Daring Time

by BETH KERY

"I didn't get a chance to tell you how nice you look in your tuxedo," she said when Ramiro and Gail passed out of hearing distance. Her gaze lowered over his bow tie and wide chest. She swallowed with difficulty, but the great lump in her throat didn't prevent her from speaking the truth. "You're the handsomest man I've ever seen."

  "It's not fair to tease me while I'm working."

  "I'm not teasing you!"

  Ryan's crooked grin and laser-like stare caused a tingling sensation of excitement in her breasts and belly.

  "You've got a lot to learn, honey. You think seduction is all about taking your clothes off in a bedroom, but you get me hard with just a glance. Never mind what you do to me with your kindness."

  He leaned down and seized her lips in a quick, fierce kiss. Hope craned up for him, forgetting where they were or who might be watching them immediately when she registered the firm press of his molding lips and inhaled the clean, spicy scent of his cologne.

  He kept his dark head lowered over her upturned face when he finally broke their kiss.

  "I wasn't being kind, Ryan. It was the solemn truth."

  He brushed a curl off her cheek. "I've asked Gail to look out for you at the party, and Ramiro will be there whenever he can be."

  "Don't worry about me. I like Gail very much. Imagine—a career woman. I could talk to her about her work at the police station all night. I'll wager that's why police officers are so hardworking and dedicated in your time versus mine—because women are allowed to work alongside them. At any rate, you have important work to do. You know I have as much interest in you arresting Jim Donahue as anyone," she said, giving him a significant look. She'd been amazed to the point of muteness (a rare occurrence) when Ryan had told Ramiro and her this morning that Diamond Jack Fletcher lived in this time period—and was as corrupt and evil as ever.

  "I do," he said quietly, his eyes wandering over her face intently. "But it would help me a great deal to know you weren't getting into any trouble. Stay away from Jim Donahue or anyone who looks like they're associated with him. Do you understand?"

  "Of course! I'm more than happy to let you and Ramiro capture that woman-hating, white slaving, rotten-to-the-core, vicious, kidnapping scoundrel who—"

  "Hope?"

  "Yes?" she asked, a little flustered at being interrupted in the midst of her tirade.

  "I don't want you wandering around this museum alone gawking at the exhibits or anything. I'll bring you here another time. Stay with Gail and Ramiro."

  "I will. Ryan, please don't worry about me. I promise to stay away from Diamond Jack Fletcher. Or any of his future or past incarnations. Lord knows I wouldn't actually choose to be around that lout or any of his henchmen," she added under her breath.

  "Nice to hear. I probably won't be able to speak with you again until after all this is over.

  Ramiro will have to leave at some point as well, but you and Gail are going to catch a cab to my mother's place."

  Hope nodded. "Be careful, Ryan."

  He put out his arm for her. "I always am."

  "Nice of you to show up, Daire," Crenshaw said pointedly when he met Ryan and Hope in the high-ceiling entryway.

  Ryan thought it was best just to ignore Crenshaw's disgruntle-ment at his absence at the briefing yesterday and go ahead and introduce Hope.

  "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crenshaw," Hope told him with her perfect elocution and a smile tailor-made to immediately melt even a hardened federal agent's tough hide.

  "Where you'd find that girl? Fairyland?" Crenshaw asked after Gail suggested to Hope that they check their wraps at the coat station. They'd arrived early at the Field Museum in order to check out the lay of the land and to get wired up with their own invisible surveillance devices so that the task force could communicate amongst themselves.

  Ramiro would remain on the first floor of the museum where the gala was taking place along with eight other members of the squad while Ryan would be stationed someplace covert where Donahue wouldn't notice his presence.

  "You'd never believe me if I told you."

  Crenshaw's wiry, graying blond eyebrows went up on his head. "You know, I just might believe you. You don't find women that look like that on every corner." He inhaled and got back to business in a split second. "Agent Pearson will take you back to the room we're using for tactical communications. A couple agents are fitting up Chirnovsky with the recording equipment as we speak. We have a van set up for mobile surveillance as well, just in case Donahue should leave the party with Chirnovsky before he says anything of importance. I'm not expecting that to happen, though. According to Chirnovsky, Donahue specifically asked him to meet here tonight along with Manny Gutierrez in order to discuss their plans. Gutierrez is making a rare visit to Chicago. He usually works exclusively in Mexico procuring men for cheap labor and women for the slavery ring."

  "Yeah. I'm familiar with Gutierrez's work," Ryan said dryly. "I'd make extra certain that the mobile unit is ready to roll."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Ryan shrugged. "I just have a hunch Donahue won't say anything substantial until he's at his nightclub—the Sweet Lash."

  Ryan returned Crenshaw's steely-eyed stare.

  "A hunch, huh? Well, your hunches have usually been bet-worthy in the past. I'll tell Agent Alvarez to be extra sure their unit is alert and ready to go, then. The last thing we need is for Donahue to slip through our fingers after all this planning. Our warrant for wiretapping expires at midnight, and I really don't want to have to go in front of a judge for another extension. Speaking of plans going awry, you make sure you keep out of Donahue's sights, you hear?"

  Ryan nodded before he went to find Agent Pearson. He couldn't tell Crenshaw about the inforriiation he'd gleaned from traveling to a time period where another version of Jim Donahue lived. Besides, it was his intuition more than anything else that told him there was a good chance Donahue wouldn't say anything of significance in regard to his running of the white slavery operation until he was at the Sweet Lash. Old habits died hard—even if they were habits formulated over a century ago.

  Agent Pearson showed him the location of the room they were using for tactical communications. Ryan was outfitted by one of the technicians with a Sonic neckloop that went under his shirt. The covert system contained both a microphone for talking and a transmitter. A tiny, nearly invisible wireless earpiece kept him connected on a common frequency with the entire squad while they were all in this general location. A remote control monitor that he slid into his pocket allowed him to push a button and be heard by the rest of the squad even if he spoke in a low voice.

  An hour after they'd arrived Ryan stood on the second-floor balcony that completely surrounded the enormous central hall of the Field Museum and watched the luxurious charity event unfolding below him. Crenshaw had just informed him that Jim Donahue was five minutes away on Lake Shore Drive and Gutierrez wasn't far behind. Crenshaw was taking the opportunity of peace before the storm to dance with his wife.

  A hundred or so small candlelit cocktail tables had been set amongst exhibits and the towering menace of a pouncing Sue, the most complete Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton known to exist. A sixteen-piece orchestra played a Frank Sinatra classic, while dozens of couples danced to the music, the women's colorful long dresses making a kaleidoscope of swaying color beneath him. People were lined up at the three bars that had been set up even though white-jacketed waiters were constantly working the room, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

  He felt a little guilty when Ramiro escorted Gail out onto the dance floor and Hope remained at the table alone. One of the waiters approached her. She asked a question and took one of the hors d'oeuvres and a glass of champagne. She gifted the waiter with one of her luminous smiles and nodded her head in approval when she took a bite of the morsel.

  After the waiter left—a little too hesitantly for Ryan's liking— Hope sipped her champagne and stared fixedly at Ramiro and Gail as they danced. He co
uld almost sense her energetic mind working as she tried to memorize the dance movements. He scowled when a blond, tanned guy in his late thirties approached her but gave a sigh of relief when Hope smiled and shook her head.

  He felt bad about her not being able to dance, but not so bad that he wanted some dude that looked like he spent all his free time on a tanning bed touching her silky skin.

  He began to circle the long stretch of the balcony, checking out the faces in the crowd carefully. A few minutes later Crenshaw finished his dance and walked away from the crowd. He asked all the members of the squad to check in.

  "All right. Look sharp," Crenshaw said a few seconds later. "Our guest of honor is pulling up to the entrance as we speak."

  A minute later he spied Jim Donahue's unmistakable tall, bulky form entering the open forum of the museum with a platinum blonde on his arm.

  His spine tingled when his gaze flickered to Hope and then targeted Jim Donahue again.

  Ramiro and Gail hadn't reached her yet and she still sat alone at the table.

  Alone and vulnerable, Ryan realized with rising discomfort. Donahue and his date were being shown to a special reserved table by a gray-haired man. Apparently being a woman-hating, white slaving, rotten-to-the-core, vicious, kidnapping scoundrel got you some special treatment at an affair like this, Ryan thought with grim amusement, picturing Hope as she animatedly enumerated Donahue's faults.

  What had he been thinking allowing Hope to be in the near vicinity of Donahue?

  Ramiro and Gail reached Hope and he breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, the tingle of warning in his backbone remained.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Hope beamed at Ramiro and Gail when they returned from their dance and joined her at the table. "You two dance beautifully together."

  Ramiro double pumped his eyebrows at Gail, who both rolled her eyes and blushed at once.

  "Sorry I can't treat you to my smooth moves at the moment, Hope. Duty calls."

  "That's all right," she assured Ramiro. "I'm sure I wouldn't be very good at it."

  "You don't like to dance?" Gail asked conversationally as she sat down. Ramiro, Ryan and her had agreed it would be best to tell as few people as possible about Hope's anachronistic existence in I the twenty-first century, so Gail wasn't in on the secret.

  "The type of dancing I was taught is a bit more—formal."

  Ramiro flashed his white teeth in a happy grin and tapped the table twice. "Time to James Bond it, beautiful ladies."

  "He's very funny," Hope said even though she had no idea what Ramiro meant. They both watched him walk away with a bounce in his step.

  "That's one way to describe hinu"

  Hope met Gail's eyes and they both laughed. She listened in rapt fascination for the next half hour as Gail expounded on the thrills and doubts of courting Ramiro Menendez. It shocked her to hear how openly her new acquaintance talked about sex.

  "But he's so damned cheesy sometimes, you know? If it weren't for the fact that he's phenomenal in bed, I wouldn't put up with his Don Juan act. Don't you dare tell him I told you that, though. He's got a gargantuan head as it is. But then again, he is cute, isn't he?"

  Gail mused with a small smile as she took a sip of something called a martini. She didn't seem to notice Hope's dazed expression of wonder. "Speaking of which, how did you do it, girl?"

  "Uh ... do what?"

  "Every woman at the station would kill to have Ryan Daire stare at her like he does you.

  He looks like he's going to eat you alive." Hope's brows crinkled in confusion when Gail patted her hand over her heart frantically and then waved her face as though she'd overexerted herself. "Just seeing that look got me all hot and bothered and it wasn't even aimed at me. You lucky, lucky girl. So . .. what's the verdict?"

  "Verdict?" Hope asked, completely at a loss.

  "What's Daire like in bed? Jenny Martin from the organized crime unit said he was amazing. She told me she was addicted to the sex with him, you know? But Daire is never forthcoming on a long-term supply. So is it true he tends to be controlling!" Gail asked with a knowing grin.

  Hope stared, mouth agape. Her cheeks flooded with heat. It was one thing to be joyful that women had progressed so much in claiming their sexuality but quite another to suddenly be chatting casually with a virtual stranger about a topic that Hope's culture considered not only extremely intimate, but taboo under these circumstances.

  And as far as the rest, Miss Jenny Martin better be prepared to expire from her addiction, because she was never, ever going to touch Ryan Vincent Daire again if Hope had her way about it!

  Fortunately Ramiro saved her from having to respond to Gail when he approached the table.

  "Daire's leaving. He wanted me to let you know," Ramiro said softly when he perched at the end of his chair.

  "What happened?" Gail asked in an undertone, allowing the swelling music of the orchestra and the crooning singer to muffle their voices for anyone but themselves. Hope had come to understand that although Gail wasn't officially "on the Donahue case," as she'd put it, her work in the research lab made her aware of the generalities of what was occurring tonight.

  Ramiro shook his head slightly, his dark brown eyes making a casual-seeming surveillance of the room.

  "Something's going down. If it screws up this operation, I'm gonna be 'roid-rage-caliber pissed off, too. Before Chirnovsky had the chance to get Donahue to talk, Gutierrez got a call. He said something was arriving and Donahue ordered Chirnovsky to go to the Sweet Lash."

  "The Sweet Lash," Hope murmured. Ramiro met her eyes and she knew he was thinking what she was—that Ryan had predicted Diamond Jack Fletcher's old brothel might be involved somehow tonight.

  "Yeah. Crenshaw ordered Ryan to the Sweet Lash in the mobile unit since Ryan was the one who warned him this might happen."

  Gail swung her long blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced to the right of her at the same time. "But Donahue is still here."

  "Yeah. So are a couple of his boys. All we can hope for is that Donahue relocates to his nightclub and Chirnovsky can get him to talk before the warrant for covert recording expires at midnight. If not, all this tonight will have been for nada."

  "Well, shit," Gail muttered in sympathy. She picked up her evening bag from the table. "I need to go to the little girls' room. Care to join me, Hope?"

  Hope shook her head. Ramiro asked if she'd mind if he made a circuit of the room and she assured him she was fine. Once she sat alone, however, she became hyperaware of the area just behind her—the place where Gail had just covertly looked over her shoulder and said but Donahue is still here.

  She couldn't seem to stop herself. It was just like when she was little and her friend Fanny shrieked "don't look" at some childhood horror like a huge, smashed spider.

  Hope had to look.

  Her breath caught in her lungs when she twisted around and her gaze landed dead center on Jim Donahue. For one thing, he looked very similar to his former self—same dark hair and large, bold features going to fat. He sat at a larger round table than the rest at the edge of the gathering with two men and a blonde woman. Beady, cold eyes ran over her body speculatively just like they had several nights ago when Hope lay naked beneath a thin sheet—or 102 years ago, however you wanted to look at it.

  And just like then, Hope shivered.

  Gail returned and drank another martini. Hope was distracted from the unpleasant feeling of Jim Donahue's stare on her back by a steady stream of men asking Gail and her to dance. The feeling was only caused by her overactive imagination, anyway. Why would Donahue be singling her out of the crowd?

  Ramiro gave one of their potential dance partners a fulminating look when he returned to the table. The man beat a hasty retreat, undoubtedly aware of Ramiro's gaze burning a figurative hole through his back.

  He gave Gail a quick kiss. "Gotta go."

  "Yeah, I saw him leaving," Gail whispered. Hope didn't have to ask who they were talking about.
She'd seen Jim Donahue's date putting on her fur wrap earlier and Jim accompanying her through the crowd to the exit.

  Gail sighed dispiritedly a few minutes after Ramiro left.

  "Are you ready to leave, Hope? You don't look like you're having much fun, and both Ramiro and Ryan are gone now. It's not like I want to dance with any of these yahoos."

  Despite her cavalier attitude Hope suspected Gail liked Ramiro very much. She agreed, also feeling the flatness of the affair now that Ryan was no longer here.

  "If you could point me to the ladies' lounge first, we can be on our way," she told Gail.

  Hope had to restrain herself from pausing at every exhibit she encountered as she made her way through the main floor of the museum. She briefly wondered if she'd misunderstood Gail's directions when she saw how dark the staircase was that led into the basement. But she saw bright light at the other end so she ventured on, relieved to see the sign for the ladies' lounge to the right when she reached the bottom. She passed machines that looked like they held children's toys and an exhibit called McDonald's that had an iron barricade blocking it while the museum was officially closed. The corridor where she walked appeared to stretch the entire length of the enormous facility.

  The silence was broken by two young women talking animatedly as they exited the ladies' lounge. Hope heard their laughter echo in the high-ceiling, marble-tiled corridor as. she entered the largest lounge she'd ever seen in her life. Instead of individual water closets there were perhaps fifty or more narrow stalls. Hope pushed on one of the doors and peered in curiously.

  She finally shrugged and entered. Obviously the Field Museum needed to be prepared for gigantic crowds, although apparently she was the lounge's sole occupant at present.

  Once she'd used the toilet and determined that the Field Museum toilet paper was noticeably less soft than either Ryan's or Eve's, Hope made her way to the sinks and mirrors in the lounge.

  After washing her hands she glanced into the mirror. She inhaled sharply when she saw a man with a dark complexion and black hair next to her own visage. He gave a grin that hardly connoted amusement to Hope's bewildered awareness.