Matt stood up and stretched his arms, tossing the full cup into the nearby trash can. “Did you find out her last name?”
“No.” Marcia frowned. “She doesn’t have any identification, and she says she doesn’t have a ‘last name’—just the one. She’s a comedienne.”
“Did she have anything on her that might give a clue as to who she is or where she belongs?”
“Pretty fancy clothes, but no labels. And that man’s watch.” Marcia gave him a sly look. “Which belongs to her actual boyfriend if you ask me. Her stolen purse would’ve had all her ID, and anything else that might’ve been useful.”
Matt frowned. “She said there was nothing in her purse.”
Marcia gave him one of those looks women often gave him, the kind that said men know nothing. “Whatever she said to you, she’s not saying much of anything to me. Perhaps you can get her to tell you more—something that might help us get a line on who to contact. Or we will stick you with the bill.”
“As if I needed any extra motivation to find out who she is.”
Marcia led him to where Page was half-reclined in a hospital bed in a room with five other beds. The curtains were drawn around the rest, so he had no idea who they might be sharing the room with. Not that there was any privacy here to begin with.
Page lay there with a big white bandage on the side of her head, staring into the distance. She did not seem to be aware of their presence. Yet. Matt found her straight red hair falling just to her shoulders quite fetching. He even thought her attractive in that hospital gown—there was no need for the fancy clothes.
He shook himself. Definitely out of his league, and the man’s watch probably did mean she had a boyfriend. He couldn’t help but notice though, that she wore no ring.
Marcia frowned down at her patient. “No real symptoms of concussion, but I’m worried about her nonetheless. Try to keep her from falling asleep, at least for a couple hours if you can.” She glanced at Matt. “Try talking to her. She’s your responsibility, so stick around until we know more. I’ll be around fairly often to check on her condition.”
The nurse left, presumably to check up on other patients. As she departed, Page turned to Matt with a clear gaze. “Your friend is awfully nosy.”
“She has a duty. A legal one, in addition to her moral obligation. To contact someone who can take care of you.” And pay the bill.
“She said I’m your responsibility. Isn’t that sufficient?” Page squinted at him for a long moment. “She also said I could trust you—that you’re ‘honest as your legs are long.’”
Matt smiled. “They only look long to you short people. And I wouldn’t trust me if I were you.” He looked at the neat bandage messing her hair up and grinned. “She got you cleaned up proper, anyway. How are you feeling now?”
“Sore. And she took my clothes and gave them to someone else.”
Matt shook his head. “I imagine they’ll be folded away in one of those drawers.” He nodded at the chest beside her. On top of it sat that watch of hers. “When you’re ready to leave, they’ll want you wearing your own clothes. Which would probably be a good idea, since the gown your wearing now doesn’t belong to you.”
Page pinched at the paper garment. “Gown? I might as well be wearing my thesis.”
Matt’s ears perked up. “Your thesis? What’s it about?” He figured she was a mathematician. Math geeks were vague and hard to understand.
“Statistical models of twentieth century dating rituals.”
Matt blinked. Math geeks were bad enough—social statisticians were beyond his comprehension. “I’m a graduate student at GTI. Theoretical Physics. I don’t suppose you go to Goth Tech?”
She shook her head. “You’re a nerd, then?”
Matt blinked again. “Yes, I suppose I am.” Just call me Mr. Kettle.
Page nodded to herself. “I’m looking for a ballroom dancer.”
Matt was glad he’d tossed his coffee or he might have spilled it all over himself. Does that mean she doesn’t already have a boyfriend, or that he’s not a dancer?
“That might be a challenge.” He shook his head again. “I’m looking for someone who’ll know what to do with you. Family or friends?”
“My helpers, Tate and Bailey. They’ll find me. They won’t have much choice, since they’ll be stuck without me.”
“That would be tragic.” Which sounded sarcastic. “A tragedy to be without you, I mean.” And that sounded like a sappy pick-up line. “Why don’t you give them a call?”
Page shook her head. “How? The communication technologies you use are always changing. We couldn’t prepare.”
Matt realized he was scratching the top of his head as he wondered if this redhead was some kind of alien. A beautiful math geek from outer space. It sounded like a bad movie.
Marcia kept accusing him of not having a sense of humor, but he found the whole world amusing—it was all one big, bizarre comedy routine. He just laughed on the inside so hard it hurt. Page not only bemused him, she thoroughly perplexed him.
Matt spoke slowly. “If you can’t call them, and they can’t call you—” Matt waited for Page’s nod. “How in the world do you expect them to be able to find you?” He thought about her bizarre behavior. “You’re not all ‘psychics’—are you?”
Page gave him a long level look. “You do have GPS, don’t you?”
“Global Positioning Satellites. Of course.” He glanced over at the watch. It had to have some sort of GPS tracking, and that reeked of espionage. But he had a hard time seeing Page as a spy. Government research? She didn’t seem the sort of scientist he’d expect to find doing highly classified work. He was having trouble figuring her out.
She must have seen his look. “Hand it to me.”
Matt hesitated. “Is there any particular reason you wear a man’s watch?” Marcia had asked him to try some questions, so it wasn’t like he was prying.
Page looked at him blankly. “Man’s watch?”
Matt sighed. That might mean she didn’t have a boyfriend, or it might be her general vagueness. He was beginning to suspect this might be her normal state and not a result of her accident.
He stretched over and grabbed the watch. GPS? It was hard black plastic—not the classy kind of gift a rich boyfriend might’ve given her. But it had to be pretty expensive if it had satellite tracking and who knew what other advanced functions.
Matt wondered if she’d bought it for some practical application. “You’re lucky they didn’t take this too, if it’s the only way your friends can locate you.” He hadn’t thought of Page as being practical. “What else can this thing do?”
She stretched out her hand. “Give it to me, and I’ll show you.”
He hesitated again. This watch was starting to intrigue him almost as much as the woman herself. He held it up in front of his face to take a closer look at the screen. Time and date. Latitude and longitude. He’d likely have to press some buttons to get to the other functions.
“Are you hard of hearing?” Page glared at him. “It’s my watch, and I’d appreciate it if you’d hand it over. Right now.”
He didn’t want to upset her, yet he kept hold of the watch. He was supposed to be finding out about her, which he wanted to do anyway—and he didn’t want to hang around and see if her friends would be more forthcoming than she’d been. He turned the watch over to examine its back.
There was no brand name or maker’s mark—only a designation that seemed too short for a serial number. LD—2. He turned it over again and made sure he hadn’t missed a manufacturer there. It had to be a prototype. He started to put the watch in her waiting palm, but again he hesitated.
Matt glanced from the watch to Page. “Is this experimental? Some kind of government project?” He was beginning to buy into that notion now. “Am I cleared to learn about its secret abilities?” Which was sarcastic again.
“It is research, but not in the way you mean it. Please give it to me.”
Matt heard the note of pleading that had crept into her voice. Still he refused to hand it over. For some reason he felt holding onto the watch was like holding onto her, and he didn’t want to let go.
“I’m pretty smart, you know. I bet I can figure out how to work this thing.”
He pushed a couple different buttons and found one that cycled through a series of screens that all seemed simple enough—but he was having a hard time understanding exactly what they were for. He also noticed that Page grew increasingly agitated as he fiddled.
She let her empty hand fall to the bed. “Please. Matt. You don’t understand.”
“Don’t be distressed. I’ll be careful not to break anything.” And he began to try pushing those other buttons while he was on various screens to see what happened.
Page’s voice was shrill with alarm as she yelped, “Stop messing about with that.” She stretched out her hand again, in obvious pain.
Matt’s heart ached to hear her like that. He had relented and started to give the watch back when he noticed Marcia coming into the room. If the nurse had heard the panic in Page’s tone, she’d have some harsh words for him.
He didn’t want Marcia to misunderstand. The nurse had a hard look on her face, and he tried to think how he could explain. By reflex he pulled the watch back, tightening his grip.
At the same time, he heard Page yelling at him, and she lunged up from the hospital bed and threw her arms around him.
And everything except the redhead clinging to him simply disappeared.
Chapter 3
And Then There were Eight
June 30th, 2000 The Upper West Side
SAMANTHA crouched down carefully to massage her swiftly swelling ankle. The flow of pedestrians parted around her like a river diverting around an island—and she felt like that island, alone and isolated and gradually being worn down by the water. She blamed her own slow reflexes.
When she’d arrived on the edge of a wide stone step, she’d stiffened as her left foot simply dropped straight down all the way to the lower step. She had felt the joint twist and the ankle sprain. She’d wanted to sit down right there and have a good cry, but looking around and not seeing any of the others had shocked her out of the temptation.
Sam had kept her weight on the good foot and immediately checked her watch. She’d landed right in the center of New York City and the middle of the year two thousand. As she was supposed to. Where then is everyone else?
She’d switched to the locator screen to see the red bar showing her leader Harold to the south but out of range. She hadn’t wasted any time trying to understand why they had become separated. Keeping her weight off her left ankle as much as possible, she’d hobbled down the wide stairs to the sidewalk and then down the next street in the direction indicated.
She’d only even glanced at the Rose Window at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. She’d return and bask later, after she’d found the others. She’d come on her own if she had to, since the rest with their different interests and specialties might not be so inclined. Then she could have a good long look around. But not now, not yet.
Kneeling on the sidewalk three blocks south of where she’d arrived, she continued massaging her ankle with one hand while checking her watch. Now Harold was somewhere to the southwest. Either he had moved or she was getting close, but whichever it was, she didn’t want to dally. So she straightened with reluctance and limped as fast as she could the rest of the block to the next intersection.
Sam had to hurry to cross with the light over to the other side of the busy street, all the while being jostled by the other pedestrians and clenching her teeth against the pain. When she reached the opposite corner, she saw the blip appear on her locator screen. Harold, at last.
Maybe her leader would like to take a nice long rest somewhere. He did enjoy taking his ease—she normally found that frustrating, but today would be different. She would appreciate Harold.
Sam slowed her pace as she kept her eye on the watch face. Halfway down the block she turned and swept her eyes across the far sidewalk, looking for her leader. She saw his bald pate first, as he stood against the brick wall in the mouth of the narrow alleyway between two buildings.
Then she noticed Kirin with her long, beautiful black hair, pressing Harold against that wall as she moved in for a kiss. Not the time or the place, Harold. Sam shook her head. Kirin had been working on Harold before they’d left, and Sam despaired of the woman ever changing her ways. Harold should have known better.
Sam stood staring at the pair and giving her ankle a rest. Despite the pain, she wanted to rush over and reunite with her team—but she didn’t want to embarrass her leader by interrupting his moment of weakness. Neither of them would thank her.
She found herself fascinated. She’d never been able to bring herself to chase after a man, no matter how attracted, and watching Kirin pressing herself against Harold was like looking through a window into another world.
Even from the opposite side of the street, Sam could see them kissing. Locked together in a long embrace, Harold held Kirin with more strength and passion than Sam would have thought possible. But then his grip loosened and Kirin backed away from her prey. Sam was too far to see the expressions on their faces, but she bet they were both smiling. She could imagine the peculiar curl of Kirin’s lips in her mind’s eye.
Then Harold slid down the brick wall—just sat there on the ground and stayed that way, still, with his head lying back against the bricks. Kirin stood there for a moment looking down at him before she finally knelt to help the man.
She reached out to grab his hand. Then after a minute she stood up again, raising herself to her full height augmented by those spiky heels.
The woman turned and looked straight at Sam. There was a flash of inexplicable electricity between the two women, then Kirin turned and walked fast down the alley toward the other end, leaving Harold right where he sat. Sam felt like she was frozen in that particular moment in time.
Something was wrong. Sam felt it in her heart, and her feet must have felt it too, because she was stumbling out into the street before she knew what she was doing. She made as straight a line for Harold as she could, dodging honking cars and fighting not to fall flat on her face.
She rolled over the hood of a cab that stopped right in front of her. With her ankle already injured she supposed it didn’t make much difference if she bruised the rest of her body—as long as she didn’t demand too much of that ankle.
At least she managed to get to the other side of the street without killing herself. She limped to the mouth of the alley and leaned over to look Harold in the eye—there remained some life in him but it was fading fast. He tried to say something to her, but all that came out of his mouth was a bubble of blood.
That was when Sam looked down and saw the neat little wound. So little blood around such a tiny hole in his shirt, right through the ribs underneath his heart. She glanced around to see the slim stiletto lying on the ground just a few feet away.
Sam turned back to speak to her leader. Harold wasn’t there anymore though, just his lifeless shell with its hand across his belly as if he’d tried to reach for her. She wanted to cry. She felt the tears welling up, and as she tried to blink them away she noticed that Harold’s watch was gone. Of course.
The tears dried. Poor Harold had been led into this trap, and she felt sorry for him. More than that though, Sam felt a blinding anger toward Kirin, a furnace blazing in her heart. The woman had just tossed the murder weapon on the ground with her fingerprints all over it—no doubt because she had known it didn’t matter. Kirin already had the perfect plan for escaping justice.
Well, Sam wouldn’t let that happen. She could think about the rest of it later—right now, Kirin was putting more distance between them, and Sam had to prevent that, no matter what it might do to her injured ankle. That meant she had to run.
She stepped away from the corpse, turned, and sprinted for the other end of
the alley. She had to grind down so hard against the pain she felt it would crack her teeth as she pounded across the pavement and leapt over the detritus in her way. But she’d no choice if she wanted to catch her quarry.
Unaware of Sam’s injury, Kirin would assume she was being pursued full speed and make haste herself in an effort to lose Sam. And all Kirin needed to do was get far enough away to Travel without her pursuer being in range to be caught in the field. If she managed that, Sam would lose any hope of finding her.
Sam didn’t dare glance at her locator to check, but Kirin might already be that far away—she could only hope Kirin was too preoccupied with running away to notice if that had occurred. A slim thread of hope indeed.
At the south end of the alley, Sam checked her watch and quickly lifted her head to the left to scan the crowd and pick out her target. Kirin had already crossed to the next block to the east and was moving fast. One advantage Sam had was the other woman’s height and long, flowing jet-black hair—Sam should be able to keep Kirin in sight without constantly checking her watch.
Sam did follow that distinctive head as she hurried through the crowd of pedestrians. And as she felt another stab of sharp pain up her leg, she reminded herself that she had another advantage—Kirin’s tight skirt and high heels would restrict her movement.
It was sweltering, and Sam was glad she’d worn shorts for the anticipated summer weather because it also meant she moved free. And with her running shoes on, hopefully it would be enough to compensate for the sprain.
Kirin didn’t turn back to look for her pursuer, but she could check her locator. Though if she did, Sam never saw. She was glad for once that her own lack of height might help obscure her from view. If only the fool woman would waste the time trying to look back.
Kirin must’ve taken Harold’s leader device because it could Travel on its own—neither Sam’s nor Kirin’s helper watches had that ability. They only worked in proximity to a device like Harold’s. With that now in her possession, Kirin could Travel when she pleased, and if Sam were out of the range of the field, she wouldn’t be able to follow the murderess through time.
Millennium Crash Page 3
