Fractured Legacy

4. 1. Kaylyn-3

“The box is mine,” he yells, pulling the box to his chest and flicking his hand at the door. “I told you, I never travel without my box. Now go away.”

“What about the contract?” Cole asks, stepping closer.

Damn it, Cole.

“No!” He swings the box back to the table and grabs Cole, forcing her toward the hallway. Cole points to the box, so I reluctantly ignore their struggle and grab it, unsure of what to do next since the only exit is blocked.

I already know without a doubt the windows aren’t operable, so I opt to duck behind a shelving unit, hoping that when marionette-man notices his box gone, he’ll panic, and I can run out. Then, we just need someone to look at the box, and tell us how to fix Mr. Edwards.

Or maybe we hold it as hostage, call for backup, and convince him to come with us. That’s probably the better idea, since I’m not sure we can leave him alone. But while I’m trying to come up with some half-assed plan, Cole struggles with a man who might not be twice her size but seems to win the upper hand.

“All right, sir. I get it,” Cole says, her voice growing higher, probably from the handful of hair Gib has grabbed. “We’ll have to call our boss.”

I watch through piles of artifacts on the shelves and move toward the front of the room until something tugs at my shirtsleeve.

This was a bad idea. An epically bad idea.

I attempt to shift the box into one hand and free my shirt from a rusty metal hook, but the long hook shifts, knocking an old wooden train to the floor.

I gasp and hunker down, but the noise has already reminded Gib that I’m there. He runs back to the center of the room where he’d left his box and spots me through the shelves.

I try to make a run for it, but with every stride, my feet feel heavier. The room blurs for an instant, and when my vision clears, Gib is standing right in front of me. I fake one way, then attempt to duck past him, but he anticipates my futile attempt and throws his body against mine, shoving me sideways into the end of the shelving unit.

My back burns as we crash to the floor while trinkets and cardboard boxes rain down around us. Carlisle is going to have my ass for the amount of financial damage alone.

I try to squirm away, but the old man pins down my legs. Cole grabs his shoulders from behind, giving me just enough leeway to free myself.

“You can’t have my box,” Gib yells, shoving his body backward against Cole and knocking her off balance.

Just as I crawl to my feet and grab the box, the old man lurches at my legs, pulling me to the floor again.

My face smacks the hardwood floor and the room flashes out of focus again. Blackness. Muffled sounds. I draw in a shaky breath, trying to regain my senses as everything goes silent.

Pushing myself up, I blink away the specks of light that block my vision and see Mr. Edwards on the floor with Cole crouched over him and the box scattered in pieces a few feet beyond.

“What—” I wince at the strange sound of my own voice and the vibrations it sends through my sore cheekbone.

“He collapsed when the box hit the floor,” Cole says.

I stumbled closer, pushing at the wreckage of the box with the tip of my foot. “And Carlisle is going to kill me.”

“We’ll be lucky if that’s all.” Cole crosses her arms over her chest, but keeps her eyes downward, waiting for Mr. Edwards to stir.

Cole is going to kill me. She might even bring me back from the dead after Carlisle’s done, just to kill me again for this one. I clench my jaw and stay frozen in place, staring at the broken vessel. Supernatural objects are unpredictable. Anything could happen. A connection could have been formed or broken. I could have released chaos on the town.

But nothing happens.

At least nothing I can detect. Yet.

After a few seconds, Mr. Edwards opens his eyes. “Whe—” his gravelly voice died off. He sounds nothing at all like the man we’d encountered when we had first arrived, and he doesn’t seem to know where to start.

I can’t blame him, so I let Cole lead, afraid I’ll cause another catastrophe.

“We heard banging noises when we arrived,” Cole says, kneeling next to him. “We found you, but it seems we were too late.”

“Oh, dear, the box.” Mr. Edwards reaches for one of the shards.

“You really shouldn’t, sir.” Cole pulls his wrist back.

He squints at her and tilts his head. To him, it’s only broken wood, after all. Probably a priceless artifact, but as far as he’s concerned, the worst it can do is give him a wicked splinter now.

“I mean,” Cole clarifies, “we should really get you checked out. You took a hard blow to the head.” She stands and offers him a hand to pull him up. “Kaylyn will take care of the box”—she shoots me a look that assures me I’ll be getting more of her wrath later—“and I’ll help you downstairs so we can call an ambulance. Then, we’ll need to get back and explain things to our boss.”

“Seriously, Kaylyn. What’s going on?” Cole asks as she drops the bag of shards into the trunk of her car.

I rub my hands against my thighs before opening the passenger door. I don’t even know how to begin an explanation—except that we shouldn’t have gone into the damn building alone in the first place.

Strike that.

Even I know that’s a bad excuse before I say it. I lean against the roof of the car, staring over at my sister, who still waits for an explanation. Paranormal investigators don’t get excuses. If we hadn’t shown up, if we hadn’t intervened, we would have never known something had happened to Mr. Edwards. That would have been on our hands as well.

I only have one explanation—I’m off my game and can’t explain why. “I’m having a bad day.”

“You’ve been ‘having a bad day’ for weeks, and it’s getting worse. We may not be hunting down bounties and avoiding gunfire, but you know it’s impossible to do this job without your head in the game.” Cole opens her door, leaning one arm over the top of the door and the other elbow against the top of the car. “I’ll cover you, you know I will, but you’ve got to get it together. Soon. There isn’t always time to slow down and think or wait on someone else.”

She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, but I nod and slide into the car. Flipping down the visor, I open the mirror to check out my discolored cheek. “It won’t happen again. Let’s just get this back to the office so it can be sent to the lab-coat squad and they can figure out what it is.”

The ride back to the office is full of silent-but-pestering sideways glances, and the nervous tapping of Cole’s fingers against the steering wheel. Deep down, I know I’ve given her every reason to worry. I’ve never been the most organized person, and I’ve been known to top a night off with a few too many drinks, but the last few weeks have been different. I can’t concentrate, and every day, the world seems to skew a little more or race a little faster, and I’m too exhausted to keep up.

I hope a good night of sleep will make it all better. I know that’s all I really need. But every night, I close my eyes, settle in, and the dreams come, shattering everything I know and pulling me deeper into the confusion.

I’ve told myself to stop and take some time off, but I don’t know how. Full stop is scarier than the chaos of my dreams.

When we arrive at the office, I’m relieved to get out of the car and escape the tension emanating from Cole—even knowing full-well what waits for me inside the building. A far worse fate.

Cole, however, doesn’t move after putting the car in park and watching me climb out.

“Have you talked to Ian?” she calls after me.

Well, isn’t that just the slap in the face I don’t need? I duck my head down to look back in the car. “What?”

Cole puts up her hands as if surrendering. “Maybe you should talk to him. Resolve whatever it is that’s got you all—” Cole waves her hands at me as if it explains everything she’s trying to say.

“This”—I move my hands in imitation—“has nothing to do with Ian or his moving out and moving on.” I slam my door, knowing it’s not over, but I’m sick of every screw-up and misstep being blamed on my bad luck with men. I’ll even rightfully admit that it’s more bad choices than bad luck, but damn it, none of this is about a man.

“Then what, Kay?” Cole jumps out of the car, coming after me like a reporter who’d just gotten wind of a breaking story. “Are you sick? Did something else happen?” Her eyes narrow. “You haven’t been talking to Nick again….”

I roll my eyes, wondering if this is going to turn into a rewind through every guy I’ve ever dated. “He’s in Canada.”

Cole gives me a flat look. “Wrong answer.”

“No.” I throw up my arms and walk around the car, hoping Cole will take the hint and just give up. I know she wants answers, but I have none to give—even so, I’m positive the answer has nothing to do with any of my exes. “I haven’t been talking to him or any other guy. Why do you always think my problems come down to men?”

“Because they usually do.” Cole huffs, meeting me at the trunk of the car. “I’ve never seen you like this. I’ve seen you distant, cut off, and depressed, but even depressed, you’re usually more engaged than now. You’re pushing everyone and everything away—especially me.”

That final bit hurts more than she can imagine—well, maybe she can. I pull my ponytail over my shoulder and tug at the ends. “I’m just tired. Maybe I need a change of scenery. A vacation,” I say, testing out the idea.

“Damn, you are sick.” Cole’s eyes widen.

I thought that might be her reaction, and it makes me even more hesitant to continue.

She leans against the trunk, studying me like she studies a new case. “We spent the last three years of college doing full-time coursework and working here, and you reveled in the chaos. What is it about six months of working full time that makes workaholic Kaylyn suddenly need a vacation?”

I shrug. I don’t need a reminder of how far I’ve managed to slide in the last few months. I lean against the rear fender of the car, needing something solid. “I’m tired. Tired of lying to everyone.”

“So, it is about Ian,” Cole snaps.

“No. It’s not about Ian.” I’m grasping at something on the surface, anything that makes logical sense and doesn’t force me to dig too deep. “It’s about everything. Everyone in our family still thinks we’re bounty hunters. You go home every night and lie to your fiancé. You don’t think that, one day, all this lying is going to come back to kick our asses?”

Cole presses her lips together for a moment, then shrugs. “We are bounty hunters… kind of, except the crazies we bring in usually aren’t human. And the cases we investigate aren’t exactly going into the official law books anytime soon.”