Time Search (The Time Counselor Chronicles Book 3)

by Danele J Rotharmel

  “Just now.”

  Marc realized he was still holding her foot. With twitching lips, he released his grip. Immediately, Crystal rolled to her knees and began gathering papers. He bent over to help just as she started to rise. Their heads cracked painfully together. Crystal fell back to the floor with a thump.

  “Sorry about that,” she mumbled with red cheeks, rubbing her head.

  “My fault,” Marc said. “I’ll tell you what, you stay there, and I’ll gather the apples on the stairs. That way we don’t bump into each other again. This landing is pretty small.”

  With his help, Crystal soon had her belongings reassembled in her arms. When her stack teetered, she dropped her chin on top of it. He watched as she blew her bangs away from her forehead. As he stared at her, she motioned insistently at the door with her eyes and waggled her eyebrows.

  A bubble of laughter threatened to choke him, but he refused to let his mirth break free. Laughing would be fatal. Before he’d left campus, he’d managed to convince Crystal to be his friend—a miracle considering she’d been ignoring him for years—but if he laughed, she’d freeze up, and they’d be back to square one. Keeping a straight face, he opened the door for her.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled with her chin glued to the papers.

  “Think nothing of it. Rescuing a damsel in distress is my good deed for the day.”

  Rosy color again flooded her face, reminding him of her pink-painted toenails. His smile widened. “It’s good to see you, Cris.”

  Crystal’s blush deepened. Her cheeks looked as if they had a severe case of sunburn. She started to speak but then simply nodded and walked out the door. He watched as she went to her car. Her midget-mobile was so tiny he could probably lift it with a finger. Its oddity fit Cris perfectly.

  He rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. He was handsome enough that half the girls on campus had a crush on him, but he was sick of chasing after pretty faces. He was bored with swooning, gushing girls. He wanted to try his luck with a different type of woman. He cracked a grin. Crystal was the definition of different.

  Turning toward the stairs, he saw Crystal’s shoes and socks tumbled in a corner. Picking them up, he ran out the door. She was already pulling out of the parking lot. His bubble of laughter finally broke free. She was in her bare feet and probably didn’t even know it. He wondered how long it’d take her to figure it out.

  ~*~

  Drake drove slowly through the parking garage connected to Charles Shipley Medical Center. He narrowed his eyes. Unmarked police cars were cruising down the rows. He knew they were looking for him. He poked at his fake beard, making sure the adhesive was holding firm.

  Being careful not to attract attention, he drove out of the garage and around the front of the hospital. He frowned. Police officers were stopping everyone who entered the building. His disguise might be good enough to tour the parking lot, but it would never get him through the front door.

  Pulling around the back of the building, he drove past the service entrance and parked across the street. “There’s always a solution if you look hard enough,” he murmured.

  ~*~

  Crystal drove down Science Avenue, chewing her lip and squirming.

  “It just had to be Marc who found me,” she muttered. “Sheesh! Out of all the people who could’ve opened that door and seen me looking like an utter idiot, it just had to be him.”

  Groaning, Crystal curled her bare toes around the accelerator.

  “Heaven knows what he’s thinking right now.” She glared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Probably something along the lines of Klutzy Crystal strikes again.”

  Fidgeting, she pulled up to a stop sign.

  “So much for appearing suave and sophisticated when you saw him again,” she spat. “So much for starting a causal conversation that would end in a dinner invitation.”

  She turned the corner.

  “You just had to blow it, didn’t you? There’s nothing sophisticated about bare feet and doorknobs. If you want people to stop seeing you as the campus joke, then stop acting like such a freak.”

  Her hands tightened like claws around the steering wheel. Thinking of the way he’d held her foot, she blushed.

  “You know you looked like an addlebrained moron, don’t you?” she asked her reflection. “And you probably gave him a concussion when you bumped heads with him.”

  Her cheeks burned. Glancing back at the road, she sighed. She knew she’d left her shoes behind, but there was no way on earth she was going back for them. She needed to regain her composure before running into Marc again. He already thought she was a klutz—she’d rather go barefoot until her toes fell off than let him think she was a forgetful dingbat, too.

  She gave a halfhearted attempt at whistling “Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah” but gave up in disgust.

  Rolling her eyes expressively at her reflection, she grumbled, “Whistling may help you fend off your fear of a murderer, but it’s absolutely worthless when it comes to fending off the embarrassment that an extremely cute guy has just caught you trying to open a door with your toes.” She scrunched down in her seat, trying to disappear. “The only bright spot in this whole stupid situation is that at least I have freshly painted toenails.”

  ~*~

  With a gathering smile, Drake watched as a Jefko Food truck backed up to the hospital’s service entrance. The deliveryman’s red jacket and cap seemed to glow as he hopped from the cab.

  In his car, Drake narrowed his eyes and waited. When the delivery was complete, Drake merged into traffic behind the truck.

  “Patience wins. Slowly wins. Never-but-ever-but-slowly wins,” he chanted in a singsong voice.

  The truck turned a corner. Drake followed. All he had to do was find an opportunity to get the driver alone. The red jacket would look good on him. Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw his eyes dilating. They took on a silver gleam.

  “I hope the deliveryman puts up a fight,” he murmured. “I need to work off some steam.”

  2

  Marc was still chuckling as he entered the classroom where Zeke had asked to meet him. Thinking about Crystal, he shook his head. He never would have believed that anyone could get their hair stuck beneath a door. He had no idea how Cris had managed it.

  “Marc, I’m glad you made it,” Zeke said, crossing the room.

  Setting Crystal’s shoes on a desk, Marc shook his friend’s hand. “It sounded urgent on the phone.”

  “It is.” Zeke stared at the shoes. “What do you have there?”

  “Crystal’s shoes.” He laughed. “She’d caught her hair in the bottom of a door. I helped her get free, but she forgot her shoes.”

  “It was those stupid apples I gave her.” Zeke grimaced. “I saw them at the market yesterday, and the price was so low I couldn’t resist.” He frowned. “I was afraid she was carrying too much. I should’ve helped her.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. Cris is an accident waiting to happen. Did she really get her leg stuck in a vending machine last semester?”

  Zeke’s jaw tightened. “It was her arm, not her leg. And she was trying to help a child.”

  “Oh”—Marc laughed—“an arm rather than a leg makes all the difference in the world.”

  “Cris is a terrific person,” Zeke said sharply. “She doesn’t deserve to be the campus punch line. There are quite enough Klutzy Crystal jokes floating around as it is. I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet about her trapped hair.”

  “Even if I told, no one would believe me.” Seeing Zeke’s expression darken, Marc groaned. “Come on, I’m not a complete rat. I won’t hurt her.”

  “You don’t have a great track record when it comes to getting along with her.”

  Marc winced. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”

  “Making fun of her won’t accomplish that goal.”

  “Look,” Marc said firmly. “I said I’m not a rat, and I’m not.”

  Zeke polished his glasses ag
ainst his shirt and nodded. “Sorry. I’m just on edge. Quite a bit has happened since you left campus.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the attack on Wade?”

  Zeke slid his glasses back on his nose. “Wade Kingston’s assault was just the tip of the iceberg.”

  Marc pointed Zeke to a chair. “Take it slow, and tell me what’s going on.”

  “It all started with Drake and Phoebe,” Zeke replied, sinking into the chair. “They were assigned to counsel Nicki Cunning, a suicidal, fourteen-year-old girl.”

  “A suicide intervention should’ve been manageable for them,” Marc said, sitting beside Zeke.

  “That’s what we all thought.” Zeke rubbed the bridge of his crooked nose. “However, after the cadets traveled through GAP, Phoebe was kidnapped and tortured.”

  Marc’s stomach lurched. “Is she all right?”

  “She will be.” Zeke’s voice was grave. “When Peter and Laura went searching for her, they discovered that Drake Procerus was her assailant.”

  “That’s not possible!” Marc sprang to his feet. “Drake’s a cadet. He’s one of our own!”

  “We thought he was one of our own. Drake told Peter and Laura that when he was younger a TEMCO counselor instructed his girlfriend to break up with him. It seems that he took it pretty hard, and the incident sent him spiraling. Crystal and I have been trying to pinpoint the case, but the details are proving sketchy. Finding a specific case that indirectly involves Drake is difficult—especially since we’ve learned that he’s using an alias. Regardless, Drake blames TEMCO for ruining his life, and he’s trying to make us all pay.”

  “That filthy…” Marc paced the room. “Do you know that I helped him find his apartment? For crying out loud, I helped him move his sofa.”

  “Drake had us all fooled. Peter and Laura are convinced he’s insane. They were taken prisoner by him, and they say that he can look absolutely normal one moment and then be ranting the next. His violence is staggering. He seems to have made murder a nasty little habit. We have no idea how many people he’s killed.”

  ~*~

  Drake watched as the Jefko deliveryman parked his truck and walked across the lot toward a green Buick. Sliding from his seat, Drake fingered the knife in his pocket.

  “Hello, there,” Drake called. “Can you give me a hand? I’m having a bit of car trouble.”

  ~*~

  A muscle jumped in Marc’s jaw. “So what’s the current status?”

  “Peter and Laura managed to escape from Drake. And Alex, Dan’s brother, used one of Poppa’s Wave Trappers to rescue Phoebe.” Zeke leaned forward. “Later, Drake tried to murder the Ablemans.”

  “It sounds like Drake’s been busy,” Marc said dryly.

  “You could say that. Besides attacking our leaders, he’s also been trying to get his hands on a Wave Trapper. He ransacked Dan’s office looking for one.”

  Marc’s eyes widened. “If Drake steals a Trapper, he could travel into the past without using the lab’s equipment.” He cracked his knuckles nervously. “I’ve never actually seen a Wave Trapper. How complicated are they? Could Drake manage to use one?”

  “The Trappers are designed to be simple. Drake wouldn’t have a problem figuring out how to operate one, in reality, no one would.”

  Marc ran a frenzied hand through his hair. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Zeke said softly. “It’s very bad.”

  ~*~

  “Try it again, Gerald,” Drake called from beneath the hood of his car.

  Obligingly, the deliveryman turned the key and pumped the gas. The engine made a sputtering sound and refused to start. Drake didn’t expect it to. After all, he’d disconnected some of the sparkplug wires.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Gerald said, leaning out the window. The sun glistened on his black hair. “I think you need a mechanic.”

  Drake slammed the hood shut. “I think you’re right.” He groaned. “This is lousy timing. My girlfriend is waiting by the river with a picnic. If I stand her up again, she’s gonna dump me.”

  “That’s rough, man.” Gerald looked at his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes. If it’s not too far, I could drop you off.”

  Slipping a hand in his pocket and feeling the steel of his blade, Drake smiled. “That would be great. You’re really helping me out of a tight spot.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Gerald led the way to his car. “I know what it’s like to try and keep the ladies happy.”

  ~*~

  Marc looked around the classroom. It was obvious that Zeke was using it as a center of operations. An uneasy suspicion filled his mind. “Why are we meeting at Student Union? Is something wrong with Hawking Hall?”

  “Drake set it on fire when he attacked Crystal,” Zeke replied. “It’s unsafe to—”

  “What?” Marc felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Cris was attacked? She didn’t tell me that. How badly was she hurt?”

  “The blow to her skull was serious enough to require overnight hospitalization.”

  Marc’s stomach churned. Rolling a pencil around the desk with his thumb, he asked quietly, “How’s she doing now?”

  “She says she’s fine.”

  Marc looked up. “You don’t believe her?”

  “Not really. Being left to burn alive wasn’t a pleasant experience. Cris has been helping me compile data about Drake’s true identity, but now that you’re here, I’m hoping to get her out of town. I may need your help convincing her to go. She knows things are serious. Poppa says there’s a 98.7 percent chance that Drake will get his hands on a Wave Trapper during the next few weeks. We’ll need to be ready.”

  “Do you think he’ll track down Dan and steal the prototype?”

  Zeke shook his head. “Poppa used a Trapper to take our leaders out of state.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know,” Zeke replied. “They’re Drake’s primary targets, and their safety depends on the secrecy of their whereabouts.”

  Marc nodded. “I can live with that.” He cleared his throat. “So that’s why you’re the lone wolf right now? The chain of command’s been whittled away, and you’re the last man standing?”

  “You could say that.”

  Marc spun the pencil between his fingers. “Since Dan’s out of the picture, how’s Drake going to get his hands on the Wave Trapper? It’s out of his reach, isn’t it?”

  Zeke took a small golden pyramid from his pocket. “No,” he said quietly, placing the gleaming object on the desk. “Dan took the prototype with him, but there’s another Wave Trapper that Drake can steal.”

  The pencil snapped in Marc’s hand. “Zeke, you’ve gotta get rid of that thing. It’s like signing your death warrant.”

  ~*~

  “How much further?” Gerald asked, driving down Canal Road and glancing at the water. “I’m supposed to meet my own girlfriend in thirty minutes. I’ll be in the doghouse with Maria if this takes too long.”

  “It’s just up ahead,” Drake said, pointing at a bridge. “Cross the canal over there and enter the C and O National Historic Park. My girl is waiting by the river.”

  Gerald took a bite of a candy bar and then tucked it into his cup holder. He knew he should offer half the candy to the man sitting next to him, but he’d skipped lunch and was starving. His guest would just have to content himself with a free ride.

  Reaching the bridge and turning left, he grinned. “Do you think your lady will forgive you for being late?”

  “She will if you back me up.”

  “I don’t know, man,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I don’t have time for chitchat. I’m running late.”

  “This won’t take long, I promise. Park over there. She’ll be in that stand of trees.” Drake smiled and pulled out his billfold. “To make it worth your while, I’ll give you a hundred bucks to come with me.”

  “You really like this girl, don’t you?” Gerald said, putting his car
in park and turning off the engine.

  “Do we have a deal?” Drake asked.

  “Hey, for a hundred bucks, I’d do a lot more than just stroll to the river and say hello to a pretty lady. The cash will let me take Maria somewhere fancy.”

  ~*~

  “I mean it, Zeke,” Marc insisted. “You’ve gotta get rid of that Wave Trapper.”

  “I can’t.” Zeke slipped the pyramid into his pocket. “Poppa said I needed to hang on to it.”

  “I don’t understand his reasoning,” Marc grumbled, tossing the broken pencil in the trash. “Why would he put you in danger like that? This is way too risky. What security measures are you taking?”

  “Poppa has contacted Andrew Hamilton and filled him in on what’s going on. Andy has agents tracking down Drake and keeping an eye on me and Crystal.”

  “It pays to have the vice president as a friend, doesn’t it?”

  “You could say that.”

  Marc cleared his throat. “So, while Andy’s agents try to nab Drake, what exactly are we supposed to do?”

  “We have several tasks.” Zeke’s voice was strained. “We need to protect Nicole from—”

  “Wait a sec.” Marc blinked, holding up a hand. “Who on earth is Nicole?”

  Zeke’s worried face broke into a smile. “Do you remember Phoebe and Drake’s case subject, Nicki Cunning? During the course of events, Nicki decided not to commit suicide. Consequently, she grew up into a beautiful woman.” His voice softened. “The grown-up Nicole Cunning is now my girlfriend.”

  Marc felt a rush of surprise. “That’s terrific,” he said, punching his friend’s shoulder. “How serious is it?”

  “I’m pretty sure we’re headed for marriage.”

  Marc gave a crow of delight. “I plan on arm wrestling Andy for the right to be your best man. Tell me more about Nicole.”

  Zeke’s eyes gleamed. “She’s absolutely the most wonderful woman in the world.” He chuckled. “Actually, you’ve probably heard of her. She’s a local celebrity.”

  Marc’s jaw dropped. “You’re dating that Nicole Cunning? The painter? Zeke, she’s a knockout. But isn’t she dating a male supermodel? Brandon something or other?”