by Autumn Piper
My hands dropped back to my chest. “Don’t tell me you’re going to ruin this moment by reading my criminal record?”
His smirk told me he intended to do just that.
“God. You’ve got to be the only man alive who’d pass up guaranteed sex. What’s wrong with you?”
“1993. Criminal mischief when basketball team toilet papered opposing team’s bus. Miranda was found by investigating officer to be innocent of the act but served community service with the ringleaders for refusing to name the perpetrators.” He looked back at me with narrowed eyes for a moment. “1997. Illegal bungee jumping, resulting in a fine. 1998. Unauthorized…rock climbing in a state park?” This time he looked shocked.
“We used a safety harness, okay? I did take the precautions. Can I go now?”
After a couple of mouse clicks and several seconds of reading the body of the message, he turned back to me. “How can a person be thirty years old and have a perfect driving record? Not a single ticket?” He sounded almost jealous. “You bungee, skydive, fly small aircraft, and rock climb, but you’ve never got a speeding ticket?”
“Hey, I’m careful on the road. You know how many people die in car accidents every year?”
“I think there are two personalities in that pretty head of yours.”
Though I loved the compliment, I borrowed his tactic of changing the topic back to him.
“So are you gonna tell me why you’re checking my background, Wheels?”
“No. I’m not. And you, Ms. Drew, are not going to sneak around and poke into my business anymore. Got it?”
“So that’s it? You…you…you kiss me into complacency, then give me a pat on the bottom and send me off to bed where I’ll go to sleep like a good girl?”
“Pretty much. Because if you don’t behave, I’ll make sure you never get to see how much energy your chakras can hold, shortie. If you jeopardize my case, you will not be traveling back in time. Any questions?”
That anger flaring inside me wasn’t productive. I had to channel the energy to help find out what he was up to. “Case. So you admit, you work for the government. Are you with the Space-Time Continuum Agency? The FBI? CIA? DEA?”
“There really is only one way to shut you up, isn’t there?”
“Oh, don’t even think about kissing me again. I don’t kiss blackmailers.” Which was rather a bummer.
He laughed at me. “I like to think of it as coercion, rather than blackmail. Come on, N.D. Time to get you back to your own room.” When he stood and wrapped his towel around his middle to hide his bulging swimsuit, I couldn’t help noticing all the dark smudges on one side of the towel. Were they from his fake tan wearing off? No, those smudges would be orange, like his skin.
“What?” he asked.
“What’s your natural hair color?”
“Christ. Of all the broads to get stuck with on this case.” With a firm hand on my arm, he led me from his room back to my own. At my door, he cupped my chin with his free hand. “You really are more trouble than I’m prepared to deal with.” He planted a soft kiss on my lips, said simply, “Lock your door,” and left.
Dear Randi,
It happened. Oh my God. The Near Miss Kiss became a head-on reality, and it was no accident. Good thing for all that Spandex in his Speedo, too, because it was stretching very much when he walked me to my door.
Excuse me while I go and relive it a couple thousand times.
Randi the Thoroughly Kissed
Note to self: I want him—deal with it!
Chapter 6
The chilly quiet of early morning seeped through my open door as I put on my makeup. I felt euphoric, despite how late it had been when I’d finally fallen asleep.
This was probably more makeup than I needed for an early morning yoga session, but I couldn’t resist trying to look my best.
A rustle at the door caught my attention. A green envelope had been tucked between the doors, and Mrs. Sudo’s tiny backside retreated around the corner.
This was highly unusual! Finishing my makeup would have to wait. I had to know what was inside that envelope.
It wasn’t sealed. The stationery inside had three bamboo sticks embossed in each corner, and a note handwritten in small, scratchy letters:
Please, come to meeting with Professor before morning yoga. Wear shoes for hiking. Bring jacket. Bring sunscreen.
No signature.
Hiking shoes and an early morning meeting...hmm. I’d never seen Professor so early. In fact, I’d come to suspect that while we were off dragging our arses up a hiking trail to meet the sunrise atop a rocky knoll every morning, he slept in.
Perhaps he thought I was ready for some one-on-one tutelage. Or—and my heart pounded with this thought—I was being expelled for my involvement with Mitch. Maybe Sudo had noticed my poor concentration and was splitting us up. What if Mitch had gone to him about Lonnie, and I was being taken to task for keeping mum? Hell. There were too many possibilities. I needed to get my butt up to Sudo’s office and find out.
* * * *
A half hour later, Mitch and I stood at the edge of a heliport, backpacks at our feet as Tim and the Feng Shui Inn van disappeared around the bend with a tiny squeal of tires.
Besides the shuffle of feet from a coverall-wearing man inspecting a nearby helicopter, we were surrounded by quiet.
“This was not in the packet they mailed to me last month.”
“Yeah,” Mitch muttered beside me, “I’m not wild about choppers, myself.”
“I wasn’t referring to the helicopter ride. I meant, getting dumped for an overnight backpack trip in Grand Canyon to experience the ‘Second level of soulfulness’. The way Mrs. Sudo talked, you and I can’t complete the time travel unless we connect.” Oh, we connected all right, but not in a spiritual way. Someone clearly didn’t want me to go back in time, and that entity had sent Mitch to make sure I was distracted. “It doesn’t make sense. Nobody else in the program is traveling with a partner. With all the prep I did before coming here, I’m clearly the most advanced in the group. The least likely to need a partner.”
Mr. Coveralls finished his inspection and disappeared inside the building.
A muscle worked under the skin at the end of Mitch’s jaw. “Why do you think they paired us up, then?”
“Truthfully?” No more beating around the bush. “I think you’re here to watch me, maybe distract me until the Feds find a way to shut Sudo down.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “So it’s all a conspiracy to keep you from traveling back in time?”
“No. I didn’t say that. I think it’s a conspiracy to keep anyone from using Sudo’s methods. And you’ve got to stop me because I’m almost ready.”
“You’re not exactly the picture of calm and openness,” he taunted. “What makes you so sure Sudo isn’t sending me to help you along?”
“Oh! Help me? I’ll have you know, I was doing fine before you came along!”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin I’d come to know meant he was amused at my expense. It happened all too often.
“You continually piss me off. Everyone knows it’s impossible to concentrate when angry.” I shook my head and looked northwest, where we’d be headed. “And now this. Instead of assigning more meditation, they send us out there.”
“You’re nervous about this?” He swept his hand to indicate the choppers, his voice softening. “You ever ride in one?”
“Yes. I took the Aerial Tour in Vegas last winter. Twice. Loved it.”
“Of course you would.” He sounded disappointed. “What are you afraid of, then? Me?”
“Hmmf! You know how many rattlesnakes are out in that Canyon?” Why my voice had to raise to a squeak when I said the word for my greatest fear, I’d never know.
“Snakes? You’re afraid of snakes?” He was way too excited to find out about my phobia.
“Not just afraid. It’s more like terror. And I swear to God, if you screw with me out there and
tease me about it, I will push you off a ledge.”
“Hey,” he soothed. “When I looked through our packs, I saw a snakebite kit.”
“The kit won’t be necessary. If a snake gets that close to me, I’ll die of a heart attack.”
“Hmm.” He cupped my face with one hand, and his dimple appeared. “You might need resuscitating if that happens.” Before I could sting him with a scathing reply, his grin faded to a soft smile. “You’re kinda cute when you’re weak and scared.”
I’m not weak, or scared either. Just nervous about snakes. But my protest parked in my throat when his face came closer. As his lips neared, I murmured, “Are we wearing enough clothes this time?” The corners of his mouth turned up, and I closed my eyes. He smelled of soap and fruity shampoo. A whiff of toothpaste sent my heart racing in anticipation. His warm hand slid down from my face to the side of my neck.
“Goodman, party of two?” chirped a female beside me.
My now-open eyes registered a befuddled-looking Mitch.
“Hi, I’m Brenda. We’re almost set for takeoff, but before we’re airborne, I need your signatures on a few forms.” Bearing two clipboards and a tour-guide smile, the perky blonde carried on her spiel, ponytail atop her head bobbing all the while. “So if you can sign these, near the highlighted ‘x’ at the bottom of each form, including our list of recommended provisions and equipment for an overnight in the Canyon.” She handed each of us a clipboard and pen. As I scanned the standard Release of Liability document in front of me, she rambled on. “You’ll be provided one RescueRadio equipped with GPS and a detailed map of the park trails. I have your overnight trip permit, too. I see you’ve got hats already.”
Thanks to good old Mrs. Sudo, I had a floppy-brimmed hot pink hat with an Elvis silhouette patch on the front and thekinglives.org emblazoned below. Probably a re-gift, originally bestowed on her from Rhona. While I felt like an unbalanced tourist in my goofy hat, Mitch looked hip in a Cardinals baseball cap. Brenda had also noticed how attractive Mitch was, because she stepped closer to him when she handed over the RescueRadio. Was she actually batting her lashes?
Even in the comfy t-shirt he must’ve intended to wear to yoga, his wide shoulders were obvious, defined pecs pressed now and then against the fabric when he moved. Though he still wore his ‘scientist’ khaki shorts, his rear end looked great in them. I’d have to make sure to let him lead whenever we hiked, so I could gawk at it. With the possibility of a rattlesnake at any step, trailing behind seemed best, anyhow.
“I understand you’ll be visiting some Havasupai sacred grounds,” Flight-check Chick purred. “I highlighted them on your map.”
“Er, thanks,” Mitch replied.
“At Extremair Tours, we go the extra mile, so you don’t have to.” She giggled. “Let me know if there’s anything else, anything at all, I can do for you.”
I felt like asking her if she could supply us with a few condoms for our trip. Maybe that would remind her she wasn’t standing here alone with Mitch.
“Actually, I think we’ll be fine,” Mitch said, reaching his arm around my shoulder.
“Of course.” Brenda’s smile sure didn’t seem too sincere. “Is this a special occasion for you two?”
“Honeymoon,” Mitch answered. It took all I had to keep my jaw from dropping open. “Come on, Mrs. Goodman. Looks like our ride is ready. You got all your forms signed?”
Chapter 7
Amid stunning views of sheer cliffs, sandstone gullies, cedar trees and sage, our chopper lowered. The beautiful blue-green ribbon of river wound below, cascading over falls I’d never expected in the desert. After a four-thousand foot descent, we touched down not far from the water, in a seemingly different world.
Mitch had spent the entire ride gripping his seat belt. Even when I’d pointed out the rising sun to him, he’d only flicked his eyes toward the east and grimaced. Ordinarily, I’d have razzed him. But since he’d been so kind about my fear of snakes, teasing him would have been churlish.
As we stepped out into the cool, bright morning, he heaved a big sigh of relief.
The pilot quickly checked out our GPS radio device to make sure it was operational, handed it to Mitch, and reminded us he’d meet us in the same spot at eleven the next morning.
We gathered our packs and moved away from the aircraft.
When the air had stilled again and the chopper shrank along the horizon, we began our hike to the Indian holy grounds, an area believed to be another energy vortex. Sudo’s itinerary suggested we hike there and meditate for two hours, then move away to some secluded area with little chance of meeting anyone else, where we could shade up for the hottest part of the day.
“I can’t believe we got gypped out of breakfast again,” Mitch grumbled beside me.
“I can’t believe you told Checklist Chick we’re married!”
He laughed at me. “It was the fastest way to save her life. You looked like you were about to eat her alive, for flirting with me.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You! Oh! I-I-I did not look at her like that. She can flirt with you all she wants, you, you, bigheaded lout!”
More laughter.
“So tell me, Mr. Goodman. Why are we here, really?”
“Humans in general?”
“Us! You and I. Why are we isolated out here in the Grand Canyon, using your undercover name? Is something going down today in Sedona? Something you’re keeping me away from?”
“Nancy Drew returns.” He groaned and stopped in the shade of a cedar to catch his breath. “Look. I didn’t know we were coming out here ’til Sudo told me this morning, same time as you. I almost think he didn’t know either.”
“How could that be? Is this some impromptu lesson?”
Mitch shook his head and took a long drink from his water bottle. “His wife. Something about her…”
He had a point. Mrs. Sudo did seem to have her own agenda. “Somebody hung a crystal in my window. In feng shui, it’s supposed to promote romance.”
He grinned, brow raised.
“But surely,” I said, “Sudo wouldn’t allow her matchmaking game to get in the way of his science.”
“Science, hmm? More like science fiction. Sometimes I catch myself wondering if this is really going to work. Maybe he’s messing with our heads to see how long we’ll put up with it. Maybe that’s the real science he’s working on.”
“God. Now you sound like my mother.”
If he’d been a dog, his ears would’ve been pointing straight up. “She doesn’t believe it’ll work, huh?”
I sighed and heaved my pack up to my shoulders. “I’d rather not discuss it today. Suffice it to say, she has her personal fears about me going looking for my biological father. So she projects those fears into doubt about the time-travel process.”
Mitch fell into step beside me again. “Why do you want to find your father so much?”
“He’s the unknown. Well, not him so much, but what happened to him. His fate is the ‘x’ in the equation of my life.”
“The ‘ex’? I thought his name was David.”
“No, the ‘x’, as in algebra. X plus seven equals ten.”
“X equals three,” he supplied.
“Why’d you solve it?” His brows were drawn, and he looked at me like I was crazy. “Isn’t it enough to know x plus seven equals ten? Why’d you have to solve the problem and tell me the value of x?”
“I don’t know. Because it’s there. Because we were taught for years if there’s an unknown variable, to solve for it.”
“Exactly. So why should I do less when it concerns my own father?”
“Still. You’re willing to risk your life to solve it?”
“Risks are relative, Goodman. I seriously doubt I’ll die. The worst that might happen is I end up in the wrong year, or can’t get back.”
“And what will you do then? If you’re in the wrong year, you still won’t figure out where your father is.”
“I’ll ha
ve to deal with it, then. Or go back to Sedona and do the tele-time-transport thing all over again. Again and again, ’til I end up in 1980.”
“You’re telling me, if you end up in the wrong year, you’ll keep trying to get to 1980 rather than back to your own time?”
“Time is relative too,” I joked. “But seriously, I came here for one reason—to find out where my father went. It’s my mission.” We climbed along in silence. Disapproving silence, if I was to guess. Mitch was taking the same risks, but he seemed to think my cause was not worthwhile. Double standards! “What’s your mission, Goodman? Or, Wheels? That’s what they call you back at the Bureau, or the precinct, or wherever you came from. Why do they call you that? What are you really traveling back to 1980 for?”
“So many questions, Ms. Drew.”
“Oh, so, what? You get to ask me anything, but I can’t ask you?”
“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’m going to answer.”
“Fine. Where do you live?”
“Grew up in Boise. Been all over the country in the last seven years, on different assignments.”
“Where do you get your mail?”
“Why? You wanna read through it?” He reached over and chucked me under the chin. “I have a P.O. Box in D.C. right now.”
“How come you’re afraid of helicopters?”
“How come you’re afraid of snakes?”
“I asked first.”
“I’m not afraid of helicopters.” He took a big step up a rock ledge and turned to give me a hand. “I hate being in high places where I can’t get down. Like a certain tree at my grandpa’s, when I was seven.”
“Ah. The childhood scar. You got stuck? Poor kid. Did they call the fire department?”
“It was on the farm. Grandpa drove an old stock truck under the tree for me to climb down on. I remember being so scared he’d whip me, like my dad said he used to whip him. But he must’ve mellowed with age. Just took me into town for ice cream.”