Losing Time (Lost Time, Book 1): A Time Travel Romantic Suspense Series

by Nicola Claire

  “And…to keep me safe, she’ll come out of hiding.”

  “Now wait just a minute,” I said as Clive asked, “And this will help find Orion Two, how?”

  Mimi chose to answer Clive’s question. Of course, she did.

  “Because they were linked to Orion One when Carrie confronted us on that pier. In another combination of dimensions, of course,” she added, impressing us both with her understanding of what had happened. “But linked all the same. Somehow they’re stuck, but the only way to find them is to have both Orion One and the Lunik present. Recreate whatever has happened to make them go dark.

  “So, we use Orion One to lure them out, while we use me to lure out Carrie. I face Carrie; you work on the combinations of dimensions to find Orion Two while I distract. Once Orion Two gets secured, Carrie gets captured.” She paused, no doubt for effect. It worked. Clive and I waited silently. “And then Sergei has something real to feel threatened by,” she finally added.

  “Why would he feel threatened?” I asked, kicking myself for continuing this ludicrous conversation.

  “It’s like you said, Jack. A parallel loop. We take Carrie; the opposite happens to Lunik. And I’m far more dangerous than my sister.”

  Clive perked up. I stood up. So did Mimi.

  “Not on my bloody watch, Miss Wylde,” I growled.

  “Sit down, Jack,” Clive muttered. “That’s an order.” I spun and stared down at my old friend.

  “You can’t mean that,” I whispered.

  “Jack. Sit.” I sat, only because he was still my boss.

  Clive looked toward Mimi, who was still standing. She abruptly sat down as well.

  “Welcome to the team, Miss Wylde,” Clive said.

  “Bloody fucking bollocks!”

  And The Room Erupted

  Mimi

  A temporary Novitiate. But I was in. RATS approved, but on probation. More of a probation than the likes of Groves or Malcolm. But it would have to do.

  I was getting my sister out of that man’s clutches anyway I had to.

  “You’re mad if you think I’ll let you do this,” Jack growled in my ear.

  We were walking down the corridor towards the cafeteria; I needed to eat. He did too, but I doubted he could stomach anything right then.

  “You think you can stop me?” I asked.

  “I think I’ll bloody try.”

  “Well, you can’t. I’m a Novitiate. I’m authorised to fly.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, Miss Wylde. I am still the Surgeon in that scenario.”

  I stopped in my tracks and rounded on him. Finger out, pointed at his chest. He looked like he wanted to step back.

  “You may be the Surgeon, but you have no right to ground me.”

  He stepped closer; chest to chest. Looking down at me, he said, “If you wish to play this game, I will match you, Miss Wylde. Move for move. Are you ready? Really ready for how I play?”

  “You make it all sound like a game,” I snarled. God, this man frustrated me! “This is my sister we’re talking about.”

  He shook his head grimly.

  “No, Miss Wylde. This is a RATS team, an expensive Orion, and the entire world watching our every move.We are accountable for our actions. Trust me; your sister is a low priority.”

  “Not to me,” I growled and started walking.

  I heard him sigh behind me, but he kept pace.

  “Must you argue every point?” he asked, sounding aggrieved.

  “She’s my sister, Jack.”

  “And you’re…”

  I stopped again. Looked up at him. Shadows hid his eyes, but I could see the firm set of his lips.

  “I’m what, exactly? What am I to you, Jack?”

  He said nothing.

  “You said you’d tell me what the dreams mean,” I pressed.

  “I said no such thing.”

  “That was before,” I ventured.

  “Before you stranded yourself in my time?” he queried.

  “You’re the one who brought me here,” I pointed out.

  He looked at me, really looked at me; searching my face for something, but I had no idea what. Eventually he said, voice soft, but not the gentle tone he used to reach me, this was different; sad and a little lost, “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  And then with those words, he walked past me, past the cafeteria doorway, and out of sight. I stood there, uncertain, alone again, just a little lost myself.

  And that’s how Sally found me.

  “There you are!” she announced with exuberance. “You’re the talk of the Academy. Come on, let me show you off.”

  “Um…I’m not sure that’s a wise idea, Sally,” I mumbled, but couldn’t prevent myself from being dragged bodily back into the still packed to the brim cafeteria.

  “Nonsense,” she said with a laugh. “You think I’m giving up my position on the totem pole of knowledge to some other RATS freak? Not a chance.”

  What?

  She pulled me into the middle of the cafeteria, and wrapped an arm around my waist, hauling me into her side. I stared at this prim and proper woman, her hair in an immaculate bun, her orange flight suit neatly pressed, bright hazel eyes shining.

  “Everyone!” she said loudly, but not quite loudly enough to stop the multitude of conversations currently being carried out around the room. “Excuse me!” she tried. They all ignored her. “Oi!” she offered, but only a few turned to look.

  I sighed. Then slipped two fingers into my mouth and whistled. Ear-piercingly loud.

  “Oh,” Sally said, looking at me. “You’ll do all right.”

  The room quietened, and all eyes stared unblinkingly at the both of us. Sally cleared her throat.

  “You’ve got questions,” she said. “You have five minutes.”

  And then the traitor stepped to the side.

  “Sally!” I hissed.

  “It’s OK, Mouse,” she whispered back. “Trust me. It’s better to get this over with.”

  Trust her?

  You can't trust him, Mouse. You can't believe a word that he says.

  I was sure my sister would extend that to all of RATS. I realised then that it was just like Jack had said, back on the pier. Carrie had picked her side. She’d chosen. I couldn’t help thinking she’d been coerced. But then, who’s to say I hadn’t as well?

  “What’s your name?” someone called out. Accent unknown, but not British. I worked not to immediately mistrust them for that reason alone. But Carrie’s words were on repeat in my mind.

  I didn’t trust any of them.

  “Mouse,” I said reluctantly.

  “Mouse?” someone else repeated on a sneer. “You’re in the wrong place, sweetheart. We’re all lions here.”

  Laughter welled up, like a wave crashing to shore. It rushed over me, making my skin prickle and a blush steal up my cheeks. Strangely, I’d never been truly embarrassed about my nickname before. It was me. It was who I was. And it was a damn sight better than Mimi.

  If they couldn’t handle Mouse, then they could go get effed, for all I cared. I crossed my arms over my chest, cocked my hip, and stared back at them dispassionately.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Mouse. Deal with it.”

  The laughter petered out.

  “What time are you from?” someone asked.

  Dr Crawford hadn’t said I should keep quiet. He’d given no further instructions than, “Keep your head down and do as you’re told.” If he’d wanted his RATS Surgeons to be kept in the dark, he would have said.

  But somehow I didn’t think this show and tell was exactly what he’d had in mind.

  “The 21st century,” I offered, daring them to comment on my being out of time with a hard glare.

  A few muttered to themselves, some blew out harsh breaths, but no one said the obvious.

  I relaxed a smidgeon. If one more person said those words to me…

  “How did you get here?” someone asked, their question delivered expertly, right in
the middle of a lull. Several people nodded their heads, murmuring their eagerness to know that answer as well.

  I looked around the room, taking in the people that watched me, studying them like they were studying me. There was a mix of emotions on their faces. Some were keen to have answers. Some were excited. Others scared. There were a few who were angry. None of them looked like they wanted to be friends.

  But I wasn’t here to make friends. I was here to find Carrie.

  “I hitched a ride on an Origin Event,” I offered, shrugging a shoulder as if it was nothing.

  “Why?” someone asked.

  “You’re crazy,” another offered.

  “She doesn’t look like she got fried.”

  “I’m not touching her just in case.”

  “You do it,” someone said. “Go on. See if she sends out a zap.”

  “Touch me, and you’re dead,” I replied.

  Silence.

  Sally shuffled on her feet, looking uncomfortable. I offered her a raised eyebrow. She had started this.

  “I like her,” a voice suddenly announced from the back of the room. “She’s got balls.”

  “Er, thanks?” I said, trying to get a good look at the person.

  “I think the five minutes are up, Sally,” the same voice said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Groves agreed. “All right, you lot. Showtime’s over. You’ve seen her. Talked to her. Know that she’s not crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” someone mumbled.

  “Well,” Sally snapped, “you know that she’s human, then.”

  “What else would I be?” I asked, genuinely intrigued. Maybe things were different in this time.

  “Argh, you know what I mean,” Sally growled. Then instantly smiled. “Hungry?”

  I was famished. And Sally Groves was kind of bonkers. I smiled back.

  “Starving.”

  “Great!” She started heading towards the serving area, bypassing the bulk of the still avidly curious crowd.

  I followed behind her, holding my head up high, just like Carrie would do. Feeling all kinds of nervous. I thought I was doing well until a woman stepped in front of me, blocking my passage.

  She looked down her nose at me, her blonde hair straight as an arrow down her back, her high cheekbones lightly dusted in bronzer, her plump lips - now in a turned down snarl - liberally covered in cherry red lipstick.

  I knew immediately that she was good friends with Harding. I swallowed my sigh.

  “Hey,” I said in greeting.

  She didn’t make a sound. I shrugged my shoulder and went to walk around her. She sidestepped, blocking my path.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. And I’m far from unintelligent. But how to avoid a confrontation once a challenge has been set is an impossibility for me. People assume that my nickname means something. It doesn’t mean a bloody thing. I just hated being called Mimi. And “Mouse” worked. At least, it worked for me.

  “Excuse me,” I tried. One last attempt at civility.

  “Mikaela, let her past,” Sally said fearfully from behind the Amazonian.

  “Shut up, Sally,” the woman replied threateningly. Sally, bless her heart, shut up.

  I resigned myself to a confrontation, sweat beading my brow, clamming up my palms, making it a little hard to breathe.

  “Hey,” I said again, this time not in greeting. “Don’t order Sally around.”

  “You know who I am?” she asked.

  “Wouldn’t have the foggiest.”

  “I’m an Intern. A doctor.” She waited for me to be suitably impressed. I just stared blankly at her. “You address me as Dr Pratt.”

  Of course, I laughed. Who wouldn’t? And they think “Mouse” is amusing? I laughed harder. Actually doubling over, holding my stomach, snorting unattractively through my nose. Too much. Mikaela Pratt. Doctor Mikaela Pratt. What an effing prat, Pratt!

  Laughter sounded off to the side. I was too busy wiping beneath my eyes to see who had joined in on the frivolity. Someone else made a sound in the other direction. I sucked in a breath of air, attempting to stop smiling. Another person chortled. I blew out slowly, still chuckling. Someone else coughed into their hand, but it was so laughter. I could tell.

  Finally, I stood upright and got myself under control.

  “Sorry about that,” I offered. “It’s been a very long forty-eight hours.”

  I didn’t see the hand coming. But I sure as hell felt it hit the side of my face. I spun, letting out a squeak, and landed with a splat on my arse. Ow! I’d once laughed at something a kid had written on the blackboard during break once. It was stupid; I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t even funny. I don’t know why I laughed. Bob Marley does indeed rule. Of course, he does. But I’d laughed all the same. I still remember the bruise I received on my upper arm for that one.

  It hadn’t hurt nearly as much as this slap to the face.

  I glared up at the woman and said the first thing that came into my head.

  “What are you? Twelve?”

  This time, the laughter exploded; so much more forcefully than before. The room came alive with cackles. But I wasn’t feeling particularly jovial right then. And Pratt had turned an unhealthy shade of red. I scrambled to my feet. Ready to face off against her. I’d even raised my fists. No girl slapping for me.

  But a guy stepped between us, holding up his hands, a wide grin on his face.

  “Gotta admit, she got you on that one, Mickey.”

  “Don’t call me Mickey,” Pratt growled.

  “Come on, Pratt,” the guy urged. “It’s all good for a laugh, eh?” I realised he was the one who’d spoken earlier. From the back of the crowd. Telling Sally the five minutes was up. Telling everyone I had balls.

  He spoke with a British accent, East End or Essex; I can never really tell them apart. He also wasn’t wearing an orange flight suit, but a white one. It made his dark skin look luminous. But the mischievous glint in his eyes said more about him than his skin colour or accent ever could.

  “You’ve got no say in this, gearhead,” she snarled. “Go back to your cave.”

  “Haven’t you ‘eard, Pratt?” the guy said, seemingly unaffected by her calling him names. “I’ve got an all-day pass. A release from gaol. I’ve just as much right to be ‘ere as you.”

  “Not in this you don’t,” she snapped. “Stand down.”

  “You really gonna do this ‘ere?” he asked, lowering his voice. “With everyone watchin’.”

  Pratt looked around the cafeteria and blinked. Every single person was looking back at her. Some had their arms crossed over their chests. Some had implacable façades. Some peeked out from behind protection. But they were all watching Mikaela Pratt.

  She growled low in the back of her throat; quite impressive really. And then turned to stare down at me.

  “Watch yourself, Mousey,” she said with a sneer, and then walked past, shoving her shoulder into my arm.

  I rubbed at the bruise forming absently, as I watched her storm out of the room, wondering what in the effing hell I’d done to deserve this. Silence stretched, and I prepared for the next battle. It was like being back in bloody school.

  Well, it was called an Academy.

  I stifled the snort and looked up at my saviour. He smiled, showing a row of extremely white teeth.

  “Now, if I were you, luv, I’d watch me bleedin’ back. That one ‘as a screw loose, she does.”

  Sally rushed forward. “Thank you so much, Dean,” she said on a burst of air. “I’m not sure how that would have gone without you here.”

  “It was nothin’, Sal. Nothin’ at all,” he said, suddenly shy, as others came closer and offered their own agreement. Bolstering him up and in the process rubbing shoulders with me.

  In less than a minute, I was surrounded by a huge group of RATS employees. Some in orange, some in white like Dean, and others in blue and green. But all of them wearing jumpsuits. I felt a little out of pla
ce in my mini.

  But I realised, I no longer felt so out of time.

  Voices rose, and conversation flowed around me. Some asking me more questions, others offering to show me around. Even a few laughed at me. So normal. Facing off against Pratt had clearly made me equal in their eyes. Being singled out by the bully had allowed me ingress to their club, it seemed.

  Somehow, I’d thought that people in the future would be different. That they would be more refined than those in my time. But Harding had been a bitch, and Pratt had been a bully. Perhaps a little immature, but still the same. There had been bitches and bullies in my time, too.

  A few minutes later I was sitting at a long table eating “bangers and mash”. Every single seat taken. The noise was defeating. But I learned a lot.

  Dean worked in engineering, maintaining the Orions. He also had a rather obvious crush on Sally. Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of Sally’s crush on Fawkes.

  The white overalls were for technical support staff. The orange for flight crews. The green for hospitality. The blue for security. I wondered just what sort of security a place like RATS needed. And then I remembered Lunik. When I tried to direct the conversation towards Ivanov, I was consistently steered away with an anecdote or point of interest. RATS, for instance, was over one hundred years old, but the building was only ten. Sometime in their recent past, someone had blown up the previous Academy.

  I guess that answered the security question. Or maybe pointed a finger at the techies. It would hardly have been the green overall wearing kitchen staff who did it. But one thing was obvious; RATS had personality.

  I’d walked into a living, breathing, collective of eccentric people. The type of place my parents would have adored being part of. The type of place Carrie would have loved to see. The conversations were blusterous. The personalities extreme. The mix of characters and backgrounds astounding. There was even a Surgeon from Haiti.

  I sat back and watched it all unfold, wondering what my life had been like last week. What my life had been like last year. Had I ever seen such vivaciousness as this? Had my friends at university ever congregated around a cafeteria table sharing jokes and planning pranks and thinking up the unthinkable?