Out of Time

by Samantha Graves

  “Wow,” she said. “Beautiful place. This man is a friend of yours?”

  He eyed her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She blinked once, deliberately. “Nothing.”

  Bullshit. It meant something. Say it, lady. But she didn’t. “I have friends.”

  She got a funny look on her face. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Damn right,” he said, mad and not knowing exactly why. What did he care what she was thinking, anyway? He crossed the back porch with Jillian behind him and knocked on the door. A few raps later, the light came on in the kitchen, and Yancy cracked open the door. One eye appeared over a door chain. “Who is it?”

  “Bonner.”

  There was a lot of swearing on the other side, and the door slammed shut.

  “He’s not going to shoot at us, is he?” Jillian whispered.

  Simon gave her a warning look, and then the door swung wide.

  Yancy was not a sight to behold at midnight. His thick white hair stuck out in every direction, his bushy eyebrows were all askew, and his big nose was red and puffy. Over his lanky frame he wore a ratty pair of pajamas that had seen better days.

  “Fetching. No wonder you never remarried,” Simon said to him.

  “Why the hell are you waking me up in the middle of the night?” Yancy asked in a surly voice.

  “The nights are getting cooler,” Simon said. It was a code phrase they had shared over the past fifteen-odd years for when everything went to hell.

  “Are you kidding me? I talked to you less than ten hours ago and everything was fine,” Yancy said. “In fact, you told me you were retired.”

  “Trying to. Not having much luck,” Simon said and brushed by him with Jillian in tow. The kitchen was large and white and smelled like cinnamon.

  Yancy closed the door behind them and locked it. Then he extended his hand to Jillian. He grinned at her, surprising Simon, because he couldn’t remember ever seeing Yancy smile. “Simon has no manners. The name is Elwood Yancy.”

  “Jillian Talbot,” she said and returned his handshake. “He kidnapped me.”

  Yancy’s smile abruptly ended, and he regarded Simon with a deep frown. Simon raised his hands in defense. “No choice. We had some trouble.”

  Yancy glanced out the back window. “Cops?”

  “No. Worse.”

  “How much trouble?” Yancy asked, his tone serious.

  Simon hesitated. “Enough.”

  “Scale of one to ten.”

  “Eleven.”

  Yancy shook his head in wonder. “It takes real talent to find as much trouble as you do.”

  “Not my fault. Not this time.”

  “It never is.” Yancy sighed. “What do you need?”

  “A place to stay for a night or two. And your expertise.”

  Yancy nodded, and said to Jillian, “You’re safe here. Even from him.” He hitched his head at Simon. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  At 3:00 a.m., Jillian lay alone in bed staring at the ceiling of Yancy’s home. Long silk curtains framed two tall windows and pooled on the hardwood floors. Moonlight gleamed over authentic Shaker furniture. Lace sheers hung from the rails of the huge four-poster canopy bed. It was comfortable and quiet, and she should have been asleep, secure for now and exhausted from the day she’d had. But instead she lay wide-awake, trembling with pent-up energy as the evening played out over and over in her mind.

  What happened to her life? Yesterday, everything was in order. Everything was just the way it was supposed to be. Where did she go wrong?

  It didn’t even appear to have anything to do with her family this time. Her father had given up a life of art theft long ago. Her sister, Raven, had found love with a former cop and was no longer working as an art recovery specialist stealing back stolen art from the bad guys. That chapter of their lives was over. Everyone had found something legal to do. Even now, her father and Raven were off the coast of Spain, bonding over a shipwreck salvage after years of estrangement. For the first time in a decade and a half, her family was back together. Things were good. Great, in fact.

  Jillian sighed. Wait until they heard about this.

  Hey, Raven. Been kidnapped again. Can you come and rescue me like always?

  Jillian watched the time change on the clock next to the bed. So why didn’t she pick up the phone? Why hadn’t she fought Simon more? Screamed? Run? Scratched and clawed?

  The lens.

  She inhaled deeply just thinking about it. She didn’t know why she knew the lens was made just for her, but she did. Ever since she was a child and the visions had appeared, she’d asked herself, Why? What was her second sight for? For almost twenty years, she’d tried to find out—pursuing every avenue and finding nothing.

  In fact, she’d gone into the art world thinking that was where she belonged. That perhaps her vision was a gift she could use to solve history’s great mysteries. But it had proved more frustrating than useful. She knew when the experts were wrong, but she couldn’t correct them without proof, which was nearly impossible to find.

  Her other choice was to tell everyone about her second sight. But she was pretty sure that would be the kiss of death in the art world she’d worked so hard to break into.

  Which left her as the sole custodian of ancient and unknown history. If there was a way to unlock that past—not just for her—this might be the only chance.

  She blinked back the emotion that clouded her sight. Yes, the answer to why was worth getting kidnapped for, and why was worth staying kidnapped. If it didn’t kill her first.

  Even though Yancy seemed harmless enough in their short introduction, Simon was another matter. She certainly couldn’t trust him to watch out for her best interests, and she definitely had no intention of telling him about her second vision until she figured out what his deal was.

  Of course, if any of her family called her, they’d discover she was missing. Even if it was the weekend, they would expect her to tell them if she was leaving town.

  That could make staying kidnapped a problem.

  She sat up in bed. What if she changed her home answering machine message? Just for the weekend, just until she knew what was going on. And if Simon didn’t come through with some answers by Sunday, she’d call in the cavalry. She still had her cell phone in case things got ugly.

  Jillian threw back the covers, padded over to her handbag. She riffled through the contents. Her cell phone was nowhere to be found. She knew she had it in her bag at work yesterday. Three guesses where it was right now.

  “That rat,” she muttered. He didn’t trust her. Her. Like she was the one kidnapping people.

  Fine, there were other phones in this house. Determined, she opened her bedroom door and peered out. Moonlight cast the long hallway in shadow. She stepped out and headed down the stairs, keeping to the edges, where the stairs creaked less.

  Once on the first floor, she stopped to make sure no one was following her. Then her stomach growled, and she realized she never did have dinner. The kitchen was as good a place as any to find a phone.

  Radiant-heated floors warmed her feet as she opened the refrigerator, flooding the kitchen with light, and pulled out a gallon of milk. It took three tries before she found the cupboard with glasses.

  Then she snagged a few chocolate-chip cookies from a cookie jar and the cordless phone from its cradle and settled on a stool at the center island.

  She ate a cookie while hitting the Talk button. Dead. No dial tone.

  “Unbelievable.”

  A rustling noise from the doorway startled her, and she nearly choked on her cookie.

  Simon stood in the doorway, taking up most of the height and a good chunk of the width, as well. He turned on the light, and they both groaned and put their hands up to shield their eyes from the bright halogens overhead.

  “Calling someone?” he asked her roughly.

  Her eyes adjusted to the light, and her mouth went a little dry. Simon was wearing long, l
oose flannel pants, but above that, nothing but beautiful bronzed skin and lean, rippled muscle. Wow.

  “You stole my cell phone,” she said, trying to sound indignant, but it came out mostly distracted.

  “Sure did.” He grabbed a glass from the right cupboard like he’d been here before. He’d said Yancy was a friend. She just didn’t realize how good a friend. For him to let them spend the night—

  Then Simon’s back muscles flexed, and she was distracted again. He snagged the cookie jar off the counter, and she tried not to stare at his chiseled torso when he straddled the stool across from her.

  “How did you know I was down here?” she asked, trying and failing to take her eyes off his shoulders.

  He poured milk into the glass and said, “You set off the security alarm upstairs in Yancy’s bedroom. Yancy slept through it. You probably should be grateful for that.”

  She noticed a thin, jagged scar on his left shoulder. It didn’t look like a surgical scar. Was he in a car accident or something? “But you didn’t.”

  He took a drink and said nothing.

  “Afraid I’ll call the police?” she asked.

  He grinned. “Among other things. Wouldn’t be much of a kidnapper if I just let you go without getting something in return.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “And what do I have that you want?”

  He polished off the rest of his milk. “I plan on finding out tomorrow. So if you have anything you’d like to get off your chest, now would be the opportune time.”

  She crossed her arms tightly over her breasts. “What exactly do you do for a living? You know, since Good Samaritan is out.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Babe, there are no Good Samaritans.”

  She bristled. “I’m not your ‘babe.’ And the majority of people I know are decent human beings. They have souls and consciences and everything.”

  Simon leaned back and shook his head slowly. “I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.”

  She fumed. That was her cue to leave. She got up and put her empty glass in the sink. “I live my life by my own principles. What do you live by?”

  “I take good care of myself.”

  “So basically that’s your whole goal in life,” she stated.

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yup.”

  “What about the fact that these guys are kidnapping innocent people at gunpoint?”

  He shrugged, showing no sign of remorse or conscience. “Not my problem.”

  Unbelievable. How could anyone be so callous and so cynical? “You don’t give to charities? Help out the unfortunate? Do anything for anyone else?”

  Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “I tried that once. It didn’t work so well.”

  “So you just gave up?” she pressed.

  He nodded slowly. “Now you’re getting it.”

  Her life was in the hands of a man with the moral code of a hyena. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be very happy taking care of yourself alone in your old age,” she said and headed for the door before she said something along the lines of “You’re a sorry excuse for a human being.”

  Normally, she didn’t let people get to her. Normally, she could handle difficult types, or at least ignore them. But he was impossible. Not only that, he thought she was naive. She could see it in his eyes. Well, fine. He could think that all he wanted, because she was going to use him to get her answers.

  Halfway up the stairs, she realized she still didn’t know what he did for a living, and now she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Simon came down the stairs at 9:00 a.m., feeling almost human again after a decent night’s sleep, and headed for coffee.

  The kitchen was empty, which meant Yancy must be in his study already. Simon filled the biggest coffee mug he could find, grabbed a donut, and wandered down the hall.

  The old man glanced up and grunted a “Good morning” when Simon dropped into a chair across from his cluttered work desk. The study was lined with thick texts, old and new—stuff you’d never find on the Internet. Antiquities filled any empty spaces on the shelves and walls. A faded old globe sat on the corner of the desk.

  Yancy held the crystal lens under a magnifying light and made humming noises as Simon ate. The man hadn’t changed in fifteen years. Still grumpy. Still in love with old stuff. Still taking in strays.

  “So what do you think?” Simon said, breaching the silence.

  “I think you got yourself a nice girl there,” the man said.

  Simon glowered into his coffee. “First off, she’s not my girl. Secondly, she’s not as sweet as you think. And she’s hiding something.”

  “Sounds like a challenge to me,” Yancy said, eyes still fixed on the lens. “So you want to tell me why you kidnapped her?”

  “You’re looking at it. Seems someone thinks she’s the key to this thing. And if I don’t figure out how in the next ten days, they are going to kill Celina.”

  Yancy’s eyes cut to him. “Celina? The hell you say?”

  Simon filled him in on what Jackson had told him. “Ever hear of the Archives of Man? Mexico legend.”

  The old man’s face twisted in deep thought. “Not familiar with that one. Mexico, eh?”

  “Yeah.” Simon felt the bitterness rise in his belly. He hated Mexico. “See what you can find in your books.”

  Yancy nodded. “I’ll try. Any idea who the players are?”

  “Got the wallet off the guy who tried to grab Jillian. Don’t suppose you have access to any personal info databases these days?”

  “Sorry, no,” Yancy said. “Gave that up long ago.”

  Simon was on his own. Too bad he didn’t have a laptop in his bag. If he could find out who Franco was, he might be able to figure out who he was working for.

  He took a deep breath. “And Kesel killed Jackson.”

  Yancy closed his eyes and let out a groan. “I hoped to God I would never hear that name again. He’s still working for whoever will pay him the most?”

  “Apparently so. And right now, he’s after that.”

  Yancy frowned at the crystal. “You don’t want to tangle with him.”

  “I won’t if I don’t have to. What I don’t get is why Kesel was out for Jackson. Why kill the one man who can get the archives? And why would Franco grab Jillian, for that matter? Jackson said he was supposed to find her. Someone beat him to her.”

  “Unless Kesel and Franco aren’t working for the same people holding Celina,” Yancy pointed out. “In which case, you’ve got more trouble than you know what to do with. Have you told Jillian what she’s involved in?”

  Simon took a sip of coffee.

  Yancy shook his head. “Of course not. So she doesn’t know you’re a tomb raider?”

  “Nope.”

  “I see. What about Celina? The archives?”

  “No, haven’t mentioned them, either.”

  “So you just kidnapped Jillian and dragged her along for the ride?”

  Simon said magnanimously, “Saved her from the clutches of the bad guys. Then I kidnapped her.”

  Yancy blew out a long breath. “Boy. You gotta learn finesse. She’s never going to cooperate if you don’t tell her the truth. You owe her that much.”

  Right. And she’d bolt like a scared rabbit. “Would you risk your life for someone you’d never met? Didn’t care about?”

  Yancy eyed him seriously. “Not everyone is like you, Simon.”

  “Enough of them are. I’m keeping her alive, which is plenty, trust me. If I hadn’t been there, she’d be bound and gagged and heading out of the country by now. The woman has no survival instincts. If she did, she wouldn’t still be here.”

  Yancy made a humming noise, and Simon stared at him. “What?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “You know what happens when you underestimate people.”

  “I don’t underestimate people. I have lousy timing and shitty luck.”

  “Well
, I hope your luck improves, because you’re going to need it.” Then Yancy’s expression morphed from stern to a strange, awkward kindliness as he gazed past Simon. “Good morning, my dear. Sleep well?”

  Crap, Simon thought. How much had she heard of that lovely conversation? He turned around to find her standing behind him wearing an oversized robe tied neatly at her waist, coffee in hand, glaring a hole through the back of his head. His guess would be she heard enough.

  He lifted his mug and grinned. “Morning.”

  She ignored him and spoke to Yancy. “I slept fine, thank you. I finished the last of the coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Help yourself to anything you want,” Yancy said with a goofy smile.

  Simon rolled his eyes. The old man was toast.

  She walked by him as she surveyed Yancy’s various artifacts. Simon eyed her legs. Not bad. In fact, he’d gotten a pretty good look at a lot more than that last night when she stormed out all indignant-like. Which, he had to admit, was more fun than he’d had in a while.

  She wandered over to Yancy’s desk. “I didn’t know you were an antiquities collector, Elwood.”

  Elwood? Simon frowned. Since when were they on a first-name basis? He didn’t even call Yancy by his first name.

  “I have a passion for history,” Yancy replied with a straight face.

  “Christ,” Simon muttered into his coffee.

  Jillian shot him a fierce look and leaned over so she could see through the magnifying glass.

  Simon watched her as she studied the lens, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. Her hair was down and still wet from a shower. Even without makeup, she was a beauty. Almond-shaped blue eyes, a straight nose, high cheekbones, perfect lips, and flawless ivory skin. Everything about her was long, elegant, and fine-boned. She’d never last a day in his world.

  “Do you have any idea what this is?” she asked Yancy, their heads side by side behind the magnifier.

  “It appears to be rock crystal. Extraordinary quality. I’m not even seeing any scratch marks on the lens. I’d say laser-cut, but the outer edges are very rough.”