Apology from Hannah in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
Mia jumped when the door opened. Hannah stepped out of the steamy bathroom. She adjusted her towel wrap and aimed a soft expression at Mia.
“Hi.”
“Hey. Where’s, uh . . . ?”
“She’s checking on Theo. How are you doing?”
Still reeling from the letter, Mia could only shrug. Hannah fixed a somber gaze at her feet.
“Listen, I talked to Amanda. She told me you spent all night in the security room with Erin, looking out for intruders. She also said you’re the one who pulled the fire alarm and warned Zack about Rebel. I’m . . . I don’t know what came over me. When I learned about your note, I just flipped out and assumed you didn’t do anything with the information. But it turns out you did a lot. So, I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry for saying you were responsible for Erin and Dr. Czerny. Can you forgive me?”
Mia bit her lip, nodding in warm accord. Hannah leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.
“Okay. Now that I got that out, I have a favor to ask. In the future, should you get another—”
“Evan Rander.”
Hannah blinked at her. “What?”
“A note I got. A warning. If you see a small and creepy guy with a ‘55’ on his hand, run. That’s Evan Rander. He’s bad news.”
Though Hannah had failed to notice any numbers on anyone’s hands, she could think of two different men who’d set off her creep alarms today.
“Okay. Wow. I don’t know what to make of that yet. But I’m glad you told me. Thank you.”
Hannah glanced at Mia’s journal on the end table, then nervously scratched her neck.
“Is there, uh . . . is there anything else from the future I should know?”
With a flustered sigh, Mia looked down at the fresh new dispatch in her hand. Yeah. There was something else.
EIGHTEEN
Nobody knew what to make of Peter Pendergen. The Silvers convened in one motel room, debating all the revelations and implications of his letter. When they didn’t talk over each other, they fell into a pensive silence, one so deep they could hear the slow drip from the showerhead.
Hannah dumped the empty plates and wrappers of their takeout dinner into the trash, then reclaimed her spot on Zack’s bed. She peeked over his shoulder as he sketched a man’s face on motel stationery.
“I don’t trust him,” she uttered.
“Me neither,” Amanda said from the desk chair. She kept an eye on the muted lumivision. The nine o’clock news would begin in five minutes. She fully expected to be the top story.
“I don’t think any of us are ready to marry the guy,” Zack replied, “but are you both suggesting we avoid him completely?”
Zack had made it clear that he was very much in favor of meeting Peter. He admitted that his vote was influenced by his desire to go to New York and search for his brother. It also didn’t hurt that Brooklyn was 2,500 miles away from the site of their police standoff.
Amanda flicked her hand. “I don’t know. It just feels like a trap to me.”
“What are you basing that on?” David asked.
“Azral let us go. Maybe this is the reason why. After everything we learned about Dr. Quint today, is it really such a stretch to believe that Peter’s also working for the Pelletiers?”
David shook his head. “I think you’re being overly paranoid.”
“I think she makes a damn good point,” Hannah said. “I also find it weird that he didn’t include a way for us to contact him. No phone number. No e-mail.”
“Well, keep in mind this letter’s from Future Peter,” Zack said, aware of how silly he sounded. “Maybe the current Peter isn’t in a position to hear from us. It might put him at risk somehow. Or put us at risk.”
The sisters crossed their arms in synch, wearing the same dubious frown.
“I don’t buy it,” said Hannah.
“Me neither,” said Amanda.
“And what about the fact that Mia got a warning flat-out telling her not to trust him?”
Mia sighed from the foot of David’s bed. She’d spent an uncomfortable amount of time in the hot seat tonight, answering numerous questions on behalf of her future selves. She knew she couldn’t talk about Peter without mentioning the two conflicting messages she’d received about him five weeks ago:
Don’t trust Peter. He’s not who he says he is.
Disregard that first note. I was just testing something. Peter’s good. He’s great, actually.
After reading the messages aloud, Mia had glanced up to five dim and bewildered faces. “Yeah. Now you know what I’ve been dealing with.”
Sadly, there was nothing in this latest parcel to clarify the confusion. On the flip side of Peter’s letter, Future Mia addressed the matter with a virtual shrug.
I wish I could explain those notes, but I still don’t know why we got them. All I can tell you is that I’ve known Peter for six months now and I trust him with my life. He’s a good man. He’s not half as funny as he thinks he is, but he’s a good man.