Chapter Ten

I don’t always make the wrong decision, but when I do,

it’s the wrongiest wrong of all the wrongs that ever wronged.

—Meme

Not many things in Michael’s life were certain, but he knew without a doubt that no one had ever called him Bucko .

“I guess we’ll get going,” Donovan said as they stood in Izzy’s living room. She had run straight to Emma when they entered, leaving Michael in a cloud of dust. Metaphorically.

“Really? Okay, then.” Michael nudged his friend toward the door. It had been a long day, and Michael still had several pertinent questions for Izzabel Walsh. And even a few for himself.

They got to the door before Donovan remembered his better half.

“I’m coming,” Doc said, zipping her medical kit closed as she exited Emma’s room. As a result, he and Donny were stuck at the door in an awkward kind of no man’s land between in and out.

Donovan tilted his head to examine the side of Michael’s. “She do that?”

“Yes.”

“I like her.”

Michael looked at the doc. “I like her, too.” When Donovan glared, he added, “Not that much.”

“You’ll have your hands full, anyway.” He gestured toward Izzy with a nod as she followed the doc out.

But Izzy stopped and leaned against the sofa, apparently not wanting to get close to Michael. What with the syndrome and all…

“No, I won’t,” he said. “No way am I bringing her into our world, Donny. I can’t do that to her or her daughter.”

Donovan frowned as though trying to figure him out. “You’re different.”

“You’re different, too.”

“The fuck?” Eric walked up and looked from one man to the other, astonished. “You’re both different. Your timelines are all fucked up. Nobody can screw with timelines like that. Nobody except—”

“The teenage daughter of two gods?” Michael suggested.

Eric lowered his voice as though Elwyn could hear them from afar. “Is she fucking with us?”

“Always,” Donovan said. “And often.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Your face is messed up,” Michael said, continuing their never-ending game of one-upmanship. And if his calculations were correct, winning.

“Yeah? At least I didn’t get hit with a frying pan.”

The pretty blonde walked over to them, arms crossed. “Are you boys finished?”

“Boys?” Eric asked. When she raised a brow in question, he caved. “Sorry. Male rivalry took over and caused a robust yet temporary state of insanity.”

One corner of her mouth rose. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

The grin that spread across Eric’s face was the most wolfish thing Michael had ever seen, aside from the one he saw on an actual wolf.

“And that’s our cue,” Eric said. He led Halle out with a hand on the small of her back. “Nice to meet you,” he called over his shoulder to Izzy.

“You, too.”

The doc stopped beside Donovan. Izzy stepped closer, as well.

“I’m glad tomorrow is Saturday,” Doc said to her. “I don’t think Emma is going to feel that great for a couple of days. I suggest lots of rest, fluids, and that yellow sponge kids like to watch these days.” She looked toward Emma’s room and whispered, “Also, just FYI, that woman inside her is cray-cray. She says she’s British, but I think she’s lying. I get the feeling she is much older.”

“Older?” Izzy asked, stunned. “Than Britain?”

The doc shrugged. “I could be wrong.”

Donovan peeled the medical kit off her shoulder and led her out. And then there were none.

Michael sank onto Izzy’s sofa, a beige thing that had seen better days. “I’ll watch her if you want to shower and get ready for bed.”

Izzy went to the kitchen and grabbed two beers and two slices of cold pizza. She came back and handed him one of each. A peace offering, maybe? “This has been the longest day of my life, but I don’t think I could sleep if you paid me to.”

“Are you sure you want to get this close to me? What happened to the Stockholm Syndrome?”

“Ah, Sia checked me out. I’m good.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think it works like that, but I’ll take it.” He took a bite, then asked, “I don’t mean to pry, but just how close are you to the couple who owns the diner?”

“Because of everything they’ve done for me?” she asked, taking a swig of beer.

“Yeah, I mean—”

“No, I get it. I was surprised, too, but they are just so wonderful. They’ve treated me so well, and I let them down. I missed work today.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“I hope so. There’s an unhoused teen, too. I hope she’s okay. I try to take her a sandwich or at least some fruit every day.”

“So, you feed those experiencing homelessness in your spare time?”

“Just her. I was very much like her when I was young. She camps out near the diner and comes in every day for coffee. Black. ‘No frill, just chill,’ she says.”

Michael stilled.

Izzy didn’t notice. “She’s such a lovely girl, and she looks really healthy, considering she’s been unsheltered for several months. I worry about her, though. A young, beautiful girl like that living on the streets alone? She must be terrified.”

He let his lids drift shut as an emotion startlingly similar to blind rage devoured him whole. “What’s her name?”

“Elle.”

“She wouldn’t happen to have long, black hair and huge amber eyes, would she?”

“Like a lion’s. Yes. How did you know?”

Michael rubbed his forehead. He was going to kill her.

Izzy checked her watch. “She’s probably starving.”

“Oh, I think she’ll be just fine.” Until he got his hands around her neck. He wouldn’t kill her quick. He would torture her first. For a very long, very satisfying time. He heard waterboarding was both fun and productive.

A soft knock sounded from the hall.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Michael said. He put down his beer and walked to the door, exhaustion taking a very real hold. But when he opened it, his energy seemed to skyrocket. Probably in anticipation of the upcoming torture session. “Speak of the devil’s daughter.”

“Granddaughter,” the girl said, strolling in like she owned the place.

“Elle!” Izzy jumped to her feet.

“Hi, Izzy.” At least she had the common sense to look ashamed. As she should be.

Izzy looked from her to Michael. “You two know each other?”

“May I sit down?” she asked.

Michael said, “No,” while Izzy said, “Of course.”

Izzy looked between the two, confused.

“Is it confession time?” Michael asked.

“Yes.” She sank onto an ottoman. She wore her long, dark hair in a ponytail, the absence of bangs accentuating her huge, amber eyes. Even in a hoodie and sweats, the kid was stunning. Michael and the guys had their work cut out for them.

Izzy followed, sitting on the sofa once more but leaning close to the girl.

“I’m sorry, Izzy. I’m not unhoused.”

Izzy frowned, trying to put the pieces together.

“The owners of the diner are my parents. Or, well, technically, my grandparents. It’s a long story, but they have been raising me with the help of”—she glanced at Michael—“several other people. Including Michael.”

“Wait, you’re his charge?” When Elwyn nodded, she said, “Okay, but why would you lie about having no home?”

“I’m not finished,” she said.

“No,” Michael agreed. He sat beside Izzy. “She’s just getting started.”

Elwyn released a heavy sigh. “I sent Michael to you this morning.”

“You what?”

“I faked the phone call about the broken heater and sent him over here.”

Izzy didn’t know what to say at first. Her gaze bounced between them again before she asked, “Why?”

“It’s just…you two are perfect for each other, and it’s taking too long for you to get together.”

“Tell her the real reason,” Michael said, livid with his charge.

“So, you set this whole thing up?” Izzy stood and backed away from them like a rabbit trapped in the nook of a tree by a fox.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you think.”

“Then why?”

“There’s a war coming.”

“Elwyn,” Michael said, adopting his stern-uncle voice.

“We could use someone like you on our team. Someone like Emma.”

“No,” Michael said. “It’s too dangerous.”

She turned to him and pleaded, “Don’t you think she would be safer with us, Michael? Look at her life.”

“My life?” Izzy asked, half-offended.

“No,” Michael argued.

Elwyn stood.

Michael stood, too, using his height to his advantage. “Her ex is dead, and her stepfather is going back to prison.”

“And what happens when the next guy takes advantage of her?” Elwyn yelled, poking him in the chest. “Or the next?”

“She’s learned her lesson.”

“Michael, you were practically made for her. You’re one of the few people in this entire world who would never take advantage of her ability.”

“How do you know I have an ability?” Izzy asked.

Elwyn calmed down and faced her. “I have friends in high places.” She pointed up. “Very high places.”

“What are you?” Emma asked from the hallway.

“Emma.” Izzy rushed to her side and put a palm to the girl’s forehead. “Are you okay? Did we wake you?”

Emma nodded but couldn’t take her eyes off Elwyn. “What’s your name?”

Michael picked up Emma and brought her to meet Hell on Wheels incarnate.

“I’m Elwyn, but a lot of people call me Beep.” She took Emma’s tiny hand in a comical shake.

Emma giggled, her voice thick and sleepy. “I’m Emma, but a lot of people call me Pickle.”

Izzy laughed softly, patting her back. “Nobody calls her Pickle.”

“But they might if I illegibly change my name. Michael said so.”

“Michael said so, huh?”

Elwyn squinted at Emma and leaned closer, and Michael marveled at the reflection in Emma’s eyes. It wasn’t Elwyn but thousands of stars, as if she was a universe unto herself.

Izzy noticed, too. She glanced at Michael as though to confirm what she was seeing.

“And who is that inside of you?” Elwyn asked.

Emma squinted back, fascinated with what she saw. “That’s Celie. She’s from England but was in the Americas when she died. The land of reprobates and ruffans .”

“Do you know what a ruffian is?” Elwyn asked, clearly holding back a laugh.

“Of course. It’s like a regular muffin but with more roughage. According to Celie, we Americans do like our bran .”

Elwyn turned away from her while she fought a grin.

“Apparently, Celie didn’t appreciate muffins as much as I do when she was alive,” Emma continued. “Or asparagus. She hates asparagus.” She crinkled her nose. “I’m kind of with her on that one.”

“Well?” Michael asked Elwyn, waiting for the verdict.

“It’s a walk-in, all right,” she said, fascinated. “I’ve never seen one before. Not like this.”

“So, not a—?”

“No.” She shook her head, cutting him off before Emma—or more accurately, Celie—heard his thoughts. “Not that.”

Relief washed over him. He’d seen Eric go through what some would call an exorcism. He couldn’t imagine Emma going through that. He said softly under his breath, “Guess it’s your lucky day, intruder.”

“Or yours,” Emma said, then giggled—to creep him out, he was certain. She laid her head on his shoulder and was asleep in a matter of seconds.

“Benadryl,” Izzy explained.

“I heard. I’m so sorry, Izzy.”

“So, a war, huh?”

“No,” Michael said. “Not happening.”

“Wow.” Izzy put an index finger on her chin in thought. “If only I were a real girl and could make my own decisions.”

“Izzy,” he warned, and Elwyn laughed.

“I have to get home before anyone realizes I snuck out.”

“Damn it, Elle.” He glowered at her, hoping it would have some effect.

It did. She laughed, gave Izzy a hug, and left.

“Wait!” Michael called out to her. “How did you get here?”

Elwyn giggled and then was gone. Because of her particular form of travel, that meant a departed was nearby. He would never get used to that. There were just some things in life he didn’t need to know.

“That kid is going to be the death of me.”

“If you’ll put Emma to bed, I’ll shower first.”

“First?” he asked.

“If you want one before you head home, that is.”

“I do. Thanks.”

She nodded and disappeared into her bedroom.

Michael tucked Emma into bed, then returned to the sofa and his beer. There was something about how Izzy walked to her bedroom, flinging her hair over one shoulder as she looked back at him. The way the light from the kitchen followed her down the hall, only to be chased away by the shadows as they swallowed her whole. The movement created a nostalgic sense of déjà vu. He thought about a girl in a bikini, a brightly colored wrap around her lower half, worn flip-flops slapping against her heels.

He leaned against the sofa, letting his mind drift to a scorching sun and a run-down motel. To the girl he’d left behind. What was her name?

“Your turn.”

He opened his eyes to see Izzy standing over him. “That was fast.”

“Not really. You were snoring.”

“That wasn’t a snore. That was evolution.” When she smirked at him in doubt as she towel-dried her hair, he explained. “By making that sound in their sleep, my ancestors were warning any wild creatures that they were at the ready for them. Waiting. Wanting them to strike. Practically begging them to. Their survival skills kept the creatures at bay.” He stood and looked down at her. “If you think about it, it’s more like a growl than a…you’re wearing that robe again.” He noticed the article of clothing when she tossed her wet hair back and started running her fingers through it. Drops of water penetrated the thin material in the most auspicious of places.

“It’s the only one I have,” she said, closing it self-consciously.

“Right. Okay, my turn.” He stepped into the hall but stopped mid-stride. “Where am I going?”

“Oh, use my bathroom. The one in the hall doesn’t have a shower.”

Seriously? Another thing he would have to see to during the renovation.

As he stood under the scalding water—at least the water heater worked—he tried not to think. He tried especially hard not to think about that robe and those water droplets and how Izzy’s lashes, spiked with wetness, looked like tiny paintbrushes with black ink on them. He tried not to think about her smile or the tiny scars at the corners of her mouth. He tried not to think about the curve of her neck—or any other curves, for that matter. And it all would’ve been much easier if Izzy hadn’t barged in on him, thrown back the shower curtain, and cast him an accusing stare.

Damn it. Was the Stockholm Syndrome back already?

He tried to preserve his modesty—and his manhood—by turning his back to her, but she took his arm and ran her fingers along one of his tattoos. He used his free hand to sweep his hair back so he could look down on her disapprovingly. “Iz, I’m not sure—”

“I’ve only really been in love once,” she said, looking up at him.

“Is that so?”

“For five days. And then he was gone.”

“He died?”

“No, he and his mother moved on.”

She had changed into a T-shirt that barely reached the tops of her thighs. Those thighs. The ones he was trying desperately not to notice.

“I got the feeling they were in some kind of trouble,” she continued. “But he didn’t really say.”

This would get awkward really fast if she didn’t leave. He cleared his throat. “How old were you?”

“Nine. No, ten.”

Alarmed, he asked, “And how old was he?”

“Twelve.”

“Ah, an older man. Do you have anything that doesn’t smell like peaches?” He loved the scent on her. Him? Not so much.

“We used to sit at the side of this disgusting half-empty pool and talk for hours.”

He turned off the shower and reached over her for a towel. “Did you tell him about your ability?”

“I did, jokingly. I doubt he believed me, but I also knew I’d never see him again.”

He dried his face as her words sank in. Her strangely familiar words. He looked at her from behind the towel in disbelief. “I had a very similar experience when I was a kid.”

“Yeah?” she asked, gazing up as though seeing him in a new light.

“Beautiful girl.” He wrapped the towel around his waist. “Empty pool at a run-down motel in Oklahoma. She wore a bikini and flip-flops. She and her father were on the run, too. I just don’t remember it being for bank robbery.”

Her smile was part joy and part astonishment. “But that kid’s name was GD.” She glanced at the tat. Ran her fingers over the initials. “He said it was short for Graveyard Dog. His friends called him that because he lived near a graveyard and, once he bit down, he never let go. He was brave and noble, trying to keep his mother safe, and he had a problem with injustice even then.”

Speaking of astonishment… “Izzy, do you know what you’re saying?”

“That’s why you’re immune to my directives. I made you immune before my stepdad and I left.”

“You mesmerized me?” he asked, appalled. “Your first love?”

“Only to keep you safe. I didn’t know if there were others out there like me. I didn’t want you to fall prey to their machinations.”

“Wait, you mesmerized me so no one else could?” His head spun with her confession. He remembered her like it was yesterday, yet he could never see her face clearly in his mind. Either way, she’d definitely grown up.

“Have I changed that much?”

“You have boobs now.”

“Yeah,” she said, dropping her gaze. “That bikini was probably a bit much.”

“I liked it.” He replaced his wolfish grin with a smile of appreciation. “You were my first love, too.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“Izzy,” he said, lifting her chin. “I’ve never forgotten you. I think about you so often it’s borderline perverted, considering you were ten at the time. But you didn’t go by Izzy then.”

“No, my stepdad made me change my name. I ended up changing it to something new every week.”

“How interesting that your daughter does the same thing.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, as though just seeing the connection. “Do you remember what it was when we met?”

“Dora. And now I know why. Isadora Welch.”

She laughed, the husky sound scraping his already frayed nerve endings. If she didn’t leave, things would get messy. “I haven’t gone by that in so long, it doesn’t seem real.”

“Wait, what made you suddenly remember all of this?”

She beamed up at him. “What Elwyn said about you.”

“Okay,” he said, showing his palms. “In my defense, I had no idea flu medicine mixed with Patrón would have that effect.”

She ignored him. “Your nobility.”

“Oh, yeah? I did get an email once that said I was the long-lost son of a Nigerian prince.”

She ignored him again. It was probably for the best. “It’s so ingrained, you don’t even realize how amazing you are.”

“I’m apparently a billionaire.”

“How unique you are.”

“And I have several hundred goats at my disposal.”

“How incredible.” Her expression almost finished him right then and there. He’d heard of women who could do that. “Of course,” she said, walking her fingers up his chest, “there is that one little hiccup in our history.”

“Really? We have a hiccup?”

“Just a tiny one. From that time you tried to kill me.”