Downtime

by Tamara Allen

  When Reese had gone home, I shucked off my clothes, wrapped myself in a blanket, and curled up on the sofa. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. I never meant to hurt anyone, but I always seemed to. A pretty neat trick, considering I usually never stayed in a relationship long enough for it to get so complicated.

  I lay awake for a while, occupying myself by wondering what Ezra was doing. As far as I was concerned, he was still living and breathing, even if a hundred or so years existed between us. He was really only a backward step through time, and no logic in the world could convince me otherwise. A little research into what had eventually become of him might. But I couldn’t do that.

  There was only one hope of rescue left. Bright and way too early Friday morning, I was at my desk, shuffling through some paperwork left behind when I’d gone to London. Faulkner eyed me dubiously as he passed by on his way for coffee, then again when he came back. On his third trip to get coffee—or go to the bathroom, I wasn’t sure which—he stopped by my desk, set down his cup, and stared at me until I tore my eyes from the computer to give him my best worker bee smile. The suspicion in his face deepened noticeably.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I ended the vacation early. Never heard you complain about it before.”

  “I never had to sit for days in a hospital, waiting for you to get your sorry butt out of a coma, Nash. You bring a doctor’s note?”

  “What is this, fifth grade? I’m fine.”

  He sat and studied me even more directly than Reese had. “No, I don’t think you are. You didn’t have one of those near-death experiences, did you?”

  A near-life experience, maybe. “I promise you, I’m fine. Really. I just need a little time to get back in the swing of things.”

  He sized me up another long moment. “Yeah. Well, get to it.” He pushed out of the chair and took his cup. “By the way….” He pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket and tossed it onto my desk. “Found that in the elevator. Your handwriting. You must have dropped it.”

  My heart skipped a few beats, then struggled to catch up as I realized he had gotten hold of my Ripper file. I picked the paper up gingerly, smoothing it out, and caught Faulkner’s faintly amused look from the corner of my eye. “Guess you were wondering what this is all about.”

  “Hey, if you’re going to exercise your imagination, Nash, at least it’s work related. When you nail old Jackie boy, you’ll let the rest of us know, won’t you?” He was chuckling between sips of coffee as he walked off.

  I turned to the keyboard and hauled up a search engine. I’d been missing Ezra so bad, I hadn’t bothered to check for a record of Sid’s arrest. The first site I went to recorded another woman’s death, the worst one yet, in November. So did the second site and the third. I hunted up the most scholarly sites I could find and they all contained the same information. Jack had never been caught.

  I remembered what Sully had said to me in the hospital. But even if the truth had been buried, Sid couldn’t have killed Mary Kelly—unless he had escaped. Or someone had let him loose.

  “Those bastards.” I shut the computer off. “Those goddamned bastards.” I hadn’t changed a fucking thing. Sully had let me know as much, but it hadn’t really sunk in at the time. When he’d told me to drop the case, he hadn’t doubted my ability to catch Sid. He just believed it was better that I didn’t.

  Maybe he was right. After all, he had a loftier view of past, present, and possibly future than I did. He’d just been doing his damnedest to keep me from throwing the Eternal Plan out of whack or getting myself killed. It was still disheartening to think all my searching had been in vain, not to mention all the shit I’d put Ezra through.

  Dropping a hand to my waistcoat, I held the cool weight of the watch in my palm, then lifted it to the light and popped it open. I let my gaze trail along the engraving, word by word. He had known me two weeks and he’d remembered my birthday. I had no idea when his birthday was. Maybe there was a record of it somewhere, but it would be alongside the day of his death and that was something I couldn’t bring myself to find out.

  Not even work was proving a distraction. I left the office at four and picked up some takeout on the way home. The guys were probably sitting around Kathleen’s table now, stuffing themselves with roast and potatoes and gabbing about their day. I was sure Derry and Kathleen were doing their best to keep Ezra’s spirits up. Was he working at the museum again, enduring Henry’s petulant complaints and avoiding the storage room where we’d last seen each other? Had he spoken to his father since I’d gone? Was he being pressured to reconsider a “proper” marriage? He couldn’t do that, not when he knew what he’d be missing—could he?

  Maybe tomorrow, in the reasonable light of day, I’d feel better. Or maybe I’d just plan to sleep in and not feel anything at all.

  Plan B went awry and Plan A wasn’t looking good either when an insistent doorbell woke me at eight. Two bright and shining voices smote me with a simultaneous “Happy birthday!” and I winced and tried to close the door. Maggie, all hundred pounds of her, pushed it open and grinned at me from under a shimmering cap of black hair. “No escape, Nash. Suck it up.” She pushed a box wrapped in orange paper and purple ribbon into my hands and headed for the fridge.

  Donovan followed her in, cake plate cradled in his arm, and lifted the cover long enough to show off his handiwork. “Sugar free and fat free.”

  “Yum.” I took the book-sized package from under his arm, and he headed for the kitchen table as Maggie reappeared with a beer. He nudged her back toward the kitchen with the instruction to find plates and forks. I sat down and looked regretfully at the cake. “You guys realize it’s eight in the morning, right? On a Saturday?”

  “We said we’d take you out on the town for your birthday.” Donovan pushed a geometrically flawless circle of white candles into the smoothly frosted surface. “You do remember, don’t you?”

  “Sure, Van.” Maggie dropped into a chair and propped her feet on another one. “Why wouldn’t he remember an offhand suggestion you made three months ago?”

  “Claws in, dear,” Donovan said cheerfully. “The B stands for bureau, not bitch.”

  “Yeah? I thought it stood for butt-brained, anal retentive psychopath,” Maggie retorted, tossing her lighter on the table. “Come on, fire it up so we can take Morgan out for a decent breakfast.”

  How they’d worked side by side for ten years without killing each other, I still couldn’t guess. Van wrinkled pale brows at her, but lit the candles and the two of them sang the requisite song, painfully off-key. I took a piece of cake without much hope that it would be edible, but it was surprisingly good. Then I noted Maggie was grinning from ear to ear as she stuffed a forkful into her mouth.

  Donovan knew on the first bite. “Jesus, Mag, you trying to kill us?”

  “Huh. Better fifty years with sugar and butter than a hundred without them. Let’s go get some donuts and coffee and hit the market before it gets crowded.”

  By ten, we were at the mother of all flea markets, tables taking up a city block, antique and secondhand shops further in. I wasn’t in the mood for it, but sitting home would have been worse. I knew I was in trouble when I came across a lacy old shawl that reminded me of Kathleen. Knowing I’d never give it to her, I put it on my credit card, then wondered if there was anything Derry and Ezra might like.

  When Van found me at noon, I had a bagful of trinkets that would end up in my hall closet, and I was grateful he didn’t ask what I’d bought. We went in search of Maggie, Van stopping occasionally to pick through stacks of books. My growling stomach and I were ready to push him along when the strains of a familiar tune seeped through the noise of crowd and traffic. “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “That music.”

  “What music?”

  I moved past him toward the shops. “Don’t you hear it?” I was pretty sure I wasn’t cracking up, though the bagful of gifts for peop
le I’d never see again was a disturbing indicator I might be heading in that direction.

  Van hurried to keep up. “What? The waltzy stuff?”

  Then I saw it, outside on the sunny porch of Weatherley’s Antiques, a record player with its brass horn turned like a morning glory toward the sun. The scratchy record played music that seemed to slip straight out of the past to my ears. “It’s a mazurka.”

  “Yeah? Since when do you listen to anything besides the Stones?”

  I wanted to get closer, close enough to shut out the noise of the crowd and let the memories wash over me along with the music. A petite, elderly woman in an apron and name tag kept the music playing for a couple who were apparently interested in buying the machine. I listened as she told them it had belonged to her grandfather, as had the stack of records beside it.

  “Do you have a waltz minuet in that pile?”

  Friendly hazel eyes alight with curiosity swung my way. “Do you know how to waltz, young man?”

  “As a matter of fact….” I caught Van’s smirk and gave him a dark look. “Yes, I do.”

  The woman, whose tag read Caroline, seemed as amused. “Well, I just may have—oh yes.” She changed records and started the music up again. With the first notes, I was back on the terrace with Ezra as he took my hand. He’d shown me more than a few dance steps that night. His heart had said yes and he’d trusted it, to hell with the consequences. It was the sort of bravery I’d never match, no matter how many loaded guns I faced.

  “Son?”

  “I’m sorry.” I gave her a sheepish smile. “That’s it, yeah. The one I wanted to hear.”

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Van and the couple were staring at me bemusedly. I shrugged it off. “Sure. Want to show them how it’s done?”

  We weren’t exactly cutting edge New York as we waltzed on the sidewalk, but we won a smattering of applause from the gathered crowd. A little breathless, Caroline flushed to her brow and patted my arm in a maternal way. “Oh my dear, thank you. I’ve never met another soul who could dance the waltz minuet like my grandfather, but you have a remarkably good sense of how it’s done.”

  Maggie showed up and dragged us away to lunch, but I couldn’t seem to stay in the here and now longer than five minutes at a time. Unfortunately, it did not go unnoticed. After having their fill of teasing me, Maggie all at once drew the same conclusion Reese had.

  “He’s in love!” she exclaimed, and Van snorted with laughter. “No, no, I’m not joking,” Maggie said, gazing at me wide-eyed. “Come on, that’s it. Guys don’t mope around unless they’re gone on some chick….” She grinned. “Or in your case, some hottie in a Speedo.”

  The image of Ezra in skimpy swimwear brought an inadvertent smile to my lips. Maggie crowed in triumph. “Yes, I knew it! Another margarita here for the man in love!”

  Donovan rolled his eyes. “It’s like dining with wild baboons. Tell her you’re not in love, already, before they kick us out.”

  The smile wouldn’t go away. “I can’t.”

  Donovan frowned. “Ah jeez. Anyone we know? Not someone in the Bureau?” he asked with morbid fascination.

  Maggie snorted. “Come on, how many other feebies do we know are gay? Who’ll admit it?”

  “He’s not a Fed,” I told them in exasperation. Though I still thought that, with some training, Ezra would make a decent agent. “He’s just someone I met across the pond on my last assignment. And yeah, we got pretty close in the two weeks we were together. But it didn’t work out. He couldn’t come here and I couldn’t stay there.”

  “Aw, no way,” Maggie said. “You could’ve worked something out, couldn’t you?”

  “Love doesn’t always conquer all.” Donovan knew from bitter experience. “And maybe Morgan doesn’t want to talk about it, did you ever think of that? Look at him, sitting there, his heart broken in a million pieces, and you’re trying to drag details out of him.”

  Maggie looked at me with melting sympathy. “Is your heart broken?”

  “I think it may have sustained some internal injuries I wasn’t aware of.”

  It didn’t sound as flippant as I’d wanted it to.

  On the way home, with the heated background discussion on who might or might not be gay in our department, I scrutinized those injuries a little more closely. I’d broken up with guys dozens of times and it had never felt like this—like a vital part of me had been abandoned, lost somewhere. And the hollow feeling seemed echoed by the emptiness of the life I’d come back to. I didn’t remember my life being so remarkably lacking, before my little vacation into the past. Okay, so some breakups needed more time to mute into half-forgotten aches and vague regrets. That the hurt of missing him had been pretty much unrelieved from the moment we’d said good-bye didn’t necessarily mean I wouldn’t get over him at some point.

  Back at my apartment, I put the bag of gifts into a closet before it elicited any interest. I had become the object of enough pity over lunch. But Maggie and Van were more focused on the gifts they’d gotten me, evidently thinking I needed cheering up. I went with Van’s first. Usually it was a spy novel, true crime, or thriller. It wasn’t enough for Van to live the life; he devoured it in fantasy too, voraciously for a guy who was cautious and sensible about everything else. Tearing off the wrapping paper, I had to grin at the lurid title. I thanked him, which got me an eye roll from Maggie.

  “For crying out loud, Van. Morgan doesn’t read that crap.” She looked at me. “What crap do you read, ’sides the baseball magazines?”

  “He’s read every book I ever got him,” Van retorted, and turned to the built-ins, which were loaded with baseball souvenirs, plants, magazines, and some old newspapers and files. Under all that, safely out of view, were the books Van had given me on my last four birthdays. He went for a slim volume on top of the magazines. “See, right here we have….” His eyebrows rose. “Poetry?”

  “No way!” Maggie shot off the sofa. “Let me see.”

  It was the book Ezra had given me. Following that thought was the alarming realization he might have written something personal in it. “Guys, do you mind?”

  I tried to get the book, but Maggie had pried it from Van and she evaded me neatly. “Poetry,” she said in amazement. “Wait until this gets around—oh my, what have we here?”

  I groaned and went after her again, but she ducked behind Van. It wasn’t the book that had her interest now, but a white slip of cardboard that had been tucked inside it. I could see Ezra’s scrawl on the back and it occurred to me just what she’d found. “Mag—”

  “This him?” She waved the photo at me. “Check it out, partner.” She let Van get a look before she bounced back to the sofa for a better view under the light. “Wow, he’s cute.” She read the back of the card and laughed. “Got a sense of humor too.”

  Van sat down beside her. “What’s it say?”

  “October, 1888,” she said with a giggle. “How’d he talk you into this getup? You guys are adorable.”

  I sat down between them, forcing Van over a few inches, and took the photograph from Maggie. Cute….

  Goddamn, he was beautiful. The hint of that smile I loved, the light of it warm in his eyes. His hand in mine, he looked carefree and ready to take on the world. As for me, I looked ridiculously pleased, myself.

  “Yep,” Maggie said softly over my shoulder. “In love and then some.”

  “You do look sappy,” Van confirmed.

  “Thanks.”

  But they were right. I’d blithely lectured Ezra about following his heart and I hadn’t given my own the time of day. Now it was taking revenge in the most vicious way. After Maggie and Van had gone, I made an attempt to get into the novel, but I didn’t make it past the first paragraph. That required concentration I no longer possessed. Tossing the book aside, I turned the television up and surfed with a speed that would have made Reese threaten my continued existence. Reese with his damned lectures and insightful little comments…
.

  You must be in love.

  Hopelessly in love and I’d walked away from it—shit, I’d run away from it. And there was no way to go back. No way to reach him, to put my arms around him and tell him how much I missed him. To admit I didn’t want to slog through this life or any other life without him.

  I muted the television and slumped down on the sofa to watch the night fall. The sea of lights twinkling in the darkness had never made me feel lonesome before, as lonesome as I’d ever felt in my life. No way to go back—or was there? I only had to hire a coven of witches to spellcast me through time, once I’d found a copy of the book—and gotten Sully and the higher-ups to give me the go-ahead. It would be a breeze, as long as I landed in the right year, survived the trip without requiring medical attention, and Ezra agreed to take me back….

  I knew it was foolish, but the desire to find a way wouldn’t leave me alone. It lingered in my head all through the workday Monday and pushed itself to the forefront of my thoughts as I finished the leftover takeout and settled in front of the television to kill the rest of the evening.