Time Bound

by Lora Andrews

  “My gram,” Marissa whispered, “loves show tunes. Vexing tunes. The kind that stay in your head longer than you’d like.”

  The door opened. Marcus stood impatiently outside.

  A vexing show tune?

  As Caitlin’s feet started the inevitable march toward MacInnes and his world of gloom and doom, her lips curled into a smile. La-la la-la-la-la sing a happy song…

  If the Smurf theme song didn’t annoy the hell out of anyone trying to pry into her brain, she didn’t know what would.

  SIXTEEN

  La-la la-la-la-la flew out the window the moment Caitlin arrived and found the dining room empty. A large table with seating for twenty stretched out in a spacious room decorated in deep reds and dark woods. Steam escaped from silver serving dishes that sat on a buffet table guarded by a white-haired butler who stood at attention.

  Where was MacInnes?

  The butler must have pitied her confused state because he cleared his throat and spoke. “Mr. MacInnes and Mr. MacLean are in a meeting, ma’am. They apologize and ask that you start without them. They will join you shortly.”

  “Where exactly is he holding this meeting?” she asked the butler.

  “His office, ma’am.”

  She turned to Marcus. “Take me there.”

  Without hesitation, he inclined his dark head and gestured for Caitlin to follow him back into the hallway. She stomped on the voice that said, “That was way too easy,” and followed Marcus down the main corridor. They turned into a short hallway that led to a single room. He stopped and pointed to closed paneled doors. Her courage dropped to the floor like heavy lead bricks.

  Suck it up, Reed.

  She barged in.

  Whatever she had been expecting to see slipped from her mind the moment her eyes landed on Ewen. Mouth clamped in hatred, he rolled his sleeve down to his thick wrist in one angry swipe.

  MacInnes dropped a manila folder on his desk and lowered his body into his chair. “Ah, Ms. Reed. What a welcome distraction. Please, have a seat.”

  Ewen sat in hostile silence in one of the chairs strategically placed in front of the desk. She slid into the empty chair beside him. Arched molding ran along the desk’s edge, a carved, leafy design she would have thought beautiful in any other setting. Here, in front of MacInnes, they were giant snakes slithering toward its prey. Exotic and deadly.

  “You’ll be happy to know Mr. MacLean and I have reached a truce.”

  “A truce?” Caitlin asked, scanning Ewen’s face for confirmation.

  Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, Ewen looked every bit the rugged magazine cover model with his clean-shaven face and neatly tied hair. A far cry from the man who’d rescued her in the woods dressed in a nightshirt that had barely concealed those tanned, muscular thighs.

  Last night he’d had a hand forked around MacInnes’s neck, and this morning he was bargaining with the devil.

  Without her.

  “Don’t look so worried, Ms. Reed. I assure you my terms are more than fair. Are they not, MacLean?” MacInnes asked with a goading smile.

  Ewen growled.

  MacInnes laughed. “Our Mr. MacLean is truly a man of few words. You’ll be happy to know our search for the stone will begin in earnest. After breakfast, of course.”

  A plastic baggie was stowed inside one of the folders on MacInnes’s desk, a vial of some sort, and there was no mistaking the liquid inside the container. Blood. She had walked in on Ewen adjusting his sleeve, and for someone who’d just made peace with the enemy, he looked pretty pissed.

  Ewen’s dark gaze met hers. “You’ve no need to fear our—” He turned to MacInnes and said “truce” through gritted teeth. Then he swung those gorgeous blue eyes back to her. “You’re pale, lass. Break your fast. You’ll need your strength. Worry not over matters you canna control.”

  Ha! Easier said than done. She had an enchanted necklace locked around her neck and a vial of blood taunting her peripheral vision. She had moved beyond worry. What she needed were answers, not food.

  Her stomach rumbled.

  Okay, food then answers.

  The heat from the fireplace licked at her back. She stood and wandered over to the French window. She couldn’t see the loch from this angle, only rows and rows of rhododendrons and other greenery she couldn’t identify. It was beautiful. But the cool draft coming from the glass did nothing to temper the heat rising off her skin. She rubbed her arms to shake off the feeling.

  Voices buzzed over her head, and she realized MacInnes was talking to her. She tried to concentrate on his voice and push the buzzing noise aside. Something was definitely wrong with her. Maybe she was suffering from a complete nervous breakdown. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched an idea given everything going on.

  “Sit.” Ewen’s deep voice broke through the buzzing. She moved back toward the desk, and he pulled out her chair.

  Caitlin wanted to trust him. There was something about him that tugged at her, but the past stung. She’d been wrong before, a costly error that had shattered her confidence. Now, one wrong move—one bad decision—would have dire consequences that didn’t just involve her heart.

  “Daniel will be available to assist you with your investigation,” MacInnes said.

  “We do not need your assistance.” Ewen lowered his voice to a level she was beginning to recognize as controlled anger. He opened and stretched his hands over his thighs.

  “I had not pegged you for a sore loser, MacLean. Come now”—MacInnes fluttered a hand in the air—“put aside that noble pride. As discussed, I will allow you to take part in this investigation, in conjunction with Ms. Reed, of course.” He examined her before reverting his attention back to Ewen. “My man will provide you with a detailed accounting of what we already know and transport you to wherever you wish to go. Within our Scottish borders, of course.”

  The threat was implied. He would create the illusion of freedom, but try to escape…

  Caitlin stood. Why was she feeling so out of sorts? Unable to sit still. Unable to concentrate. Needing to run. More bookshelves lined the other side of the room, the dark wood extending upward to a coffered ceiling. The effect suffocated her. Sealed her in. Locked her in a wooden tomb while the floor rolled beneath her feet. Her skin flamed.

  The buzzing noise pitched louder than before, and somewhere in the noise, she heard a male voice, a voice that soothed the pressure building in her head. She tried to reach out. Tried to grab onto the lifeline he offered, but all she could see was the dark wall rushing toward her.

  SEVENTEEN

  Right on cue, the knight sprung from his chair and caught the fainting damsel before her body struck the floor. Ah, there was nothing more satisfying than watching a well-laid plan fall into place. Simon MacInnes pulled the cell phone from his pocket, scrolled to the proper number, and dialed.

  “My office. Now.” Gaze locked on the woman’s unconscious form, he rounded the desk and shoved the phone in his breast pocket. “Lay her down,” he ordered the stricken warrior.

  MacLean ignored his command and cradled the woman to his chest, blocking Simon’s perusal.

  The honorable ones where always the hardest to break. “This is no time to air your personal grievances. The woman is ill. Lay her down so I can check her breathing.”

  “It will be a long day in hell before I let you touch her.”

  Well, now, that could certainly be arranged. “Don’t be a fool, MacLean. You have no medical training. Your arrogant display will cause the woman further injury. Put her down.”

  MacLean hesitated. Alarm flickered in his shrewd eyes before he angled his head and observed the rise and fall of her chest.

  Simon stepped forward and reached for her pulse.

  The warrior’s nostrils flared. “Stand back, MacInnes.”

  Ah, yes, chivalry. The throwback to an ancient time when men believed in their predetermined destinies. Simon smiled and arched a brow in challenge.

  The door barged open, a
nd for the second time that morning, a woman rushed into his office. Marissa’s face blanched when she registered Caitlin’s form clasped in the arms of her rather distressed protector.

  Well, well, well. In less than twenty-four hours, the lovely Ms. Reed had wrapped both the warrior and Simon’s favorite pawn around her delicate finger.

  Impressive.

  Marcus stood at the door awaiting orders.

  Marissa turned to Simon. “Sir, shall I call for assistance?” She lowered her eyes.

  Good girl. “Not necessary. She appears to have fainted. Have you a remedy?”

  “Aye, I do,” she said.

  “Then handle it unless Mr. MacLean is opposed?” Simon taunted.

  MacLean shook his head. “No’ here.”

  “Quickly, follow me.” Ever efficient, Marissa darted down the hall with MacLean trailing behind.

  “Marcus.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do not let him out of your sight. Should he become a threat, immobilize him, but do not kill. Understand? I want Ewen MacLean alive.”

  The guard nodded and left the room.

  Simon neared the wall where Caitlin Reed had collapsed. At the bookshelf, he opened a small box and retrieved the Refiçío. How ironic the woman had fainted inches away from its position, which confirmed his earlier suspicion. If Caitlin could sense the power of the Refiçío within a ten-foot radius, then placing her within range of the Tempus would pinpoint its exact location.

  A dull iridescent glow pulsed from the stone. Simon raised his hand to inspect the nondescript, faceted quartz centered in his palm. How interesting. And unusual. The stone never manifested power without an injury present. Nor did it flare or flash bright light as it had at the warehouse, except in her presence. Hmm…somehow she amplified the stone’s power.

  Footsteps approached. Simon shoved the stone in his pocket. He sensed Cohen before the guard’s precise knock sounded on the door. Yes, his senses were more attune, a sure sign the treatments were working.

  “Come in.”

  Cohen entered the room and closed the door behind him. “Sir, I have the information you requested.” He stood at attention with the file clasped in his hands. His dark hair had been recently trimmed, conforming to Simon’s strict directives.

  Good. After all, appearances were a measure of the employer, and Simon left nothing to chance. He moved back to his desk and sat. “Ah, her medical files. What have you? Anything of interest?”

  “Yes, sir. Several news articles pertinent to your investigation.”

  Simon bent forward and grabbed the pages Cohen held out. He devoured the headlines. “Authorities Search for Missing Fall River Girl.” “5-Year-Old Girl Reported Missing from Fall River.” “Fall River Girl’s Parents Investigated.” Black and white photos of the anguished couple were splashed across the pages.

  “She was taken from her home. No evidence of forced entry. She was in her bedroom one minute, gone the next. Found two days later,” Cohen said.

  Next to the photo of Caitlin Reed’s parents was a picture of the five year old—a generic cookie-cutter school photograph complete with the missing front tooth. “Found where?”

  “Huddled in the basement, sir. Reports indicate the child was found dirty and severely dehydrated with her clothing torn.”

  “Who found her?” Simon raised a hand and smiled. “Let me guess. The grandmother?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what of the parents?”

  “Claimed they had no knowledge of how she could have gained access to the cellar. By all accounts, the house had been thoroughly searched, including the basement. The case was later closed when police were unable to find the perpetrator, or link the parents to the crime. The Department of Child Services investigated and found no signs of abuse or neglect on behalf of the parents.”

  “How convenient for them.” Simon tapped a finger on the edge of his desk as he mulled the findings—findings that confirmed Caitlin Reed’s link to the Tempus Stone. An unexplained disappearance could only mean one thing. She’d traveled through time. And in light of her reaction to the Refiçío…

  “According to the hospital report, she was treated and released. However, two weeks later she was re-admitted.”

  “Why?”

  Cohen handed him the remaining paperwork, neatly wrapped inside a manila file folder. “The parents reported the child suffered from hallucinations. She claimed to see ‘pictures of people’ and said she could hear their voices ‘in my head.’”

  Simon barked a laugh. “Oh, I am quite sure she did.” A seer. The woman was a bloody seer. “Is the report complete, Daniel?”

  “Yes, sir. Right down to her last physical.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful.” He nearly clapped his hands with joy. To think of all the years he had wasted pursuing the grandmother when it was her he had needed all along.

  “Well, well, this certainly changes things, now doesn’t it? Double the efforts where the Reeds are concerned. I want them found. I’ve no patience for incompetence, as you well know. There will be no bumbling of the mark. Are we clear?”

  “Quite clear, sir.”

  Simon reached for the blood sample he’d drawn from Ewen MacLean. “Have it processed. I want the results ASAP.” He threw the package across his desk into Cohen’s capable hands. “Assign another to dispatch the sample. You’ll be riding with me to Kilfinan.”

  Cohen slid the specimen into his suit pocket.

  “Watch MacLean. Keep me abreast of his every move. Every word. Every look. Do not underestimate the man or his physical prowess. I think we’ve yet to see what our Mr. MacLean is truly capable of.”

  Like the woman, he had a hunch about Ewen, son of Lachlan, seventh chief of the mighty MacLeans. A hunch that would soon be confirmed by a simple blood test. “Oh, and when we return from Argyll, assign Meyers to the woman’s detail.”

  “Gary? Sir, Marcus has more experience with surveillance. Perhaps—”

  “Do you question my judgement, Daniel?”

  “No sir, I simply thought—”

  “I do not pay you an exorbitant salary to think. I pay you to comply. Need I remind you again of the consequence of such insubordination? Have you forgotten so soon?”

  Cohen’s skin flushed at the recollection. A streak of excitement raced through Simon. The thrill of slowly fragmenting a man’s will—until it was no longer his—was a pleasure Simon would gladly repeat.

  “That will be all.” He dismissed the guard and rose from his desk.

  At the clicking of the door, he reached for the book on the shelf. The wall’s hidden remote was encased in the front cover. With a practiced flick of the book, the whir of a motor sounded, and the wooden wall opened to reveal his true office. A windowless space with the necessary conveniences to run his billion-dollar enterprise.

  Simon stepped inside, and with a snap of his wrist, reengaged the mechanism to close the wall behind him. He threw the file on his desk and then tabbed through the pages until he found Caitlin Reed’s most recent lab workup. Certain of what he’d find, he traced a finger down the long column, scanning the abbreviations.

  Exhilaration coated his skin. He was close. Closer than ever before.

  Ah, but diligence was the wise man’s tool, and this he would wield like a mighty sword. Now was not the time to rush forward, not with forty years of planning and plotting cresting fruition. His destiny would soon be put to the test, and it was a test he would not fail.

  For years, the memory of his master’s eviction from that pathetic kirk fueled his vengeance. Mariota MacEwen maimed the demon. The stone was Tereus’s kryptonite. And so, with every slice against Simon’s skin, and every drop of blood lost at Tereus’s hands, Simon re-imagined that moment at the church, only it was his hand controlling the stone. With that new and improved vision firmly planted in his mind, he built his self-control, scar by scar, until he’d survived the Protocol and experienced his rebirth as Simon MacInnes.

&n
bsp; No mortal man could defeat Tereus alone. This he had learned. Yet, a woman holding the Tempus Stone had critically wounded him, siphoning him of power he’d spent decades restoring.

  Perhaps defeating his master required more than the Tempus. Perhaps it required a guardian as well.

  His cell phone vibrated against his chest. He ground his teeth and accepted the call. She would expect him to answer before the first ring.

  “Has it been procured?”

  Not Cordelia, but her lapdog. “There have been delays.”

  The male laughed on the other end. Simon dug his fingernails into the flesh of his palms.

  “The mistress will not be pleased. Report to base.” Click.

  Simon inhaled through his nose, cold determination filling his lungs. Nothing and no one would interfere with his plans, least of all his master’s pompous, self-absorbed offspring.

  Control is power.

  He exhaled. Cordelia was a manageable problem. After all, the dominion of the all-powerful Morelli Empire would soon crumble by his hand.

  Ah, yes, my sire, your days are numbered.

  EIGHTEEN

  Caitlin attempted to sit up, a move her body protested with a sharp stab of pain to her temples. She groaned and raised a hand to her head.

  “Easy, lass.”

  “Give her a bit of air, now. Her color is returning.”

  Caitlin lay on a chaise. Ewen was crouched by her feet at the edge, and Marissa hovered behind her to the left, facing Ewen. Sunlight streamed in from large French doors that revealed more of the rolling lawns she had glimpsed from her bedroom. Polished dark wood walls, a staple of the manor’s décor, complemented the room’s traditional furnishings.

  Another unfamiliar room in a maze of closed doors.

  “What happened?”

  Ewen and Marissa stared at her as if she had sprouted purple horns. Bedazzled purple horns, by the looks on their faces.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.” No, you’re not, her throbbing head screamed. “Just tell me what happened.”