“Now that’s a conversation I very much look forward to,” Chris said as he joined Thad in leaving the booth.
The two shook hands and left the café behind, parting ways as they returned to their private jets. Chris had all he needed from the brief meeting. When his jet rumbled to life and took off back to Idaho, one thought kept playing over in his mind.
I’m going to kill Thaddeus Hamilton.
Chapter 6
Nearly a century in the past, just as Chris touched back down in Idaho, Martin stood at Sonya’s door, adrenaline bursting through his veins as his life flashed before his eyes. He knocked a second time, harder, to ensure it was heard. Eyes had been on all doors that exited the complex for the past thirty-six hours, and no one had reported Sonya leaving the building. She was in there, though—no doubt about it.
He knocked a third time, sternly, to let her know he wasn’t leaving. His hands remained in the air despite his brain urging him to grab a weapon.
Don’t tell me she just vanishes into the past as soon as someone knocks, Martin thought. They had people spread throughout time for this measure, but it could take a while for that communication to reach Martin, depending on what year she traveled to. Regardless, he kept faith that she was hiding in the corner, waiting for him to leave.
Just as he was about to knock again, a shadow appeared from under the other side of the door, followed by Sonya’s voice which sent chills down Martin’s back. “Who’s there?”
His throat clenched shut for a moment, suffocated by nerves. He had to mentally claw his mouth open to speak. “Sonya? It’s me . . . Martin.” The words came out shaky and soft, and he needed to snap out of it if he had plans of strong-arming Sonya.
He stared at the door for an entire minute, wondering if she had an exit plan of her own. If he knew her as well as he thought, then she certainly had a plan for any potential action that might arise in her new life on the run.
Instead of running, however, the apartment door swung open, Sonya appearing with a shotgun aimed at Martin, a bulletproof vest strapped over her chest. “What are you doing here, Martin?” she asked, eyes dancing around the empty hallway in search of any other potential threats.
Martin remained with his hands in the air and now felt stuck that way with a gun in his face. He’d never seen so much fear and rage swimming behind Sonya’s eyes. Part of him wanted to run, but he also wanted to stay and throw his arms around her, hugging her until she suggested they run away together. He took a sharp gulp of the spit that had formed in his mouth before speaking.
“I just want to talk. I mean no harm.”
“Then why are you dressed like this? Why do you have a gun?”
“To protect myself,” Martin said, confidence slowly returning. “If you recall, you shot me two times.”
“Let it go, Martin. I didn’t know who to trust then—and I still don’t.”
“I’m not saying you have to trust to me, but I’m not going to hurt you—you should know that by now.”
Sonya kept looking down the hallway, a black baseball cap low on her brow to shield her eyes. “You can come in, but I am not moving this gun away from you.” She took two steps back to allow him to enter.
Martin hesitated, his legs wobbly as he took uncertain steps to enter the apartment. From the doorway he caught a glimpse of a well-kept living room: colorful throw rugs, art on the walls, and a wide sofa facing the radio. It was a flash of nostalgia from the time Martin lived with Sonya in her 1996 home.
“Sit at the kitchen table,” she snapped, quickly pointing the shotgun toward the kitchen and moving it back to the commander.
Martin did as instructed, moving through the living room and to the kitchen where a pot of coffee brewed on the stove-top, its aroma filling the room. He was pleased to find the layout was the same as his, providing the comfort of familiarity.
“Take your gun out and put it on the table across from you. If I even think you’re going to turn it on me, I’m pulling the trigger.”
The immediate threat on his life forced a tremble back into Martin’s arms as he debated the best position to angle his body and arms as to not startle Sonya. He decided to face sideways where she could watch him grab his pistol while not having it point in her direction, keeping his right hand in the air as he spoke through his process to hopefully relax her mind. “I’m reaching for my gun and will keep it aimed to the floor.” He grabbed it, fighting to keep his hand still and wondering if she noticed his worry. “I’m moving it to the table and pushing it across to the other side.” He did so and took a step back, relieved to have literally dodged a bullet.
“Stay there and let me sit down across from you,” Sonya said, swiftly moving across the living room and around the kitchen table, sitting behind Martin’s pistol and promptly planting her elbows over it. “You can sit now.”
Martin slowly lowered himself into the chair, tension thick in the air and pounding on his head.
“What do you want from me, Commander?” she scoffed, clearly pissed that Martin was sitting in her apartment.
He believed nothing he said would be well-received, even if he offered to say “nevermind” and leave. So he decided to see where a normal conversation would lead them, keeping in mind that he now had to convince her to come with him. Killing her was off the table for the time being.
“How
