Flirtinis with Flappers (30 page)

He stared down at his hands. "I know it's no excuse, but I never thought in a million years there was even the remotest possibility that Devens would take you along on a raid that day. He'd been told, time and time again, that once we agreed on a date, the network would assign a specially trained war photographer for the assignment. It was never ever supposed to be you, and he knew that."

"Well, he told me now or never. And I didn't want to let the network down,"

Nick smiled. "My Dora. So dedicated. So determined." He reached out across the table and took my hand in his, stroking my thumb with his own. "I went back to the hotel to find you and give you your roses. But you weren't there. I waited for hours, but you never showed. By the end of the day, I started to panic. I called Devens, and that's when I found out what had happened." He scowled. "I wanted to go down there and punch his lights out. For putting you in danger. For getting you captured. But he was in trouble himself, and as mad as I was at him, I was also furious at myself. I should have never left you alone, put you in that position. I felt it was my fault you were captured." He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

"That's all well and good," I said, fighting back the lump in my throat, the tears in my eyes. "But why didn't you…rescue me? Why didn't you try to help? I was in that prison for weeks. And when I spoke to our friends, they told me you were boozing it up with some Iraqi chick. Do you know how that made me feel?" I asked, the tears now streaming down my cheeks. "To be afraid for my life and hear that the guy I thought loved me had totally moved on?"

"God, was that what they told you?" Nick asked, looking incredulous. "No wonder you hated me so much." He slammed a fist against the table, then took a deep breath.

"Her name was Ina," he said slowly. "She was the daughter of a low-ranking government official that had jurisdiction over the prison you were in. I'd met her on another assignment, before I'd ever met you, and I knew she liked me. And more importantly, I knew she was daddy's little girl. I figured that if I wined and dined her, I might be able to convince her father to let you go. I wasn't seeing a lot of our friends, because I didn't want to explain." He sighed. "I know that sounds terrible, but I didn't know what else to do. I would have done anything to save you, and my US Government contacts had already refused to pull any strings. Lousy bastards said your case was too high profile, what with Devens and all." He balled his hands into fists and banged one against the table. "I would have killed men, if I'd thought it would have helped—stormed that prison like some kind of Rambo." He laughed bitterly, then joked, "But I'm a lover, not a fighter. And so I did what I do best." He cast his eyes down and stared at his hands. "But I didn't sleep with her. I was just trying to get you out."

I couldn't believe all that I was hearing. It was like some crazy dream. Could it all be true? Could he have really only been with that girl for my sake?

"Anyway, it took longer than I anticipated, but it finally worked," he said. "She convinced her dad to let you go." He shrugged. "But as soon as you got out of prison, they sent you straight home. I didn't get a chance to come find you. I figured I'd get in touch. I called your cell phone a bunch of times, but you never called back. It wasn't until later that I realized you'd probably lost it in the raid and it was never returned." He looked sheepish. "Pretty stupid."

"As you know, the network kept me on assignment for a few months. I tried calling you in the States, but you moved. Your parents, your friends—no one would give me your number. They all called me a monster, and nothing I could do would persuade them otherwise. I even hired a private investigator to flush you out. That's when I learned you went to San Diego. I'll never forget how my hands shook as I dialed that phone number he got. But you wouldn't let me make that apology. You called me a monster. Accused me of betraying you. And then you hung up and never answered again. The phone just rang and rang."

"No voicemail," I mumbled, feeling like an idiot. Why had I been so stubborn? Why hadn't I at least let him explain? Things could have been so different. So, so different. And I'd been punished for my stupidity.

"And so I decided there was nothing I could do but leave you alone. As they always say, if you love someone, you should let them go. If they love you, they'll come back." He sighed deeply, then looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time. "Until now, you didn't come back."

My insides felt like they were melting away. God, I'd been such a fool. Such a total fool. I should have trusted him. I should have known there was some explanation for his behavior. After all, this was Nick. My Nick. A man who loved me. A man who would never in a billion years consciously betray me.

I stood and walked around the table, throwing myself into his arms, collapsing and surrendering completely. I held on as tight as I could, burying my head in his shoulder.

The tears came then, as if a dam had burst. A year's worth of pent up frustration and pain swallowed me, and I clung to him, seeking strength in his warm body.

"I love you, Dora," he whispered in my ear. "I never stopped loving you."

"I love you too, Nick," I sobbed. "More than anything in the world. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I was such an idiot."

He wrapped his arms around me and stroked my back with his hands. "Shh. Stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for."

"But I was so stupid. I should have listened to you. I should have never doubted you."

"It's okay, Dora. As long as you believe me now, that's all I care about. That's all that matters."

We held each other for a long time, neither wanting to let go. But eventually we parted and sat back down in our speakeasy seats, still holding hands.

"So, uh, now what?" I asked. "I mean, I thought maybe once the massacre happened we'd be catapulted back to the twenty-first century or something. I mean, why are we still here?"

"I don't know." Nick raked a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure."

I suddenly remembered the one person-slash-rodent who would know.

"I have a contact. We could ask him," I said.

"Really?" Nick raised his eyebrows. "Actually, I have a contact too."

"What's yours?" I couldn't resist asking. "The Easter Bunny?"

"Actually, this is going to sound bizarre, but it's a talking rat." Nick laughed. "Like, literally. Can you believe that?"

Oh. My. God. I stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. "What? Ratty? Ratty's your contact too?"

"Ratty?" Nick cocked his head. "Well, he's a rat all right. Claims that back in the twenty-first century he's an FBI agent called Rogers or something. Sarcastic little fellow. Not always that supportive."

For a moment, I thought I might fall off my chair, I was in such shock. "He's my contact too," I cried. "So he's been, what, double-teaming us this whole time? What a lousy rat!"

"But why would he?" Nick asked. "I mean, to what purpose?"

"I have no idea." I took a sip of my water, trying to steady my nerves. Something was really off here, and it was starting to scare me. "Let's think for a moment." I set down the cup. "So The Rat told me my mission was to stop you from waking Bugs up and changing history."

"And The Rat told me
my
job was to seduce you so you wouldn't be with Machine Gun and thus couldn't testify as McGurn's alibi."

"Huh." Okay. None of this was making any sense.

"So the only thing in common is that both our missions required we get in contact with one another."

I nodded slowly. "Almost as if someone planned it. To get us back together."

"But that's ridiculous. Who would do that? And why?"

"There's only one way to find out."

"Oh?"

"Go see Ratty."

"Right." Nick rose from his seat. "Time to talk to The Rat."

On the way to my rooming house we stopped at a grocer and bought the most expensive cheese in the case. As Nick said, the Geneva Convention prohibited torturing, so we might try extortion. Bribery.

Luckily, the landlady wasn't around, and we were able to go up to my apartment without me getting lectured on the evils of bringing boys to the house. I unlocked the door, and we stepped inside.

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" I called.

"About time. I've been waiting all day," The Rat growled, his typical pleasant greeting. "So, did you screw it up? Is Moran dead? Massacred, 'cause you fell down on the job?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but no. Moran's healthy as a horse. Everything worked out exactly as it was supposed to. Mission accomplished."

"And I seduced the girl," Nick interjected, "just like you asked me to."

The Rat let out a squeak of surprise, scuttling around. "Nick?" he cried. "What are you doing here?" He turned to me. "You told him, didn't you? You went and told him you were Dora."

"Yes, she told me," Nick said, approaching The Rat.

He reached down and grabbed the rodent by its tail. "Now, how's about you tell me what's been going on here. What game are you playing?"

"I demand you to put me down!" The Rat squealed. "Assault of an FBI officer is a federal offense."

Nick plunked The Rat down on the bed and sat beside him. The Rat ruffled his fur and started licking his paws in an overacted state of righteous indignation.

I reached into the bag and pulled out the cheese. "If you tell us what's going on, you can have some of this."

The Rat's nose twitched. "What is that?"

"
Le fromage
.
Tres
expensive."

"Oh," The Rat sniffed. "Not interested." But another twitch of his nose gave his game away.

"No?" I asked, sitting down on the other side of him. "I guess Nick and I will just eat it then." I peeled open the block, in what I hoped was a rat-provocative manner, and broke off a chunk. I slowly handed it over the Rat's head to Nick. "Here, Nick, try some."

"You're not tempting me at all. La, la, la," The Rat said.

"Good. I'm not trying to. I'm just enjoying some lovely cheese."

"It is really delicious," Nick agreed. "I just love Port Salut. Just the right nutty little bite."

"Argh! Okay, okay! I'll tell you everything. I'm hankering for that hunk of cheese!" The Rat cried, rolling onto his back and kicking up his little legs in frustration.

I smiled down at him. "Tell first. Then you can eat."

"Okay, fine." The Rat rolled back onto his paws. "But for the record, you guys totally suck." He looked up at us with his beady black eyes. "Here's the deal. You've heard about the Time Warriors, right?"

"That's the group Nick supposedly joined," I said. "The one where the members go back and relive historical events just for the fun of it. Bought a time machine from the KGB."

The Rat laughed. "Was that the story they fed you? Wow, they get more inventive every time." He shook his head. "Someday, someone's going to call them on their believability factor." He paused. "Then again, you bought it, hook, line, and sinker!"

I pressed my lips together. "Uh, can we get on with the story, please? I mean, if you really want that cheese."

"Right. Sorry. Well, the Time Warriors don't actually have a time machine. Neither does the FBI. Probably nobody does, come to think of it. Plus, the FBI has nothing to do with any of this. Those men you met with? They work for the Time Warriors."

"What?" I cried. "But that doesn't make any sense. Of course they have a time machine. We're back in time, aren't we?"

"Nah, you only think you are." The Rat shrugged. "Actually, you're participating in the latest in virtual reality simulation. Our computers create a living, breathing version of a time capsule of the past. Then we can send in players to interact with that world. It's beautiful technology, perfectly seamless. And by using a special drug we developed ourselves, we can trick people's brains into thinking everything they see is real."

I stared at The Rat, barely able to comprehend what he was saying. I wasn't in the 1920s? I hadn't been transported back in time? This was all some kind of game?

"Virtual reality?" Nick mouthed at me, looking almost as freaked out as I felt.

I tried to answer but realized I couldn't find any appropriate words. I was Alice down the rabbit hole, and suddenly, I wasn't sure which end was up. I was Arnold in
Total Recall.
Michael Douglas in
The Game
. Jennifer Jason Leigh in
eXistenZ
.

"So we're not really here? This is some computer simulation?" I finally managed to spit out.

I poked the bed. It seemed real. I looked out the window. Real-looking snow fell from the sky. I pinched myself hard. The pain definitely didn't seem to be coming from my imagination.

It seemed impossible. Crazy, even. But then, what was really more likely: a complex computer program or a real trip through the space-time continuum? Scarily enough, the virtual reality thing was actually a more realistic scenario.

But still! All the people we'd met? All the places we'd gone? All the things that we'd seen? They were all…what? Faked? Imaginary?

"Right."

"But…why?" I asked. "Why give us missions to save the world when the world was completely made up? All that stuff about history and destiny and changing the future—it was all just a game? None of this makes any sense."

The Rat licked his paw, as if bored. "If you didn't have some kind of quest or mission, you'd just sit around eating bonbons and drinking gin. What kind of game would that be?" He gestured to the chunk of cheese. Still dazed, I broke him off a chunk. He nibbled. "Good stuff," he said. "In real life, I'm lactose intolerant. Gotta get my fix when I can."

"So you're not an FBI agent?"

"Nope. I'm an actor. You might have seen me on
Law & Order
."

"And the others?"

"Well, the extras are what we call NPCs. Non-player characters. Computer programs, basically. But your main people—Bugs, Daisy, McGurn, Tommy—those are all real people, playing their parts."

It was weird, but part of me was relieved that at least the people I'd been interacting with weren't just binary code. Especially Daisy. In many ways, she'd become a friend. Someone I cared about. A twinge of sadness tugged at me. I wondered if I'd get to meet the real person behind the character. Or would that make things even harder?