She’d expected it to be cold; it’d been locked in ice for millions of years, after all. But to her surprise, the egg had been warm to the touch, as if it had been simmering on a stove. For a split second she actually wondered if her grandpa had created some kind of special heating device to incubate his rare find, believing he could actually hatch a baby dragon. But in her heart she knew even he wasn’t that deluded.
You probably imagined it, she scolded herself. Like the voices you thought you heard. It’s just an egg. A very old egg. Nothing else.
Though, she had to admit, there had to be something special about this egg. Otherwise, all these people wouldn’t be after it. She stole a glance at Connor. Once they’d collected her grandpa, she would have to demand some answers from this mysterious stranger. Like—who were those men? Why were they after the egg? How had he gotten there in the nick of time? And—
She stopped short as she turned onto her street, her heart lurching.
How did he know my name?
Chapter Seven
“Grandpa! Grandpa! Are you here?”
Trinity burst into the house, scanning the cozy living room the two of them shared. Her eyes darted from the threadbare couch pushed up against one wall to the ancient rabbit-eared TV propped against the other. Their cracked IKEA coffee table still sat in the center of the room, littered with dinosaur-shaped coasters. And the old bookshelf in the corner remained overflowing with dog-eared paleontology journals and video game guide books.
She breathed a sigh of relief. It was all there. Nothing out of place, no sign of a struggle. After Connor’s warning, she’d pictured the place ransacked and destroyed. But no, their Charlie Brown special of a Christmas tree still stood tall and gangly by the couch, strangled by multicolored lights and video-game-themed ornaments. And the pile of newspaper-wrapped presents still waited patiently under her grandpa’s scrawled cardboard sign: Do not open before Christmas…Or else.
But her grandfather was nowhere to be found.
Just to make sure, she checked the two bedrooms and bathrooms, while Connor paced the living room, his steps eating up the narrow distance between walls. But the rooms were all vacant. No sign he’d been here at all.
Until she reached the kitchen.
“What the…?” She trailed off. “Connor! Get in here.”
He was at her side in an instant, gun locked and loaded. She pointed a shaky finger at the boxes of Chinese food, overturned on the counter, noodles spilling out onto the floor.
“He was here,” she whispered, trying to stop her brain from jumping to a million conclusions. None of which she wanted to face. “He brought home the takeout, just like he said. But where did he go?”
Connor didn’t answer. He walked purposely to the side door, checking the deadbolt. Then he started examining the windows one by one. They were all closed. They were all locked. Just as the front door had been. That had to be a good sign, right? But then…?
“Maybe he just went back for duck sauce,” Trin found herself rationalizing. “They’re always forgetting to throw it in the bag and he knows it’s my favorite. And…and the cat probably knocked over the food. She does it all the time, no matter how we much we scold her for jumping on counters.” She nodded her head vigorously, as if agreeing with herself. “Yeah, that’s got to be it. Makes total sense.” She grabbed a roll of paper towels off the table and dropped to her knees, busying herself with the mess, trying to reset her sanity to a workable level—to push the nagging doubts far from her mind.
“Trinity…”
“In fact, I’m sure he’ll be back any second now,” she assured Connor, refusing to look up. She knew what he was going to say and she didn’t want to hear it. They couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when Grandpa was probably right around the corner. “We just have to hang here a few more minutes. No big deal.”
“Trinity, you have to look at this.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, forcing herself back to her feet, turning to Connor questioningly. With a grim face, he pointed to the counter.
Or, more precisely, the pocket knife that lay on the counter, speckled with what could only be blood.
“Oh God,” she whispered, her world spinning out from under her. “Oh God, no.”
She staggered back, stumbling against the stove, her knees buckling, her lungs refusing to take in air. For a moment she couldn’t move—couldn’t take her eyes off the knife. Ghosts from a Christmas past swam through her head and her stomach lurched.
Please God. Not again. He’s all I have left.
Strong hands grabbed her forearms, jolting her back to reality. She looked up to find Connor, staring down at her with a hard look in his eyes, as if willing her not to fall apart. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, as she waited for the comforting rationalizations to spill from his lips. That it was all a mistake. It probably wasn’t his blood. That everything would be okay.
“I told you we shouldn’t have come here,” he ground out instead.
She stared at him for a moment, unable to move, unable to speak. Then the rage came—a volcano erupting inside of her and setting her ablaze. She reached up, her fist finding his face with all the force she could muster. Then she shoved him away.
“Are you kidding me?” she cried. “That’s all you have to say?” It was all she could do not to reach out and strangle him. To punish him somehow for dragging her into this mess to begin with.