Page 53 of Intersect

“Maybe she wantsyouto follow her. Butyou’renot, so we’refine.”

I press my hand to my forehead. He doesn’t get it. She can time travel. She’s always going to be ten steps ahead of us. “Nick…”

“I’m sorry I worried you. It’s the last thing you need right now. Seriously, I’m fine. Just a few moredays.”

“I don’t think you’re grasping how bad this could go. Sarah might not even be the only person you have to look out for. Grosbaum toldme—”

“Grosbaum?You calledhim?”

I sigh heavily.This is going to go over well.“I drove up to seehim.”

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I counter. “He was right about everything, so I thought he might know something more. He thinks—” I hesitate. Telling him Grosbaum’s PTSD theory opens up the topic of what I might have done wrong in another life. “He thinks I’m scared to use the ability, so it only comes out when I’m sleeping or unconscious and can’t repressit.”

“You’re right to be scared to use that ability,” he says. “Please tell me you’re not tryinganymore.”

I could point out that there’s nothing left to lose, but he sounds so despondent I decide not to argue with him. “I let Grosbaum do a DNA test. He wants yours too. I apparently have ‘unusual’ ability and he thinks your DNA is what would determine how powerful our child could be. Maybe that’s why Sarah’s trying to stopus.”

“I don’t want to brag,” he says, “but I bet my DNA is fuckingawesome.”

I laugh, and then it fades away. “In this case it sounds like it would be a bad thing.” I tell him about Dr. Grosbaum’s missing wife. About those who target travelers more powerful thanthemselves.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I wish I didn’t know that. I thought we just had Sarah to worry about, and now it sounds like we have a whole universe of these people who could come after you. I hate that you are there, and I can’t protectyou.”

Says the guy who just got out of jail and is hunting down a potential murderer. “You’re the one in danger right now, not me,” Ireply.

“It’s going to be fine,” he says. “This will all endsoon.”

We hang up, and I walk out back to stare at our pretty garden, still flourishing in the warm August air. I’m glad something’s flourishing. Nick obviously isn’t, and I’m not either. I’ve felt a little worse every day since he left. We are not meant to beapart.

And I’m tired of him telling me it’s fine that weare.

27

QUINN

Ihave a passport that’s never seen the light of day. I still remember when it arrived eight years ago—how thrilled I was by the possibilities it offered. That was back when I still believed I’d be spending my junior year abroad. A week later I learned my father was going to die, and I threw it in a file and tried toforget.

Today, for the first time in all these years, I retrieve it. The cost of a last-minute ticket to Paris makes my stomach churn but right now, I need Nick and he needs me, and every other consideration isirrelevant.

I arrive in Paris just as the city is beginning its day—the tourists trickle while the Parisians move with brisk, impatient steps, dodging bikes and cars that zip down the street at twice the speed they should. The buildings rise on all sides, intricate and ancient and so amazinglydifferentfrom home that if it weren’t for the prospect of seeing Nick, I’d just want to start walking, drinking itin.

I arrive at the hotel and text Nick, who has no idea I’mhere.

Me: What are you upto?

Nick: At breakfast. It’s 3:00 a.m. there. Why are youawake?

I gather my bags and go in. After a brief and apparently persuasive conversation with the guy at the front desk, I’m standing inside Nick’sroom.

Me: Getting in shower. I like our roombtw.

I take a selfie with his suitcase in the background and hitsend, then go into the bathroom. As much as I’d like to stand under the hot spray for an hour or more, I hustle, because I imagine Nick’s going to be here within minutes of getting that text. I’ve just finished shaving my legs when the door slams. Before I can turn off the water, Nick is there, pulling back the shower curtain, staring at me inshock.

His eyes sweep over me from head to foot, and I’m not sure how to interpret the look until he steps into the shower fully clothed and pulls me against his chest. “I’m going to kill you for flying,” he says, his mouth buried in my hair, “but God, I’m so glad you’rehere.”

I lift my mouth to find his. “Me too,” I reply. “And you’re wearing way too manyclothes.”

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