Rewind by Carolyn O'Doherty

Author:Carolyn O'Doherty
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Boyds Mills Press
Published: 2018-05-10T04:00:00+00:00

12

“QUICK,” ROSS HISSES, “FREEZE.”

I rip the gloves from my hands, reaching for his arm at the same instant I snatch up the time strands. The paper I just picked up flutters to the ground as time slams to a halt.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Ross turns toward the computer screen.

“Wait,” he says. “I want to read the rest of that email chain.”

“You can’t scroll through email in frozen time. There’s no electricity.”

“I know that.” He crosses to the desk. “But I think the information in it is critical. I only need five more minutes.”

I slide my gloves back on. The thin leather sticks against my sweaty palms.

“Whoever is outside will be here in two.”

Ross shakes the useless mouse. He’s staring at the computer like he’s trying to will it into giving up its secrets. I twist my fingers together to push the gloves more firmly over my hands. The new freeze is making my headache worse.

“Alex.” Ross looks at me, his expression pleading. “Do you think you could stall him?”

“Stall Sikes?” Jason Torino’s limp body flashes before my eyes, followed by the imagined corpse of Sal floating in the green waters of the Willamette. I shudder.

“I … I’m not a good liar. What if he suspects something?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Just try. If it doesn’t work, freeze time and we’ll get out of here. I promise.”

Everything in my gut tells me to run. Our being here is completely illegal. Ross will lose his job if he gets caught. I’ll probably get pulled from time work. Any evidence we found about Sikes will be instantly disallowed. On the other hand … I press my fingers together, stretching out the taut muscles. We’ve come so far. Who knows if we’ll get this chance again? As I know all too well, life is short.

“OK,” I say, starting to put the safe’s contents back in place, “let me just think of a way to distract him.”

Ten minutes later I’m outside, sheltered behind a car a few feet from Tom’s Bar. I’ve covered my regulation CIC top with a green Oregon Ducks sweatshirt I borrowed from the secondhand store next to the bar, and I’m holding a clipboard I found on a shelf in the back room. Matt is standing at the bar’s entrance. He’s holding a cup of coffee in one hand and is leaning into the door, which he’s pushed open about six inches. A set of keys dangles from his fingers. I check my surroundings one more time, taking careful note of the windows on both sides of the street. As far as I can tell, no one is watching. I straighten the clipboard and take a deep breath. Time moves forward. The keys in Matt’s hand jingle. I stand up.

“Mr. Thompson?”

Matt turns around. Or Sikes does. My brain can’t quite hold both thoughts at the same time. This is the man who’s eluded capture for a decade. The man who’s killed to keep his secret. I shake my head. For right now, I’d rather think of him as plain old Matt.

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