Before I could slide it into the ignition, a knock sounded on the window.
Reyes stood outside. In the towel. With soaking wet hair.
Sure he was barefoot as well, I jumped out. "What are you doing?" I asked, pushing him toward his door. Not that he moved. Not even an inch. And, yes, he was barefoot. Darwinism at its finest.
"You're not what you think you are," he said as I shooed him back. That didn't work either.
"I know," I said, throwing my weight into it. I put a shoulder against his midsection and heaved-ho. Nothing. "I've known for a long time. Duh."
He finally took a voluntary step back. I was making progress.
"You know?" he asked.
"Yes. I know what I am."
"You – you do?"
"I'm a time traveler."
All progress came to a screeching halt.
I leaned against him, panting. "I think I'm from the future."
"Okay."
"My question is, where are you from?" I faced him again and poked him. In the chest. With my finger. "What are you?"
He lowered his head, examined said finger, then said, "I'm part of an interdimensional time investigations unit."
"Shut the fuck up. Are you for real?"
"No," he said with a snort.
I deflated. "Oh, that's messed up." I pushed again. This time he obeyed. The sun was just cresting the horizon, and his eyes sparkled like fire in the glowing light.
"Get inside. I have errands to run, and you have to go cook shit."
"I thought you were taking Mable's car back."
"I am. Then I'm going to ask if I can borrow it again."
He nodded. The frozen ground, the frigid air, none of it fazed him.
Just before I climbed into the car, I said, "Save me some posole for breakfast. I'll be in later."
He chuckled. "How 'bout I make you breakfast."
"Okay, but it better be as good as that posole."
"You have my word."
On the way home, I made another stop at the convenience store and bought a cheap, pay-as-you-go phone for emergency use, then stopped by Mable's, told her I'd stolen her car last night, gave her the last of my tip money to cover the expense even though I'd filled it up, and drank another cup of coffee with her.
She didn't say anything about Mr. Kubrick. I took that as a sign that he hadn't gotten any shots of last night's events. Too bad. He could have sold them to a tabloid. Made a little extra cash. But it did help me out a lot that he hadn't. No idea how I would've explained that one.
"I hate to say this, but I may need the car again today. I'm … investigating."
"Oh. Sounds intriguing. Anything I can help with?"
I perked up. She might know where the cabin was. Then again, she could talk to the wrong person and … I couldn't risk it.
"No, but thanks."
"Well, you know you can take it anytime you want to. I'll have to call the police and tell them to cancel that APB they put out on you last night."
My eyes rounded. "Really?"
"No." She cackled with delight. "Gotcha."
Apparently it was National Punk the Amnesiac Day. I walked back to my apartment to plug the phone in to charge for a bit – the battery was low when I activated it – and decided I'd try to catch Mr. P at the café when I went in for breakfast. He'd been a detective. Not here in the Hollow, but he'd lived here long enough to know people. Maybe he'd know about the cabin. Or at least the area. I hadn't been showing the picture around that I'd lifted from Mr. Vandenberg's shop because when I took it, I was breaking and entering. Breaking being the key word. A lot of breaking.
But if I had to fess up, I had to fess up. I hadn't heard back from the FBI agent. She'd sounded competent enough on the phone, but she could've been dealing with political red tape.
I had no red tape. I didn't even have any clear tape or duct tape or electrical tape.
Nope. I lived a tape-free life and liked it. Unless, you know, I needed to tape something.
I lay across Denzel and fantasized about plunging my fingers into a head of thick black hair. Of running them over the top of a damp white towel wrapped around a backdrop of dark, sinuous muscles. Of pressing my lips against a full mouth that defined the word sexy. I'd barely gotten my legs around Reyes's waist when a knock sounded at the door.
The fantasy incarnate stood on the other side when I opened it.
Guilt consumed me. "You can't read minds, can you?" I asked, suddenly aghast at the thought. He was otherworldly. Who knew what he could do?