The moon rode high in the cloudless sky, spilling silver illumination around them. In the distance, he could hear the sigh of traffic on the interstate and the wail of a train whistle. A dog barked frantically from a house nearby. He scanned the area. Saw only a few houses, trees, and a field of weeds, already growing tall and lush with the advent of spring. He breathed in, finding the air cool, tinted with the scent of distant daffodils.
“What now?” the woman asked suddenly. She was breathing deeply yet evenly, not even out of breath despite the long race.
Nick hesitated a moment, eyeing her, wishing he could see her face. Was she Riane? He reached out with his powers, but he still couldn’t tell one way or another.
His abilities did tell him she was wounded. The alien had caught her with that knife of his. Twice, once on the arm, again on the thigh. Neither was serious, but they must hurt like a bitch. Though she wasn’t even limping . . .
That decided him. Nick didn’t care who or what she was, he was taking her somewhere he could heal her. “My apartment is a few blocks from here.” He turned and started in that direction.
Alien or human, he’d do what he could for her.
But instead of following, the woman stopped in her tracks. Nick looked back at her, brows lifting.
“Who are you?” She tugged off her helmet and tucked it under one arm. Her hair was a dark red in the light of the street lamp, sweat-damp and hugging her small head, emphasizing sculpted cheekbones and a delicate jaw. Her mouth was lush, with a full lower lip and a deep cupid’s bow. Red brows lowered over beautiful eyes, wide, long-lashed, infinitely dark and deep. Red light sparked and glittered in their depths. Enhancing the striking, alien effect, a familiar tattoo in swirling shades of red and blue spilled down one side of her face.
It’s her! Elation stormed through him, and an incredulous grin spread across his face. Until a new thought chilled his joy. But what the hell am I going to tell her?
“I said,” Riane enunciated, amusement in the curve of her lips, “who are you?”
“Nick. Nick Wyatt.” Automatically, he extended a hand, before it belatedly occurred to him that an alien might not understand the gesture.
She took it and gave it a brief, decisive shake. “Riane Arvid.”
Yes!
Those strange, strange eyes studied his expression, intent, acute. And suspicious. “Have we met?”
What the hell was he to say to that? I saw you in a vision sixteen years ago. I saved your life. She’d think he was nuts. To give himself time to think, Nick gestured for her to follow and started down the sidewalk again.
Automatically, he directed his powers in another scan of their surroundings. There was no sign of any threatening presence. On the other hand, he could clearly sense Riane’s wariness. He thought there was more than a trace of sensual awareness, too, but she plainly didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
And why the hell was she so wary? He’d risked his life to save her, dammit. What was going on in her head?
Maybe he should just tell her what had happened sixteen years ago.
No. Not yet. He had to take this slow and easy. He couldn’t just blurt out the story of their psychic encounter.
Too, she probably knew something about the aliens. That suit of hers was similar to theirs, suggesting she came from the same place. Which meant that for the first time, he had a chance to learn something about the enemy who had hunted him his entire life. Questions even his mother had refused to answer. Who were they? Where were they from? What did they want? Why had they killed his mother?
He couldn’t lose this chance. He had to gain her trust. After, that is, he’d figured out why she distrusted him to begin with.
Obviously he couldn’t just start pelting her with questions. That might add to her evident paranoia. He considered topics, chose one that seemed safest. “Who was the man who was trying to kill you?”
Riane hesitated a long moment before she said reluctantly, “Ivar Terje. He’s a traitor working for the Xerans.”
“Xerans?” He managed to keep his tone casual. “Is that what the aliens are called?”
“Aliens?” Riane gave him a long, narrow-eyed look. “They’re not aliens. They’re a genetically engineered offshoot of humanity.”
“Humans? Genetically engineered?” He frowned, thoroughly confused. “But the technology they’ve got—what are they, some kind of secret government program? And what government?” He remembered some of the wilder conspiracy theories he’d heard over the years. “Not the Feds? Why would the Feds be after me?”
“After you?” She lifted a brow. “I was the one they just tried to kill.”
He snorted. “Join the club. They’ve been trying to kill me since I was a kid. They murdered my mother when I was fourteen.”
“Why would Xerans try to kill you?” She frowned deeply.
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve tried asking them, but they’re usually too busy trying to whack me to answer. Again, what are they? I’m not paranoid enough to think they really are Feds.”
She blinked, her expression incredulous. “Feds? As in the United States government?”
Well, that answered that. “Didn’t think so. So if they’re not Feds, and they’re not aliens, what are they?”
“They’re from the future, Nick. And so am I.”
The Xeran stared at her, his eyes wide with astonishment. He’d dropped his shields now that they’d outrun their pursuit, and her sensors could easily detect his emotional reactions. He wasn’t faking his astonishment. He truly didn’t know a damned thing about the Xerans.
Yet he was Xeran, at least in part. Did he know that? Somehow she didn’t think so. And she had no idea when—or even whether—to break the news.
Normally, you didn’t tell a temporal primitive a damn thing about time travel. But if he really had been hunted by the Xerans all these years, he was no ordinary primitive. Which was pretty damned obvious, considering his abilities. He deserved some kind of explanation. Besides, she wasn’t convinced he really was a temporal primitive.
So instead she gave him the basic facts as they walked through the night: that she was a Temporal Enforcement agent sworn to prevent and solve crimes committed by time travelers. And, since he’d figure it out sooner or later, she admitted she’d been stranded in time after her T-suit had been sabotaged.
He seemed amazed by the whole concept. Not just the physics of Jumping, though he had plenty of questions about that idea. No, what really amazed him was the idea of time travel as an industry.
“Let me get this straight—you folks let people travel through time on vacation?” He frowned down at her as they walked along down the darkened street. “What keeps some goofball from going back and killing Hitler, or something equally major? That might save a lot of lives, but wouldn’t it change history? Cause a massive time paradox?”
If this Xeran was simply acting the role of ignorant temporal primitive, he was doing a damned good job. “Nobody could kill Hitler.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t die. So obviously, if anybody went back and tried to kill him, they’d fail. You can’t change history. Temporal paradoxes just aren’t possible.”
He tucked his hands into his back pockets, making his powerful biceps flex. “So everything’s predestined?”
“Well, no. But what happened, happened. People make the decisions they make. Hitler wasn’t assassinated, so trying to kill him would be pretty pointless. If you tried, you’d obviously fail. His guards would stop you or the gun would misfire, or whatever. On the other hand, if, say, he’d disappeared under mysterious circumstances and you knew it, you could go back and kill him just when you knew he vanished.”
“Or you could kill him in that bunker of his and make it look like suicide.”
Riane nodded. “Exactly. You’d have to go over the historical record, find out when he supposedly killed himself, and go after him then.”
His eyes wid
ened. “Police reports!”
“What?”
“I wondered why the bastards always come after me right after I save someone. I always move every few months or so, but they find me every time. They must get their hands on police reports. They go back to the time right after each incident and hit me then.”
“Well, yeah. All that stuff is in historical databases. It’s not perfect. Historical records are often riddled with inaccuracies, and many of them have gone missing over the years. Still, it gives you a starting point. Though they probably end up investigating a lot of dead ends.”
“Dead ends?”
“Incidents that sound like you, but aren’t.” A thought struck her, and she stiffened. “A message. I could post some kind of ad in a newspaper or something. The Outpost would be able to track me.”
He lifted a dark brow. “And so would the Xerans.”
She slumped. “Good point. Unless I told them to expect a fight . . .”
“Invite everybody to a brawl? What if the wrong people lose?”
Riane rubbed both hands over her face. “Good point.” Remembering his earlier remark, she lowered her hands and eyed him. “That reminds me—who have you been saving, and from what?”
“People.” He shrugged, a deliciously brawny ripple of broad shoulders. “There was this convenience store clerk earlier tonight. An armed robber was trying to rape her, so I intervened.”
“You just happened to be around?”
“Oh, no,” he said absently. “The Stone told me.” He tapped the green gem on his upper arm. “It senses when somebody nearby is about to become the victim of violence. It sends me a vision, and I go rescue whoever it is.”
“You just run around saving people when that rock tells you to?”
“Something like that.”
“Could you use that stone of yours to send me back home?”
He stared at her. “Three hundred years through time? I have no idea how to do something like that. I don’t think it’s even possible.”
“It’s possible. I’ve known people like you who could make Jumps like that.”
He looked interested. “You know other people with these Stones?”
“Well, no, not with that. But they had psychic abilities. Master Enforcer Arvid’s wife developed powers like yours. She Jumped back to the twenty-first century to escape Ivar after he tried to kill her.”
“Arvid? Your father?” Recognition lit his gaze.
“No, Galar was just genetically engineered by the same House as my father. What do you know about my dad?”
“Oh, nothing.” His gaze didn’t flicker. “I just assumed from the name he was related to you.”
“Sensor data indicate his heartbeat jumped. He’s lying,” her computer implant whispered.
No shit, she thought. He was definitely playing her. But why? How does he know my father?
What the hell is going on here? He seems to know nothing about the future, yet he recognizes Dad’s name. What kind of elaborate scam is this anyway?
• 6 •
Nick had fallen silent, apparently still digesting the concept of time travel, when they arrived at his apartment in a run-down brick building. Riane followed him inside to climb a set of stairs covered with worn beige carpeting, then down a dark hallway both of them navigated with ease. He opened a door at the end of the hall, flipping on the light as they entered.
Pausing in the doorway, she ran a quick scan, evaluating the results in light of what she knew of the period. It was a small apartment, as neat and starkly furnished as a monk’s cell, with a kitchenette, a scarred breakfast table and three mismatched chairs, and a black leather couch positioned in front of a flat-screen television set. Her sensors told her that just down the short hallway lay one bedroom with a king-sized bed and a bureau. There was also a bathroom and a home office that held only a laptop, a desk, and a single chair.
“It’s not fancy,” Nick said, sounding a shade defensive. “I’ve got in the habit of living a pretty stripped-down life.”
She turned to find him watching her.
“There’s no point in acquiring anything more when the Xerans keep finding me,” he explained. “I usually end up leaving everything behind because I’m barely one jump ahead of the bastards.” His smile was very slight. “I tend to shop at Goodwill a lot.”
Riane nodded, though she had no idea what Goodwill was. As she watched, he reached for the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off over his head, wincing a little.
She stiffened. Blood marked his powerful chest, trailing from a long slash that ran diagonally from left nipple to right side. Automatically, Riane started toward him. “He tagged you.”
Nick shrugged. “Didn’t duck quite as fast as I should have. He’s a quick son of a bitch.”
“Emphasis on ‘son of a bitch.’ ” Frowning, she crouched to examine the long, raking slice. She brushed her fingers delicately over his skin. It felt warm, smooth, over the firm, well-shaped ridges of bone and muscle. Her riaat-stoked appetite awoke with a soft growl, but she forced it back down. “He got you a good one, there. Cut’s almost ten centimeters long. You need regen . . .” Riane grimaced. “Except there isn’t any here.”
“I have no idea what ‘regen’ is, but it’s not a problem.” He laid a big palm across the center of the slash. Green light flared as emerald sparks whirled around his hand.
Riane’s eyes widened as the light faded, the bleeding stopped, and the cut’s ragged red edges sealed even more quickly than regeneration could have done the job. “How did you do that?”
“The Stone.” Nick shrugged. “I’ve always had abilities, but the Stone makes them stronger. I’ve never known why, or even how they work.” Eyes the same luminous green as his stone studied her with a penetrating interest. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Got no idea.”
His mobile mouth drew into a frown of concern. “Did you know you’re bleeding, too?”
She rose to her feet, aware of distant aches in her thigh and arm as she moved. “My comp mentioned it, but I don’t feel much pain when I’m in riaat.”
“Comp? Ri—What?”
“Riaat. It’s a biochemically induced berserker state. I’ve got an internal computer winding through my brain that can induce it on demand. The comp also gives me control of my autonomic nervous system, and information from sensors implanted throughout my body.”
“Damn.” His lips twitched into a grin. “Bet that makes surfing the Internet a hell of a lot more convenient.”
“Inter . . . Oh, right. This time’s cyber network.”
“Cyber network. Riiiight.” Nick’s grin faded as a line of worry formed between his thick, dark brows. “Look, you’ve got a cut on your arm and a stab wound to one thigh, and I’d really like to tend them for you. Could you lose the suit?” He hesitated. “I can get you a T-shirt or something.”
Riane considered the question. In its current powerless state, the suit was basically useless anyway. She shrugged and reached for the seal at her throat and slid her fingers down it to her pubic bone. The edges parted more stiffly than usual, and she had to peel it apart.
Looking up, she saw he was watching her with widened eyes. Belatedly it occurred to her that twenty-first-century natives had different standards of modesty. Unlike Riane, who had been taught to see nudity as something to be ignored in the crowded conditions of paramilitary life. It certainly wasn’t an invitation to sex.
Except when both parties wanted it to be.
Riane hesitated, her body beginning to buzz in anticipation again. Chances were good that if she did this, they were going to end up in bed. She wasn’t sure she trusted Nick—too many things didn’t add up. But on the other hand, her sensors insisted he was telling the truth when he described his suffering at the Xerans’ hands.
Maybe the best thing to do was to simply play it out and see what happened. That could end up telling her a great deal.
One way or another.
There was absolutely nothing coy in the way Riane stripped off the scaled suit. She was so totally unselfconscious, it was as if she was completely alone as she bent to unfasten her boots and step clear of her clothing.
Somehow that made it all even more breathtaking. And intensely arousing. Her breasts bounced as she wriggled out of the suit, pink-tipped, delicious handfuls that made him ache to touch and stroke. Her waist was narrow, with carved abdominal muscles, her hips gently curving, leading to long, luscious legs. Her skin was pale and fine-grained over lean, strong muscles. Her build reminded him of a female Olympic track-and-field athlete: sturdy, yet intensely feminine. No bony fashion-model waif here. She was a fighter, and looked it.
Especially with blood rolling from a cut across her right forearm and a deep puncture wound in her thigh. Nick frowned and forgot her nudity. He reached for her arm.
She drew back, eyes narrowing. He stopped in mid-gesture. “I need to touch you if I’m going to heal that. It’s a deep cut.”
Riane hesitated. “My medibots could heal it—but that would take time. And I need to be able to fight.” She extended her arm, the gesture reluctant. Her eyes met his in obvious challenge.
She’s ready to take my head off if I do something she doesn’t like, he realized. And she’d make sure it hurt. A lot.
Taking a deep breath, Nick summoned the power. The Stone heated and glowed, casting a green gleam around the room. Gently, he closed his fingers around her arm, positioning them over the cut, trying not to press too hard. Carefully, precisely, he started pouring energy into the wound, envisioning it closing as the blood stopped flowing from it. Obediently, the cut began to heal with breathtaking speed, emerald sparks flashing and leaping along its length.
Riane caught her breath in a small, startled gasp. The sound was so intensely female, he glanced up. As his eyes lifted, they fell on nipples drawing into tight, rosy little points. Hurriedly, he dragged his gaze to her face.
Her eyes glowed, red-hot beneath long, lowered lashes. She licked her lips.
He sucked in a deep breath as his body leaped in response to hers. And tried not to remember just how long it had been since he’d made love.
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