Timeless (54 page)

Regan’s hand tightened around Quinn’s and her gaze sought his.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? It happened to you, too.”  His pale green eyes scorched her with a combination of jealousy and hatred.

Quinn’s fingers pressed into her waist, his body tensing.

Nicodemus cried out, and Regan stared toward the monoliths. He’s body shook and MacBean staggered and fell to the platform with him still cradled in his arms.

“Fucking look at me, not him,” Henry screamed. He pushed the gun into her face.

 Regan jerked back. Her arms and legs trembled with the anxious tension. “I’m listening, Henry.”

“You always dismiss me as though I’m not important.”

Had she done that? She flinched from the thought. “I’m sorry, Henry. I haven’t meant to.”

“Every summer if I wasn’t diving here, I was at the archives building studying, searching. Learning how to translate the Latin. My senior year in high school, I found the first journal. The one you discovered at the archives. It led me to another.”

His mouth grew taut with anger again. “I’m not the goofy fuck-up you think I am.”

Regan shook her head. Had she really given him that impression?  Though his exterior appearance screamed dork, she’d always known he was brilliant. “I’ve never thought of you like that. ”

“Yes, you have.” He looked away, his jaw tensing. “I found the third journal last summer. It seems old Nathrach was a prolific writer. And though he had sworn to keep the secret, he couldn’t control the need to record it before he died.”

A third journal? Regan’s gaze moved to Argus then back to Henry. “They only showed me one.”

He smiled. “I went to a great deal of trouble to keep them all from you. But that damn fool at the archives building—” he shrugged. “The third one, I couldn’t leave it in the archives for just anyone to see. I had to have it. Or rather Nicodemus did, once I’d called his attention to it.”

“By then he was sick. When I first contacted him, he ignored me, until I sent him a copy of my translation of the third journal.”

“Why Nicodemus, Henry?” Quinn asked.

“I saw him in my vision when I first found the stones. It had to be him. It took me as long to find him as it did the journals.”

“He’s your nephew, isn’t he, Mr. Argus? And MacBean is his son,” she said.

“How do you know that?” Argus demanded.

“Why else would MacBean be willing to risk his life and go inside the field with him?” Regan focused on the two men held within the stream. MacBean rolled onto his back, and his hand flopped dangerously close to one of the stones. “You have to get them out of there. They won’t be able to escape the field without help.”

Argus motioned to Lamont, and the two men rushed down the scaffold.

Quinn shifted his weight. Henry lunged forward to rest the barrel of the gun against his forehead. “You make a move, and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

Regan’s heart rose into her throat. Desperate to distract him, she asked, “Why did you hurt Dr. Reinhart, Henry?”

He turned the gun away from Quinn though his eyes never left him. “She wouldn’t answer my questions. She was afraid of being perceived as crazy as her patients.”

 She couldn’t forget that at one time he had been her friend. Or she had believed he was. “Oh, Henry.” Grief gripped her throat. All that he could be, all that he
had
been was lost when he’d killed the woman.

He studied her, his eyes narrowed. “You should be feeling sorry for yourself, Regan, not me.” He stepped back. “Get up, both of you.”

Quinn’s hand gripped hers as they got to their feet.

“You don’t have to hurt anyone else, Henry,” she said. “You’re better than this. Better than Nicodemus and his men.”

His features assumed a blank look of resolve more frightening than the gun.

“I’ve thought of the stones as mine ever since I found them, Regan. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Her throat closed around the word. “Yes.”

“All the discoveries I made.” He shook his head. “I’ve been cheated of all the credit because we had to keep them secret. I won’t be cheated of anything else. Walk down the scaffold,” he said.

Lamont had thrust his hand into the field and grasped Nicodemus’s arm. He slowly dragged the man free of the light. Nicodemus’s high-pitched laughter seemed grotesque in light of the threat they faced.

“You must do whatever it takes to survive, Regan,” Quinn said, his voice just above a whisper.

“Please don’t do anything. I couldn’t bear — “ She couldn’t think about it. “I might be able to talk him down.”

Quinn shook his head, the movement minute. “If I yell run, you must do it, lass.”

She shook her head. “I love you. I won’t leave you. If we go, we go together.”

Lamont lifted Nicodemus from the scaffold and placed him into his wheelchair. The greenish cast had faded from his skin, the whites of his eyes looked clear, and though his body remained thin, it no longer bowed forward as though in pain.

Argus tugged at MacBean and helped him to his feet. The man staggered and crumbled to the scaffold next to Nicodemus’s chair.

Nicodemus laid a hand on MacBean’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, Benjamin.” He smiled at Henry. “We have the key, Henry. Regan has discovered—”

Henry raised the gun and shot Nicodemus four times in quick succession. The sound of the reports rang off the stone walls, deafening, horrifying. Red circles bloomed on his white shirt, and his body jerked with each hit.

MacBean yelled and half rose. Henry shot him in the head. Blood and brain matter splattered across the muddy scaffold.

Out of the corner of her eye, Regan registered a quick flash of movement within the field as Coira came into view with Braden close behind.

Henry turned. Quinn jerked his hand free of Regan’s and lunged at him. Henry twisted with the momentum and the two went down. The gun went off.

Time stood still a beat, then two.  Regan couldn’t tell if Quinn rolled off or Henry pushed him away. Blood spread across Quinn’s t-shirt in a gush. Her heart stopped then thrust into her throat.  A high-pitched keening sound of pain ripped from her. She fell to her knees and crawled to him.  “Quinn— Oh God.”

His eyes were open, but glazed with shock. His hand curled against the injury then fell away. His chest worked as he gasped for air. “Run—”

Henry struggled to his feet. Regan ducked at the report of Lamont’s gun close to her head. Henry staggered, the bullet hitting him in the shoulder. He threw his hand up and fired. The bullet ricocheted off one of the monoliths. Lamont leaped away. His momentum took him off the end of the scaffold and into one of the stones. His jerked and shimmed as forty thousand volts struck him.

Henry swung the gun in Regan’s direction. She crouched over Quinn’s body. Her muscles braced for the impact of the bullet.

“No—” Andrew Argus, head down, rushed at Henry, hitting him palms-first in the chest knocking him off balance. Henry threw up his arms in an attempt to regain his balance, and the gun tumbled through the air end over end.  He staggered, righted himself, then stepped back, directly into the stream.

Thrusting his arm into the field from the other side, Braden grabbed Henry’s shoulder, spun him around and jerked him through. Henry’s eyes widened, his mouth going slack.

A movement, more like a vibration cut between the two men. Braden backed away.

Coira shoved from behind him. Her voice rose in a scream, her Gaelic words thick with emotion. “Ross, my brother, what have you done? What have you done?”

The vibration grew and took form becoming a diaphanous shadow of the more solid man. As though pulled by invisible strings, it homed in on Henry. His scream rent the air as the grayish figure merged with him.  He twisted and writhed attempting to fight free.

Braden grasped Coira’s arm and dragged her clear of Henry’s flailing. He backed her into the corner of the room, and used his broad shape to block her from seeing as the two figures melted into nothing.

A crash of thunder shook the foundation of the chamber.  Regan ignored it and the sound of running feet on the stairs. She grasped Andrew Argus’s arm. “ You have to help me.”

*****

Pain lanced through Quinn’s chest and he screamed as the bullet ripped from his body then rolled away. The healing warmth of the field filled his throat, his lungs, stealing his breath and making him dizzy. The scalding hot pain eased by degrees and he sucked in a shallow breath, then a deeper one. The uneven beat of his heart began to steady. He fought the tug of sleep, but it dragged him down into the blackness.

He woke as rough hands dragged him to his feet. He shook his head to clear it and looked in amazement at the man on either side of him. DCI Gordon and his partner DS Keith supported his weight.

“Get your feet beneath you, lad, we have to go,” DCI Gordon said, his frown grave, his tone intense.

Quinn struggled to get his mind and legs together, but neither wanted to cooperate. His gaze swung around the room in search of Regan. Relief crashed over him as he spied her standing at the stream.

“Go. You have to go,” she motioned at the couple standing on the other side of the field. When Braden grasped Coira’s arm and moved out of sight, Regan turned aside. “We can’t shut off the power, Quinn. Something’s happened to the circuits.”

The men on either side of him dragged him down the scaffold to the stairs. Rain washed across the steps, stealing their footing and making them stagger. The detectives groaned and cursed. Quinn managed one step in every four.

The cold water cleared his head, and he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. With some of the burden lifted, the two men urged him up the scaffold. Lightning streaked overhead, pointing a jagged finger at the monoliths. Thunder screamed as though the sky were in pain.

Adrenaline shot through Quinn’s veins, giving him strength. With Gordon and Keith steadying him he broke into a lope.

They reached the hillside and the gravel crunched and spun beneath their feet.

A huge bolt leapt across the sky ripping a hole in the night. An explosion followed that shook the ground. Fire shot into the sky, roiling, and twisting into itself. A screeching groan rent the air, and the panels in the center of the cofferdam gave way. Water poured through the opening in a torrent and hit the ground in a churning wave.

“It’s too soon,” Quinn yelled.

“Run,” Regan screamed and reached back to grab Argus’s hand and pulled him up.

The water reached the chamber just as lightning flared again. The bolt struck one of the monoliths, setting off sparks. The whole surface of the henge rose in the air and shuddered. A huge flash lit the night as bright as the sun. A blue white wave of power rolled across the henge, closing in on them faster than the water.

Regan’s face, pasty white, jerked in his direction and their eyes met.

“I love you, Quinn.”

Power slammed into them, through them. The world spun into blackness.

CHAPTER 50

A violent pop, like air released from a champagne bottle, dragged Quinn from the darkness. He reared up with Regan’s name on his lips. The world shrunk and expanded before righting itself. He staggered to his feet, and the fishing pole he held bounced on the deck, hit his shoe and skittered away.

An engine stuttered across the loch then settled into a healthy rhythm. Water shot over the sides of the cofferdam like fountains. Oil slicks of brownish particles muddied the water.

His foot struck the bucket next to his chair,  and water sloshed over the side . The fish inside whipped about in a frenzy.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Where was Regan? Was she okay?

Pain boiled up into his chest, and a cry of anguish escaped him.  He raked his fingers through his hair and cupped his head in his hands. Where was she?

Grannos’s
deck
stretched before him. He ran toward the bow to look toward the henge. Was it still intact? Or had the explosion passed through to the other dimension? If Coira and Braden had been killed—

His fingers gripped the railing as he scanned the part of the henge he could see. The monoliths lay in scattered heaps about the henge, shattered.

Coira and Braden couldn’t have survived that.

Oh God, he’d never see Regan again.

The thought kicked his feet out from under him, and he collapsed to the deck. Grief ripped through him like a blade. Tears blurred his eyes and rained down his cheeks. He rocked as agony poured through him.

But he was here. And if he was here, she had to be alive somewhere. Didn’t she? The pain eased and a small, niggling hope threaded through him. He dug into his pocket for his cell phone and flipped it open. May thirteenth. It was the day he and Regan met.

Quinn gripped the steel railing and dragged himself to his feet. She had to be alive. He wiped his forearm across his face and dried his tears. He’d find her. If she existed, he’d find her.

A scraping sound coming from the back of the boat drew his attention. Henry surfacing and shoving his dive-light onto the platform had drawn him to the platform that first day. He broke into a run.

“That was bloody amazing. Even with the silt in the water, I wouldn’t have missed diving to them for anything.”

Was that Hannah’s voice? His steps slowed. Who was she speaking to? His heartbeat raced and his throat tightened.

“Aye. Even broken as they are, there’s a majesty about them,” Logan said.

“Thank you for taking us, Logan.”

Quinn peered over the railing to the dive platform.

As his shadow crossed over them, Logan looked up, his flippers dangling from his fingers. “Hey, Quinn. Did you catch enough fish to feed three more for supper?”

Quinn’s gaze shifted to the water. “Three?” he asked, every inch of his body tense. Was it Regan? Was she in trouble again?

“Aye. She’ll be along— There she is.”

The diver surfaced and was already shoving her mask atop her head. She tugged her regulator from her mouth. “My god, they’re beautiful.” Regan swam to the platform and with Logan’s help heaved herself up.