by Linz, Cathie
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” Kane said wryly.
“It is still an experimental procedure, then? You are scientists, perhaps?”
“No, we’re definitely not scientists,” Susannah answered. “My real name is Susannah Hall and I’m related to a friend of Elsbeth’s—”
“Althea Hall. Yes, I had heard that Mr. Whitaker had telegraphed her and she had never heard of you. Now it makes sense, of course. But at the time I could not fathom how you’d gotten such an exact replica of the much-talked-about garnet jewelry set.”
“I inherited it,” Susannah said.
Oliver nodded, as if he’d placed another piece in a complicated puzzle.
“We still need to come up with a plan to get into the Whitaker house,” Kane declared. “Got any ideas?”
Oliver nodded, his attention returning to the matter at hand. “It would be best if we go to the back door. I’ve gotten to know the cook fairly well during my investigation. I will strive to distract the good woman while the two of you slip inside. As I recall, the back door opens outward, which would make it easier for you to hide behind.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Excellent. Once I’ve distracted the cook by asking her something about the case, perhaps, and getting her to step outside, the two of you should make your way around the door and into the kitchen.”
“Right,” Kane agreed. “I guess this is goodbye, then,” he added as their carriage stopped in the side street beside the house.
“We can never repay you for all your help,” Susannah said, giving the detective a hug.
“She’s right. We owe you big-time.” Kane shook Oliver’s hand, pressing all of the remaining nineteenth-century money he had into the detective’s palm. “It’s not enough, I know. I can’t think of a way to repay you— Wait a second! Sure, I can. If you’re interested in doing some investing, I’d recommend looking into the inventions of Thomas Edison and Henry Ford.”
“Don’t forget Alexander Graham Bell,” Susannah added as Kane helped her out of the carriage.
“You mean that telephone idea actually makes a go of it?” Oliver asked.
“Big-time.”
“I wonder what else is in store for the next hundred years,” Oliver murmured.
* * *
Susannah stood close to Kane behind the shelter of the door as Oliver expertly drew the cook outside to view a supposed footprint near the garden path. The moon was bright enough to provide light and it cast a shadow as she and Kane slipped around the door and into the kitchen. They’d never been to this part of the house before and were completely unfamiliar with the layout.
Kane opened one door only to discover that it led to a pantry. The sound of Hayward Whitaker’s voice sent them scurrying inside.
Susannah held her breath, sighing in relief at the sound of Oliver calling Hayward outside, as well.
“Come on,” Kane whispered, taking her hand and tugging her after him. “We’ve got to get upstairs before they catch us here.”
“Wait,” she said. “I think this other door leads from the pantry to the dining room and then the parlor. Once we’re there, we know where the stairs are. That’s where the party was last time we were here, remember?”
Kane led the way as they hurried through the empty rooms and up the curved staircase. The closer they got to the third floor, the more Susannah was filled with a magical sense of anticipation.
As she had that first time, she felt drawn forward. From the top landing, she could see the flickering candlelight.
“Damn, there’s someone in there,” Kane muttered.
“No, it’s all right,” Susannah said. “Come on.”
As she and Kane stepped into the room, the candlelight was infused with an ethereal blue light. In the midst of that glow, Susannah could clearly see a woman standing there.
It was Elsbeth! Gone were the sad eyes portrayed in the painting; Elsbeth was gently smiling and her expression was that of a woman finally at peace. She mouthed the words, Thank you, and held out her hand.
As before, Susannah was drawn toward the vision, moving closer, closer...almost touching Elsbeth’s outstretched hand as the glow increased until it was almost blinding. Then the room abruptly went pitch-black and the tranquil silence was shattered by a sharp crash and a woman’s scream.
Eleven
“Susannah!” Crying out her name and cursing under his breath, Kane reached into his pants pocket and removed a book of twentieth-century matches. Striking a match and holding it up, he saw that the room was no longer furnished—the walls had been ripped down to the bare studs and the room was littered with construction materials.
“Susannah, where are you?”
“I’m right here,” Susannah said.
Relieved to see her, Kane let the match burn out and took her in his arms. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her voice was shaky, but her hold on him was tight. They were back! They’d made it. And she and Kane were going to make it as a couple, too. She felt more confident of that now than she ever had before.
“What happened?” Kane asked.
“I walked into an empty bucket with a paintbrush in it.”
“You made enough noise to raise the dead.”
“Did you see her? Elsbeth was here.”
Kane made no reply; instead he released her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Lighting another match, he led her through the maze of junk stored in the room.
Walking through the doorway, Susannah noted, “Look, the mirror is gone.” She pointed to the third-story window.
They’d just reached the top of the stairs, when a tour guide met them on her way up. “I thought I heard a noise up here. This area is off-limits to visitors,” she said with a disapproving frown. “Most of the people from the publishing party have gone already. We’re closing up.”
“What day is it?” Kane asked.
“It’s Wednesday night, although since it will be midnight any moment, technically it will be Thursday soon.”
Kane and Susannah exchanged a silent look as they simultaneously realized that—although they’d been in the past for two weeks—it was still the same evening here as when they’d left, albeit a few hours later. But how could that be?
“I really must ask you to leave. We’re closing up now,” the guide reminded them.
“One thing before we go,” Susannah said. “Would you please tell me about the woman in this portrait?”
The guide’s curtness melted some at the request. “The woman’s name was Elsbeth Whitaker and hers is a tragic story. She was murdered by a besotted admirer, her husband’s law clerk, who later killed himself in a fit of guilt. He threw himself off a bridge and drowned in the Savannah River.”
Susannah felt a sad sense of completion. Their mission had been successful. They’d cleared Elsbeth’s name from the suicide charges and changed history in a small way.
Seeing their interest, the tour guide added, “The mystery was solved by Oliver Ogilvie, Savannah’s most famous detective. Mr. Ogilvie went on to become quite wealthy through his wise investments in the new technologies of that era. While Mr. Ogilvie didn’t have any children of his own, his adopted son Michael went on to become a prominent citizen. Indeed, he was the police chief for much of his later life. His family is still active in civic activities here.”
Susannah and Kane looked at each other and in unison said, “Mikey?”
“Excuse me?” the guide said.
“Nothing,” Susannah hurriedly stated. “Thank you so much for telling us Elsbeth’s story.”
“Unfortunately the Victorian era wasn’t a very interesting period in Savannah’s illustrious history. Actually, it was a rather boring time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Susannah murmured. “It wasn’t boring at all!”
* * *
Susannah walked out of the Whitaker house with Kane at her side and was immediately struck by the heat and the noise. The park across the stre
et was more brightly illuminated than it had been in 1884. And cars were passing by on asphalt streets. Traffic wasn’t heavy at that time of night, but after being away from automobiles, the smell of exhaust and diesel fumes was definitely noticeable.
Things got even more overwhelming as they walked the short distance to the main thoroughfare. Where Susannah had once questioned Mrs. Hilton in the dress shop, there were now abandoned buildings with the fronts boarded up. Those stores that remained had thick security bars across the windows. A homeless man slept on a doorstep nearby.
It was a hell of a homecoming.
Kane didn’t say a word as he quickly caught a cab that was fortuitously passing by.
Fortuitously, Susannah thought as she got in the back seat of the cab, struggling to slide over the ripped vinyl. No one used that word anymore. Words were shorter now. Clipped sound bites.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked Kane as he got in.
Kane named a hotel by the waterfront. “What hotel are you staying in?” he asked her.
The fact that he didn’t even know where she was staying in Savannah made Susannah realize how little Kane really knew about her.
“I’m staying there, as well,” she quietly replied.
She could sense him retreating farther and farther away from her during the tense cab ride back to their hotel. He stayed on his side of the cab, not touching her and not speaking.
This was not a good sign, she noted, trying not to panic. She hadn’t seen this reaction coming at all. Normally her instincts were good at warning her about impending trouble.
Okay, so they hadn’t been the strongest when dealing with Gordon Stevens, but she had known that Mrs. Hilton wasn’t the murderer. So her instincts hadn’t disappeared altogether.
But with Kane they seemed to be off kilter, like a compass placed next to a magnetic source.
All she knew was there was a definite awkwardness on Kane’s part as they returned to their hotel. Using his stash of modern money, he paid for the cab.
Feeling just as awkward, Susannah automatically dug into her purse to pay her share.
Kane waved her off. Not looking at her, he curtly said, “I’ll see you.”
Standing in the air-conditioned lobby, she watched him walk away from her and felt utterly bereft. Telling herself not to be so sensitive, she headed for the bank of elevators. He was standing there still, waiting for one. But, once again, he didn’t say a word to her. The gulf of silence threatened to drown her.
“Are you okay?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know how to answer that question,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the elevator floor-display light. She could almost hear his sigh of relief when the elevator finally arrived. He couldn’t wait to get away from her. He stepped right in. She didn’t.
Seeing the impatient look he gave her, she murmured unsteadily, “You go ahead. I’ll catch the next one.”
“Look, it’s just been a hell of a few weeks, or hours,” Kane said abruptly. “I think we both need some time to ourselves to adjust.”
A second later the cold metal doors closed in her face, and the chasm in her heart split wide open.
* * *
Time to ourselves. To adjust. Kane’s words kept repeating themselves over and over again as Susannah sat on the edge of her hotel bed, the tears running down her face as she removed the rented velvet dress. She’d been right. The outfit wouldn’t recover from the workout she’d put it through. And neither would she.
She hadn’t known it was possible to hurt this deeply. As she wiped the tears away with her hand, she wondered if the pain was doubled by the fact that she hadn’t seen the blow coming and therefore hadn’t been able to brace herself. When they’d come back to their own time and Kane had taken her in his arms, she’d been so sure that things would work out between them. Instead, everything had been shattered just when she’d thought she’d found happiness, had it in her hand. But it seemed destined to remain out of reach.
And so did Kane. The thought of being without him left a vengefully and inconsolably deep ache, as if a fiery sword had been driven into her very soul. His cold words had struck home and scored a direct hit, leaving no embers of hope behind.
As she stepped into the shower, she was very much aware of the fact that Kane had never said he loved her. With numb passivity, she bleakly reminded herself that he’d never even said he believed her about not having had an affair with his brother, either. Standing under the stinging spray of water, she knew there was no washing away the anguish lodged inside her breast.
Working on automatic, she got ready for bed. She was exhausted. Kane had been correct about one thing—it had been a hell of a few weeks, or hours—depending on which century they’d been in. Either way, she’d been through enough to last her three lifetimes.
Her body was ready for sleep but her mind refused to shut down, trying to make sense out of what had happened, brooding over the conflicting impressions she’d picked up from Kane. Remembering his tenderness when he’d made love with her, the way he’d come to her rescue on that bridge tonight, risking his own life to save hers. Closing her eyes, she felt the intensity of his embrace as he’d held her and rocked her in his arms, the gentleness with which he’d brushed her hair away from her face. Those weren’t the actions of a man who didn’t care. And then there was his concern for her safety less than two hours ago when the room at the Whitaker house had gone pitch-black and he’d lit a match to see her.
He’d lit a fire in her soul and Susannah used those flames to fan her anger. Was she going to sit around like a simpering schoolgirl and bemoan her fate? Or was she going to take things into her own hands and do something about the situation? Because something definitely didn’t make sense here.
Turning on the light and sitting up in bed, she said, “Oh, hell, what have I got to lose?”
* * *
Kane was all set to ignore the knock on his door. Looking at his watch, he saw it was almost two in the morning. He hadn’t ordered room service and he certainly wasn’t expecting company. Looking at the watch gave him flashbacks to Oliver and the rest of the nineteenth-century people he’d met. “You call that a watch?” J.P. had said to him at the poker game.
The knock on his door came again, and with enough persistence to convince Kane that the late-night visitor wasn’t going away. Peering through the peephole, he saw it was Susannah. She was wearing some kind of baggy T-shirt over matching dusty blue knit pants. Her hair was still damp and piled up on top of her head with one of those elastic things so popular now. She looked disheveled, disgruntled, and mad as hell. She also looked heart-stoppingly beautiful.
He opened the door.
Not waiting for an invitation, Susannah marched into his room and glared at him. “Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush, here. I’m not going to politely pretend that nothing happened between us. I’m going to get right to the point. What are your feelings for me?” she demanded. “Because I happen to have been foolish enough—no, make that brave enough—to have fallen in love with you. And I’m woman enough to tell you that, even though you haven’t told me your feelings yet.” She took a gulp of much-needed air before continuing. “And while we’re being direct here, I want to know once and for all if you finally believe me when I swear that I didn’t have an affair with your brother.”
“I don’t know what the situation is with my brother—” Kane began.
He didn’t believe her. Susannah was stricken. She’d risked everything to bare her soul to him and the huge gamble had backfired right in her face. She didn’t want to hear any more. She just wanted to get out of there. Pivoting, she blindly reached for the doorknob.
“Wait!” Kane said, grabbing hold of her shoulders to stop her in her tracks. “You’re not listening to me,” he gently scolded her. “You’ve kind of made a habit of that. What I was saying is that while I don’t know what the situation is with my brother, I do believe you. I no longer believe you had an affair with h
im. You’ve always been honest with me,” he noted, brushing a loose tendril of her dark wavy hair away from her big brown eyes. “Sometimes painfully so.”
Susannah gulped back the tears. “You believe me?”
He nodded. “I don’t know why my brother said what he did, but I no longer believe him. I trust you. And I love you.”
“Then why did you...?”
“Back away from you? I panicked,” he admitted. “Jumping centuries in a single bound makes it hard to put things in perspective, you know? I told you before, I’ve always had a logical approach to life. An explanation for everything. I haven’t had much experience with faith and hope. Until you came into my life.” Reaching out, he cupped her cheek in his hand, his touch conveying so much tenderness that Susannah felt tears coming into her eyes. This time they were tears of relief.
Kane kissed them away. His mouth gently skimmed her eyelids, her cheeks, the delicate pulse at her temple. She tugged him lower, meeting his lips with hers and greeting them with unspoken joy. Their kiss was both an exploration and a celebration.
He tugged her T-shirt over her head and tossed it over his shoulder. He was surprised to discover that beneath the baggy attire, she was wearing an incredibly sexy and slinky purple satin chemise nightie. Grinning a gambler’s daredevil grin, he murmured, “You know, there are advantages to being back in the twentieth century.”
His hotly appreciative gaze followed the line of what little material there was. The nightie only went to midthigh and was held up by spaghetti straps, which he took delight in nudging off her bare shoulders with his teeth.
The rake of his strong teeth over her bare skin sent shivers down her spine. When one strap slid down her arm, he lifted his head and gave her a steamy look. “Take down your hair for me,” he whispered.
She lifted her arms to remove the fabric-covered elastic band. Her movement thrust her breasts upward. Unable to resist, Kane lowered his head to nibble at her flesh through the satiny fabric. Susannah purred his name as her hair fell to her shoulders and her hands reached for him. Sliding her fingers through his silky dark brown hair, she felt a drugging warmth sweeping through her.