by Cate Dean
Kane pointed to the transport on his wrist. “As soon as I can get the block off, I—”
“It happened the day we were there.” She took a folded piece of newsprint out of her jacket pocket. “Read it.”
He did, his gut knotting tighter with every word. “I can’t go back.”
“No.” She studied him, her eyes sober. “But I can.”
Eleven
Mac snuck into the lab again, long after everyone should have been in bed.
“Took you long enough.”
He skidded to a halt halfway to the main console. “Colette?”
A sigh filtered out of the shadows next to the door. “Sergeant.” She stepped out—and she wasn’t alone. Carrie followed her, still wearing her nurse’s scrubs, like she just got off duty.
Mac started toward the console again, forced casual even as adrenaline shot through him. He hadn’t been alone in the same room with Colette since the night he heard her talking with Harper. For a heart-stopping second, he thought she’d finally come to threaten him. Or worse.
“Just doing some follow up, ladies. No reason for you to hang around.” Dr. K had already busted his ass more than once for being in the lab after hours. He had no excuse, not with everyone on lockdown. But he wasn’t giving up—not on Elizabeth, especially not on Kane. There was some big, bad ugly going on, Harper was smack in the middle of it, and he damn well meant to find it. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Stop trying to schmooze us, Macaffrey,” Carrie said. She crossed her arms, eyebrows raised. “We know why you’re here, and—”
“We want to help.” Colette gave Carrie a look that Mac would never want to be on the wrong end of. “Kane’s a good man, and I don’t want him to—”
“Stop beating around the proverbial bush.” Carrie stalked forward and slapped her hand on the console. “We know something’s up.” She glanced over at the dormant portal, and shuddered. “Guy didn’t just turn all Jack the Ripper on a whim. Someone’s running him.”
“And you want to help.” Mac rubbed both hands over his face, already exhausted from his cat and mouse with Colette. “Look, ladies. I appreciate the offer. I’m more than happy to put my own ass in a sling, but I won’t be responsible if you get in trouble.”
“Bite me, Mac.” Colette stomped over to him. “You don’t get to play the lone Texas hero this time. Besides, you’re on the short end of burnout, and you need help. We’re here to provide it.”
He dropped into the chair and laid his aching head on the console. God, he was tired. Stupid tired—when it was too easy to slip up and make a fatal mistake. “I want to lie and say you’re wrong.” It took both hands to prop his chin up so he could look at them. “But I’d be lying. I still don’t want you to get yourselves in—”
“Oh, shut up,” Colette said. She glanced over at Carrie.
“Massive quantities of caffeine.” She jogged across the lab and picked up a case of Mac’s favorite soda. “Check.”
Mac spotted a bag next to her. A takeout bag, with a picture of a red steer on the side—it couldn’t be…
“You got me Lou’s Ribs?”
“All the way from the great state of Texas,” Colette said. “And don’t ask me how. I’d have to kill you.”
He twitched at her choice of words—then forgot himself when she opened the bag, and the holy scent of Texas barbeque wafted across the room.
“I may have to marry both of you.” He pushed out of the chair, his mouth watering so badly he expected to start drooling all over the floor. Carrie saved him by carrying the bag over. He had his hand in the bag and a rib in his mouth before she finished setting it down. “Oh, sweet mother.”
The tangy sauce sent his taste buds to nirvana. He hadn’t seen or smelled one of Lou’s succulent, melt-in-your-mouth ribs in four years.
“That settles it,” he said, talking around the meat. “I’ll have to marry you both.”
“Pass.” They said it at the same time, and burst out laughing. The sound echoed in the empty lab.
Colette sobered up first. “Get to work, Macaffrey.” She pulled a can of soda out of the case, tossed it to him. He caught it, surprised to find it ice cold. “We have to clear out before my shift ends. That gives you until five a.m.”
“Got it.”
He sat, taking the big white bag with him. He planned to eat with one hand, tap with the other. These ribs weren’t leaving his grip until he sucked the last one dry.
~ ~ ~
It took until after four, but Mac found it, buried so deep in code he almost bypassed it.
“Son of a bitch.” He set the can of soda down, went at the screen with both hands. “Son of a bitch.”
“What?” Colette skirted around the console, and leaned over his shoulder. Carrie had sacked out in the R&R room hours ago. She had her next shift at seven. “What did you find?”
Mac couldn’t bring himself to believe that Colette was part of this, that her betrayal went so deep. So he took a chance, showed her on the small console screen. He did not want to move it from the file, even to show her on the bigger screen. Any electronic footprint could get them all dead in a hurry.
“Is that…” Her voice faded as the truth hit. “Oh, shit.” She stared at Mac, her hands shaking on the console. Relief washed through him at her horrified reaction.
“Couldn’t have said it better.”
He stared down at the single document, the letterhead of their oversight committee front and center.
In five short sentences, it completely dismantled the current administration of TimeSearch, giving control to the one organization Dr. Kinimoto fought long and hard to keep out of the project.
MI-6.
Twelve
Elizabeth braced herself for fury, retaliation, violent denials.
Kane surprised her on all counts. He pulled her into his arms and held on to her.
She clutched the front of his borrowed shirt, horrified by the thought of going after Guy, alone. The bold black headlines from the paper in Kane’s hand horrified her more.
“Beth.” He whispered against her hair. “I can’t let you do this.”
“Who else is there?”
He jerked back, hope in his grey eyes. “Another agent.” He let her go and activated his transport. “If I can get through to Mac, he can send another agent to stop…” His voice faded, and he dropped his arm.
“What is it?” That hope died so quickly it scared her. “Kane. Talk to me.”
“We don’t have enough time.”
“What do you mean? We can go back, anytime, right before Guy killed him, and stop it from happening—what?” Kane shook his head. “What don’t I know?”
“We discovered not long after the project started that once something happened in the past—something caused by one of our agents—the portal starts a real time countdown. We have only twenty-four hours to go back and correct it, before it becomes a permanent part of history.”
Her heart tried to lodge itself in her throat. “According to the article, Ramsay was killed hours before he was found, most likely sometime in the late afternoon. Oh, God—”
“You understand now.” Kane paced away from her. “Guy killed him before we met. Most likely right before we met.”
Elizabeth took the time to calculate in her head, though she already knew the answer.
“That means—”
“We have to get back there today.”
~ ~ ~
They decided to take refuge with Bridget while Kane tried to reprogram the transport. Elizabeth didn’t hold out much hope. Whatever Guy had done, it seemed to be irreversible. Kane couldn’t even get through to the lab. Which meant their chance of getting back in time to save Ramsay was slim.
Her grip on Kane’s hand tightened as they walked through the city. Even with the photos she had seen to prepare her, the devastation left her speechless, and heartsick.
Entire streets had been leveled, leaving nothing but the foundation,
maybe a wall, and a pile of rubble and broken furniture to mark what had once been a home, a business, a life. Men swarmed over the ruins. Elizabeth pegged them as the Heavy Rescue team, skilled men who worked to safely and quickly rescue those trapped in the bombed buildings. She knew they would find the dead as well as the living; bodies of those who had been caught by surprise, or refused to leave their home.
Kane started the journey by holding her hand. To keep her from being separated, she told herself. By the time they reached Bridget’s street he had his left arm around her, Elizabeth firmly tucked against his side. She wasn’t the only one affected by the destruction.
They both halted at the corner, and he let her go. Every house on the block had been flattened, except for one at the far end. Please—not Bridget’s house.
“What is her address?”
Elizabeth jumped at his voice. He hadn’t spoken since they left the street in front of Holborn station. She dug the card out of her pocket. “Number twenty-eight.”
Kane took her hand and they walked down the middle of the street, the only safe place to navigate—safe being a relative term. The house on the end looked like it had been dropped in place after the bombing.
It stood on its own plot of land, set back from the street, which probably saved it. That, and what was left of a screen of trees across the front of the property. A gate still attached to the mostly intact stone wall told them the address. Relief washed through her as she read the number—it was twenty-eight.
The only damage she saw as they headed down the gravel path that led to the door were some broken windows, and gouges out of the brick façade. From flying debris, most likely.
Light poured through the windows, and people moved around inside. A lot of people.
“Wait.” Kane stopped before they reached the front door. “Are you certain you can trust her?”
It was far too late to be asking herself that question. She wasn’t about to tell Kane how much Bridget knew; he had enough on his plate. “Yes.”
He nodded, and they climbed the front steps. She had to pound on the door several times before it opened. Bridget stood in the entry, a smile brightening her face.
“Welcome, both of you. Please, come in out of that cold.” She closed the door behind them, and pulled Elizabeth, then Kane, into a hug. “It seems all the luck landed on my home. Please excuse the noise, and the chaos. All my neighbors are here, at my invitation… what is it, my dear girl?”
Elizabeth should have guessed the older woman would notice. “We need a quiet place, to—make some plans.”
“Of course. Let me think… the attic is still unoccupied.” Bridget took her hand, guided them through the groups of people, toward the staircase. “I will bring up some blankets, and what food I can scrounge. I am afraid there will be a scarcity of either.”
“Whatever you can spare.” Elizabeth hugged her. “Thank you—again.”
“There is a bed in the corner of the attic, made up for any who needed temporary shelter. Take advantage of it, and take some rest.” She reached up and patted Kane’s cheek. “Both of you. And watch your head, lad. The ceiling up there is rather low.”
She bustled off, stopping to run her hand over the head of a little girl who sat in another woman’s lap. Kane started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He waited for her at the top. When she joined him she understood why. Bridget had greatly understated; the low ceiling would force him to bend over, quite a bit.
She took his hand. “Come and sit on the bed.”
“Fine.”
Biting her lip on a smile, she moved forward, the lowest ceiling beams brushing the top of her head. At just over five foot four she knew she was almost a foot shorter than Kane. Sure enough, he was bent almost in half, and not happy about it.
Once he sat on the bed, he had fewer issues. But if he stood too fast, he risked knocking himself out. The peaked center of the room was his only safe spot, so if he wanted to stand, or pace, he’d have to take really short strides.
Elizabeth sat long enough to take off her boots and her socks. Her feet thanked her as she let them breathe. The attic was surprisingly warm, with threadbare rugs of all sizes and colors spread across the wood floor.
She explored, and tried to keep her mind from hashing out their problem, over and over. What she wouldn’t give to have her notebook. Being able to sketch would have taken her mind off everything—and she could indulge her fascination with Kane’s sculpted face, without embarrassing herself by staring at him.
She glanced over at him, watched as he slipped the holster off his waistband and slid it under the bed. He bent over and unlaced his heavy boots, using his left hand to pull each one off. His careful movements told her his shoulder bothered him. When he pulled off his socks, she looked away. What was it about a barefoot man? With his shoes off, it felt more personal. More intimate.
Once she worked up the nerve to look at him again, he was hunched over the transport, touching buttons, and staring at the screen. The constant, low cursing told her his lack of progress.
“Whatever Guy did to my transport, it now blocks any direct transmission to the lab. I boosted the signal as much as I can, without any equipment. Hopefully, it will be enough for Mac to find on their end.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “We could miss the window to save Ramsay.”
Kane looked at her. “I wish I could say no. There is nothing more I can do here. It’s up to Mac now.”
She hugged her waist, feeling more helpless than before.
A young boy appeared in the doorway, juggling a jar of water, a blanket, and a small basket of food. “Mrs. Bridget sent this up.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She crossed the room, grateful for the distraction, and took the jar before he dropped it. A vivid flush stained his cheeks as he handed over the basket and blanket. He clattered down the stairs before she could say anything else. The contents of the basket had her stomach rumbling.
Kane watched her as she moved back to the bed, sat down, and lifted the basket so he could see it. “Is that cheese?”
“Yes, it is.” It looked incredibly rich and creamy. There were a couple of slices of bread and a handful of crackers to go with it.
She handed him the water. He set it on the floor, and his gaze followed her every move as she split the cheese, spread each half over bread. His scrutiny made her so nervous she nearly dropped the bread knife. She cleared her throat and handed him one of the cheese loaded slices.
His eyes practically rolled back in his head with the first bite. “Oh, good Lord. I could die happy now.” He winked at her. “Almost.”
Did he just flirt with her? No—she was blowing it out of proportion. She joined him in the food love, her first taste of the creamy, tangy cheese and soft bread like a bit of heaven. It took all her control not to devour it.
To keep from doing so, she picked up the jar of water, forced herself to take small sips between each bite. The first sip became another temptation to guzzle. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was until the cool liquid slid down her throat.
Kane held out his hand for the jar, and used the same restraint, taking a few sips before he closed it and set it back on the floor. When he finished his cheese and bread, he grabbed half of the crackers and lay back on the bed. A curse had him shooting right up.
“Are you okay—oh, your shoulder.” He moved easier in the warmth of the attic, and she’d forgotten about the cuts marking it. Apparently, so had he. “Let me take a look. We may need to change the bandages.”
“Not necessary.”
She pressed her lips together, to keep from smiling. She knew exactly what he was thinking—more iodine. “I just want to make sure there isn’t any new bleeding.”
With a drawn out sigh, he scooted to the edge of the bed, his fingers fumbling over the buttons on his shirt. It should have been perfectly innocent, but Elizabeth felt her heartbeat speed up, all too aware of the well-defined chest under that shirt. Kane flinch
ed as he started to pull the shirt off.
“Wait,” she said. She crawled around to his back. “Let me help you.”
“Beth—”
“On three. One, two, three.” She eased the shirt down his arms before he had time to protest. The patchwork of bandages came into view; with the exception of the one above his shoulder blade, there was no new spotting. “Hold still. I’m going to check the worst of the cuts.”
He grumbled under his breath. She took that as a yes, and carefully peeled the white strip at the top of the bandage. His skin flinched as the adhesive that was stuck to it pulled away, reluctantly. The cut underneath looked raw, but there were no signs of infection that she could see.
“You’re good.” Really, really good. The strong lines of his back made her hands itch. “You definitely don’t want to be lying on it anytime soon, or engaging in contact sports, but other than that, it should heal nicely.”
“No contact sports?” He sounded amused. “Now that I’ve been approved, can you please help me with my shirt? I prefer not to be so—exposed.”
“Of course.” Nitwit, idiot, brainless git—
She called herself every name she could think of. Here she was, wanting to touch every inch of that warm skin, and he wanted to hide from her.
Kane hissed when the heavy fabric brushed his right shoulder.
“I’m sorry—”
“Not your fault, love. Can you…” His voice faded as he waved at the buttons. He was clearly embarrassed to ask.
“Hold still.” Careful not to touch him, she pushed each horn buttons through its buttonhole. His breath distracted her, warm on her cheek as he leaned down to watch the progress. His clean, woodsy scent threatened to overwhelm her. “Kane,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Can you not—”
“What, Beth.” She lifted her head—and found him inches away, his grey eyes darker, intense. She realized the helpless act had been a ploy. “You smell like spring in my garden. God help me,” he whispered. “I can’t do this any longer.”
