never have the chance to love him again. To kiss his lips and run my hands through his hair. To tell him how sorry I was for being so stubborn. So stupid.

Before, he was dead to me. Now he was dead to all.

It was too much. A sob rose in my throat, and I started shaking. My stomach heaved, and I ran to the bathroom, bowing to the porcelain god in the nick of time. I vomited.

Coughing a few last times, on my knees, I grasped the sides of the toilet, unable to move. Nick was dead. Forever dead. And it was all my fault. If I'd forgiven him back in the twenty-first century, if I hadn't been so stubborn, he wouldn't have joined the Time Warriors. He wouldn't have traveled back in time. He'd be safe at the TV station, delivering the evening news the way he loved so much. Then he'd come home to our little ranch in the hills, and we'd barbecue burgers and sit outside on the deck, sipping our glasses of pinot and complaining about gas-guzzling SUVs and the people who loved them.

Instead, I'd indulged in hate. In pride. In fear. And now I was decades back in time, on my knees in a 1929 bathroom. Nick was dead, and I only had a rat to console me.

Speaking of, I turned to see the little rodent had come up behind me. He sat up on his back legs and cocked his head.

"Hey, princess, what's wrong? You should be happy. If Nick's dead, then he can't screw up history. So all you have to do is make sure Bugs stays away from Clark Street on Valentine's Day, and you're all set. One more day and you can go back to your old life a hero. Maybe they'll even give you a medal. You never know."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" I growled. The Rat took a hesitant step backward. I must have looked scary in my rage. "What do I care about my old life? The man I love is dead. Dead! And all you can think of is your stupid mission?"

The Rat twitched his nose. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't realize we had feelings for the guy again. Last I knew, he was Nick the Prick, and you hated his guts. Even though you did sleep with him."

I hung my head. "No. I
love
his guts," I sobbed. "Every single last entrail. And he still loves me. He told me so. Well, he told Louise, but obviously that means I heard."

"Huh," The Rat said, bobbing his head thoughtfully. "Well this changes everything, now doesn't it?"

"I'm such an idiot. I've screwed everything up." I exchanged my kneeling position for sitting Indian-style on the floor, rubbing my eyes with my hands.

I felt a clawing on my leg and looked down to see Ratty had scampered onto my knee. Ugh. I wanted to swat him away, but something in his face made me pause, a seriousness that normally eluded the smart-ass rodent.

"Are you telling me the truth?" The Rat asked slowly. "Do you love Nick?"

I sniffed. "Yes."

"And you'd do anything for him?"

"Sure. Though it's too late, obviously."

"It may not be, actually."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Are you sure Nick is dead? Did you see a body?"

"No, but…" I shook my head. "The blast. No one could have—"

"No one could have survived? How do you know that? Are you suddenly some grenade weapons specialist or something? You know, a few episodes of CSI does not a crime scene expert make." The Rat shook his head. "Jeez Louise, for a reporter, you certainly jump to unsubstantiated conclusions. No wonder the media's in such disarray these days."

I stared at him. "But…the place was torched."

"By the grenade? Are you sure? Maybe it was torched afterwards. You ever think of that? Maybe they took Nick prisoner and then lit the match."

My mouth dropped open. In my grief, I'd never given that scenario a single thought. But now that he mentioned it, it did seem quite possible. Probable even.

"So Nick could be…?" I couldn't even say the words. I didn't want to hold out false hope. At the same time, it was certainly preferable to having no hope at all.

The Rat shrugged. "You won't know unless you check it out, right? Go back to McGurn. See if he has Nick as a prisoner. You've got nothing better to do, right?"

"But McGurn wants to kill me," I argued. "I think he believes I've cheated on him with Nick. He must have had me followed or something."

"Right. Well, I understand if you're too scared to go back there," Ratty said breezily. "Guess Nick will have to figure out a way to get out of prison himself. That'll give you time to hit the mall, anyway. Get some Jazz Age souvenirs for your trip back to the twenty-first century."