Timeless

by Teresa Reasor

  Quinn raked his fingers through his hair. She’d been fine when he left her. They’d done something to her. “Mother of God. To where? Which direction did they take her?”

  “To the car park.”

  “What did the second man look like?”

  “He was very thin, almost frail looking and had a hooked nose.”

  Argus. A small amount of relief relaxed the painful tension of his shoulders. But if she were ill or drugged—Why would they do that? Had Regan fought them? What the hell had happened?

  “Do you know who he is then?”

  “Possibly. “ He shook his head in disgust. “Bloody hell, why didn’t you call the police?”

  “I stayed just to tell you what happened.” The woman’s defensive tone had grown strident. “You can call the police now.”

  Grabbing the bags off the cart, Quinn ran down the terminal to the exit.

  The car park stretched several hundred feet from the airport. By the time he’d found his vehicle, sweat ran down his face, and he was breathing hard.

  He tossed the bags into the trunk and got into the car. He had just shoved the key in the ignition when the door opened beside him and a man got in. “Mr. Douglas, I’m Lamont. I work for Mr. Nicodemus. I’ve been searching for you. Miss Stanhope was taken ill, and they’ve rushed her back to the site to see the doctor there. They’ve called ahead so he’ll be waiting for her. It may be food poisoning.”

  She had been fine when he’d left her. Had she eaten something on the plane? Quinn eyed the man’s expression and could read nothing from it. He ran his hand over his sweaty face and wiped the moisture on his pants. “This illness was very sudden. She was fine not half an hour ago.”

  “Yes, it was sudden. And she was throwing up violently. I’m sure she’ll be better once the doctor can give her something for it.”

  Sweet Jesus. What did they do to her?

  “I’ll need to ride back with you. They left me here without transport so I could find you.”

  Quinn twisted the key, started the car, and threw it into reverse.

  *****

  Regan awoke to the sound of a clock ticking. The horrible nausea that had plagued her had passed. Thank God. But the panicked fear came crashing back on her and her eyes flew open. At the sight of the large man next to the bed, she gasped and scrambled away to the other side.

  “Relax, we dinna mean to hurt you,” MacBean said, his voice bland.

  They already had. Her head felt as though it weighed ten pounds, and her neck too small to hold it. Her muscles had turned to mush. Her arm ached where the needle had pierced it. She hugged the wall behind the bed and closed her eyes against the rush of tears that clouded her vision and spilled down her face.

  “Do you want some water? ‘Twill flush the drug from your system.” He motioned toward the plastic pitcher of water and the cup on the desk.

  Quinn. Where was Quinn? Was he all right? Had they drugged him too? Her limbs twitched as though her muscles fought the drug’s affect.

  She forced herself to look at MacBean. With his heavy, irregular features and muscular body he looked like a boxer. His dark brown hair covered the top of his ears and brushed his collar. As he stared back at her, his brown eyes held no expression.

  “You’ve just been party to an assault and kidnapping.” Her voice came out hoarse. Her throat felt sore and it was hard to swallow.

  His expression remained impassive.

  “You’ll go to jail.”

  He raised one muscular shoulder. “We’ll see.”

  “Where is Quinn?”

  He rose to his feet. “I’ll tell the boss you’re awake.” The door closed behind him, but she heard no lock engage.

  She had to get out of here. Her muscles shook like jelly as she scooted to the edge of the bed and looked about the room. The setup was similar to her cabin. A bed, desk, chair and a small chest of drawers furnished the room.

  Her legs felt like rubber as she shoved to her feet and hurried to the door to press her ear to the wood. Voices carried to her just outside in the hall. She backed away.

  Rushing to the window, she raised the blinds to look out. A view of Loch Maree and Mt. Slioch confronted her. They were back at the dig. Turning the lock at the top of the window, Regan pulled up on the frame to raise it. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. She studied the frame. Small nails sealed it.

  Her attention turned to the lightweight desk chair next to the bed. It wouldn’t keep anyone out for long, but it might stall them long enough for her to break the window and escape. Regan shoved the chair’s back under the doorknob. Scanning the room for something to hit the window with, she spied the clock on the desk that had awakened her and a small brass lamp.

  She grabbed the lamp off the desk and jerked the cord out of the wall. Her hands seemed clumsy and weak as she unscrewed the bulb and tore off the shade. Setting the lamp aside, she grabbed a pillow from the bed and jerked it out of the pillowcase. Carrying the lamp and the pillowcase, she rushed to the window. Holding the fabric against the double-paned window, and welding the lamp like a baton, she swung with all her strength. The first layer of glass shattered and fell to the floor.

  A yell sounded from the hallway and the door shook as someone shoved against it. Dropping the pillowcase, Regan swung again and again. Tiny bits of glass flew through the air, nicking her skin. The outer layer of glass broke and sheared downward. She cleared the broken edges away. The chair skittered across the floor, and she turned to face the threat. MacBean shoved through the door followed by Andrew Argus.

  She threw the lamp as though she were a knife thrower at a carnival. MacBean ducked and the missile spun past him, trailing its cord. The base of the lamp hit Argus on the bridge of the nose and blood splattered. His cry of pain drew the other man’s attention for a second. Regan gabbed the pillowcase and, using it to protect her hand as she braced it on the windowsill, climbed through the window. Her feet hit the ground, crunching glass and struggling for purchase.

  Adrenaline shot through her system, offsetting some of the weakness as she ran toward the loch. The sound of pounding feet behind her spurred her forward.

  Don’t look, just run!

  The force of a body bigger than hers hit her from behind shoving her forward and down. Grit ground into her hands as she wiggled beneath the weight. Fingers clawed into her sweater holding her back. Regan thrust her elbow back and felt it connect with bone. A high-pitched yelp of pain followed and for a moment she was free. She squirmed from beneath the weight. Fingers hooked into her sweater again. Twisting around to face her attacker, Regan stared at the woman stunned. “You bitch.” Anger offset her fear. She punched out with everything she had and hit her in the mouth.

  Strong arms grabbed her from behind, and Regan yelped in fear and anger.

  “Enough,” MacBean’s dispassionate voice sounded rough and all too close to her ear. His arms tightened painfully when she continued to struggle. “Settle down.”

  “You bitch!” Marissa wiped her bleeding lip on the back of her hand.

  “Quinn said you’d do anything for backing on a dig, including spreading your legs,” Regan shot back. “You’ve just been an accomplice to kidnapping. Both of you have. I hope you rot in prison for a long long time.”

  Marissa strode forward her features twisted in rage, her hand raised.

  Regan lifted both feet and kicked out, hitting the woman squarely in the stomach.

  Marissa staggered backward and went to one knee. Cradling her stomach, she glared at Regan.

  “I said enough.” MacBean’s arms squeezed tighter, cutting off Regan’s air. Her ribs ached from the pressure, and she couldn’t draw a deep enough breath to cry out. Black spots swam before her eyes before he eased his hold. He flipped her up into his arms as though she were a rag doll and brushed by Marissa.

  Gasping for air and in pain, Regan hung helpless in his arms as he carried her back into the cabin.

  CHAPTER 38

  Regan folde
d the blanket around her more securely. The room had a claustrophobic closeness to it with so many people filling it. Nicodemus sat in one of the drab brown armchairs, as did Marissa and Argus. MacBean stood at full attention just behind Nicodemus, his gaze focused on her like a laser.

  “Now that all the melodrama is over, perhaps we can conduct ourselves with a little more decorum,” Nicodemus said.

  Regan turned her attention from MacBean to Nicodemus.

  His skin had a yellowish cast, as did the whites of his eyes. His cheekbones protruded beneath his skin as though they might cut through. The dramatic change in just the two weeks since she’d last seen him triggered feelings of pity. But those feelings didn’t resolve her rage at how she’d been treated. And where was Quinn? What had they done with him?

  “The way things were handled at the airport was not exactly per my instructions, Regan. I hope from now on we can conduct ourselves in a more civilized manner.”

  Though Nicodemus’s tone was cordial, pure steel underscored it. MacBean shifted closer to Nicodemus, his arms folded before him, his feet braced apart. Regan stared back at him. A fresh wave of fear twisted her stomach into knots. The urge to cut and run hammered at her, tightening her muscles. Her ribs still ached. She’d have bruises tomorrow. She looked away.

  “Where is Quinn? What have you done with him?”

  “Nothing, Miss Stanhope. He will be arriving any moment, and we haven’t much time for this discussion.”

  Her attention settled on Argus holding an ice pack to his nose, then Marissa who did the same to her mouth.

  Hope it hurts like a bitch, assholes.

  “You sent Marissa to Edinburgh to discover how far our relationship had progressed,” Regan said.

  Nicodemus’s gaze dropped to his hands. “You are an important part of the team here, Regan. If anyone or anything interferes with your work or creates a distraction—it needs to be removed. I need you focused.”

  “Being assaulted and kidnapped might fall into the category of a distraction.”

  Nicodmus’s expression changed to one of irritation. He shot a look in Argus’s direction. “My assistant knows how precious my time is. He was just trying to expedite things. And you had purchased a ticket for home. “

  What ticket? “No, I didn’t.”

  “Semantics, Miss Stanhope. Mr. Douglas must have purchased it for you.”

  A dropping sensation hit her stomach. She’d been guarding every word she typed in with such care. “You’ve been monitoring my computer? Did you put some kind of program on it before giving it to me?” Had she put anything on the computer that would lead them to Coira or Braden?

  Nicodemus remained silent a moment. “I didn’t think you were being as forthcoming about your work as possible. So, yes, I did. I have, after all, paid for everything you see about you.” The movement of his hand encompassed the room. “Including the work you do. Why would he purchase the ticket?”

  “I’ve been a little homesick—Well, actually more than a little.”

  “Homesick enough to end a lucrative summer project? I don’t think so.” Marissa said, in a scoffing tone. “Especially with the way you feel about Quinn.”

  Fear sapped Regan’s strength, and activated a hyper-awareness of every person in the room. Ignoring Marissa she addressed Nicodemus. “I’ve sent you everything I’ve done since you requested it.”

  “I’m sure you have. I’m more interested in what you haven’t put on your computer.” He picked up a digital recorder from the table beside him.

  “I have listened to the recording of your session in the doctor’s office. MacBean has translated the Gaelic for me. Who is Coira? And what the hell was going on in that room?”

  Regan’s fingers tightened around the blanket like knots. Forgive me Dr. Reinhart. The poor woman had already suffered enough. “What you heard was a past life regression, Mr. Nicodemus. I’m adopted and the first ten years of my life were spent in an orphanage and several foster homes.”

  Her attention shifted to MacBean. ‘I often met up with bullies there, too.”

  “My mother was schizophrenic and had no other family, so she clung to the hope of keeping me with her. Every time she’d end up in the hospital with an overdose of medication, social services would get involved, and I’d end up in foster care again. She refused to release custody of me so I could be adopted. After she died, I was adopted by my parents.”

  She shifted, uncomfortable laying her life out before these strangers. “I’ve always wanted to know about my roots. After I came here, the desire was greater. I read about Doctor Reinhart and decided to see if hypnosis would help me remember anything about my mother that would help me locate other family. I believe that recording is all smoke and mirrors. I don’t have any idea of how she created the noise you hear. But I believe she fed those ideas into my head during hypnosis, and then when I got a little carried away, she got scared.”

  “And I think you’re what you Americans call a bullshit artist,” Marissa spoke from her seat next to Argus.

  “So you don’t believe in past life regression either?” Regan shrugged.

  Nicodemus’s head came up, and his eyes looked black surrounded by the yellow sclera. “That doesn’t explain the sounds coming from inside the room, and it doesn’t explain why Quinn knew who Coira was during the session. And it doesn’t explain why he no longer has a very badly bruised and fractured hand after only a few days. I saw the x-rays. Fractured bones don’t heal overnight.”

  He leaned forward in his seat and fixed her with eyes bulbous with rage and desperation.

  “ You know I hold your career and his right here in the palm of my hand.” He shook his hand and clenched it into a fist as though crushing them. The bones showed white through his skin. “I can destroy both of you and your families. I want the truth. And I want it now.”

  Regan’s mouth dried up like a hothouse rose in the desert.

  MacBean laid a hand on Nicodemus’s shoulder as he wobbled. “Easy, sir.” He pressed him back into the chair.

  Nicodemus shook off the man’s touch, his breathing labored as he continued. “I want to be cured. Quinn’s hand is healed. You have to tell me how it happened.”

  How was she to tell the man enough to satisfy him, but not enough to lead him to the truth?

  “You won’t believe me,” Regan said.

  Nicodemus’s face twisted in rage. “Goddamn it, tell me and I’ll be the judge of it.”

  He tensed as though to leap at her.

  Regan flinched.

  “Tell him. Now,” MacBean said, the threat in his tone clear.

  Regan attempted to swallow, but her mouth had grown so dry it was impossible. “It was after a storm. We went down to check on Kennedy, the security guard. He’d walked down toward the site just before the lightning hit. The monoliths took several direct hits, and there was a strange feel to the place as we walked around the scaffolding. When we came up from the site and went back to the cabin Quinn noticed his hand no longer hurt. The bruising was gone.”

  “When did this happen?” Nicodemus asked.

  “Two days before we left for Edinburgh.”

  “So you went to Edinburgh to do more research and try and find out more about the site,” Argus said, his voice nasal. His narrow nose had turned reddish-purple and grown swollen.

  She paused, reluctant to answer him.

  “We discovered a diary of one of the parish priests who lived nearby. He listed a group of men dying on a specific date. We think it may be when water covered the stones. But there was nothing else I could find. My Latin isn’t up to translating the whole text.”

  “And what do you think caused this miraculous cure?” MacBean asked.

  What tie did the man have to Nicodemus to be so solicitous? “I think the stones may have a magnetic field that, when activated by the lightning, may be healing. That’s the only thing I could think of at the time.”

  Nicodemus aligned his stick-like arms upon the c
hair arms. “Well, you will get the opportunity to find out, as will Miss Foster. You’ll be working together to discover how this field might work and how to activate it. Obviously the lightning plays a part in it. We must discover what else may be involved.”

  Marissa Foster glared at Regan, her gaze piercing with pale green hatred.

  The swollen lip and bruise forming on the woman’s cheekbone was some consolation. “You really expect me just to go back to work after today?” Regan asked.

  Nicodemus’s smiled. “Yes, I do. If you walk off the dig, you walk clear of the life you’ve worked to have, Regan. I’ll make certain of that. And if that isn’t threat enough—I’ll make certain Mr. Douglas and his brothers never get another salvage job or any other—ever.”

  “As long as you keep your mouth shut and find the answers I need, you and Mr. Douglas and his brothers will continue on your career paths as before. Should you try and leave again before you see this through—” He paused. “I think you are aware of the repercussions.”

  *****

  Quinn pulled into the car park above the group of cabins. This community of houses had remained empty, though he’d heard they were earmarked to house visitors when the site was opened to the public.

  For nearly two hours Lamont had sat next to him in silence.

  For two hours, Quinn’s gut had been twisted with worry. His stomach muscles cramped with tension.

  “I didn’t think these cabins were occupied,” Quinn said.

  “Mr. Nicodemus moved here recently with his assistant, since he could no longer navigate the stairs at the Inn.”

  “You’ve healed very fast. I’ve watched you driving and you’d never know your hand was ever injured,” Lamont commented.

  Fuck. He’d forgotten the brace. Quinn shrugged. “’Tis a hairline fracture and bruising. I’ve had worse injuries brushing my teeth. I removed the brace to go through airport security.”

  “Funny, your hand doesn’t look as though it were ever bruised.” Lamont shoved open the car door and exited the vehicle.