The phone buzzing in my pocket pulled me out of a dreamless slumber the next morning.
I awoke with an even worse headache, one brought on as much from my cold as the nightmares. I barely recalled what happened after I dozed off in Taylor's arms, but at some point, the nightmares crept into my slumber. I fell asleep cradled against him and awoke in my bed.
Irritated, I rolled enough to pry the phone free and checked the messages from Carter.
I'm thinking about how to explain space-time theory. Read the first of three messages.
"Ugh, Carter." Not in the mood for science, I pushed myself up and looked around. Tea was waiting for me on the table beside the fire. I crawled out of bed and sat down to drink a cup.
The night weighed heavily in my thoughts, the demise of a good man like John and my shotgun wedding to Taylor. He'd been a gentleman last night and cuddled with me. Some of my suspicions about him melted as I realized how many times he'd had the chance to harm me and had done the opposite.
When my head had righted itself enough for me to return to Carter's texts, I placed my phone on the table.
Short version: Someone is scrubbing his presence in the past from the history books. I do the same for you, which means he's like you. Sent back but not by me. That means the person who sent him is the man trying to undo what I'm doing. Or I'm trying to undo what he is. Whatever. Either way, this Taylor guy is working against you.
I leaned forward and reread the note before going to the third.
So … I'd say to stay as far from him as possible now that we know the empathic memories can't read him either. He's likely there to stop you on the twentieth fourth.
"That might be an issue." This time, my heart skipped a beat for a reason other than my admiration of Taylor's fantastic abs. I dwelt on Carter's notes, my instincts wriggling.
Taylor was hiding a lot more than how he knew to find me the night I landed.
"The mystery deepens," I murmured and responded with a more pressing question. "How do you know John, Carter?" I sent the question.
"You say something?" Taylor called from the bathroom.
"No!" I shoved the phone under my napkin just as he emerged, dressed, freshly shaven and with a wet head. His green eyes were piercing. They traveled from the napkin I clenched to my face.
"How do you feel?" he asked.