by Jill Cooper
“Marcus,” I gave him a tepid smile, “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You sure know how to throw a great party.” Donovan shakes his hand in greeting as I lean against him. Part of me must make Marcus understand where my future lies. Marcus might be thirty years my senior, but I know what his heart craves. I can’t afford any misunderstandings.
“Delilah spares no expense. As chairman, I just show up where I’m told. If you’ll excuse me. Lara, beautiful as ever. I’ll catch up with you at the shrimp bowl.” Marcus winks as he makes his way across the room. He’s a smooth talker, weaving away across the floor like a pro. Greasing palms, knocking elbows, all the while making it so I don’t need to do those things. I can have a normal life without the stresses of time travel regulation.
“Well,” Donovan raises his eyebrows, “Marcus never changes.”
I grin in appreciation. “He could sell ice to an Eskimo.”
Donovan and I move into the next room. The dance floor is nearly empty. Surrounded by round tables draped in white tablecloths, the floor sparkles, thanks to the disco ball overhead. I place my hand in Donovan’s as he takes my hip and we move in time. My head falls to his shoulder and I gaze at his strong jaw. His face relaxes into a casual smile and it’s a profile I love. One I’ll grow old with. No woman could be happier than I am.
After a quick dance, I lock my wrists behind his head and we fall into a tender kiss. “Soon we’ll head for some fruit dip, but I’m going to go search for Delilah.”
He keeps me close and kisses my nose. Warmth spreads through me as I hurry out the service entrance. At the stairs, I climb up to the second floor. It smells like fresh carpet as I saunter down the hall. There’s a maid with a cart outside one of the rooms and she bids me a good day.
“Good evening, miss.”
I do a double take because her voice sounds familiar somehow, but there’s nothing about her that looks familiar. Funny, I knock on Delilah’s suite. When I do so, the door falls open—it wasn’t latched.
“Del?” I grip the doorframe and peer inside. I can barely hear myself think because the television is blaring so loud. That’s when I notice the blood smeared into the grain of the wood. My heart flutters as I push the door open and step inside into the compact kitchen. Hurrying along, I’m in a seating area with a sofa where a television flickers with commercials.
The volume is so loud, I squint and grab the remote to mute the television. It had been turned all the way up. Who does that?
“Delilah?” I call out urgently. I hurry into the bedroom and that’s when I see her.
My heart is in my chest at the sight of my friend crumpled on the ground. Her dress is only half-zipped and there’s a puddle of blood beneath her head as vibrant as the color of her hair. Her hands clenched tightly around the rope tied tight around her neck.
Her open, unblinking eyes are fixed on the ceiling.
She’s dead. My confidant and lifeline is dead.
Chapter Three
Check for a pulse.
“Delilah?” my voice cracks as I bend over the woman who had become my friend. My fingers tremble against her neck, but there’s no pounding, no beating. There’s only an uncomfortable stillness. Her hand is warm to the touch, and that’s when it dawns on me that whoever had done this might still be in the building.
I grab the phone by the bed and dial the front desk. “Send the police up to Delilah Chase’s room. She’s been…murdered. Seal the building.” I cringe as I say it. Who is going to listen to me? I’m not time-traveler Lara Crane anymore. I’m just a college girl, trying to live a normal life.
So why does life keep trying to push me into something I don’t want to do?
“Miss?” The receptionist sounds breathless under my orders.
“Just get the manager. Tell him there’s a murderer in his building and get the chief of police,” I huff with impatience, “He’s in your ballroom with the other attendees.”
An old feeling returns, one I had suppressed so long ago. It tells me I can do their job better than they can. I’m faster. If I can travel through time to just a few minutes earlier, to the moment before Delilah was murdered, I’ll see their face. I can stop them.
Just the mere thought of time travel puts me back into that familiar headspace. I begin to float away, pulling further into myself. My consciousness detaches from my body and I struggle to regulate my breathing. Picturing a door, I sigh. I’m coming towards it. Floating right into it.
Then nothing. It’s as if I’ve hit a damn wall. There isn’t even a headache.
I can’t do it, can I? I’m so out of practice, I’m not even sure what I’m trying to do.
“Delilah,” I whisper and stroke her hair. My eyes widen as I notice something.
Something was left in her mouth.
I glance around to make sure the police haven’t arrived. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I grab a pen from the bedside table and reach it into Delilah’s mouth. I try not to look as I fish out the golden card pressed against her tongue. A name is etched in white marker across the front in swooping cursive.
Lara.
This card was left for me. The thought that Delilah was killed to get to me…. It’s the kind of grief you gag on, but I press forward. I have to, don’t I? My fingers tremble and a tears pool in my eye as I unfold the card and I read a message.
The clock continues to tick. You can’t stop it.
Clock? Tick?
Time travel. The door I had opened and now can’t close. The bell that can’t be un-rung. I started this and I can’t stop it. No matter how hard I try. Except now, my dormant powers might not even exist anymore, and whoever killed Delilah knows it.
Wants to be sure I know it, too.
****
Police come and forensics is called. I answer endless questions and the realization that I’m powerless to stop what’s happened hits me hard. I sway on my feet for a moment and Police Chief Lance grabs my arm. “You all right, Ms. Montgomery?”
“Fine.” I try a nod, but it doesn’t feel right. He escorts me out of the bedroom and signals to another cop. “Get her a glass of water. She’s been hit with a bad blow,” he turns his attention back to me, “I’ve seen you weather a lot of storms, Lara. You’ll be all right.”
But will I be? If someone out there is using time travel that can’t be detected by the TTPA…
When a pristine glass of water is offered to me, I take it and drink it fast. The water rushes down my throat and I struggle to swallow it all down. I just hope it’ll stay there. “Have you pulled surveillance footage? Are all the exits on lock down?”
Lance smiles and an amused twinkle is present in his eye. “You gunning for my job? Here I thought you wanted to be a social worker.”
My fingernails grate against the glass. “She was my friend. We worked together. Whoever is out there…”
“We’ll find him. I know how to do my job. Look,” Lance glances around, “I know it’s hard for you…everything you used to be able to do…but the world’s changed now. You have to learn to let it go. Trust that other people can get the job done.”
Six years ago, that idea would have been laughable and maybe it still was. Maybe I had been lying to myself that I could simply walk away. Maybe the world was never safe. All of that weighs heavy on me, but I can’t tell Lance. He doesn’t know about the note I found in Delilah’s mouth and I won’t tell him.
The last thing my family needs is another police detail following me around. I won’t be reduced to a babysitting operation.
Lance snaps his fingers. “Escort Ms. Montgomery down to the ballroom with the other guests. And, Lara, don’t worry. We’ll catch the son-of-a-bitch.”
I don’t know if I can believe it. Trust it. Whatever is happening has just started.
The clock has just begun to tick.
Chapter Four
Back in the ballroom, I find comfort in Donovan’s arms. His tie is draped around his neck and the first few
buttons of his shirt are undone. All signs he’s been worried and stressed since our separation.
“Thank God you didn’t get there any sooner,” he breathes against my hair and the longing in his voice warms my soul, “I wanted to check on you, but they wouldn’t let us leave the ballroom.”
My arms tuck beneath his and I gaze up into his concerned eyes. There’s a worry crease along his forehead that I want to smooth away. “Are you okay?”
“That’s what I should be asking you. I know she was more than just director of the TTPA to you…your mom. Everyone,” Donovan sighs and raises his eyebrows, “For your loss, I’m sorry.”
Donovan and Delilah were never able to get on the same page, but his condolences mean the world to me. I chew on the inside of my cheek. If I tell Donovan about the note I found in Delilah’s mouth, he won’t let me out of his sight. He’ll make me turn it over to the cops and then I won’t be able to move freely—not until whatever has started is done.
Have I really decided not to trust the cops? Am I falling back on past behavior so readily, even though I had promised Donovan and myself that I wanted a normal life?
“I just wish I knew what she wanted to tell me. What if it was something that got her killed?”
The corner of Donovan’s eye twitches with compassion. He puts his hand through my hair and pulls me in for a comforting embrace. I take a deep breath and smell his aftershave mingling with his sweat. “You need a shower.”
He laughs. “These monkey suits are hot and I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”
Behind us, a throat clears. When I turn, I see the deepening scowl on Marcus O’Reily’s face. His disheveled suit and hair make Donovan look neat and tidy. “I wish I could say I’m here just to express my sympathies.”
I take his hand and give it a squeeze.
“A new director must be chosen. Right away. We won’t have time, I’m afraid, to wait until Delilah’s service is completed. The police could hold that up for weeks with tests,” Marcus’s voice drops and his eyes shift to the floor, “Autopsy.”
My grief rushes to the surface, ready to spill over. “Just tell me what you want to tell me, Marcus.”
“The board will convene tomorrow,” his eyes slide up to mine, “Are you ready for that?”
Taking a deep breath, I nod. So much for my psyche final. “Yeah,” my stomach rumbles and spins as I answer, “I can be there. Nine AM?”
“Make it eight-thirty. You’ll want to center yourself before the rest of the board arrives. I know the TTPA isn’t something either of you is comfortable with,” Marcus gazes at Donovan and then back at me, “but if we’re to find a suitable replacement—someone who will keep your interests in mind—your presence will be needed.”
He leaves us and I turn to Donovan. I’m desperate to know what he’s feeling. What he’s thinking. With a deep sigh, his eyes sweep up at the ceiling; I see his disappointment. My heart plummets at the look on his face. “It’ll just be a few meetings. I’m on the board. I need to do this.”
He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I know,” he says the words, but his heart isn’t in it. I fear that whatever comes next might put a wedge between us.
“The TTPA isn’t Rewind.” How many times have I reminded him of that? Reminded myself?
“I know that too, but they make me feel the same. Like I’m walking through green sludge.”
My lips part and I breathe deeply. “Can you support me on this?”
His eyes soften as he takes me into his arms. “Lar, I’ll support you on anything you choose to do. Now until eternity. If that’s with the TTPA, I’ll find a way to deal with that. For you. I just wish you knew that.”
“I do,” a small smile graces my lips as gently I kiss him, “It’s just nice to hear it sometimes. Sometimes my head doesn’t know what my heart does.”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re devoted to me.”
Donovan chuckles despite the circumstances and kisses my hand. “There’s nothing truer than that.”
“Ms. Montgomery? One more round of questions and then you’re free to go home with Mr. James.” A police officer stands with his hands clasped and I notice the left hand has a big mole beneath his thumb.
Don and I share a parting kiss and then I follow the officer toward the rear of the banquet room. We go out the double-wide doors. Inside the halls of the hotel, the carpet cushions my sore feet. Whoever said heels were the perfect complement to an outfit was lying.
At least where murder investigations are involved.
He ushers me into a small administrative office. There’s nothing remarkable about it except for the sweeping window overlooking the city. The cramped space smells faintly of an apple-cinnamon candle, long burned out. “Commissioner Lance will be right with you. If you don’t mind waiting…”
I hold up my hand to stop him. Waiting seems like the perfect thing; I need to collect my breath. As I stroll over to the window, the door latches behind me. A few years ago, it would’ve unnerved me, but now I’m calm. I lean on the window and gaze out at the city’s blinking lights. Everything out there seems so simple. In here, I don’t even know why Lance wants to see me again. I had thought all the questions were already cleared up.
My clutch purse vibrates. I pull out the phone and see a text from Mom and a separate one from Dad. Bad news travels fast in our family. The fact they had both texted me in the span of a minute makes me wonder if they’re together. A date? Something else?
Something more?
I’ve always said Mom’s life was complicated. I try to stay out of her love life. Dad and Jax; my heart needs them both, so I do my best not to pick sides. Something my mom excels at, and to survive sometimes I have to be distant.
Fiddling with my keypad, I text them both that I’m fine. Let them know I’ll catch them both up on the details later. Something zaps me from behind and I smell an electrical charge.
The hair on the back of my neck rise up as I catch the reflection of someone standing behind me. It’s a woman in a black leather suit, her face hidden by a blue helmet. Only her lips are visible, but it’s easy to make out the two electrical sticks she’s carrying. They’re crisscrossed over her head as she charges straight at me.
Blue electricity dances between the rods. She means to hurt me, or kill me. I don’t want to find out which.
I grab the plastic box of papers on the ledge beside me and fling it backward. It conks my assailant in the head. To avoid being hit, I fling my body to the ground and roll away. The electrical charge travels through the room and hits the window instead of me. My heart pounds and my mind fills with fear as I spring up onto my feet the very moment she pivots on the heel of her platform boot.
Her body is fit, muscular in all the right places, and she’s coming right at me. I wheel an office chair at her. With my next breath, I grab whatever I can find on the desk—a lamp—and fling it at her, backing up as I go.
She twirls the batons in her hands as if she’s done this all before. Blond hair sticks out beneath her helmet, barely reaching her shoulders. Baring her teeth, she screams and lunges for me. I can’t let her electrocute me. It’d be game over, so my eyes sweep through the room. If ever there was a moment I wanted to freeze time, it was now, but I grab the golf club leaning against the wall.
Careful not to get hit, I spear it against her belly, to drive her back. She groans and folds onto it in a giant V. Her body falls against the desk. My hair is out of place as the door behind me opens. Whoever it is, might have just saved my life.
The helmeted girl snarls, raising her lip and speaks in a rough, way-too-low speaking voice. “Next time, Crane.”
She disappears in a flash of blue smoke. It pixelates and dissolves, one particle at a time except for one of her electrical sticks. The one I had knocked from her hand is left behind. As I nudge it with my foot, a small surge pulses up my fashion pumps straight into my flesh.
I shudder back, as two office
rs surround me. “Ms. Montgomery, are you all right?”
My spine races with cold. They had called me Montgomery, just as everyone else does. But her? The time travel assassin had called me Crane.
Chapter Five
She had called me Crane.
In the timeline that is now my home, Jax Montgomery had adopted me when I’d been a small child. No one calls me Crane. Even I stopped calling myself a Crane over the last several years. Only someone who knew my history would call me that. Or someone from the past. Or, maybe, a different version of the future?
It’s all a tangled web. Lies, deceit. It’s been part of my life for so long, I should be more comfortable with it. But my stomach turns on itself when I tell the police I just tripped. When I ask where Commissioner Lance is, they shrug.
“We came looking for you, miss. Mr. James said he hadn’t seen you since the police came looking for you, but it wasn’t us. No one sent for you.”
No one. That means I was set up. By two people who were working as a team. What they want, I don’t know and I had been helpless to defend myself. I don’t have any fighting skills—not really—and no power to speak of.
My ability to travel through time is so dormant, I couldn’t time travel through an open door right now.
I don’t know if I should work on getting it back, or just let it go.
Donovan and I ride in silence all the way back to the penthouse. The rain splatters against the windows in harmony and it’s my constant companion as our car arrives at our building. We ride up the elevator side by side, but it’s like we’re in our own personal hell.
In the entryway of our grand foyer, I slip my heels off and hobble into the living room. I slip my toes into the white fluffy rug and sink down into the white leather sofa. Donovan, standing by the wall closest to the bedroom and flicks on the gas fireplace and turns on some quiet music.
