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“I looked for you yesterday. Where were you? Scratch that.” Scooping my hair out of my face, I sat up. His eyes were still the same strange blue, if slightly lighter, and they were staring right through me. His hair seemed lighter, too. I held the pillow clutched to me, very aware of how little I was wearing. “What are you?”
“That’s an odd question.”
“Not really.” I readjusted, pulling my covers up higher. “Every time I’ve ever touched rips, they’ve disappeared. You didn’t.”
“What’s a rip?” he asked, studying me with an expression of amusement.
“What you are. What I think you are.” I shook my head in irritation. He still wore the same black suit with the vest. Nothing really gave away what time period he belonged in, not even his haircut. His fingers were absent of rings. No visible clues to lock him into any era, except for the silver pocket watch that hinted of a gentler time. “You’re from the past. Right?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know why you’re here, Jack.” I leaned forward slightly, wondering what would happen if I tried to touch him. He had to know what I was thinking, yet he stayed still. “Why do you keep showing up?”
“For you.”
“What?” I shivered as the air conditioner cut on, the ceiling vent blowing cold air down over my bare arms.
“I feel … connected with you. I know all the mysterious turns life can take. I wish I could protect you from them.”
“That’s impossible.” I rubbed my hands over my arms briskly, trying to warm up, wondering how much of the chill had to do with Jack rather than the Freon-cooled air.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? You are so unique. So innocent.” The way he was looking at me didn’t make me feel innocent at all. It made me wish Thomas and Dru were home. “Life is … ripe with choices. Some less clear-cut than others.”
I centered the pillow more directly over my chest. “You’re not making sense. What you’re saying doesn’t—”
“One day it all will.” His eyes grew darker for a split second. “And on that day, you’ll know that I’ve done all of this … to protect you. All for you.”
I heard the front door of the loft open, but I didn’t look away from Jack.
He smiled a sad smile and took a step back.
Gone.
I wondered this time if it was for good.
Chapter 36
I don’t know what Dru said to Thomas to keep me out of trouble for going to find Michael. I only know that I was grateful. Thomas didn’t make a sound the next morning when I asked to borrow Dru’s car again, and she handed the keys over willingly.
I got while the getting was good, driving toward campus with the windows down. The air already dripped with humidity, and I was glad I’d put on shorts and a tank instead of jeans and a T-shirt. Blasting the radio, I let the music numb my mind. I didn’t want to think about how to handle the Michael/Kaleb situation. By the time I reached the Renegade House I had to give myself a pep talk even to get out of the car.
I walked in without knocking. The screen door banged to a close behind me, announcing my presence. I followed my nose to the kitchen and found Kaleb standing by the stove. He stirred something that smelled absolutely delicious, a wooden spoon in one hand and a huge chef’s knife in the other.
“Are you sober?” I asked from the doorway.
He turned and leveled a smile that made me a little wobbly. “I am.”
“Good. Because if not, I was going to take the deadly kitchen utensil away from you.” I crossed the room and pulled myself up to sit on the counter beside the stove. A cutting board full of green peppers and two uncut stalks of celery waited for attention from the knife. Melted butter and diced onions bubbled in a sauté pan on the stove. “You cook?”
Kaleb was so pretty I was jealous. Pretty, with ripped muscles and a tattoo of a red dragon covering most of his upper body. “Yes,” he said. “I cook.”
“Do you usually wear a wifebeater and”—I pushed him back a little by his shoulder—“an apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ while you’re doing it?”
He leaned so close to me my heart skipped a couple of beats. “I’ll wear it all the time if you’ll consider it.”
“Ha-ha. So,” I said, hastily changing the subject and pointing to the cutting board, “what are you chopping up?”
“The trinity: onions, green peppers, and celery. Étouffée’s going in the pot. Dune and Nate are on the way back from their consult, and they’re bringing crawfish. So,” he said, scraping stray bits of cut vegetables from his knife onto the side of the stainless steel pan, “final judgment’s on the way.”
