by Chris Lange
The computers remained silent and the air in the room kept entering and exiting her lungs. Who was this guy?
Although he appeared cold and unfriendly, she didn’t feel threatened. What she felt was something very different and very inappropriate. Now wasn’t a good time to blush, but, looking at his strong face and lean body, sudden intimate images swirled in her mind, swirled and danced as if alive.
She pictured his shirt slowly sliding down his shoulders, his hand reaching for the button on his pants, his smoldering eyes beckoning her to touch him. Naked images so vivid that a tongue of desire licked her. Such an unpredictable reaction to a total stranger, she didn’t know what to make of it.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Garrett Burnes.”
“Ah.”
So that’s who Dad meant.
Garrett’s matter-of-fact voice belied his impatient body language as he tapped his fingers on the banister. “I take it you have heard of me.”
“When . . . how did you get in?”
A light smirk she didn’t care for stretched the corners of his full lips before he pointed to the top of the stairs.
“Time is of the essence, Miss Richardson, and I do not have any to spare for stupid questions. We already ought to be on our way.”
Who did he think he was to call her stupid? She only saw a jackass on his way to a kitsch British Halloween.
“Let me tell you something, Mister Burnes,” Tracy said, “I’m not going anywhere with you, no matter what you—”
“William informed me you were a stubborn child. I believed he was exaggerating, but I dare say it is a reputation well deserved.”
“My father would never . . .” She drew in a breath, Garrett’s sarcastic interruption quickening her pulse and making her choke on the words. “Never say such a thing.”
“Therefore, you shall come with me.”
This interesting turn of events cooled her down. Had this man been walking around with a top hat and a cane, she’d have thought him straight out of the nineteenth century.
She studied so many oil paintings and art sketches during her senior year at San Francisco Academy of Art that the pictures were imprinted in her mind. The dress codes from the past often brought a smile to her lips as she memorized the diverse clothing.
His eccentric, old-fashioned outfit sobered his looks, yet he managed to appear young and dashing. She eyed him from head to toe without trying to hide her mocking stance. “You haven’t been to Barney’s recently, right?”
When he shot her a blank look, a grin stretched her lips while she made an encompassing gesture with her hand. “I’m only saying this because you . . . well, you know what I mean. That three-piece suit is a killer.”
“Good gracious. Am I to presume you have no knowledge of your situation? Do you not know where you are?”
He sounded surprised, the brief widening of his eyes displaying for the first time some kind of emotion.
She was having more and more doubts about trusting this man. Handsome, yes. Attractive, yes. Hot, freaking yes. Kind and honest, that was a different matter altogether. What did her dad see in him?
“I’m in my basement,” she said, starting to wonder if his awesome looks matched a feeble mind.
He shook his head. “William hasn’t told you, has he?”
“Told me what?”
“Have you indeed come through this machinery without any knowledge of your destination?”
He quirked an eyebrow as he took a step forward.
Keeping her eyes on him, she edged toward the computer chair. “Sure, but it isn’t working, and I don’t know why.”
“It’s functioning perfectly.”
The guy must be on the edge of insanity. Charming and interesting, but wacko. She saw a new glint in his eyes as he observed her in a different way. What was it? Maybe something akin to respect? Admiration? Or did he take pity on her because he believed her stupid and foolhardy?
“No, it isn’t working and I—”
“You are in San Francisco—”
“I’m pretty sure this is Sausalito, but given your awesome outfit, I guess that’s only a technicality to you.”
Could she use anything on the desk as a weapon? A sharp letter opener, perhaps? She didn’t have a clue as to how this crazy man entered her father’s lab, but she’d better be a little more cautious.
His dark eyes glued to her face, he ignored her last comment and finished his statement.
“In 1899.”
Icy tremors ran down her spine as all thought of self-defense left her. Deep inside, she knew Garrett spoke the truth. Wheeling the computer chair around, she dropped into it, her throat dry and dread in her heart.
“Damn.”
“You really had no idea?”
He sounded less stern now. Not kind, but a little concerned. All she could do was shake her head.
“Not a clue.”
She glanced at the letter in her hand. Although he didn’t mention it in the brief note, she figured she’d just come out of her father’s most recent invention: a device designed for time traveling.
The stranger before her hadn’t dressed up for a Halloween party. Hell, no. He lived in the year 1899. So did she now. Was her dad here too?
Disregarding her slumped posture, Garrett took another step. “I fear we don’t have time to waste on idle talk. If you would please come with me, Miss Richardson.”
Back to his usual, stony, and ever-so-polite self. His kind-of-nice attitude hadn’t lasted very long.
“Why?”
“It’s essential we locate William.”
Her father’s name coming out of the stranger’s mouth spurred her out of the swiveling chair in a rush. “You’ve seen him? You know where he is?”
“Indeed I have. Two days ago.”
“How was he? What did he say?” Her heart stilled. She expelled a sigh while gripping the corner of the desk and wishing Garrett would talk faster.
“Your father was faring well. However, he seemed to have a lot on his mind. Something uncertain and secret troubled him. When I sought a clarification, he indicated that he intended to go home for a while, then . . .”
Garrett wavered for an instant, his silence prompting her to move forward.
Eager for news, she urged him on. “Then?”
“Thirty minutes ago, an unsigned message delivered to my door informed me that he’s missing.”
Garrett crossed the short distance separating them.
She stared at him while he took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
I have Richardson. Daughter contacted. If you want to see him again, bring it to me. You have forty-eight hours. Further instructions will follow.
Damn, the whole thing was real. She’d embarked on this adventure like a youngster excited by a make-believe story, but the paper in her fingers was solid proof of her father’s abduction. Someone bad roamed out there. Someone who would go to any lengths to get what he wanted.
“Oh my God, he’s got Dad.”
“I fear so.”
She read the note again. The mysterious person was obviously after something, but what? He called it a Christmas present earlier on the phone, yet she couldn’t see the connection. Without much to start on, she tucked the message along with the letter into the back pocket of her jeans and raised her gaze to the dark eyes observing her.
“Who do you think he is?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Do you know what he’s after?”
“I might have an idea but, unfortunately, I feel we don’t have much time to find your father, Miss Richardson. May I suggest we leave?”
“Stop calling me that. It makes me feel old
and grumpy. My name is Tracy.”
“Very well.”
The agreement dropped from his lips with evident reluctance. Heedless of his personal tastes in handling the English language, she gave a last glance at the computers and sprang to her feet.
“Where are you taking me, Garrett?”
“Outside.”
He backed up toward the stairs.
About to follow him, she caught the sway of his stiffening shoulders. “What? What’s wrong?”
“One is not used to being addressed in such an informal manner.”
In that second, the arrogance in his voice and manner reminded her of royal people waving to the crowd from their carriages. Given his British accent, was his mother the queen of England?
“Who’s one?” she asked.
Garrett just stared at her.
For a second, the sight of his handsome face stirred a weird longing in the pit of her stomach and she ignored it with difficulty.
“Oh,” she said, “you mean . . . you. I’m sorry, but you lose me sometimes. So, are you going to spend sleepless nights if I call you Garrett?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good. Then let’s go to wherever it is we’re going. You’ll fill me in on the way, and I want to know every detail.”
Above the duplicate lab, she found herself in a small warehouse that had nothing in common with her family’s house on Bonita Street. Just empty rooms with a musty lingering smell reminiscent of abandoned places.
She did her best to follow Garrett’s lead once they were outside. Arms pumping, breathing hard, and so glad she put her sneakers on this morning instead of heels, she nevertheless ended up a few feet behind him in spite of her efforts.
Here she strode in the heart of 1899 San Francisco and she was being dragged along too quickly to take in the sights. What she could see looked old and dirty, but the smell and noise were even worse.
Clusters of houses seemed on the verge of collapsing. The narrow and muddy streets full of horseshit, crisscrossed with streetcar tracks and cable slots, were just a hazardous mess. She wondered how anybody could function on a daily basis surrounded by such stinking and aggressive odors.
Walk-running around a square she didn’t recognize, she spotted people riding bicycles, people riding on horseback, horse-drawn wagons, steam tricycles, gasoline-powered automobiles, and even a penny-farthing.
She wanted to stop right there, to gape at the fantastic opportunity life was throwing at her but her companion kept walking on. She saw children playing with sticks and funny diamond-shaped objects in the thick, viscous stuff that was called a street, dirt on their faces, shouting at—
Her left foot slipped. She instantly shifted her weight, thought she was going to make it, didn’t. She fell butt first into the mud, droplets splattering her, unhurt but conscious in an instant of her ridiculous position.
“Garrett!”
He feigned not to hear her cry.
Damn him and his ways. His pretense didn’t fool her though because he also shortened his long strides, probably thinking she was a spoiled brat who couldn’t take a challenge. Or avoid obstacles. Damn, wasn’t that man unnervingly irritating?
“Garrett!”
He turned around at last and eyed her. “Aren’t you a tad old to amuse yourself in the mud?”
“Don’t you start.” She longed to wipe off the smirk on his oh-so-gorgeous face, but raised her finger instead. “You’d better help me get up.”
He complied, and she grabbed his firm hand to let him help her up. At the hot touch of his skin, a pang of desire struck her so hard that she almost lost her footing again. Their gazes met.
She could have sworn Garrett reacted to her contact in exactly the same way, but unlike her, he brushed it aside with perfect control. His composure tickled her nerves. He was a man set on his path, not to be toyed with.
He released her fingers as soon as she stood on her own. “Are you injured?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. Could you just walk less quickly? I’m not training for the Olympic Games.”
“I hear women shall be authorized to participate in the Games for the first time, but I would not be too hopeful in your training.”
“My training?”
Appearing severe in his impeccable, somber three-piece suit, he spoke with the utmost seriousness.
“Yes, for the Games will be held in Paris in a matter of months.”
Right. The twenty-first century was over a hundred years ahead and events from her past hadn’t yet occurred. Although she had trouble keeping a straight face, she dropped the subject. He couldn’t understand the innuendo.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
They were walking again, this time at an easier pace. At least, he wasn’t a total jerk. Being on the move felt good, and it took her mind off her filthy, anachronistic appearance. Where did girls shop in this century? Did rich women send their maids to purchase beautiful dresses for them?
“To meet a friend. We scheduled a social gathering for this morning before I received the message regarding your father’s whereabouts. If we hurry, we shan’t be too terribly late, no thanks to your untimely arrival.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah, she was the one lagging behind while he marched ever onward like a real Lord, she got that.
Wiping soft specks off her cheek, she spotted a woman wearing a corseted outfit with tight sleeves and small puffs capping the shoulders. The dress didn’t seem comfortable, yet the man beside her with a pointed beard and generous moustache appeared even more rigorous in his suit. How would those people react if shown modern mini-skirts or bathing suits? What about G-strings?
Giggles rose up her throat but she held them back. She’d better focus on keeping up with Garrett.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked. “Is he going to help us?”
Chapter 3
“Certainly,” Garrett responded. “He pledged himself to the cause. All of us did.”
Did groups of people in 1899 San Francisco have a cause she’d never heard of? Another secret she’d have to uncover.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Who’s ‘us’?”
“Come.” He seized her arm and suddenly pulled her forward to avoid a cable car made of solid oak and brass.
Just like the good old days. So engrossed in the conversation, she hadn’t seen the cable car coming down the street. “Phew!”
“Do you ever pay attention?” Garrett frowned at her.
“Sorry about that, but everything is so confusing and vivid here. I’m going to need some time to adjust to . . .”
She made a sweeping gesture that implied all this. The time period, the weird surroundings, the shock of a new reality. Her genuine answer seemed to hit home because Garrett’s features softened and he let go of her arm.
“I apologize,” he said. “Have no fear, our destination is at hand and we shall answer your questions as best we can.”
Before she could thank Garrett for his remarkable sensitivity, she found herself being roughly jerked from behind into an alleyway and pushed against a smelly wall. Blood rushed in her veins as she hit the hard surface. She gasped and tried to scream, but the short burly man holding her up muzzled her with a greasy palm.
Twisting her body didn’t achieve anything as he pressed on her mouth even harder and the wall grated the back of her head. Sweat coating her neck, she winced from the sharp sting while uttering a cry that nobody heard.
“Shut up, missy, or your man dies.”
Scared and a bit dazed, she still experienced an odd sensation in her belly on hearing the words your man. Would she like Garrett to be her man? Would she enjoy lying naked on a bed next to his lean body, his dark gaze set on her mouth while he caressed her breasts and the insi
de of her thighs? That would have been a train of thought worth pursuing if they hadn’t been under attack.
Three men had already lunged on Garrett. He struck his fist at the biggest one who went sprawling in the dirt and didn’t get up. Had they been fighting one-on-one, he’d have overcome his opponents easily, but while one stayed down, the other two pounded on him like trained boxers punching a heavy bag. He seemed to protect his head though, the blows landing mostly on his ribs and back.
She had to do something. Frustration invading her senses, she attempted to push her assailant again. He retaliated, his other hand shooting to her chest right before he pinched her nipple with savagery.
“Don’t move!”
Her eyes watered and a yelp died in her throat as her nostrils flared to gulp in air. Worse than the pain, revulsion coursed through her when he didn’t let go but started rubbing her breast. His gaze took on a glassy look while he kept kneading her. She felt his erection against her navel.
“Feels good, missy,” he said in a husky tone, “how about giving ole Barney a little treat?”
Perhaps over her retching body. Trying to ignore the nauseating sensation gripping her bowels, she focused on breathing and cast a glance over her assailant’s shoulder.
Garrett was having the shit beaten out of him by three men. Who were these guys? What did they want? Despite the blows raining down on him, Garrett remained on his feet.
Her heart sank. There would be no way out. Nobody knew they were there. Nobody would spot them in that shabby alleyway.
But her legs were free and she refused to be helpless. As the burly man continued his revolting motions on her breast, she kicked him as hard as she could. He didn’t budge but tightened his grip on her mouth. She could taste his stinking skin, and another shudder of revulsion hit her stomach.