Dedication
To my sisters, Mary and Emma Carter, for always having my back
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Back Ads
About the Author
Books by Rachel Carter
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
The dress is laid out on the bed, so dark red it looks black in the muted light of the hotel room. I run my hand down the fabric and it parts like water, the silk gliding across my skin, the deep color swallowing the paleness of my fingertips.
I take off the robe I’ve been wearing and lay it over the back of an overstuffed chair. Though the room is empty, I cover my nakedness with my hands, keeping my body angled toward the door. I am waiting for the knock, waiting for it to open at any moment.
I pick up the dress and quickly pull it over my head. It molds itself to my body, sweeping against the low heels of my sandals. It is a simple column, with a cut that reminds me of old Hollywood movies, where the women had smoky voices and everyone talked too fast.
The knock still doesn’t come. I turn on another light next to the bed and the thick fringe from the lampshade sweeps across my hand. This one has a tinted bulb, which turns the room a garish pink, making the shadows deeper and staining the white floral wallpaper with slashes of red.
There is a mirror across from the bed, framed in gold and silver, ornate twists and circles that make me dizzy when I catch them from the corner of my eye. I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing the face that looks back at me. My old bangs grew out months ago, and my red hair falls in heavy waves around my shoulders. My cheekbones were always high, but now they are even more pronounced, making hollow grooves above my jawline. I dab a light gloss over my lips, ignoring the flatness in my eyes and the new muscles that curve along my arms and shoulders.
I’m not supposed to wear a lot of makeup, they said. No one in this time period does, and blending in is the most important part of being in an era that’s not your own. I take care to use only a small swipe of mascara, a touch of blush, and though I run an ivory comb through my hair, I leave it down, skimming where the edge of the silk hits my lower back.
I step away and examine my reflection, still detached, as though it is a stranger’s face and body that I am somehow controlling. The color should look wrong against my skin, but the red brings out the lighter strands in my hair and the sheath hugs my frame, making me seem curvier than I am these days.
It has been nine months since I faced General Walker in that bare gray cell, hidden so many feet below the ground. He told me I could walk away from my old life, join the Montauk Project and start traveling through time as part of a secret government organization, or I could die. It wasn’t much of a choice, and so here I am, standing in this lavish hotel room, waiting for my contact on my first mission.
I have not met the rest of the team yet. I don’t even know who they are, and the anticipation is crawling over me, like an itch I can’t quite reach in the middle of my back. I pick at the fabric of the dress, pinching the silk between my fingers and then smoothing the wrinkles out again. I’m surprised at how nervous I am; I thought they had stripped all my feelings from me, that those endless months of training—not speaking to anyone but my commanding officers, not seeing my family or friends—had made me numb in a way that was permanent, in a way that would make me unable to feel anything ever again.
But there it is inside of me, curled in a ball, tucked low in the pit of my stomach—fear. Tonight I have to kill a man, and I don’t know if I can.
The knock on the door is so loud it makes me jerk, and the comb falls from my hand to bounce against the glossy tiled floor. I take a deep breath, pushing my shoulders back, lifting my chin. I am a skilled recruit for the Project, just like whoever is standing on the other side of that door. They don’t have to know that this is my first mission. They don’t have to know that I’m afraid.
I cross the room quickly, the silk whipping around my legs. The wooden door is cool to the touch, and I lay my cheek against it, listening. “Who is it?” I call out.
The voice that answers is muffled. It sounds deep, but I can’t quite tell through the thickness of the door. “It’s Michael. Let me in. The fund-raiser is starting soon and the champagne will get warm.”
It’s my contact. He’s using the code, even mentioning his alias. I slide back the old-fashioned lock and swing the door open.
There is a phrase I am supposed to say back so that he’ll know who I am. “Darling, the champagne is on ice, don’t—”
But the final words die in my throat.
Standing in front of me, dressed in a slim black tuxedo, is the boy who left me crumbled on the cold floor of a cell after betraying me to General Walker and telling me he never loved me. Wes.
The boy who broke my heart.
Chapter 2
We both freeze, unable to look away from each other. I had forgotten how dark his eyes were, more black than brown. The dim light of the room falls harshly on his face, and the shadows make his cheekbones look almost as sharp as mine.
Wes.
