Scorched (4 page)

Outside the museum, Trinity turned to her rescuer, adrenaline pumping wildly through her veins. “Thank you,” she whispered, her fingers fluttering involuntarily to her neck, where she could still feel the burning of her captor’s rough hand. She had been so sure she was dead—that he’d pull the trigger and it would all be over in a flash of light. Until this stranger had charged in and saved the day—like a caped crusader with a
Star
Trek
gun. “I’m sorry I Maced you,” she added guiltily. “I just thought—”

“Come on,” Connor interrupted, glancing at the door they’d exited from. Under the glow of the streetlights, she caught a ghost of fear flicker across his otherwise impassive face. “We need to keep moving.”

She hesitated, her feet feeling glued to the pavement. Should she follow him? He’d saved her life. But could she trust him? Or was he just another one of the thieves after the egg? Of course, he already had the egg. If that was all he was after, he would have already left her to fend for herself.

“Come on!” he repeated, his voice rasping with urgency. “I can’t fight them all at once!”

And she couldn’t let him just take off with her grandpa’s egg. “Okay,” she declared, making up her mind. “Let’s get out of here.”

Connor turned and ran, the egg cradled under his arm like a football, gun holstered to his side. As she followed, sprinting down the street alongside the museum, she could hear the emergency door bang open again, men’s voices cutting into the night air.

“Don’t let her get away!”

Dashing down the street, dodging trashcans and debris, Connor was quick and nimble as he spun a quick left, then right, passing the local Arby’s before turning into an empty parking lot. Trin did her best to follow, trying to ignore the shouting and banging behind her—the sounds of their pursuers gaining ground. Her heart sped up, spiking her adrenaline as her feet pounded the pavement—one by one by one. As she turned the corner, she nearly plowed into her rescuer, who had, for some reason, stopped short. She opened her mouth to beg him to keep going, then realized he couldn’t.

The parking lot dead-ended at a tall, barbed-wire fence.

Trin looked up at the chain links, nerves tensing. Long ropes of barbed wire gleamed back with sharp-toothed smiles. She glanced around the parking lot, desperate for an alternate escape route, but came up blank. There was no alternative.

Gesturing to Connor, she dove toward the fence, ripping off her jacket on approach.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

She gave him a grim look. “Up and over. It’s the only way.” She shoved a toe into the chain link and prepared to throw her jacket over the top while trying to ignore her rising fear. She hated heights. But she hated the idea of being shot in the back even more.

“Wait.”

Frustrated, she turned back around. “We don’t have time to—” she started, but trailed off as she caught Connor pulling a small silver disc from his bag and placing it on the ground. Once it was secure, he looked up at her.

“Use the Bouncer,” he instructed.

She stared down at the device, perplexed. “Wait, what—?”

“Just step on it!”

“Um, okay…” Confused, she tentatively pressed a foot against the disc—the Bouncer—whatever it was—no idea what it was supposed to do. No sooner did her foot connect than she literally bounced—impossibly high into the air—clearing the top of the fence by at least a foot. It was like something out of
Fields
of
Fantasy
—impossible in real life.

For a split second, she seemed to hang, motionless in thin air. Then gravity wrestled back control, sending her crashing down onto the ground, unfortunately still on the wrong side of the fence. She stared down at the Bouncer, then up at Connor. The voices in the alley grew louder. They were running out of time.

Connor yanked her to her feet. “When you’re in the air, jump forward,” he instructed. “So you’ll land on the other side.”

She nodded, forcing her gazillion questions back while clenching her jaw and stepping hard on the disc. Once again her body shot upward, this time giving her at least a two-foot clearance.

“Now!” Connor cried.

She threw herself forward, clearing the fence and tumbling to the ground, a hard shock rocking her core as her tennis shoes connected with pavement. Not a perfect ten landing, by any means, but it did the trick. Scrambling to her feet, she turned to watch Connor step on the disc himself, shooting into the air as she had, though not half as high. In fact, he barely cleared the barbed wire, skimming his knee along the razor’s edge before crashing back to Earth.

“Go! Now!” he cried.

Trinity didn’t need a second invitation. She dashed down the alleyway. From behind, she heard a strange whirring sound. She glanced back just in time to see the Bouncer fly through the air and land in Connor’s hand. He stuffed the amazing device into his bag and hurried to join her, just as three men in black swarmed the empty lot behind him. The men screamed furiously as they all tried to scale the enclosure at once, succeeding only in knocking one another down.

“That should buy us a little time,” Connor told her, running up alongside her. She noticed the barbed wire had torn his jumpsuit at the knee, the blood soaking through the silver fabric. She considered suggesting a tetanus shot, but realized future infection was probably the least of his worries right about now. “But we have to keep moving. Find someplace safe to hide so we can regroup and figure out a plan. Come on.” He picked up the pace.

“Wait!” Trinity called after him, leaning over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “We have to find my grandpa first.”

Connor stopped, turning around, an impatient look on his face. “What?”

“My grandpa,” she repeated, rising to full height. “He’s expecting me to come straight home. He’ll worry if I don’t show up.”

“He’ll have more reason to worry if you do,” her rescuer shot back. “Those men? They’ll figure out where you live. They’ll come for you there. And if they find you with the egg—well, let’s just say they’re not in the habit of asking questions first.” He frowned. “You can call him from the road. Let him know you’re okay.” His voice left no room for argument.

But Trinity stood her ground, crossing her arms over her chest. “No,” she said. “If what you say is true, that means he’s in danger too. And there’s no way I’m going to let him risk his life over some stupid museum exhibit.”

Connor squeezed his eyes shut, looking exasperated. Then he sighed, dropping his shoulders. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s go grab him. But then we have to get out of there. Find someplace safe. Okay, Trinity?”

She nodded, relieved, then started racing home, tearing down Main Street, lungs burning as if on fire. If only she hadn’t been forced to give up track last year to work at the museum—she might have been in better shape for a quick getaway. Connor barely seemed winded, still clutching the egg protectively against his chest. The golden shell seemed to catch the moonlight, gleaming teasingly at Trinity, and she found herself itching to touch it again—to see if it would still feel like it had back in the museum.

She’d expected it to be cold; it’d been locked in ice for millions of years, after all. But to her surprise, the egg had been warm to the touch, as if it had been simmering on a stove. For a split second she actually wondered if her grandpa had created some kind of special heating device to incubate his rare find, believing he could actually hatch a baby dragon. But in her heart she knew even he wasn’t
that
deluded.

You
probably
imagined
it
, she scolded herself.
Like
the
voices
you
thought
you
heard. It’s just an egg. A very old egg. Nothing else.

Though, she had to admit, there had to be
something
special about this egg. Otherwise, all these people wouldn’t be after it. She stole a glance at Connor. Once they’d collected her grandpa, she would have to demand some answers from this mysterious stranger. Like—who were those men? Why were they after the egg? How had he gotten there in the nick of time? And—

She stopped short as she turned onto her street, her heart lurching.

How
did
he
know
my
name?

“Grandpa! Grandpa! Are you here?”

Trinity burst into the house, scanning the cozy living room the two of them shared. Her eyes darted from the threadbare couch pushed up against one wall to the ancient rabbit-eared TV propped against the other. Their cracked IKEA coffee table still sat in the center of the room, littered with dinosaur-shaped coasters. And the old bookshelf in the corner remained overflowing with dog-eared paleontology journals and video game guide books.

She breathed a sigh of relief. It was all there. Nothing out of place, no sign of a struggle. After Connor’s warning, she’d pictured the place ransacked and destroyed. But no, their Charlie Brown special of a Christmas tree still stood tall and gangly by the couch, strangled by multicolored lights and video-game-themed ornaments. And the pile of newspaper-wrapped presents still waited patiently under her grandpa’s scrawled cardboard sign:
Do
not
open
before
Christmas…Or else
.

But her grandfather was nowhere to be found.

Just to make sure, she checked the two bedrooms and bathrooms, while Connor paced the living room, his steps eating up the narrow distance between walls. But the rooms were all vacant. No sign he’d been here at all.

Until she reached the kitchen.

“What the…?” She trailed off. “Connor! Get in here.”

He was at her side in an instant, gun locked and loaded. She pointed a shaky finger at the boxes of Chinese food, overturned on the counter, noodles spilling out onto the floor.

“He was here,” she whispered, trying to stop her brain from jumping to a million conclusions. None of which she wanted to face. “He brought home the takeout, just like he said. But where did he go?”

Connor didn’t answer. He walked purposely to the side door, checking the deadbolt. Then he started examining the windows one by one. They were all closed. They were all locked. Just as the front door had been. That had to be a good sign, right? But then…?

“Maybe he just went back for duck sauce,” Trin found herself rationalizing. “They’re always forgetting to throw it in the bag and he knows it’s my favorite. And…and the cat probably knocked over the food. She does it all the time, no matter how we much we scold her for jumping on counters.” She nodded her head vigorously, as if agreeing with herself. “Yeah, that’s got to be it. Makes total sense.” She grabbed a roll of paper towels off the table and dropped to her knees, busying herself with the mess, trying to reset her sanity to a workable level—to push the nagging doubts far from her mind.

“Trinity…”

“In fact, I’m sure he’ll be back any second now,” she assured Connor, refusing to look up. She knew what he was going to say and she didn’t want to hear it. They couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when Grandpa was probably right around the corner. “We just have to hang here a few more minutes. No big deal.”

“Trinity, you have to look at this.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, forcing herself back to her feet, turning to Connor questioningly. With a grim face, he pointed to the counter.

Or, more precisely, the pocket knife that lay on the counter, speckled with what could only be blood.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her world spinning out from under her. “Oh God, no.”

She staggered back, stumbling against the stove, her knees buckling, her lungs refusing to take in air. For a moment she couldn’t move—couldn’t take her eyes off the knife. Ghosts from a Christmas past swam through her head and her stomach lurched.

Please
God. Not again. He’s all I have left.

Strong hands grabbed her forearms, jolting her back to reality. She looked up to find Connor, staring down at her with a hard look in his eyes, as if willing her not to fall apart. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, as she waited for the comforting rationalizations to spill from his lips. That it was all a mistake. It probably wasn’t his blood. That everything would be okay.

“I told you we shouldn’t have come here,” he ground out instead.

She stared at him for a moment, unable to move, unable to speak. Then the rage came—a volcano erupting inside of her and setting her ablaze. She reached up, her fist finding his face with all the force she could muster. Then she shoved him away.

“Are you kidding me?” she cried. “That’s all you have to say?” It was all she could do not to reach out and strangle him. To punish him somehow for dragging her into this mess to begin with.

He
told
you
not
to
touch
the
egg
, something inside her nagged.
Maybe
you
should
have
listened.

Connor’s face darkened, his cheek branded crimson from where she’d struck him. “Look, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of what’s going on here. The egg cannot fall into enemy hands. The future of the world depends on it.”

Trinity stared at him in disbelief. He was crazy. She’d dragged a crazy person into her house. She scowled at him. “You want the egg so badly, just take it,” she spit out. “Take it and get out and leave us alone.” She no longer cared that it might be valuable. They could find another way to save their house. One that didn’t involve crazy boys and men with machine guns and near-death escapes over barbed-wire fences. She glared at the egg out in the living room, sitting innocently on the coffee table, where Connor had left it. Once again she had the nearly overwhelming urge to grab it and smash it to smithereens. The stupid thing was nothing but trouble.

Don’t let him, Trinity. Don’t let him take me away.

She froze, fear throttling her and rendering her immobile.
That
voice
. The same one from back in the museum. The one she’d convinced herself was all in her head. Had it really just addressed her again—from inside her own living room?

I’m nothing like Mom. Nothing like—

“What’s wrong?” Connor demanded, peering at her with alarm on his face. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

She waved him off, not wanting him to recognize her fear; he already had too much advantage over her already. “I’m fine,” she informed him with as much scorn as she could muster. Anyway,
he
was the one who was crazy. Not her. “Now, weren’t you leaving?”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Well,
I’m
not leaving without my grandpa.”

Their eyes met, Connor’s gaze bearing down on her—dark blue irises shimmering with fire. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if they would glow in the dark, then berated herself for the ridiculous notion. Who gave a crap if he had beautiful eyes? He had an ugly, uncaring soul underneath. One that cared more about expensive relics than real-life people.

She matched his eyes with her own, wrestling him into a stalemate, daring him to look away first.

And then…he did.

“Fine,” he muttered, turning his back on her. “Have it your way.” He started out into the living room and toward the front door. She stared after him, a gnawing uneasiness tugging at her insides as he extended the distance between them. He was leaving. Just like she’d told him to. Just like she’d thought she’d wanted.

And in a moment, she’d be totally alone.

She stood there, shifting from foot to foot as she fought the urge to stop him. She hated how much she didn’t want him to leave and tried to tell herself it was for the best. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need the egg. The sooner he left, the better for everyone. Right?

She heard a deadbolt click into place.

“Wait, what are you doing?” she asked, following him into the living room, surprise and relief washing over her as she realized he was still on the same side of the front door. The now securely locked front door.

He gave her a weary look before heading over to the big, front picture window and studying it with critical eyes. “If we’re going to be waiting here, I’d like to reinforce things a bit. Is that all right with you?”

Her heart stuttered. He was staying? He was choosing to wait? Even though he said it could be dangerous? Even though he needed to protect the egg? That was, as he said, his number-one priority. His so-called mission to save the world. So why on Earth would he choose to stay? To keep himself and the egg in danger?

She bit her lower lip. There was only one explanation. For her.

Guilt writhed through her as she watched him attempt to shove the bookshelf in front of the window, straining with the effort. Maybe she’d judged him too quickly. Maybe he was being cautious, not coldhearted. And maybe her stubbornness was stupid, not strong. After all, what would she have wanted her grandpa to do if he were in this situation, waiting for her instead? Certainly nothing that would put him in danger.

Still, she couldn’t just take off…

Mind racing, she glanced out the window, her eyes settling on the dark silhouette of the ramshackle barn behind her best friend Caitlin’s house. Her heart clenched as she gazed longingly at the familiar haven. How many times had the two of them escaped there, late at night, while everyone else was fast asleep? They’d curl up in the hay-filled loft, streaming gory horror movies on Caitlin’s iPad or gagging down cheap whiskey, pilfered from Grandpa’s stash, while drunk texting cute boys from school. For the past two years, the barn had been Trin’s sanctuary when times got tough.

And things didn’t get much tougher than this.

“Wait,” she told Connor, making up her mind.

He stopped and turned to her, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow. “What?”

“See that barn?” she asked, pointing out the back window. “My neighbors left two days ago—they were going to Disney World for Christmas. The barn will be empty—they only use it to store bikes and stuff anyway. We could hide out there and watch the house to see if he comes back. You can see everything perfectly from there.”

Connor’s eyes swept the barn’s exterior, assessing it quickly. Then he nodded in agreement. “Good idea,” he said in a clipped voice. But she caught a flicker of relief cross his face and was glad she’d decided to speak up. “Let’s go.”

They burst out the back door, sprinting toward the barn. No sooner had they reached its entrance than a pair of headlights turned in, illuminating the dead-end street. Hurrying, they dove through the front doors, just as the all-too-familiar black truck screeched to a halt outside Trinity’s house. As they watched, the team of armed men spilled out once again, surrounding the cottage in seconds. There were a few indecipherable shouts followed by a loud crash as they kicked in the front door—the same door Trinity had been standing behind only moments prior.

“Oh God,” she whispered, horrified but unable to turn away. If they had been there. If they had just waited one minute longer to leave…

A strong hand clasped her shoulder and she turned in surprise. Connor stood behind her, tall and straight, his jaw tense and his gaze never faltering from the window. The moonlight gave his pale skin an almost unearthly pallor and his eyes did indeed seem to glow with faint luminescence. She drew in a breath, waiting for another “I told you so”—one in this case she totally deserved—but it didn’t come, and she was grateful for that.

They stood for a moment. Silent and watchful. Alone yet together. Trinity hyperaware of Connor standing strong and steady behind her, his hand still securely clamped on her shoulder as they waited to see what the men would do.

They didn’t have to wait long. Soon the sounds of crashing and banging and breaking glass assaulted their ears, soundtracking the search-and-destroy going on inside. Trin cringed, glad that she couldn’t see through the walls, couldn’t watch her beloved home being torn apart. She imagined the invaders shredding couch cushions, knocking over the TV, ripping her precious books from their shelves and tossing them away like rubbish. She pictured her Christmas tree toppling over, ornaments shattering, candy canes splitting in two, presents being stomped on and torn to shreds—one present in particular.

“Great. Now I’m never going to get to play the
Fields
of
Fantasy
expansion pack,” she muttered. When Connor gave her a questioning look, she sighed. “Yeah, priorities, I know. But still…”

Her only relief was catching sight of her cat fleeing the house unharmed. Baby Puss was a resourceful one. She’d been a stray, just like Trin—one of the reasons they’d bonded from the start. She could rest assured the cat, at least, could take care of herself.

Her grandpa, however, was another story. Where could he be? If only he wasn’t so stubborn about cell phones. She glanced fearfully down the street, half expecting him to be strolling down the lane, straight into their clutches. Would she be able to intercept him before he reached the front door?

But her grandpa didn’t appear. And eventually the soldiers streamed out her broken-down front door and loaded back into the truck. Trinity let out a sigh of relief while Connor continued to watch, eagle-eyed, until they pulled away, disappearing into the night.

“They left one guard inside,” he informed her, and she was grateful he had thought to count them. “We’ll wait here a little longer,” he added. “In case your grandpa comes back, we can grab him before he tries to go inside.”

He said it casually, as if he truly believed that at any moment the elderly man could waltz up the street, oblivious and unaffected by all that had transpired. She appreciated the sentiment, even though she knew he probably didn’t believe it. She was beginning to have her own doubts as well.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice a little choked. “I’m sorry I was being stupid before.”

He cleared his throat. “Not a problem. And understandable under the circumstances.”

“And I’m—I’m sorry I hit you,” she added, hoping he couldn’t catch the blush spreading across her cheeks as she turned to him.

Connor threw her a half smile. “You hit pretty good,” he remarked, reaching up to touch his cheek, which still glowed a faint red in the moonlight. “I’m glad you’re on my side.”