Free A Rip in the Veil by Anna Belfrage

her mouth and bit down. Hard.

Chapter 6
    The receptionist looked up when Diane and John entered the office next morning.
    “Thank heavens you’re here,” she said in what was probably meant to be a discreet whisper but carried far too well. “There’s a gentleman here to see you. He’s been here since eight – and he was here yesterday afternoon as well. I think he’s upset.”
    “Upset?” Diane rubbed a hand across her face.
    “He says he’s Mr Sanderson’s partner.”
    “But…why didn’t you call me? Yesterday?”
    “I tried,” the receptionist said.
    Diane pulled out her phone. “You did?”
    “I’ll just…” John pointed in the direction of his office. “I have a backlog of e-mails to get through.”
    “Oh, no you don’t; we talk to him together.”
    “Yes,” the receptionist nodded, “he specifically said he wants to see you both.”
    “Bloody hell.” John threw a glance in Diane’s direction. “Well, come on then, let’s get this over with.”
    The man who was waiting for them swivelled when they entered. Where Sanderson had been big and bulky, along the lines of a rugby player gone to seed, this man had the looks of a ballet dancer or a fencer, thin and graceful with startling blue green eyes in a tanned and well cared for face. His skull was shaved, and his upper lip was bisected by a hairline scar, creating the impression that his thin mouth had two cupid bows, one overlapping the other.
    “What happened?” he said. “Where’s Diego? He’s been gone for two nights! And I’ve tried to contact you, but —”
    “I’m sorry,” Diane said, “but who exactly are you? Mr Sanderson has never mentioned that he has a partner.”
    The man’s scarred mouth twisted. “Why should he? But trust me, I’m his partner, both in life and in business.” His voice was like smooth chocolate, cultured and without an accent. He regarded them with what could have been amusement, if it hadn’t been for the assessing look in his eyes as they rearranged their faces into expressions of commiseration. “I’m Hector, Hector Olivares. So, what happened?”
    His eyes never left John as he retold what had happened, from the moment they got to the crossroads to when Sanderson disappeared. Afterwards, Hector tented his hands in front of him and stared out the window with an unfocused gaze. Hector cleared his throat, turning those disconcerting turquoise eyes back to John.
    “Where exactly did this happen?”
    John frowned. “How exact?”
    “As exact as you can make it.”
    John went over to Diane’s desk, indicating that Hector should come along.
    “There,” he said after a while, pointing at a zoomed in map on the computer screen. “It’s a very odd crossroads, with the little track bisecting the road at an exact ninety degree angle.”
    Hector nodded, mouth setting into a grim line. “Yes, they’re always very exact, the time nodes.”
    “Time nodes?” Diane scoffed. “What would they be?”
    Hector raised his brows at her tone and directed himself to John.
    “Time nodes are points at which every now and then the fabric of time rips apart, through earthquakes, freak weather or volcanic activity.” Hector made a dismissive gesture. “The volcanic activity generally precludes anyone actually falling through the holes. You burn to death instead.”
    “Of course,” he added in a tone as casual as if he were discussing the price of milk, “there are other ways to travel from time to time, but they require magic – black magic – while the time nodes, well, they’re natural cracks in time.”
    “Natural?” John croaked. Was he supposed to guffaw? Call the closest mental asylum?
    “Don’t worry,” Hector said with a crooked smile. “It only happens to one in a million or so.” He tugged at the sleeves of his dark cashmere jumper and walked over to the window. “ Porqué? Why did this happen to you? I told you to be careful.”
    “Be careful?” John said. “He knew this