But now we know when it happened – at least, tentatively. It’s a small piece of the larger puzzle.
We have to get a message to Ruthie. She has to know every possible detail.
A stern-faced, imposing older man eventually joined Derrick, impatiently waving aside the offer of a drink. He bent his head toward Derrick and the two conferred.
His father, I thought at once, noting their resemblance, flooded with new terror. I imagined Derrick pointing in my direction and the two of them subsequently striding across the polished marble floor with the intent to drag me outside and extract answers.
I shivered so hard my jaws clacked together.
Stop it, Tish.
They aren’t talking about you.
My own father, however, was looking for me. He’d found his way to Robbie’s side and was casting his eyes over the crowd.
Dammit.
Dad would wonder why I wasn’t mingling and so I squared my shoulders and joined them.
“We’re at table eleven.” Dad brandished a palm to allow Robbie and me to lead the way. Lanny held his arm as they followed in our wake, her beautiful, insipid smile firmly in place.
“Chin up,” Robbie suddenly muttered, tightening his hold on my elbow.
Ron and Christina were in our path, roughly two dozen feet ahead. No avoiding them.
“Robert, Patricia, wonderful to see you two together this evening,” Ron spoke with his usual pompous arrogance; a tall, broad, silver-haired man with eyes like paint chips, whose authority was unchallenged.
I had not been this close to Ron since Robbie’s funeral and a vision of grasping his throat and crushing his windpipe with my thumbs swelled with such strength I tasted bile. This man had ordered Robbie killed, had paved the way for the Yancys to hurt people I loved, had glibly practiced dirty business for the duration of his career. The potent desire to harm him overwhelmed my senses, casting a reddish haze over my perception. Ron must have seen something in my eyes because his condescending smile faltered a little.
Has he spoken to Fallon in this offshoot? Does he know about the real timeline? Does he know that Robbie and I were closing in on Fallon’s secret?
There were too many unknowns to take action and I was a breath away from playing the game and mustering up a polite response when I saw Christina’s lips bend upward in a small, mocking smile. Her eyes were the glacial green of frost-covered leaves and locked on mine.
“Excuse us.” Robbie’s voice was impressively level, his manner calm. He conveyed a sense of joviality tinged with mild impatience, carting me around them and toward the ballroom.
“Christina knows,” I choked, seething with helpless rage. I tried to yank from Robbie’s grasp, almost tripping on my hem as I peered over my shoulder, but the crowd had spread out behind us and only the top of Ron’s head remained visible. “I’m going to fucking kill them. They know what Fallon did.”
“Tish, enough! We can’t stay here if you’re going to act like this.”
People were beginning to trickle into the ballroom; a few couples were already seated, sipping drinks and waiting for dinner. Robbie drew out a chair at our assigned table but I was too distraught to sit and muttered, “I’ll be right back.”
Robbie clutched my wrist. “Don’t make a scene. It’s not the time.”
I jerked free without responding.
Chapter Nineteen
Chicago, IL - March, 2014
I HAD NEVER ATTENDED AN EVENT AT THIS PARTICULAR venue but restrooms would be nearby; I skirted the flow of guests and hurried across the main entrance, high heels clicking over the marble floor, passing the coat check and taking the first hallway to the left, a space blessedly free of people. I hurried along its carpeted length until I could no longer hear the sounds of the gala; at last I stopped and leaned my spine against the wall, unaware of my surroundings, overwhelmed by stress. Panic loomed close to the surface, hot and oily. I closed my eyes and pressed the back of one hand against my mouth, afraid I might vomit before reaching a toilet.
You can’t win. You know this. You’re totally and completely fucked.
How can you outwit a man who is capable of traveling through time, who’s protected by people in positions of unthinkable power?
Tell me that!
“Lovers’ quarrel?”
I gasped, eyes flying open to spy Derrick standing a few paces away, feet widespread and hands buried in his trouser pockets. His onyx cufflinks gleamed in the muted glow of the wall sconces.
“What?” My palms were braced against the plaster on either side of my hips, a position of vulnerability, and I straightened to my full height, attempting to appear unruffled.
“You and Benson. I didn’t realize you two were together,” he clarified.
I didn’t bother to correct this presumption, instead seizing the chance to demand, “Is your brother here? Have you seen Fallon tonight?”
Derrick stepped closer and I held my ground. I wasn’t scared of him in most regards but it was beyond foolish to consider dropping my guard. He kept his voice low to ask, “Who told you the truth?”
I ignored his question and continued pressing. “When was the last time you saw Fallon? When was the last time he was here in Chicago, in 2014?”
Consternation rolled from Derrick in waves. “You can’t imagine the level of shit you would be in if my father or Fallon knew any of this.” He all but spit his brother’s name, the word drenched in bitterness. So that particular detail proved no different in this timeline.
“How would they know? Do you plan to tattle on me?” I jabbed his chest with an index finger; I had everything to lose but I couldn’t stop now. I stabbed the same outstretched finger in the direction of the ballroom. “I will march out there and tell every fucking person here tonight what I know about Fallon the time-traveling wonder boy unless you tell me when you saw him last! Do you know what he did to our lives, yours included? Did he tell you?”
“For fuck’s sake, keep your
