Echoes of Time (Echoes of Time Travel Series: Book One)

by Rylee Swann

  Shawn glared at him, wanting to dive beneath the water and not deal with this stupid conversation. “No, just don’t offer up facts she doesn’t need. Information that will worry her unnecessarily.”

  Alec snapped to attention, clicking his heels and bringing his hand up for a salute. “Aye, aye, captain,” he said, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, you could try not to be such an asshole all the time.”

  This brought renewed laughter from Alec. “You’re lucky I don’t get offended easily, Paros. Are we going to need to punch it out again? Or better yet, race it out for a few laps?”

  Shawn released a derisive laugh. “You couldn’t beat me.”

  “No? I think you might be surprised. I was a SEAL for a few years before transferring to covert ops here.”

  Shawn raised an appreciative brow. Navy SEALs were among the most elite of the United States military branches, and this gave further insight into Alec. Now Shawn understood how Alec had been able to get the upper hand on him when they fought.

  “DEVGRU?” Shawn asked, wanting to know if Alec had been one of the elitists within the already elite SEALs.

  “What do you know about SEAL Team Six?” Alec asked, using the informal name for the United States Naval Special Warfare Development Group—DEVGRU.

  “Enough to have a healthy respect for them.” He motioned to the pool. “Wanna go?”

  Shawn couldn’t help being curious how fast Alec might be in the water. And it would be a little like the games played by kids on Paros that Shawn had rarely been included in, even though he could mostly hold his own with full-blooded Parosians.

  Shaking his head, Alec threw a towel at him. “Another time. Dry off and get dressed. You have a plane to catch and I need to brief you before you leave.”

  Disappointed but not letting it show, Shawn held out a hand. “One minute. I’m about to ask you for a favor and if you laugh or act stupid about it, we’re going back into the boxing ring and I won’t be holding back.”

  Alec’s eyebrows shot up comically high but, to his credit, he otherwise kept a neutral expression. “What’s the favor?”

  “Keep an eye on Rayna while I’m gone. You already know that someone shot me and I don’t have a damned clue who. I’ve downplayed it to ease her mind but there’s every chance whoever it is could come after her when they can’t find me. They weren’t bothered by possibly hitting her when they were aiming at me that night on the beach. When I get back, I’m going to take the time to put out feelers and find this person, but for now…” He hated that he had to ask this of a government agent, that he couldn’t be there for her, and every muscle coiled in futile inaction. “Just keep her safe, alright?”

  “Consider it done,” Alec said in a heartfelt tone, and together they walked out of the basement gym.

  Opulent. Decadent. Tacky. These were the first words that came to Shawn’s mind when he entered the Casino du Lac-Leamy in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. Intel provided by Alec said that this place was frequented by the assassin known as Ramón Soriano.

  Shawn squinted as he moved through the busy casino. Too many neon and flashing lights. The unmistakable sounds of one-armed bandits, dice, and shouts of disappointment and joy rose and fell in waves. Laughter and the clink of ice in glasses lent a musical note to the din.

  Carrying his overnight bag, he scanned the crowd of local and vacationing gamblers for signs of his target as he made his way to the adjoining hotel. None looked like the picture of the suave, dark-haired Latino Alec had shown him. The image had been grainy and in profile, but enough to capture the indulgent smile and slicked-back hair of one of the most dangerous men in the world.

  Shawn had been to Canada on many occasions, but never in 1983. It had always been in the past. A time when buffalo ruled the plains, Native Americans were not all but extinct, and horses were the primary mode of transportation.

  He’d also visited France a couple of times. The country wasn’t to his taste, but he’d learned the language. Now, it would come in handy while in French-speaking Quebec.

  Not expecting this to be a quick or easy assignment, he remembered with a wry inner smile how Alec had described it to him. “It’s an impossible mission. One that’ll either get you killed or prove to us that you’re worth not killing ourselves.”

  Looking forward to the challenge, he checked into his room at the Hôtel Mont Royal, his fingers itching to begin gambling. To drop lots of cash and win big payouts in order to attract the attention of his target so he could get back to Rayna as soon as possible.

  He left his overnight bag at the front desk and stepped into the casino. Even in the middle of the day it was packed with gamblers. Standing at the entrance, he scanned the crowd, but spotted no one who might be Ramón, so he headed for the cashier cage. He handed the clerk two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills and asked for a black one-hundred-dollar chip and an assortment of red and green chips to total the second hundred.

  At the blackjack area, he discovered five tables, all occupied. Checking out each of the dealers, he chose the table with a pretty young blonde. He could flirt with her, and possibly obtain information about Ramón.

  He stood quietly observing the game in progress until he caught the dealer’s eye. She did a double take and flashed him a wide smile. Shawn shot her a grin in return, one calculated to elicit further interest. Her smile broadened, reaching her green eyes. Emerald, actually. Very attractive, alluring.

  Two of the players cashed out and left the table, leaving only one more to wait out. He wanted the table to himself for as long as possible. A waitress passed, and Shawn touched her shoulder, whispering in her ear to order a whiskey straight up. A small frown touched the dealer’s lips. Jealous already.

  Prying her open for information would be easy.

  By the time his drink arrived, the table was empty and Shawn slid into one of the vacant chairs. Placing his chips in front of him, he gave the dealer a flirtatious smile.

  “Bonjour, monsieur.” She motioned for Shawn to cut the deck.

  Her voice was rough, scratchy. No doubt she smoked, and Shawn sighed inwardly. He detested the habit. It didn’t exist on Paros, and reminded him of the outright decadence of this planet he’d decided to call home.

  “Bonjour.” After cutting the deck, he picked up his drink and took a sip, enjoying the fire as the whiskey burned its way down his throat.

  “Placez vos paris.”

  Shawn knew the dealer had invited him to place his bet, but he made a snap decision to play the tourist rather than a seasoned gambler.

  “Parlez-vous anglais?” he asked with a sheepish grin.

  “Ah, oui, yes, sir. Please place your bets and we’ll begin.” She licked her lips, and he held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

  Reading the engraving on the dealer’s name tag, he hid a pleased smile. This was too easy. “Barbie? Like the doll?”

  A blush crept up her neck to her cheeks. “What can I say?”

  “Nice to meet you, Barbie. I’m Shawn.” He pushed his one black chip forward. “Let’s see what kind of luck you bring me.”

  Buzzers and bells went off around them, but he paid the noise no heed. Someone had hit big at a slot machine, but Shawn’s focus remained on Barbie and the cards she’d started dealing. He took another sip of his whiskey and smiled over the rim as Barbie turned over the king of diamonds. And, then a nine of clubs. The object of the game was twenty-one, and he had nineteen.

  He waved his hand across the cards and said, “Stand,” to indicate he didn’t want more cards.

  Winning or losing was all in Barbie’s hands now.

  Settling into the game, he kept his expression neutral as she turned over her first card—a two of hearts. His heartbeat sped up as Barbie turned over each card one by one. It was a small bet, inconsequential to the high roller he sought, and wouldn’t move him forward in his mission. Yet, he couldn’t help getting caught up in the thrill of the unkn
own. Of fickle chance. He’d gambled a few times but had forgotten how much fun it could be. How exciting.

  His affinity to it made sense. He lived his life on the toss of the dice. Kill or be killed. Escape or be caught. Life, itself, was nothing more than a game. Shawn wished he knew the rules. Maybe then he might have had a better chance of living a normal life on Earth, or perhaps even on Paros.

  No time now for any further depressing self-reflection. Barbie had turned over a card that busted her hand. With a smile, she gave Shawn the additional chips he’d won. He’d doubled his money, which especially made him look forward to the next hand.

  “Congratulations, monsieur.”

  “Shawn.” He gathered together the new pile of chips and winked.

  Another becoming blush tinged her cheeks as she nodded.

  He played several more hands as he flirted with Barbie, driving her crazy since she wasn’t supposed to openly chat with the customers. He won all but two of the hands and accumulated quite a sizable pile of chips in front of him. Yet, he grew tired of the game.

  “Barbie, I regret to say it’s time for me to cash out.”

  She pouted, and Shawn gave her a slow smile.

  “But it has been a pleasure. When do you get off?”

  “The second I laid eyes on you.” She licked her rosy lips and held on to his hand longer than necessary as she gave him his winnings.

  Shawn gazed at her, his smile turning predatory. “Meet me for a drink?”

  “I can meet you in La Chambre Rouge in fifteen.” She was so eager, he hoped she’d have the right information, or all of this would have been a waste of time. His interest in her only extended to what she might know of Ramón.

  He nodded, scooped up his chips, and left the table.

  La Chambre Rouge, or The Red Room, lived up to its name with dark red carpeting and tablecloths, and bloody neon pipes crawling up and down the walls that pulsed with the beat of disco music almost like strobe lights. The attractive waitstaff wore red shirts and black dress pants or miniskirts. The room reminded Shawn of a dungeon, yet, the props managed to work together to create a pleasant ambiance.

  He took a seat at a table for two where he could see the entrance and not have his back to the rest of the room. As always, he looked for signs of his target but again came up empty. It’s only the first day he reminded himself. He would find Ramón in short order, and Barbie would help if she could.

  In a few minutes, Barbie pranced into the bar, waving when she spotted him. Plopping into a seat across from him, she leaned in close. “So, tell me, Shawn. Were you counting cards?”

  Shawn blinked at her and uttered a low laugh. “Are you going to turn me in?”

  “No, of course not!” She placed a hand on his arm. “That would get you thrown out, and I wouldn’t be able to spend time with you.”

  He patted her hand. “I’m glad to hear that. What can I get you to drink?”

  She gave him what he imagined to be her most alluring gaze. “I’ll have an Alabama Slammer.”

  He would have pegged her for a Slippery Nipple or a Sex on the Beach, but her drink of choice was in the same general vein. He got the attention of a waitress and ordered the slammer for her and another whiskey for himself. They arrived quickly and Shawn held up his glass in a toast.

  “To the beautiful woman at my table.” He inclined his head and she put a hand to her chest as if delighted he would say such a thing. She picked up her drink and they clinked glasses.

  She guzzled almost half of the contents, then winked at him. “Damned if you aren’t the prettiest boy I’ve seen here in a long while.”

  He acknowledged her compliment with a nod and took a sip of his drink. “So, tell me, Barbie. Are there any private games here? Where do the high rollers hide?”

  “Oh, sure there are. They’re invite only though. Those games are a big deal, you know. Very high stakes, but they do get the adrenaline pumping.”

  “Yes, of course.” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion. “I just got here, so don’t take my initial gambits as the norm. I came here to play, and I have a bankroll to burn.”

  She followed his lead and leaned in close too, their lips almost meeting above the center of the table. “How good are you?”

  It was a loaded question, and he played along, answering with an innuendo. “Honey, I can last all night long.”

  She licked her lips. “And come out a winner?”

  “You know it.” He kept his tone seductive, but he was growing restless. He needed her to provide information, not foreplay. “So who should I be looking for? For an invite to one of those games? I heard that there’s a Latin man who plays here. Raymond? Or Mario? Maybe...Ramón?”

  “Hmmm…” She sucked on the straw of her drink. “No, that doesn’t ring a bell. But maybe you could, you know, jog my memory?”

  She’d left a muddy stain from her bright red lipstick on the straw, and her breath smelled like an ashtray, and he recoiled at the thought of doing any such thing. With a start, he realized that he didn’t want to kiss her, much less take her to bed. Yet, that was his modus operandi. He suddenly felt lost, like he was floating on the surface of the water when he usually preferred to dive down deep. What could his next move be, if not to bed her? She seemed not to have any information about Ramón, but maybe she was only playing hard to get.

  Could he simply get up and walk away? He didn’t need to dive deeper if she had nothing more to give, did he? These concepts were new to him. A revelation, and it gave him pause.

  He had never thought about the fact that he was that guy. The one who took to bed anyone he wanted, whenever he wanted. The bad boy. The player.

  The user?

  Sure, he only slept with women when he needed something or to give him release, but weren’t they doing the same? The act wasn’t wrong or dirty or mean, and he’d never thought anything of it. It was sex, and nothing more.

  This train of thought led him to a new epiphany. He didn’t have to kiss Barbie or sleep with her, especially if he didn’t want to. There were other ways to get what he needed. Other people who could provide the information. He was certainly not at a dead end, as far as potential informants were concerned.

  He didn’t have to be that guy. Didn’t want to be. Not since Rayna.

  This thought rocked him to his core, but he had no time to fully analyze and understand it. He had to get on with his mission.

  Decision made, he offered Barbie a sad smile. “I’m sure that would be fun, but I’m limited in time. I’ve got funds burning a hole in my pocket and I gotta get moving.” He downed his drink and kissed her lightly on the cheek as he stood. “I’m sure you understand.”

  Her jaw dropped open as he walked away, but he didn’t feel bad about it. She’d latch on to another mark soon enough. Besides, she would have only hated him later, rather than immediately, for using her and ditching her. Instead, he’d only ditched her.

  Now, to find Ramón and complete his mission.

  So he could get back to the only woman he wanted. Rayna.

  15

  Five days later, Shawn had amassed a medium-sized fortune in winnings from well-placed bets and strategic gaming, but still had no leads regarding the whereabouts of Ramón Soriano, the assassin.

  With each passing moment he grew more and more frustrated, drumming his fingers on his thighs as he gambled. Knowing impatience would get him nowhere, he tried to relax and enjoy his time at the casino, but to no avail. A restlessness overtook him, and if something did not break soon, he feared he’d tell Rayna that the deal with Alec Connor was off. He’d rather work on his own terms, and if that meant losing her… Still, he was unwilling to consider that possibility.

  So, he sat at the roulette table, the wheel spinning round and round, placing arbitrary bets. He’d won some and lost some, and with a quick calculation figured that he was about even. He laid his chips on the black thirty-three and motioned to let it ride.

  “I have what you
’re looking for,” a male voice said in a low tone geared for only Shawn’s ears.

  Shawn glanced at the man to his right and did a double take before he could stop himself. The stranger was clearly Native American. Long straight black hair, black eyes, dark skin. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken, and there was a scar from a knife wound on his lower left cheek. He waggled his eyebrows as Shawn directed his attention back to the gaming table.

  “Sorry, but I don’t swing that way,” Shawn said quietly.

  The stranger barked out a laugh. “Neither do I, dude. Neither does Ramón, in case you’re interested.”

  The little white roulette ball slowed, nearing coming to a stop, but Shawn lost all interest. This man had dropped Ramón’s name on purpose. He’d finally attracted the right attention. Shaking off the dullness from sitting in boredom for so long, Shawn again glanced at his new contact.

  “That’s good to know. I’d like to meet him.”

  The stranger let loose a good-natured chuckle. “And, I have a feeling he’ll enjoy meeting you too.”

  Shawn nodded and said, “Cash out,” to the croupier, as the ball landed on black thirty-three. “Tonight?” he said to man next to him.

  “Yeah, but not now. Stay and gamble. Ramón’s not here. I’m driving out to where he is at midnight. If you wanna come with, meet me at the hotel entrance.” He started to walk away and then called back over his shoulder, “And bring whatever you can’t live without. It’s a long drive and you won’t be coming back here.”

  He strutted off, broad shoulders evident in his satin navy jacket. Back straight and a spring in his step, he disappeared into the thicket of gamblers.

  Shawn pocketed his chips and, with nowhere else to go until the meeting time, he returned to his hotel room. He wouldn’t be returning to this hotel any time soon. That begged the question, where was Ramón? In a little over three hours, according to the digital clock on the nightstand, he’d find out. Not knowing when he might next have a chance to sleep, he stripped out of his clothes, and called the front desk to request a wake-up call.