Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery (Out of Time #1)

by Monique Martin

  He fought against sleep and the horrors it brought. Eventually, he lost the struggle and fell once again into the world of nightmares.

  ~~~

  King Kashian leaned back in his chair and stared at the ancient Egyptian relief of the goddess Isis that adorned the far wall. On the other side of the desk, one of his men droned on in his daily report, but King’s mind was elsewhere.

  He’d been searching for his own Isis for the last eight years, someone who could rule at his side, someone who could breathe life into him again. But New York was dull and filled with the same women it had been before. Small people with small lives. Insignificant and thoroughly uninteresting.

  Although, he thought, remembering the girl he’d seen at the club, there was one who showed promise. She was different. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly what it was about her, but something about her called to him. At the very least, she might provide an amusing diversion from the tediousness of day to day existence.

  “…And the Taglianis are plannin’ somethin’, boss,” his man said, bringing his focus back.

  King’s eyes shifted to him. Victor was a lump of human clay—gray and indistinct. As banal on the inside as he was on the outside. He was, however, the perfect soldier, having virtually no mind of his own and a penchant for unspeakable violence.

  “I’m tellin’ ya,” Victor continued, “they’re tryin’ to edge in. You gotta cut ’em off. Let ’em know what’s what.”

  King smiled thinly. Did this idiot think him as thick as he was, as uninspired as his rivals were? “Is that what I’ve gotta do?” King said slowly.

  Victor had at least enough good sense to trip over himself as he backtracked. “I didn’t mean nuttin’. You know what’s best, boss. I-I’m just sayin’—”

  King waved his hand and Victor obediently fell silent.

  The man might have been a dullard, but he was right in one thing. If King allowed the Tagliani family to think they could encroach on his territory, it would be a sign of weakness and the other families would test his borders as well.

  King sat forward. “Find one of them. I don’t care who it is. And bring him to me. I’ll take care of this, personally.”

  Victor’s face broke into a broad grin. “You got it, boss.”

  Just as Victor rose to do his bidding there was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” King said.

  The door opened to reveal another of King’s men and a delivery man with a hand truck and a crate.

  “He tried to leave it at the desk,” his man said.

  King put his hands flat on his desk. “Did he?”

  The delivery man shook his head. “I was just—”

  King motioned for him to be silent and for them to come into the office. He looked at the delivery man with narrowed eyes. “You thought you’d just leave it, did you?”

  The man started to say yes, but thought better of it. Sweat was already breaking out on his upper lip.

  King stood and moved around to lean against the front of his desk. He gestured for his man to open the crate. “You see we’ve had a bit of problem with deliveries lately. Things missing, broken. You can understand my…frustration.”

  The man inched nervously to the side and King’s men pried off the crate’s lid. One of them pushed aside the wood shavings, pulled out a small box and handed it to King.

  He’d been expecting a delivery of artifacts, but it had been delayed. Again. This had better be it, he thought as he opened the box. Nestled inside was a small scarab. The back was cracked as he’d expected, but it was exquisite. He turned it over in his hand and immediately recognized the cartouche—Isis.

  It had taken him years to find, but it was finally his. He held the scarab in the palm of his hand. It was smaller than he’d imagined, but would make a perfect ring. A perfect ring for her.

  One of his men continued to dig into the crate. “Uh-oh.”

  King looked up to see him pull out a broken piece of alabaster and then its mate. He handed them to King, who frowned down at what had once been a precious vessel.

  The delivery man let out a quick puff of air and then stepped forward quickly. “That must’ve been like that.”

  King stood slowly. “Do you think I’d spend a thousand dollars on this?” he said as he held up the broken pieces. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  “I didn’t mean anything. I—”

  “No, of course, not,” King said, handing the pieces to one of his men. “You just thought you could leave these for me and I’d be none the wiser. Is that it?”

  “No, I didn’t—”

  King held up one gloved finger and the man fell silent. The perspiration was beading on the man’s forehead now, the smell of fear thick in the air. Keeping his eyes fixed on the delivery man King asked for the room.

  Obediently, quietly, his men left and closed the door behind them. The little delivery man squirmed in place like a worm on the end of a hook.

  “I didn’t know. I would never…” he said, his words spilling out like blood from a gaping wound.

  “And you never will,” King said as he slowly advanced on him.

  The man’s blubbering stopped and his eyes went wide with fear.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered.

  “No,” King said. “Just me.”

  ~~~

  Elizabeth waited impatiently for Lester to open the door to Charlie’s. It was after six, and Simon hadn’t come home. He’d mentioned something about chasing down a lead on a job and she hadn’t seen him since. Lester slid the peephole open, and she saw his eyes crinkle in a smile.

  “Hiya, Lizzy,” he said as he opened the door for her.

  “Thanks, Lester,” she mumbled and made a beeline for Charlie, who was standing behind the bar.

  “You’re late,” he said, as he counted inventory for the night.

  “I’m sorry. I know, but Simon didn’t come home, and I don’t know where he is.”

  Charlie’s big face split into a grin and he looked over her shoulder. “Turn around, doll.”

  “What?” She followed his gaze and turned around. Simon stood on the other side of the room. He leaned casually against the piano, enjoying his moment of triumph.

  He was wearing a black tuxedo and a smug grin. Elizabeth blinked a few times. She hadn’t expected to see him here, and certainly not looking absolutely devastating. The tux was simple and classic. The long straight lines made his shoulders look broader. His legs were long and set apart in a casually confident stance. The vee of his crisp, white shirt drew her eyes up to his face. She’d always thought him a handsome man, but a handsome man in a tuxedo was something else entirely. Elegance and power combined.

  She realized she was staring, that her jaw was probably scraping the floor. She pushed away the fluttering feeling in her belly and walked towards him. “What are you doing here?”

  Simon nodded toward the piano. “Working.”

  “You mean, you…you can do that?”

  Simon laughed and brushed a piece of invisible lint from his lapel. “I can do a great many things.”

  He did have a piano in his living room, but still, this was…. “I had no idea you had a love of music.”

  “A man should have more than one love, don’t you think?”

  Elizabeth smiled. Life affords few opportunities and this one was too good to pass up. “Well, that depends,” she said, and stepped closer, “on the man.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat. “Indeed.”

  “You could have told me.”

  Simon’s expression remained amused and in control. “And miss this? Hardly.”

  “The mysterious secret life of Simon Cross?”

  “Hey, Lizzy!” Charlie called out from across the bar, interrupting them. “You better get changed.”

  “Will do,” she said, and then turned back to Simon. She smiled slyly and eyed him up and down. “Well, I do love a good mystery.”

  Simon swallowed hard and se
emed at a loss as to how to respond to that salvo. She enjoyed his discomfiture for a long moment before giving him a saucy wink and heading toward the back room. Point, Elizabeth.

  ~~~

  This was how Saturday night was meant to be. The club was packed to the rafters with people ready to revel. Simon was pleased that they seemed to appreciate his piano playing. Charlie had even told him that he could have given Sully a run for his money. Keeping the selections lively, Simon realized that, much to his chagrin, he actually enjoyed himself.

  He kept a not so surreptitious eye on Elizabeth. A few men were overly solicitous, but she handled them smoothly. Her ability to appease people without losing ground was a skill she’d had years to hone as his assistant. Even if she didn’t know it, she was masterful. He found himself simply watching her. The easy way she engaged people was alluring. He was sure more than one man ordered well past his limit just to talk to her again.

  The bar wasn’t quite what he’d expected. His imagination coupled with his brief glimpse last night had given him the impression of a tawdry bacchanal—crowded, loud and dirty—but the people were amiable, even generous. Charlie ran the place well. He stayed on top of countless drink orders and kept things running smoothly. Not to mention Simon had seen him have a few harsh words with one of the men who’d given Elizabeth a hard time. All in all the evening went well. And, thankfully, King Kashian was nowhere to be seen. Although, judging from what Elizabeth had told him about her encounter with the man, they would certainly be seeing him again. His hand went unconsciously to his pocket and he felt the outline of the watch. It was their only chance of getting home and it was reassuring to know it was there.

  The bulk of the night passed in a blur. Just when it seemed they’d barely begun, their shift was over and Charlie gave last call. Only Simon’s aching wrists and Elizabeth’s sore back let them know how hard they’d really worked. They changed into their street clothes and were ready to head home when Charlie offered them a nightcap.

  “None of that rotgut,” he said. “The good stuff. Glenlivet do ya?”

  Simon arched an eyebrow. Brand name drinks were a rarity during prohibition. The other bottles were of indeterminate origin, homemade labels sloppily pasted on.

  Charlie understood the unasked question and set the bottle down. “Fella I know brought a few bottles back from the war. Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

  A drink sounded wonderful, but it was outrageously late. “Some other time perhaps.”

  “Just one?” Elizabeth said and cast a quick glance at Charlie. “Besides, it’s tradition. Your first night working in the club. Gotta have a drink.”

  “Right,” Charlie said too quickly. “Uhm, it’s tradition.”

  “Tradition?” Simon said, easily seeing through her ruse.

  “Well, traditions have to start somewhere,” she said and settled herself on a stool. “Just one drink and then we’ll go.”

  His inability to deny her would surely be the death of him. “All right,” he said taking the stool next to hers. “But just one.”

  Charlie set up the cups. “Dix, you want a snort?”

  She put down her dishtowel and came to join them. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Charlie raised his cup. “Here’s mud in yer eye.”

  They toasted and drank. The scotch was warm and soothing, and reminded Simon of home. He wasn’t a social drinker, preferring his own company to most others’. He’d never given much thought to the notion that he drank alone. The idea of sitting at a bar making idle chitchat was vaguely nauseating, and yet, here he sat. And it wasn’t so bad after all. Elizabeth made conversation, while Simon merely listened, content as usual to simply watch.

  She was animated and engaging as she regaled them with stories of her father and their misadventures at the race track. Dixie and Charlie chimed in with stories of their own, but Simon’s attention was swallowed whole by Elizabeth. The way the soft light brought out the golden highlights in her hair. The gentle timbre of her voice as she laughed. Her graceful fingers delicately tracing the rim of her empty cup.

  “What about you, Professor?” Dixie asked, breaking him away from his reverie. “What sort of professor are ya? Music?”

  Simon chuckled softly and wondered how to proceed. “I teach folklore and mythology.” Somehow that sounded better than the occult might in this time period. If he’d said that they’d probably think he taught people how to worship the devil.

  “Like fairy tales?” Charlie asked surprised.

  “In a way.”

  Dixie leaned forward. “You mean like creatures and stuff?”

  Simon nodded.

  “Like vampires?” she asked.

  Charlie shot her a quick disapproving look. “The professor probably don’t want to talk shop now, does he?”

  Dixie smiled quickly in apology. “Sure. Right.”

  Simon glanced over at Elizabeth. Her expression was as puzzled as his must have been. The exchange between Charlie and Dix was odd and uncomfortable.

  “I didn’t mean nothin’,” Dix said.

  “It’s quite all right,” Simon said, unsure of what invisible line she’d thought she’d crossed.

  “Maybe we should call it a night, huh?” Charlie said with one last searing glance at Dix as he put the cork back in the bottle. “You two go on. Dix and I’ll close up.”

  As curious as he found that exchange, Simon’s fatigue was growing. He stood and held out his hand to help Elizabeth slide off her tall stool.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow then,” Simon said.

  “Day after,” Charlie said. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  Simon nodded. He’d been so tired, he’d forgotten. Relief coursed through him as he and Elizabeth left. Finally, after all they’d been through, a day of rest.

  Chapter Twelve

  SUNDAY, ELIZABETH THOUGHT LAZILY as she started to wake. Her eyelids were heavy with sleep, and she forced them half-way open. The late morning sun filtered through the thin curtains as they fluttered in a warm breeze. Even with the city outside bustling with weekend foot traffic, the room was quiet and peaceful. Reluctantly, she began to push herself upright, but the bed beneath her hand didn’t feel right. Too firm, too warm, too Simon.

  Instantly awake now, she dared to open her eyes. Well, this is embarrassing, she thought. Sometime during the night, she’d practically crawled on top of him. One arm lay across his chest, one leg draped over his thigh. And a nice thigh it was. She felt the long, taut muscles beneath her. She could almost picture the sculpted strength of them. The way they might tighten and relax if he were.…She quickly glanced up to see if he’d heard her thinking and sighed softly. He was still asleep.

  She started to pull her hand away from his chest, but the broad planes of muscle felt solid and comforting under her fingers. She felt his heart beating. Quickly. Too quickly for sleep.

  She looked at his face again and noticed things she’d missed before. His jaw wasn’t slack, but slightly clenched. His lips weren’t as full as usual, and lay in a flat line. The corners of his eyes crinkled with the effort to keep them tightly shut. The big faker. The big, adorable faker. She nearly laughed out loud. It wouldn’t do to embarrass him and, after all, she was the one who’d climbed on top of him. Not that he’d resisted apparently. His arm curled under her shoulder, the long fingers of his hand barely brushing against her.

  Maybe she could pretend with him, for just a few more minutes? She laid her head back down on his shoulder and closed her eyes, letting herself drift into a fantasy. This was how Sundays always were. Waking up early in his arms—safe and content. Maybe they had breakfast in bed? Or made love?

  As her mind floated along in the pleasant current of her daydream, his hand slid down her arm and tightened ever so slightly. Was he caught in the same current? With a contented smile, she sighed and fell back asleep.

  When she woke up again, Simon was out of bed and fully dressed. “What time is it?” she asked with a yawn.


  “Nearly one in the afternoon,” he said and turned the page of the paper with a snap. “Did you sleep well?”

  Elizabeth felt the blush steal over her face. “Very.”

  Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could see him smile behind the paper. She grabbed her dress and slipped into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged washed, dressed and ready to meet the day. After last night, who knew what it might bring.

  “So,” she said and took the chair opposite Simon by the window and opened the small brown paper sack that sat on the table. “Bagels!

  He glanced up at her from his morning paper. “When in Rome,” he muttered and she smiled and took a bagel out.

  “What should we do today? We’ve got all day. Or what’s left of it anyway.”

  “I’m not sure,” he said, putting down the paper and picking up the watch from the table. “It seems our time is our own. For six weeks at least.”

  “At least?” She didn’t like the way he said that.

  “My research has generated absolutely nothing in the way of leads. We have little choice but to trust the watch will do what we think it will,” he said as he slipped it inside his jacket pocket. “If not, we’re on our own, I’m afraid.”

  Their little adventure suddenly took on an epic scope, and she felt a yawning abyss of uncertainty opening at her feet. A few days, weeks even, she could handle. That was manageable. The idea that they might never return was unnerving, to say the least.