Timing, page 1
TIMING
by
Kelly Smyth
Copyright © 2015 Kelly Smyth
www.kellysmythwrites.com
All rights reserved.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
I wish to express deep gratitude to the following people for their assistance, in various ways, throughout this process: Jeremy Bailey, Kristin Schwin, Julene Kaufusi, Jessica Skinner, JLynne Stauffer, Clint and Heidi Smyth, Larren and Joanne Bailey, Clarence and Norma McJunkin, and Jim and Karen Smyth.
To Jeremy
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1: Contact
Chapter 2: Battle
Chapter 3: Funeral
Chapter 4: Washington DC
Chapter 5: Boone
Chapter 6: Healing
Chapter 7: Driftwood Falls
Chapter 8: Bubbling Bean
Chapter 9: Mr. Russia
Chapter 10: Return
Chapter 11: Discovery
Chapter 12: Report
Chapter 13: Trouble
Chapter 14: Date
Chapter 15: Mystery
Chapter 16: Class
Chapter 17: Dreams
Chapter 18: Aralk
Chapter 19: His Hotness
Chapter 20: To The Top
Chapter 21: Premonition
Chapter 22: Watcher
Chapter 23: Waldorf
Chapter 24: Change
Chapter 25: Protection
Chapter 26: Cold War
Chapter 27: Falling
Chapter 28: Birthday
Chapter 29: Memories
Chapter 30: Locket
Chapter 31: Light
Chapter 32: Timing
Chapter 33: Death
Chapter 34: A Gift And A Curse
Chapter 35: Power
Chapter 36: Home
Chapter 37: Escape
Chapter 38: Hospital
Chapter 39: Flowers
Chapter 40: Decision
Chapter 41: Olga
Chapter 42: The Cowboy
Chapter 43: Gone
Chapter 44: Poem
Chapter 45: Success
Chapter 46: Bridge Of No Return
Chapter 47: Truths
Chapter 48: Final Dance
Chapter 49: Away
CHAPTER 1—CONTACT
On the edge of a lake, beneath the umbrella of a gigantic blue spruce, a stranger followed Hannah Bailey's every movement. Boiling hatred seethed through his gaze cast solely upon her, a laser of loathing so intense he rubbed his bicep against the weapon in his shoulder holster and imagined the feelings that would come when The Day, The Moment arrived.
Boom, he mouthed to himself, his lips briefly curling into the shape of a half-moon.
Everything the girl was and everything she represented was the bile of his life.
Here she was in some skimpy bikini. Laughing… playing… enjoying time with her friends. It was disgusting… infuriating. She had no idea of the pain she'd caused.
She probably had plans to be one of those Hollywood actresses or something. The type that wipes their ass with hundred dollar bills while tweeting about their hardships.
Bitch.
He could, of course, finish it now, but his training prohibited such a public display of his abilities. Not to mention the fact that Sophie and Hans would probably have to bear the direct wrath of the Protectorate for years to come.
No, he wanted it done right. They wanted it done right. Discreetly. Cleverly. Brilliantly.
Besides, he preferred a game of Cat and Mouse where his targets were made to suffer, where he could feel their horror and witness their utter desperation as they gasped for their final breaths right in front of him.
After all, that's why the Sperari had commissioned him.
Although he was young, he was the best in the business. He knew it… and his track record proved it.
He methodically inhaled the crisp mountain air. Yes, his patience would pay off.
This was his life's calling. His destiny.
And there was no doubt about it: Hannah Bailey was dangerous, the daughter of an evil man. Even if she wasn't a menace to them yet, she would be in the future, particularly as she grew older… stronger.
Especially when she discovered her powers.
With unwavering resolve, Sicarius reminded himself of his duty.
He wasn't just here to find her and make contact with her…
He was here to kill her.
*
Hannah drove home from Lake Vallecito with her windows down and the music blaring.
It was her least favorite time to drive—that time when dusk gives way to darkness, making things difficult, if not impossible, to see.
Things like deer… and cops.
In her short and rather… um… non-illustrious driving career, she'd already had run-ins with both.
The deer had totaled her father's Jeep.
And the cop, who'd cited her for "reckless driving," had launched her insurance rates into the stratosphere.
Strike two.
And she wasn't even old enough to buy a lottery ticket.
So, to prevent the umpire from telling her to beat it, and to avoid any more vehicle-related butt-chewings from her father, Hannah pulled her foot just slightly off the gas pedal as she picked up the chorus of her favorite song.
Better, she thought, glancing down at the speedometer. A cool six mph over the limit wasn't gonna hurt a thing.
She breathed in the rush of fresh air, a musky scent of pine instantly penetrating her senses. God, it smelled good this time of year. She sighed and let her gaze soak in the copper remnants of sunlight gradually fading behind the Rockies.
It had been a perfect day.
Well, almost perfect.
Just before leaving the lake, she'd convinced her friends to do a cannon ball with her. A grand finale, she'd told them, to end the night with a bang.
Oh, it had been a grand finale all right: she felt like a drowned rat.
Only afterwards did Hannah discover that someone had taken her towel. And by then, the bonfire was smoldering and people were already leaving. As she'd gotten into her vehicle, it hadn't taken a brain surgeon to tell her she was far more wet than dry.
Now, some fifteen miles later, the tank top and cutoffs she'd put on over her swimsuit were completely soaked through. Her hair hung in matted clumps, dripping onto her seat and the armrest beside her. And the floorboard beneath her flip flops felt like a child's wet sandbox.
Karma was making her pay for her spontaneity.
And, instead of drying her out, the air blowing into the car was giving her goose bumps.
A chill suddenly rippled through her body.
That was it. Hannah couldn't take it anymore.
She rolled up her window—it was one of those old crank-like things pretty much the equivalent of a mini exercise routine—as visions of a hot bath materialized in her mind.
At least she was almost home.
She turned down the road to Aspen Ridge Ranch. Tucked along the Florida River, not far outside of Durango, her family's ranch was one of the largest in all of Colorado. They raised beef and ran a successful breeding operation where Hannah's father sold award-winning bulls. And they had lots of horses—her dad always told her she'd been born riding one. Really, she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
This time though, as the familiar structures took shape in the twilight, Hannah's fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
What the heck?
Bright lights were set up around their main barn. A dozen or so vehicles, and even more UTVs, were scattered around the area between her house and the outbuildings. Horses were tethered at various fence posts and trailers, most of them saddled with packs on… as if on standby.
But for what?
An assortment of thoughts darted in and out of her head, filling the stationary of her mind with an endless list of possibilities.
She skidded to a stop next to a ragtag group of pickups and opened the door to jump out, even before her Bronco had come to a complete standstill.
All around her, silhouettes of people, carrying an assortment of flashlights, bags, and ropes, were hustling along an expressway of commotion. Hannah felt a strange sort of tautness in the air, intensified by the obvious sense of urgency in the manner each person moved.
It was as if war had been declared in the vicinity of her house and an army base established around its perimeter, all in the few short hours since she'd been gone.
She slammed the car door shut and marched in the direction of the barn. After only a few strides though, she noticed someone headed toward her. Once the person got closer, she realized it was Stony Greely, her father's ranch manager.
He extended his arm out toward her, "Hannah, I thought that was you."
"Hey Stony. What in the world's going on?"
He briefly hesitated, and then told her to come with him, guiding her at the small of her back as they walked side-by-side. He said nothing for what seemed like forever as they headed away from the hub of activity, her question hanging in the silence between them like a trapeze artist suspended in the air.
Finally, Stony stopped and broke the silence. "Look, Hannah, I didn't want to worry you, so I didn't immediately call you, but your dad is missing."
"Missing?" Hannah froze. "What are you talking about?"
"He was supposed to be back around noon. But he never came home this afternoon, and no one's seen him."
"Did you try his cell?"
"Sure. Lots of times. But he's out of range, we're pretty certain."
Her heart was a quickening drumbeat as she caught the edge of her bottom lip. "What about GPS? Tracking him that way?"
"Already tried it. No read. He was supposed to be out on the southern line of the property mending fences today… well, you know how remote that area is…"
She nodded.
"And desolate," he added, "especially after the fire. But listen, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Your dad is about as rough and tumble as they get. And I have a hunch that his horse is probably lame—that's happened to me twice—and both times I had to hoof it the whole way home… I didn't even make it back until the next day."
"Yeah… I know things like that happen," she said softly. "It's just… hopefully, that's all it is."
Their eyes met, and he gave her a toothless grin. "I'm sure that's what happened, Hannah."
She looked away, her eyes swimming with emotion that had surfaced out of nowhere. She swallowed the lump in her throat and fought off the tears by blinking fast several times. "What's up with all of these people?"
"I've organized search parties. We're taking every precaution… just to make sure."
"So… what's the plan?"
"I'm sending out a few groups tonight and the rest in the morning."
Hannah shifted her mouth to one side of her face. She'd forgotten all about the hot bath. "What time are they leaving tonight?"
"Eleven-thirty." Stony pressed a button on his watch, illuminating a blue screen. "In about half an hour."
"Did you let my mom know?"
"Yeah, she knows."
"Is she coming home?"
He brushed his mustache with the back of his hand and avoided her gaze. "I doubt it."
"Yeah, me too," Hannah said dryly. She glanced at the barn and then back at him. "Well, I've got to go get ready." She made a move to leave, but Stony caught her arm.
"Ready? For what?"
"To go."
Stony lifted his cowboy hat just barely off from his forehead and placed his hands on top of her shoulders. "Hannah, you're not going."
She raised her chin along with her voice. "I most certainly am."
His face instantly hardened. "The hell you are."
"It's my dad out there."
"Yeah, and it's my ass on the line should something happen to you. The last thing I need is two people missing."
Her hands made their way to her hips, "But—"
He folded his arms. "Hannah, there are no 'buts'… I'm not arguing about this. It's not open for discussion."
She looked sideways, well aware of the fact that her father would have her hide if she didn't obey Stony.
She dropped her eyes to the ground and skimmed her flip flop along the surface of some rocks, searching for some sort of comeback.
But none would come.
Maybe because deep down… she knew he was right.
Stony had her cornered.
He knew it… and so did she.
"Fine, Stony," Hannah said, her eyes reflecting the ice-cold white of a nearby yard light, "have it your way."
*
Hannah glanced at the clock. It was two-thirty. And she still hadn't been asleep. She'd been tossing and turning non-stop. It was no use. She wasn't going to get any shut-eye tonight… that much was certain.
After her squabble with Stony some three and a half hours ago, she'd gone upstairs to her bedroom and had made an honest attempt to distract herself.
But it was no good.
The bath had nearly scalded her… her feet were still a deep shade of scarlet.
She'd tried to call her mom… she hadn't answered.
She'd texted Boone Grassle—her good friend from the neighboring ranch—but he hadn't responded.
And then as the reality of the situation began to set in, Hannah found herself riding on a yo-yo of emotions. One minute she felt anxious and the next she felt panicked. And now a Bunny Hill of crumpled up tissues was sitting on top of her nightstand.
Her father, Vance Bailey—the person she loved most in the world—was unaccounted for.
And here she was sitting around… waiting.
But for what?
Until when?
Restlessness crept in.
Patience had never been her strong point.
She needed to do something… her dad needed her.
This idleness was driving her batty.
Then, out of the blue, it suddenly hit her: no one would be mad at her, or could be mad at her, if she found her father…
And she was just as capable of finding him as anyone.
*
A little before three o'clock in the morning, Hannah did one last check of her backpack.
Good. Everything was there. She zipped it closed, turned off her lamp, and looked out of her bedroom window. Outside, the portable lights were now off, and there were no longer people mingling around.
Her gaze narrowed, and her jaw clammed shut.
It was Go Time.
She threw her backpack over her shoulder and headed downstairs. Marie, their family housekeeper and cook, had prepared sack lunches for the entire search crew. Hannah had spotted them earlier in the kitchen when she'd gone down for a midnight snack. She snatched a couple of the brown paper bags, grabbed several extra granola bars, and stuffed all of it into a plastic grocery sack just before slipping quietly out the back door.
Just beyond the fence surrounding her house, Hannah stopped and tilted her face to the sky, inhaling the brisk, night air, sweetened by hints of blueberry from her mother's rose bushes. Above her, diamonds sparkled from an overhead carpet of darkness as the bubble of a moon retreated across the heavens in a slow, protracted motion that seemed to hush even the passing of time. The serenity of the night was a lullaby to her nerves.
But strangely enough, only moments later, a switch flipped without warning deep inside of her, and the calmness was replaced by the off-beat screams and random gyrations of a heavy metal rock band rehearsing deep inside her belly. She absently pressed her hands against her stomach and exhaled loudly, and then ran her fingers along the arches of her ears to tuck away some loose strands of hair, before continuing on toward the outbuildings.
Inside the main barn, she rivaled the efficiency of her father's most trusted ranch hand. She filled her canteens. She prepped her horse, Zane. And she helped herself to one of the search and rescue packs—surely they wouldn't miss just one—securing it with a leather strap directly behind her saddle.
Finally, Hannah stopped to take inventory. After nearly a minute of rechecking her equipment and going through her mental checklist just one more time, she was satisfied.
Yep, she was ready… and now her entire body felt as if it were plugged into a light socket.
God, it felt good doing something instead of just sitting around with her teeth chattering like one of those silly cartoon characters.
She placed a note for Stony under a rock on top of the area map, grabbed hold of her horse's reins, and led him out into the night.
*
Searching in the moonlight was hard. Tedious. Lonely.
Every time Hannah started to feel weary or overwhelmed, she was quick to think of her father who was out there… somewhere. And alone.
Remembering him immediately sharpened her senses, made her more determined than ever to find him.
Then—even sooner than she expected—starbursts of gold began painting the blue of the eastern skyline. For a little while longer, she kept going… until she could no longer ignore the rumbling of her stomach and the screams from her bladder.
When she came up alongside a creek, Hannah finally stopped. She dismounted and retrieved a granola bar from one of her packs, munching on it while Zane got a drink.
