“Technically no, I wasn’t. I was able to bail out, see,” he said, easing back onto the porch steps. “Thanks to you.”
She settled beside him, gazing at the ring now. “It’s a beautiful ring,” she said. “Wherever did you find it?”
“It belonged to my grandmother,” he said, removing it from its case. He slid the ring onto her finger and to Izzy’s delight it was a perfect fit.
Three diamonds, a big fat one in the middle, sparkled against her opaline skin. Izzy’s joy lumped in her throat. “It’s set in platinum,” he said, “but we can reset it in gold if you like.”
“Bite your tongue,” she said, still staring at the ring on her finger, “I wouldn’t have it any other way than it is right now.” Not to mention that original platinum settings will be all the rage someday. Will be...someday.
Of all the crazy things that had popped into Izzy’s thoughts, this was the first one that indicated she was speaking of future events, rather than something she thought should be so right now.
“How do you feel about tomorrow?” Jack’s questioning voice invaded her thoughts.
“Tomorrow?” She glanced up. “For what?”
“As your wedding day. How do you feel about getting married tomorrow?”
She hesitated. “It sounds quick. Why?”
“Because I’m ordered to Florida next week. It’ll be easier to take you with me if we’re married.”
“Tomorrow it is...I definitely don’t want an entire continent separating us.”
“Neither do I.” He pushed himself up off the steps and stood over Izzy. “You want to stay with me at the bungalow tonight? I may need a little nursing on account of the crash, see.”
Izzy stood and reached for his hand. “Well, I might do more harm than good.”
Jack chuckled. “I doubt that.”
“Well,” she said, gently lacing her arm around his waist. She encouraged him to stroll through the yard toward his car. “If I’m going to be Mrs. Baker tomorrow...I see no reason not to start practicing tonight.”
Jack’s laughter filled the air as he scooped her into his arms, and tried to cover the pain with a vocal grimace.
“Jack, put me down. You’ll hurt yourself.” Izzy’s argument, shrouded in laughter, was not very convincing.
“Nonsense.” He laid a kiss on her, and she melted like ice cubes on a hot summer’s day. “If you can start early...so can I.”
“Yes, but...” She wiggled out of his arms and eased her feet to the ground, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders. “We have a whole lifetime ahead of us. Don’t strain yourself now.”
Their laughter rippled through the air and tangled together, carrying with it a love that bonded their souls forever.
EPILOGUE
Present Day
MARILYN GRAYSON carried a distinctively different air about her as she entered Wallace Grady’s office, the corporation’s attorney. She wore the Versace two piece, green with pink trim, and matching stilettos very well. She looked good, and she knew it. She also wore her hair differently than the last time she’d seen her niece. More hip now, no-nonsense.
“Ms. Grayson, Mr. Grady is waiting for you.” The receptionist didn’t get up, but there was no need. Marilyn knew the way.
“Thanks.” Marilyn flashed a friendly smile, passing the secretary’s desk. She headed down the corridor toward Grady’s office.
Three men waited inside with Grady, one in civilian clothing and the other two in military uniform. Marilyn shook their hands, one by one, and acknowledged each with verbal greetings before taking the empty seat next to her attorney. In an almost dismissive manner she propped her briefcase on the floor against her chair.
“Gentleman, the investigators have reported the project was a success.” Marilyn didn’t need the report to know the ghost was no longer there. “We are ready to sign.”
“Great.” One of the uniformed gentlemen laid a mound of paperwork on the table before them.
“Ms. Grayson, if you’ll just sign on behalf of the estate and the corporation,” he said, pointing out the places needing signatures in the documents.
Marilyn accepted the gold-plated pen and began the task of penning her signature in all the right places. With the sale finalized, the Air Force representatives wasted no time in collecting their certified check and leaving Marilyn and her attorney alone.
“What’s your plan?” Grady asked as the door closed between them and the military reps.
“For?” Marilyn’s asked, knowing what Grady was up too. He was doing what he always did, digging for information. And she let him.
“The abandoned Air Force base? What’s your plans for it?” He showed no mercy, but then again he never did. Grady was pretty nosy. Marilyn supposed that’s what made him such a good attorney.
“I don’t have any.” It probably didn’t sound very romantic, still it was the truth.
“You just spent millions and you don’t have a plan?” The look on his face said he thought it was a ridiculous idea. “Why’d you buy it?”
“Because my grandparents wanted me to.”
“I suppose they’re the ones who wanted the ghost exorcised too?” he asked with a hint of comical sentiment.
“Did I ever tell you about my grandmother?” she asked in a vague, mysterious tone.
“No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention her.”
“My grandfather always said, to my grandmother’s dismay, that he thought she was from the future.”
“What?” Grady eyed Marilyn as if she were nuts.
“She knew things. She had an uncanny ability to predict the future on a minuscule level.”
“Nice try.” His smile told her he thought she was joking.
“It’s no joke. She was privy to tidbits of information about the future.”
“Luck of the draw.”
Marilyn put it to him so that he had no room for explanation. “You call singing Eagles tunes in 1946 the luck of the draw?”
Grady’s face paled. “You’re trying to spook me.”
Perhaps she shouldn’t tell him about the ghosts. That might send him over the edge.
“She often talked about things like microwave ovens, Starbucks Coffee, fast food restaurants, shopping malls, home computers, Cyberspace, rock music...in the nineteen-forties, long before any of it would ever see fruition, much less the light of day.” Marilyn had always marveled over the notion that her grandmother Izzy’s desire for flavored lip gloss had led to the beginnings of a multi-million dollar corporation.
Grady eyed Marilyn for a long moment and then laughed.
“You can laugh all you want.”
It didn’t matter, Marilyn knew the truth. Isabelle Miller, her niece, was the same woman she’d come to know and love as her grandmother, Isabelle Miller Baker.
Even though her grandmother had no lucid memories of her time as Marilyn’s niece, something inside her must have picked up on it because Grandma Izzy had always shown a favoritism toward Marilyn as a child. Marilyn proved in favor again as control of the vast family fortune was laid in her lap, upon the deaths of both her grandparents—uncannily, within days of each other. Grandma Izzy had gone first, of natural causes. Grandpa Jack died days later in his sleep...some say from a broken heart.
Bittersweet thoughts that Izzy had not only saved her flyer, but they’d gone on to become Marilyn’s grandparents, induced a smile to cross her face. The circle was complete.
Marilyn’s only regret—that she didn’t have full disclosure before her niece left to fulfill her destiny.
She would’ve liked so much to have said goodbye.
**Thank you for taking the time to read Incredible Dreams. Please turn the page for a preview of my latest release Staked (June 2011). Visit my website at www.SandraWrites.com for generous excerpts from my other books.**
Staked
by
Sandra Edwards
Chapter One
New York City
> Tonight
AVA VALENTINE scooped up the last of the Sun Stones and closed her fist around their lingering glow. She held tight, ignoring the sting, and absorbed the pain before it sheathed her apprentice Mickey. Ava had long since developed a high tolerance to the physical suffering that came with brokering time, and that made her bounty hunting services invaluable.
Mickey cleared his throat—his way of pretending that traveling through time didn’t hurt. He was getting stronger, but not yet capable of handling the raw side-effects alone. Someday he’d have to absorb the full impact, but not today. Today he remained under Ava’s protection.
The stinging subsided as Ava dispensed the pea-sized gems into a pouch no bigger than a teabag. She tightened the drawstring and secured it on her belt loop before tucking the little purse into the waistband of her blue jeans.
An uneasy silence spilled across the cool night air and swirled around Ava and Mickey. She scanned the darkened, desolate alley and eased the MPD from her back pocket. Not that the Micro Placement Device, a Blackberry-type gadget, could offer much support in the way of protection, but in these electronically-underdeveloped times it’d do three things well. One, verify when and where they were. Two, allow Mickey and her to communicate over a secured connection if they got separated. And three, confirm they’d landed in the same time period as their fugitive.
Another glance around the alley and Ava beckoned Mickey to follow her.
“I think the jump was easier this time.” He shivered and tucked his fingertips inside the front pockets of his jeans.
“Soon enough it won’t bother you at all.” Okay, so that was a lie. As far as Ava knew, she was the only broker who’d ever developed a tolerance to the pain of transporting passengers through time—the only thing that kept every Karellian within traveling distance of the galaxy from swarming Earth and selling their services to the highest bidder.
The pain—she’d heard some describe as excruciating—kept the number of Brokers to a minimum. It took a certain kind of person to step inside the bowels of hell for mere money. Some handled it better than others, but most didn’t even want to try.
“When do you think I’ll be ready to broker?” Mickey was one of the few willing to bear the pain for justice.
“Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.” Ava had been sharing the pain with him lately, but at a rate of less than ten percent. It’d be awhile before he was strong enough to handle even twenty-five percent, much less broker time.
Booze was just the medicine Mickey needed. The nagging ache often dwindled within half an hour after entry, and by her calculations they had another twenty minutes before he was one hundred percent. A stiff shot might hurry that along.
“You want to get a beer or something?” Truth be known, Ava could go for a drink too. Maybe it’d help settle her nerves; they hadn’t been right since the new contact entered the picture. He was someone she’d never met, and that saddled her with a whole new set of problems when it came to chasing bounty.
“Can we?” Mickey licked his lips, anticipating a cold one, and quickened his step, skipping sideways alongside her. “Do we have time?”
“Sure.” Besides, she’d arranged to meet the new guy at a familiar pub. She didn’t have a problem mixing business with pleasure. In fact, she combined the two whenever possible. It also helped that twenty-first century bars were a favorite pit stop for those she chased.
They turned left at the next corner and headed for a little bar called Louie’s. Thoughts of the neon-blue sign hanging over the door and the pink and green palm tree in the window brought a smile to her lips. Louie’s was always one of her first stops when tracking bounties to the early twenty-first century.
For some reason, twenty-ninth century criminals thought the twentieth and twenty-first centuries were grand hiding places. Why, Ava had no idea. The period’s urban life had its charms, like the music, but she wouldn’t want to live in this time. Most things had to be done manually and the technology was rudimentary.
A chill clawed up Ava’s back as they turned another corner. Somebody was watching her. Who, she didn’t know, but she tagged a mental note to keep tabs on her shadow.
Seeing the pub’s sign all lit up in neon-blue brought back memories, both good and bad. “Ah, Louie’s...here it is.” She paused at the door and her mood lightened a little inside.
“You know this place?” Mickey asked. She was pretty sure he’d thrown it at her more out of curiosity than nosiness.
“Indeed, I do. Very well.” But she didn’t want to talk about it. More to the point, she didn’t want to talk about him. And she didn’t want to give him a heads-up on their location, either.
They could always sense when one was talking about the other, Ava and...him. It was a lot like amplified ESP. Another Karellian gift. Although, and she hated admitting it, his tracking ability was stronger than hers because he was full Karellian. She was only half; the rest of her was Mortal. He blamed her Mortal side for their differences.
That’s rich. She could’ve sworn the problem was his greed and thinly veiled ethics.
Mickey asked, “Is this another one of those places with a story you’re not talking about?”
A chuckle charged up Ava’s throat and she silently thanked him for the mental rescue. She didn’t like thinking about those days. The effort was fruitless.
Lingering aggravation from her past made her fling open the door harder than she’d meant. But it didn’t rattle her composure. She was too much of a control freak for that.
Mickey followed her into the near-empty tavern. “Is this where we’ll find Cole?” he asked, over the music pouring from the jukebox. ‘Take it Easy’ from The Eagles, one of Ava’s all-time favorite bands, flowed from the ancient machine.
“No, but we should run into someone who can lead us to him.” Ava held her breath on that one, not knowing the contact personally.
“Someone we can trust?”
Lying to Mickey wasn’t an option. “Not sure.” She shook her head and scanned the room, an inbred trait.
A couple, the only patrons occupying the row of booths to the left, weren’t the least bit interested in Ava and Mickey. The woman sat on one side; the guy on the other. Both were draped over the tabletop, hands and arms tangled so tightly it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began.
Red and gold hues swirled around the pair and cloaked them in a veil only Ava could see. The color combination showed their desire for red-hot sex.
Ava pulled her focus away from the couple. No point in exhausting her limited energy on the would-be lovers. They posed no danger.
An old man sat at the far end of the bar, hunched over a half-empty glass. His scruffy, graying hair reminded Ava of Mickey’s—minus the gray. A mauve aura, the color of solitude, surrounded the old-timer. He needed no conversation, just the bottle. No threat there.
All the tables on the right were empty except for one near the bar. Two women, technically hookers, looked at Ava and Mickey, mostly Mickey, and giggled amid clandestine whispers. Those short skirts, tank tops and fishnet get-ups turned Mickey’s face red.
Tones of smoky-black and candy-apple red danced and shimmered around the women. They were lying in wait for their next victim, but Ava wasn't about to let that be Mickey.
“Come on, Skippy,” she said, dragging him by the arm. As they passed by the girls some vile-smelling perfume crawled up Ava’s nose and turned her stomach.
“Why do you call me that?” Mickey asked, exasperation shredding his voice.
Someday, she’d take him back to the 1980s and show him. He reminded her of that kid from Family Ties that was in love with Mallory. The one they called Skippy.
Ava chose the empty end of the bar and dragged a stool out with the heel of her boot. The chair’s legs screeched across the wooden floor.
“Ava. Long time no see.” Phillip, the bartender, greeted her with a lonesome smile that was locked in some dark area of his past. A lavender fog flow
ed around him. Her presence had summoned a flicker of amusement in his memories.
Don’t do it. Don’t say his name. Ava’s silent warning, she knew, would go unheeded. “What can I say, Phil,” she said. “I’m a busy girl.” Better to guide the barkeep as far away from him as possible. She settled onto the bar stool and hung the heels of her boots on the rails. “I’ll have the usual. My friend Mickey will have...” She knew what he was going to order before she turned to him, but sometimes it was fun to play these games.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Mickey said.
How original. And predictable. Mickey could’ve benefited from Lucien’s company back in the day. On second thought, that might’ve been like sending a mouse to train with an elephant.
Shit. Now she’d done it. She’d let his name rattle off her brain. How long before he showed up? Half hour? Forty-five minutes tops.
“How’s Lucien these days?” Phil asked, setting the frosted drafts in front of them.
“I wouldn’t know,” Ava said, hoping to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t seen him in years.” And she wished Phil would stop talking about him. Lucien would find her so much quicker if the conversation didn’t change, and fast.
The door creaked open and the hairs at the nape of her neck rose amid goose bumps. Some strange magic was at work.
Lucien? No. Not Lucien, but somebody equally as dangerous. Could Ava’s contact be a vampire?
Uh oh.
She fought the urge to look at the figure claiming a seat at the bar, leaving an empty stool between them. An overwhelming scent trickled over her and drew her in with the ease of a fishing lure. Definitely male, and possibly vamp.
The desire to look at him needled at her, but it wasn’t a good idea even though she wanted to in the worst way. Was he a vampire, or wasn’t he?
Ava didn’t like messing with vamps. Still, he had another thing coming if he thought she’d give up her bounty.
She glanced in the mirror behind the bar and wrestled with the urge to preen her hair. The chestnut color looked browner than usual and she prayed it didn't look as drab as her reflection portrayed in the subdued lighting.
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