Page 17 of Peace Under Fire

He cocked his head, frowning. “Time?”

“That’s right. You’re an asshole so often, I’m wondering which time you’re apologizing for.”

He ran a hand over his head, surprised by an upsurge of regret.

That edgy, sharp tongue didn’t belong to sweet, innocent Mandy. He truly had killed any feelings she’d had for him.

“All of them?” he offered, hoping she wouldn’t request an itemized recital of all his asshole moments.

Her scoff carried clearly down the line. “To answer your question, I’m calling to tell you to stop.”

“Stop?” Squish repeated. “Stop what?”

Her voice tightened. “Stop trying to find me. Stop digging into my past, stop—”

So, she knew about that. How?

“What past?” he broke in.

So far, they’d dug up nothing on her. Absolutely nothing. The woman didn’t exist.

She paused and her voice turned cautious. “I’m glad you survived. But you need to stop looking for me.”

The hell with that.

She must have sensed his resistance, because she continued, her voice tense. “All this digging of yours could stir up…interest…that needs to remain buried. You’re endangering me, my sisters, everyone I care about. You need to stop looking for me.”

So, she was in trouble. Someone was after her. His muscles knotted beneath a blast of adrenaline.

“We’ll protect you. We’ll protect your sisters. You can trust us.”

“Why would I trust you?” Her voice rose heatedly. “When have you ever given me reason to trust you?” She seemed to catch herself. After a short pause her voice calmed. “We’re not looking for protection. We can protect ourselves.”

We? She’d mentioned sisters.

He changed tactics. He’d better maximize his time with her, since he had no clue how long he’d have her on the line.

“Everything happened exactly as you described. You predicted the future with one hundred percent accuracy.”

He paused, giving her a chance to explain. She’d claimed on the voicemail that she’d dreamed the events. Would she stick to that claim?

Silence filled the line.

“Did you see what happened to Lucky? He’s the one who was captured.” He forced the question out, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Some of it.” Reluctance chilled each word.

“Is he alive?” Squish braced himself.

“I don’t know.” She paused, and a tired sigh filled the line. “He was alive when they took him. Shot, bleeding, in and out of consciousness, but alive.”

“But?” Squish asked tightly because it was obvious there was a flashing, neon but coming.

“I only see bits and pieces, fragments of scenes. There’s no continuity to what I see. No timeline. Just a fragment here, another there. I have to piece everything together, and I never know for sure whether I string the fragments in the correct order. It’s like a puzzle with dozens of missing pieces.”

Okay… Squish frowned thoughtfully. He was asking the wrong questions. “What did you see?”

“I saw them shoot him. I saw him fall. I saw a concrete wall crumble…,” her voice caught, “and bury you.”

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