Time Bound

by Lora Andrews

  “About eighteen months ago, my team made an unexpected discovery—a coded letter written by Mariota to a friend named Jean Currie. We now know Mariota is none other than your grandmother, Mary Walker. Are you familiar with the other party? This Jean Currie?

  “No,” she said.

  Simon examined her face, her curious eyes sparking beneath the stoic mask. He saw no sign of recognition or deceit. “My people successfully deciphered Mariota’s letter. In it, she stated that if the stone was not in your possession, then it had been returned to its genesis.” He paused. “The stone is not in your possession, correct, Ms. Reed?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You know I don’t have it.”

  “If I am to believe the words written by your grandmother’s hand, then I am to assume it was returned to its place of origin—Scotland.” At her frown, he added, “The where? Well now, that is the mystery you are tasked to discover. But I suspect if we start on MacEwen territory, you’ll feel your way around.”

  “You expect me to believe what you’re saying?”

  “Without proof? Of course not. I will be more than happy to share the document with you upon arrival at my estate. Perhaps it will quell your misgivings. And, as I outlined during our negotiation, you will have full avail of my home and my resources in your search, provided you give me no reason to doubt your sincerity.”

  She swung her dark hair over her shoulder. “Am I free to return to my seat?”

  Her cooperation was preferable, but not necessary. One way or the other, Caitlin Reed would locate the Tempus and return the stone to him—a fitting end to her grandmother’s duplicity. Were it not for her traitorous family, Simon’s destiny would be his to possess. His to enjoy.

  Instead, they had left him to die in the hands of the monster, Tereus, and then scattered like rats in a sewer, never to be found. With the power of the stone in his possession, he would finish what Mariota MacEwen had started that fateful night inside the Kilfinan kirk.

  He would kill Tereus Morelli.

  Simon forced a smile to his face. If there was one good thing he’d learned at the hands of his master, it was control is power. “Please”—he gestured to the plate before her—“finish your meal.” He held his temper in check, but his palms itched to smack the ungrateful twit.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Ah.” The actor inside him raised sympathetic eyes to hers. “I see I’ve upset you. I regret the nature of our meeting. However, now that you are aware of the wretched circumstances of my unfortunate arrival to this time, surely you can understand my eagerness to return to my family. Perhaps my strategy was flawed. Perhaps…”

  He stopped mid-sentence for effect and let the thought hang unfinished while his mind worked through the various scenarios he could employ against her to crush her defenses. No doubt she had been conditioned over the years to guard her grandmother’s secrets.

  She tensed and rubbed her cheek with the palm of her hand.

  He let out a breath. Too harsh a push, she’d slip through his fingers like sand, and it was far too easy to get lost in the pleasure her discomfort created. He needed Caitlin Reed questioning her family’s motives.

  She glanced over her shoulder to the warrior waiting for her at the rear of the plane.

  Simon narrowed his eyes. He needed Caitlin Reed isolated and vulnerable.

  “When we put this nasty business aside, you will find we are not so different, you and I. You may not believe this, but when I’m not kidnapping enchanting American women, I offer my considerable resources to charitable organizations I hold dear to my heart. Like the plight of our homeless children, a cause we both endorse.”

  Her brow climbed.

  “Now, now, don’t look so surprised.” He plopped an olive in his mouth and leaned across the table. “Is it really so terrible to believe that we could share a common bond? Your humanitarian efforts are quite admirable, I might add.”

  The energy vibrating from her body was unlike any he had ever felt. Her emotions played across her face in a vivid display. The last thing Caitlin Reed wanted to believe was that they shared anything in common.

  And like a parasite, he fed off her internal struggle. It was…invigorating.

  “Let’s make that our little secret, shall we? We can always resume our enemy status upon completion of this delectable meal.” He added a wink, his body thrumming to life. “In any case, you are to be commended for your efforts. Not all children are fortunate to grow under the watchful hand of a loving family.”

  The slight quirk of her eye was her only response. A pity. He had hoped she would question him about his own dark childhood. Now, there would be a story to tell.

  “I have connections,” he said between bites of steak. “I can help expedite matters with your adoption, among other things.”

  “I don’t need your help.” Mouth tight, she pushed away from the table, her food untouched.

  Temper, temper. Had he found her sore spot? How nice.

  She fidgeted, rubbing a thumb across the palm of her hand. He could not help but imagine how her mind reeled with fear thinking of all the horrid travesties she and her parents would suffer at his hands.

  And they would.

  His throat tightened. The incompetent bastards guarding the house had lost sight of her parents, but it was only a matter of time before his people located their whereabouts. No man crossed Simon MacInnes. A lesson the Reeds and the idiot guards would soon learn.

  Angry male voices interrupted his thoughts, momentarily drawing his attention from Caitlin. MacLean and Meyers were at a standoff, two angry bulls about to charge. Simon gave Cohen a quick nod to diffuse the situation before the woman could flee his grasp.

  Too late, she rose from the table. He grabbed hold of her wrist. Energy, hot and hungry, shot up his arm. At her startled expression, he released her, stunned by the sensation tingling his skin.

  Power.

  Faint, yes, but recognizable. A signature pattern he could not ignore. One he had felt at the hands of two others before her.

  What are you, Ms. Reed?

  Her mouth dropped. Her breathing accelerated with each minute that passed. He waved a hand before her unblinking eyes. A soft gasp tore from her throat when the trance broke. Staggering back, she covered her mouth with her hand.

  MacLean’s voice thundered through the cabin.

  Simon tore his gaze from the woman’s wide eyes to the commotion unfurling at the back of the plane. The warrior shoved Meyers across the aisle and pinned the guard against the wall with a forearm violently wedged at his throat.

  Deaf to the chaos behind her, Caitlin Reed’s eyes lingered on Simon’s face. Pity softened her expression. The emotion raked his spine like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Please, sit. Daniel will handle the disturbance. Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

  She dropped her hand from her face. With a slight shake of her head, she lowered her eyes. “Thank you for the meal. I’d like to return to my seat. I feel… I feel unwell.”

  He regarded her. “Very well.”

  What he wouldn’t give to dissect her brain this very moment to discover the extent of her power, for if she held a fraction of Tereus’s magic, then she was far more valuable than his earlier assessment.

  If.

  Always if.

  Bloody ifs.

  No matter, in ten days’ time, the point would be moot. Until then, he’d keep the lovely Ms. Reed hidden from the Morelli’s until he learned the true nature of her abilities.

  She turned to leave.

  “Ms. Reed,” he called out.

  Her shoulders tensed but she did not turn around. Seconds passed, and he held his body in check, fighting the impulse to surrender to his baser instincts. To reach out, grab her by the neck, and bend her to his will.

  Control is power.

  The moment she pivoted her athletic body in his direction, the thrill of his victory shot through him with such force he nearly shuddered. He graced her w
ith his most charming smile. “Please, do not hesitate to call on Daniel for whatever you may need.”

  She nodded but kept her face averted as if she feared looking into his eyes.

  Interesting.

  He watched the slow movements of her body as she returned to the rear of the jet to calm the warrior blowing angry spurts of air from his nostrils like a wild animal about to strike.

  Ewen Maclean.

  Simon had begun to suspect MacLean’s involvement in the stone’s procurement after the attack at Weetamoo Woods. Other than her ex-husband and several male colleagues, no one meeting the warrior’s identity had surfaced in Caitlin’s background check. Fate had brought Ewen MacLean to Caitlin, a man with a connection to Swene and the MacEwen’s of Otter. Simon would go one step further and wager the man was a descendant of one of the three—his plan B.

  Forty-two years of dead ends, and now the pieces of the puzzle were falling from the sky. Another coincidence? Or was there something darker at work?

  “Can I get you anything else, sir?” Cohen asked.

  “I want her complete report. Every medical file available. If we don’t have it, get it.”

  In a matter of minutes, Caitlin Reed had fallen asleep, curled onto her side, nestled into the comfort of her chair. He followed the rise and fall of her chest, pondering the secrets the woman hid from the world and perhaps even herself.

  Patience. Patience. Patience. His destiny awaited fulfillment. Soon Caitlin’s secrets would be revealed and the power of the stone unleashed.

  Simon released a deep, gratified sigh and leaned back in his chair.

  Ah, yes, soon.

  THIRTEEN

  Nightfall.

  Caitlin stood on Scottish ground outside MacInnes’s well-lit country estate. A variety of shrubs and plants bordered a verdant front lawn that surrounded a massive stone manor. Beyond the edifice, there were mature rhododendrons, sycamore, rowan, and scots pine framing acres of green, rolling pastures that came to rest at the edge of a loch.

  An idyllic spot to dump a body.

  Or two.

  The Mercedes-Benz engines purred as all three cars rounded the circular drive and disappeared into the night. At the airport, MacInnes had divided the group into separate vehicles—he and Daniel in one car, followed by Gary and Ewen in another, and Caitlin and Marcus in the last. Then during the trip to the manor, the drivers had shifted positions on the road in a game of hide-the-MacInnes.

  Strategic? You bet. In that one move, MacInnes had accomplished multiple objectives. He’d kept his enemies guessing as to which car he rode. He’d ensured Ewen’s cooperation without the need for additional muscle by using the warrior’s honor against him. Ewen wouldn’t attempt an escape with Caitlin in another car. And in the same breath, he’d isolated her from the man who’d been by her side since the moment he’d fallen from the sky onto her path at Weetamoo.

  MacInnes was chipping away at their budding bond and her defenses.

  Yep. Smart. Conniving. And she was so up the creek without a paddle. The bright spot was the fact she’d had the whole backseat to herself. No accidental brushes of the hand against an unsuspecting human. No siphoning horrible memories from the guards that would torture her waking dreams. Until she figured out how to switch off her visions, she needed to keep her hands to herself.

  Which meant no physical contact with Ewen.

  Glowering at the tall, imposing three-story tower partly covered with vine, a dark cloud of angst radiated from his six-plus-foot frame as he moved toward the house. Gary was to his right, about a foot ahead of Ewen, wearing a matching scowl on his face. It didn’t take a genius to guess the effect the forced confinement had had on the two men. More so than the others, this guard seemed to take perverse pleasure in taunting his hostages.

  They followed MacInnes through a colossal outer door into an entryway leading to a hall constructed of oak-inlaid paneling, leaded windows, an ornate cornice, and embellished plaster walls.

  Wow.

  An estate fit for a prince. Or a deranged psychopath. Caitlin knew exactly which category MacInnes belonged in. More reason to keep her guard up when his staff rushed into the foyer like insects scuttling from beneath the baseboards. MacInnes barked off orders. His uniform clad employees scattered to carry out his commands, leaving four broad-chested guards standing in the room in addition to Daniel.

  There was no sign of Gary or Marcus.

  Ewen entered the space with a slow, confident stride that put each guard on edge and had all eyes watching his every move. He paused at the center of the room, a warrior assessing enemy territory. If this were his time, she could imagine his hand resting on the hilt of a sword as his eyes swept the room, registering every piece of furniture, every doorway, and every person standing between him and his freedom.

  He glanced to where she stood, frown lines chiseled between his fierce eyes. At the sight of MacInnes’s approach, his eyes went dark. And before she could register movement, he charged with the grace of an athlete, a blur followed by the clash of sound.

  Glass shattered. MacInnes’s body thudded against the wall with Ewen’s hand forked around his neck. In an equally impressive move, MacInnes shot his right arm straight up in the air, rotated his shoulder and slammed into Ewen in a surprising tactic that knocked both men to the floor. They were up on the balls of their feet instantaneously before Caitlin could take a breath. The guards rushed forward but stopped several feet short of Ewen’s hulking frame.

  She should have guessed something was brewing before Ewen even entered the house. He’d been beyond angry. Sure, nailing the bad guy to the wall probably released a ton of his frustration, but right now they needed to play by the book and figure things out, not turn the heat up on an already boiling pot. As much as it pained her to admit, their best defense was staying put, unless MacInnes planned to lock them up in a dark, dingy, rat-infested dungeon, which was a very real possibility after what just happened.

  “Much has changed, my friend. Look around you.” MacInnes swatted his hand in the air to signal his men to stand down. She hadn’t noticed the guns aimed at Ewen’s back. With a nonchalant tug of his sleeve, MacInnes took confident steps toward the warrior who look about ready to re-engage. “The future has brought forth powerful weapons, some capable of killing millions of people within seconds. Personally, I prefer the weapons of old. Swords, axes, spears. Weaponry that is as much an extension of a man’s prowess as it is a means to an end. These modern weapons”—he took the gun from Daniel’s hand—“turn even the weakest coward into a Goliath. However, as with all weapons”—he shot a vase across the room—“a purpose is served.”

  Between the sound of the gunshot, exploding glass, and the I’ve-got-you-where-I-want-you look on MacInnes’s face, Caitlin was ready to bolt through the door, rat-infested dungeons be damned.

  “I’d suggest following orders, boy. There is much at stake, as you well know.” The guards circled Ewen while MacInnes came to rest beside her, brow arched. “There will be plenty of time to wage war, eh? In the meantime, perhaps a night confined in a dungeon older than you will put matters into perspective.”

  Ewen locked eyes with her and winked.

  Really?

  Daniel shoved the gun’s point to Ewen’s back and urged his prisoner forward. The small entourage of guards shadowed Ewen down a long corridor, leaving MacInnes behind.

  Alone.

  With her.

  Well, if she didn’t know where she stood on the threat-o-meter scale, now she did.

  “That, my dear”—MacInnes waved a hand toward the retreating squad—“should not worry you.”

  She ignored him and focused her attention on the curved outline of the Fleur de Lis imprint on the dull white wallpaper.

  “You will learn that I am a man of my word. Honor can exist on both sides of a conflict, can it not? But honor does not make a man an imbecile. Our valiant Mr. MacLean is ruled by the nobility of a bygone era. He may feel the need to liber
ate you from our agreement. You are, after all, someone he perceives as an innocent. Therefore, a bit of…providence,” he said with a fake smile, “will ensure our arrangement proceeds as planned.”

  She had glimpsed into his past aboard the plane. Chained to a wall.

  In the dark.

  The smell of something rotting.

  Screams.

  Caitlin re-traced the shiny white swirl pattern on the wall. The memory slithered forward, then ping-ponged inside her head.

  Breathe.

  MacInnes walked along the foyer’s perimeter with his hands clutched at his back and his expression quizzical. “You are looking a bit pasty, Ms. Reed. Perhaps we should hold off discussing our arrangement until you’ve rested?”

  A laugh bubbled in her throat. He thought she looked pasty? After what he’d put her through in the past twenty-four hours, he was lucky pasty was all she looked.

  “Fine.”

  MacInnes narrowed his eyes. “Very well. I’ve matters requiring my immediate attention, but I shall look forward to the continuation of our discussion in the morning. Please”—he flicked his wrist and spread his arm out to the open space—“make yourself at home. My staff is at your disposal. Marcus will escort you to your room.”

  The guard appeared in the doorway.

  With a bow, Simon MacInnes took his leave.

  Caitlin clutched her head. She couldn’t see past the boy the man had been, crouched in the corner of a darkened room, covered in filth and fear. What kind of monster tortured an innocent child? Chained him to a wall?

  “Ma’am,” Marcus said with a nod of his dark head to the mahogany staircase. She caught the trace of an Italian accent in his voice.

  After ascending the stairs, Caitlin followed Marcus down a long hallway. The guard turned at another corridor and stopped. A tray had fallen, its contents spilled onto the hardwood floor. A man towered above a small woman he’d cornered to the wall. His back was to Caitlin, and his dark blond head was angled so she couldn’t see either of their faces. When the woman squirmed, Caitlin caught a glimpse of her face.