Free Tempest by Julie Cross Page A

2009, but all my jeans were two inches short. The only clothes that fit were a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt.
    After showering, I went back to the living room. Miss Stewart was on the phone, but she stopped talking as soon as she saw me.
    “Your father would like to speak to you.” She stuck the phone in my hand.
    I tried to look the part of rebellious teenager who didn’t care what his parents thought, but my legs were already shaking. “Yeah, Dad.”
    “What the hell were you thinking, Jackson!”
    I pulled the phone away from my ear a little and turned my back on Miss Stewart. “Um … well—”
    “Do you have any idea how many laws you’ve broken?! Or the hoops I had to jump through to get your ass out of this mess?”
    He didn’t wait for me to answer, but instead rambled on for at least five minutes and then fell silent, waiting for my great excuse.
    “I’m sorry, I just…”
    I just want to know if you’re in the freakin’ CIA. And if you’re going to lock me up in a cage.
    “You know what, Jackson? I can’t discuss this now,” Dad said, and I could hear him letting out an angry breath. “I’m replacing your lost documents as we speak. Miss Stewart should be able to get you on a flight back to Madrid by tomorrow afternoon. Assuming you can behave yourself.”
    Not really the response I was looking for. “Um … actually, I don’t want to go back to Spain.”
    “And why not?”
    I glanced over at Miss Stewart, who now was sitting down again and filing her nails. “Personal reasons that I’d rather not discuss in front of the company you forced on me.”
    “Oh … kay,” he said slowly. “I’ll call Loyola in the morning.”
    I was resigned to sticking around 2007 until I could figure out a way back to 2009, but I wasn’t about to go to high school again.
    “I just want to take the semester off, if that’s all right.”
    “We’ll talk about this later. I’ll be home tomorrow.”
    “Where are you?” Somewhere supersecret?
    “Houston,” he said. “Business trip.”
    “Fine. See you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone and handed it back to the chick invading my privacy. “Thank you. You can go now.”
    She stood up and snatched her purse from the arm of the chair. “Nice chatting with you, junior.”
    I made a quick decision to try and wiggle some information out of the only source I had. “You know, my dad told me what you really do, that you’re not his secretary. You don’t have to pretend anymore. Actually, I think it’s pretty cool that you’re so … involved.”
    She laughed really hard. “Well, you got that right. If you want to know about corruption and secrets in a major corporation, ask the person who answers the phones. They know everything.”
    “Even detailed information about foreign policy. I was impressed with that.” I took a couple steps closer and lifted one eyebrow.
    “We’re very international, but I think you already know that.” She pulled a card out of her purse and handed it to me. “Call me anytime if you change your mind about going back to Europe. Or … if you want to discuss those foreign policies a little more.”
    I just stared at her in disbelief. Is she flirting with me? I didn’t know anyone who could switch gears that fast. Not an honest person, anyway.
    I flopped onto the couch again the second she left. Sleep should have come right away. God knows I needed it, but the whole my-dad’s-a-secret-agent thing was really creeping me out, and bumping into Courtney and getting arrested had distracted me from looking for clues.
    I half expected those men with guns to jump out from behind a door. I tossed and turned for hours, feeling the guilt, the heaviness of everything I had left behind in 2009 pressing down on me. Could I really just start over? Maybe that was the answer. Seeing or talking to Holly, in this year. Just to know she was okay. It was possible the 2009 nightmare would stop haunting me if I knew she was safe. Here.