The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (37 page)

“Is Mr. Rosenthal going with you?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

“Heavens, no. He’s not much for traveling. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I was just curious. I don’t know much about the processes of writers, but three months seems like an awfully long time for them to be separated when Ernest is helping him with his novel.”

I swapped the cocktail for my water glass, taking several gulps.

“It would be, but the first draft of
Blue’s Canyon
is complete,” Hadley told me. The next words out of her mouth were music to my ears. “Ernest is taking it along with him, and plans to revise over the coming months.” She laughed humorlessly. “It seems I’ll be spending a lot of time alone in the German countryside, and I don’t speak a lick of the language. But Ernest says the quiet is necessary for his work.”

Hadley drained her glass.

“When exactly do you leave?” I asked.

“We are taking an early train on Sunday,” she told me, sadness radiating from her eyes.

Just under five days.

“We simply must get together again before you leave, I’ve had such fun today,” I declared. Seeing her so obviously unhappy with her husband’s plans, my heart felt heavy.

“Maybe we could do another lunch?” she asked, looking excited. “Oh! I know—there is a wonderful show we could see. An Italian dance company, the Flying Codonas, puts on an aerial performance. I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews and have been just dying to go. Say you’ll go with me.”

Her voice was pleading, her eyes hopeful.

Despite the fact the tasks on my to-do list were reproducing with one another faster than bunnies in springtime, I agreed to attend the show with her.

“Assuming, of course, it remains open,” she added. “The Night Gentleman has put a wet blanket over the nightlife.”

I smiled thinly, the respite from my problems coming to an end.

Right, that guy. Nombre deux on my list.

“Ring me and we’ll make plans,” I said. “If not that, we will do something else before you leave.”

Hadley grinned, relieved. She had the tumbler to her lips before remembering it was empty.

“Are you going to drink that?” Hadley asked, pointing to the untouched glass on my side of the table.

With a giggle, I pushed it over to her. Hadley resumed her idle chatter as she sipped the cocktail. I downed two cups of very strong coffee. Tiny as she was, it would be a miracle if I didn’t need a wheelchair to get her from the bar to the street when we were ready to leave.

“Would you be interested in a walk around the Tuileries Gardens?” she asked when we finally asked Audrienne to fetch the check. “They’re right around the corner and absolutely beautiful—a must-see in Paris.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. “I could use a bit of fresh air.”

Once we’d settled the bill, we retraced our steps through the lobby. Hadley looked slightly unsteady on her feet, so I looped my arm companionably through hers.

The sun was still shining brightly as we exited the Ritz, and I slid large black shades over my eyes. I felt a tug on my arm as Hadley swayed.

“Is it remarkably hot?” she asked. “I didn’t realize the temperature had grown so warm.”

Though it was a beautiful spring afternoon with just the right amount of warmth in the air, I suggested postponing our walk until the weather was more agreeable. As drunk as she was, Hadley was in no shape to be wandering the streets.

There was a single cab idling at the curb, and I insisted that Hadley take it. Despite her protests, I won out in the end.

“I want to walk a bit anyway,” I reassured her. “See the sights. That is why I’m here, after all.”

A bellhop scurried over from the front of the hotel and held the car door open for Hadley.

“Well, there is a sight right there,” she said, pointing conspicuously to a petite woman in black pants and a white blouse that was a feminine version of a man’s suit shirt.

I recognized her immediately.

“Coco Chanel,” Hadley confirmed my thoughts. “Brilliant designer. She lives here at the Ritz, you know? Has kept a suite for some time. She’s going to be somebody one day. Someone big.” My new friend waggled her fingers at me. “Toodles. We’ll talk soon.”

“Toodles,” I echoed belatedly, my gaze following the future fashion icon.

Oh, Hadley,
you have no idea. Coco Chanel won’t just be someone big. She will be a legend.

The coffee had done wonders to counteract the alcohol, and I was once again sober after wandering for an hour in the cool afternoon air. I used the time to consider all the ways we might get our hands on the third part of the manuscript. Learning that Hemingway was in possession of a section was big. It drastically narrowed down the possibilities of the physical location, so the only thing left was to actually find it. Since Ernest wasn’t paranoid or neurotic like Rosenthal, the pages would likely be found in his home.

I considered inviting myself over to Hadley’s house for cocktails. Once I plied her with a few drinks, I could ask to see the manuscript, and then find a reason for her to leave the room. While she was gone, I could quickly scan the pages.

After considering all of the different angles, I decided that the only potential pitfall in the plan was Ernest. If her husband was home, Hadley was less likely to show me the manuscript. And if Hadley preferred going out to dining in, I would have to make sure we dined at a time when her husband was out writing or beating up my partner. Having Cyrus with us was a huge boon, since it meant there was a third man in the equation. He could search the Hemingway home while Gaige and I distracted the occupants, if necessary.

All in all, it was a sound plan. My lunch with Hadley had proven even more fortuitous than I’d hoped. I gave myself a pat on the back for finding out that Ernest had the target. I couldn’t wait to get back to the townhouse and share my news with the guys.

“HEMINGWAY HAS
it,” Gaige announced, before I had both feet inside the townhouse.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked incredulously, glaring at my partner.

“Nope, no, Ernest definitely has it,” he replied quickly, not picking up on my sarcasm.

I sighed heavily and closed the door behind me.

“That was my line.”

With his face sweaty and swollen in spots, my partner was pacing the living room. Gaige’s blackened hair stuck out in every direction, as if he’d been running his hand through the strands compulsively. The energy surrounding him was intense, practically crackling with pent-up excitement.

He stopped and stared at me in confusion. “What?”

“Hadley confirmed her husband has the third piece,” I said.

Gaige propped his hands on his hips. “Well, did she tell you
why
he has it? Huh? Did you wheedle that detail out of her?”

“Because he is taking it to Germany with him.”

Gaige threw his hands in the air, in an overly dramatic gesture of exasperation.

“Okay, she told you, whatever. But do you know what this means?” he demanded, doing a weird little dance that looked like a child in need of a bathroom. Without waiting for me to reply, Gaige answered his own question. “It means we only have five days to finish the run. Unless, of course, you think I’d look hot in lederhosen.”

“We’re not chasing them to Germany,” I replied. “But I have some ideas for getting our hands on the rest of the manuscript.”

“Me too!” my partner exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “
So
many ideas.”

Gaige was so amped over our mutual discovery, he couldn’t sit still while we discussed strategies. One minute he was sitting next to me on the couch, the next he was reprising his ridiculous dance around the coffee table.

“I like where your head’s at,” declared Gaige, after I’d outlined the plan I came up with on the walk, including the contingency with Cyrus.

“I’m not sure I can say the same about you,” I decided, peering closely at him. His face was a startling shade of red, with sweat running down in rivulets. “How much caffeine have you had today?”

“None since breakfast.” He put up his fists, assuming a fighter’s stance. With a quick one-two combination, he took down an invisible opponent. “Boxing is amazing, Stass. I have
so
much energy right now, it’s crazy.
Crazy.
I think I’m going to keep at it when we get home.”

“Yeah, you do that. Once we’re safely back on the island, you can hit all the stuff you like. Right now, though, I need you to focus.”

“I am focused. So focused. Like mega-focused. Let’s do this. Call Hadley and set up dinner, let’s do this tonight!”

“We just had lunch, I can’t ask her for tonight,” I said, eyeing Gaige suspiciously. “She’s probably sleeping off the alcohol right now. I’ll call her this evening, see if she can do tomorrow night.”

I was definitely excited about this new development. But Gaige was I-just-won-the-Superbowl-and-lottery-in-the-same-day excited. It was sort of freaking me out.

He started doing jumping jacks, and my suspicion turned to concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

“Gravy, Stass. I gonna go for a run. Want to come? Never mind, your chicken legs won’t be able to keep pace.”

I rolled my eyes. Gaige was able to do many things better than me. He was a better rock climber. He was a stronger swimmer. He was the better bullshanter. And, hands down, Gaige was the more annoying of the two of us. But we both knew my chicken legs could run much faster than his hairy man thighs any day of the week.

Abruptly, Gaige dropped to the floor. The coffee table blocked him from view. Alarmed, I jumped to my feet.

“Gaige!” I exclaimed, worried he’d fainted.

My partner grunted as he pushed his body off of the floor, clapped his hands in front of his chest, and let gravity carry him back down.

I let out a relieved sigh. The idiot was doing push-ups.

Gaige continued his manic exercise routine, performing twenty military-style push-ups before rocketing to his feet.

“Time for that run!” he declared, jogging off towards the door.

“Um, no,” I decided. “I think you need to chill.”

“Chill? I’m crazy chill, like I just came out of the freezer. A run is just the thing to warm me up. Get it? I just owned that metaphor.”

“Gaige, seriously, I don’t think that’s a great idea. I’m going to get you some water, just sit on the couch.”

He swayed on his feet. I rushed around the coffee table to help him.

Turning in my direction, Gaige muttered, “Stass, I don’t feel so hot….”

My partner’s complexion was bone-white, his eyes darting erratically from side to side. It was definitely worth calling the alchemist doctors to have him checked out.

I was just about to march him next door when, without warning, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he fell backwards. I was too slow to catch him. Gaige’s head hit the door, bounced once, and his eyelids dropped shut.

I screamed as he slowly slid to the floor.

“HE JUST NEEDS
some rest, I am sure of it. Our dear Gaige will be right as rain come morning,” Ines declared, waving her cigarette holder over his bed.

She clicked her lighter, producing a small flame.

Like a viper darting out to attack his prey, Cyrus snatched the cigarette holder from her hand. He eyed the startled alchemist levelly. Then, still pinning her with his don’t-screw-with-me stare, Cyrus snapped the cigarette holder in two and let the pieces fall to the floor. Mouth agape, Ines began to sputter weak, belated protests.

“Consider this a non-smoking residence,” Cyrus told her. He glanced pointedly down at the broken cigarette holder. “Now you won’t be tempted.”

Dr. Merriweather, the local alchemist physician, cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will run some tests on his blood, but his vitals are stable. His heartrate is still elevated, though it appears to be coming down. I will continue to monitor him throughout the night.”

On the bed, Gaige’s closed lids twitched rapidly as his eyeballs pinged and ponged underneath.

“Is that normal?” I asked Dr. Merriweather doubtfully. My partner still hadn’t regained consciousness, so it certainly didn’t seem normal to me.

“It may be,” he replied slowly. “Until I run a DOG scan, I cannot be positive.”

“Wait, you know what a DOG scan is?” I asked, surprised. This was the first time we’d ever needed a doctor during a run, and I had no idea how it all worked. “How can you possibly do one now? Those giant machines don’t even exist yet, let alone the handheld scanners.”

The doctor patted me on the shoulder in a grandfatherly gesture.

“I am an alchemist, dear,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Dr. Merriweather left to go run his tests without another word. Thankfully, Ines trailed after him, her head down and proverbial tail tucked between her legs like a scolded puppy. Once they were gone, it was just Cyrus and me with the unconscious Gaige.

“You said he was acting manic before the fall?” asked Cyrus, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Yeah, I think that’s the right term. He was bouncing off the walls, doing calisthenics, wanting to go for a run.” I shook my head. “At first I thought it was too much caffeine, but Gaige said he didn’t drink coffee after breakfast.”

“How has he been acting in general? Since you arrived in Paris?”

“Like Gaige,” I replied with a shrug. “I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, but ordinary is relative with him.”

Cyrus cracked a small smile.

“Why?” I asked, confused.

“Your run to Florence and then to Paris were very close together. In fact, your last several runs have been very close together.”

“You don’t think he has time sickness, do you?” I asked.

My boss gave a little headshake. “The thought crossed my mind. The slow onset form is rare, and gradually builds up. In some cases, the inflicted is able to mask the symptoms, so that those around him don’t realize he’s sick. Has he been loading up on sugar?”

“No more than usual.”

“How have you been feeling?”

“I’m not sick,” I said decisively.

Cyrus stared at me long and hard. I squirmed under his gaze. After the moment became awkward and supremely uncomfortable, he spoke.

“You never are, Stassi.”

Somehow, those words felt ominous.

Gaige remained unconscious through the night. Not wanting him to wake up alone, I remained by his bedside, taking up residence in a floral print chair that the designer had clearly created to serve only as a decoration. My back was sore, my legs numb, and I had a kink in my neck that only an expert masseuse would be able to remove.

None of that mattered, though. Gaige was hurt and no one knew why.

Dr. Merriweather came in around midnight to check on him and relayed that all of the standard blood tests came back normal. I asked what he meant by “standard” but quickly regretted the question. I kept my eyes on Gaige, tuning out the alchemist’s voice when he began listing technical names for drugs and conditions I’d never heard of.

“He does have a mild concussion and a rather large bump on the back of his head,” the doctor concluded.

“That’s my fault,” I said, guilt washing over me. “I couldn’t stop him from falling.”

“I’m quite certain that I don’t need to tell you that it’s not your fault,” Merriweather said kindly. “Now I’m running the tests for atypical pathogens and the like. The results should be in by morning.”

After thanking him for his efforts, I watched the doctor retreat out of the room. Once it was just us again, I wrapped my fingers around Gaige’s hand once more and awkwardly curled back up in the uncomfortable chair.

“You’re going to be fine,” I promised him.

As the rays of dawn were casting a pink glow on the cream curtains behind Gaige’s bed, my eyes became too heavy to hold open. I’d been running on espresso and sheer determination until that point, and my body was done.

A hand caressing my hair drew me from a fitful sleep some time later. In that place between the waking and dreaming worlds, my sleep-addled brain conjured images of Charles. The memory of his long fingers whispering over my skin, the kiss that made my toes curl and my head spin, the way he looked into my eyes with so much adoration and longing.

“Mmm,” I breathed, snuggling closer to his warmth.

“Stassi.” Warm breath fanned over my cheek as he whispered in my ear. “If you wanted to use my abs as a pillow, all you had to do was ask.”

I sat up with a jolt.

“You’re awake!” I exclaimed.

“So are you,” Gaige countered. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes—that gleam that meant he was about to say something asinine. “What were you dreaming about?” he sing-songed.

“Nothing,” I intoned, elated that he was feeling well enough to mock me. I’d probably regret it at some point in the near future, but his teasing was welcome just then. “At least, nothing I remember now. I only recall the pain of trying to sleep in that chair. Why?”

“Those weren’t moans of pain,” Gaige declared, his devilish grin appearing. “Was Charles rounding third and heading for home? Here, lay back down on me, go back to sleep.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and gritted my teeth to hide my relieved smile.

“I take you’re feeling better?”

Gaige settled back against his pillows. “I have a wicked headache, though I don’t remember any of the guys landing a blow on the back of my head.” He shrugged as he rubbed the spot where his head had connected with the door, unconcerned. “Hazard of boxing, I suppose.”

“Not exactly,” I started, though Gaige didn’t seem to hear me.

Yawning lazily, my partner rested his head in one upturned palm. “Dude, Stass, when we get back, I’m totally spending a day at the springs. I need a massage, a spinal adjustment, and a few hours in the healing baths. Manly sports are hell on the body.”

I just gawked. How scrambled was his brain?

“What?” he asked. “Why are you giving me the creeper stare? And why are you sleeping in here?  I know I’m irresistible and all, but you do have a bed across the hall.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” I demanded.

Gaige blanched at my harsh tone.

“Okay,
Cyrus
, chill. And don’t look at me like that; it’s freaking me out. You have his tell-me-all-your-secrets stare down. I’m not a fan.”

“Gaige,” I warned.

“There you go again. You sound just like him.”

I wanted to smack my partner right in the goose-egg on the back of his skull to jar some sense loose.

“Okay, okay.” Gaige held up his palms in a placating gesture. “I was boxing with the guys, then I came home and went to bed.” He sat up straighter, light sparking behind his maple syrup irises. “Shit, I almost forgot. Hemingway has the third piece of the book. Sorry, I was wiped when I got back, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you.”

“Don’t move,” I said with a warning look as I leapt out of the chair.

Taking the stairs two-at-a-time and flying out the front door, I ran to the alchemists’ lair to get both Cyrus and Dr. Merriweather.

Our boss began barking questions the instant he laid eyes on my partner. Moments later, the physician appeared with a handheld DOG scanner just like the ones used by doctors on the island. Cyrus and I stood back, while Merriweather performed a scan of Gaige’s brain.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked uncertainly. “How does he not remember anything?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Cyrus replied with a grim look.

“Are the doctors here enough? Should we get him back to the island?”

“Merriweather has all of the same tech we have at home, and all of the same treatment options. Depending on what he finds, though, Gaige might need to leave.” My boss eyed me critically. “Do you think you can get the last bit of the novel without him?”

“Yeah. At least, I’m pretty sure I can. I might need you to run interference with Hemingway.”

While Gaige was poked and prodded by the alchemist doctor, I relayed my ideas for getting the rest of
Blue’s Canyon
to Cyrus. He nodded approvingly as I spoke.

“Go call Hadley,” he said when I was finished. “The fact they’re leaving for Germany on Sunday puts us on a tight timetable. Who knows when or where we might get another shot at it.”

I glanced at my partner, not wanting to leave him alone. Gaige met my eyes and gave me a weak smile, confusion and fear shining in his expression. Careful to stay out of the doctor’s way, I went to my partner’s side and took his hand.

“I need to step out for just a second, but I’ll be right back,” I promised. “Will you be okay? I just need to call Hadley.”

“I’m in good hands,” Gaige assured me. “Go take care of the mission.”

“One quick call,” I repeated, heading for the door. “It won’t take long.”

“Two calls, actually,” Cyrus interjected, handing me a folded slip of paper as I passed him.

“What’s this?” I asked as I opened it.

“Put him off,” my boss said quietly. “Say your brother is sick and you don’t want to leave him. Say maybe you can see him next week. There’s no additional information to be had from him.”

“I know how this works,” I replied evenly, then left the room.

First, I called the Hemingway residence. Ernest answered the phone, telling me that his wife had taken ill the day before, and he didn’t want to disturb her at the moment. For a brief, horrible moment, I wondered if she and Gaige had somehow caught the same bug. Thankfully, that notion was quashed when Ernest quietly suggested that Hadley had perhaps overindulged a bit the previous day. After apologizing for disturbing him, I asked Hemingway to have Hadley call me when she was feeling better.

The other task wasn’t so easy. Apparently, Charles had phoned while I was sitting vigil by Gaige’s bedside. I had a feeling I knew why he was calling, and it wasn’t for another night of flirting and expensive champagne. M.L. Worchansky, the man with the cufflinks that matched my locket, was a lead that we both wanted to follow. But without telling Cyrus about the necklace and my search, my boss believed the usefulness of the relationship to be over.

Which meant the relationship was also over.

Blowing people off always sucked, even when the person was boring or unattractive or just not someone of interest. You kept promising you’d get together at a later date, citing a headache, prior engagements, or family obligations. In the case of one man, I’d even gone so far as to tell him I’d fallen ill with diphtheria. Eventually the unknowing informant gave up, and we disappeared without a trace. They went on with their lives, and we became nothing more than someone the mark once knew.

Even though I was well aware of our protocols, I waffled over what to do about Charles. The decision had to be made soon. My run would more than likely be over by Sunday. And it was already Wednesday. The window of opportunity to visit M.L. Worchansky was rapidly closing. This side-project of mine had to be completed immediately, if it was to happen at all. Staying to help Cyrus catch Lachlan would not buy me extra time for it. Without the manuscript as an excuse to slip away, I was shant out of luck.