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

by Nicola Claire

  I’d never been kissed like this.

  I’d never be kissed like this again by anyone else.

  Jack ruled my body from his lips. I was his at that moment. I tasted heaven. I touched paradise. I forgot everything else but this.

  “Mimi,” he said. “Say yes,” he begged.

  Say yes to him. Say yes to realising the dreams. Say yes to mending Time by sending me back without Carrie.

  You have to make them happen. The sooner, the better. Once the dreams are realised, Time will settle. Then returning her should put a lid on all of this.

  I’d heard every word Bryan Fawkes had said.

  And I was not giving up on Carrie. Even if RATS did.

  I pushed against Jack’s hold; for a moment he resisted. Too consumed by an inferno, we shouldn’t have started. I scrabbled backwards when he finally released me, almost falling on my arse on the ground at his feet. Not exactly attractive. He reached out to steady me, but I only hissed out a breath and sidestepped.

  Standing beneath the heavy boughs of the chestnut tree, I gasped for breath and sanity.

  Jack looked devastated.

  “Mimi,” he said. It broke my heart; the desperation; the desire; the disbelief.

  I sucked in a breath of air and slowly shook my head. RATS had a plan. A plan to fix Time by returning me to mine. But those dreams were preventing that from happening. For now.

  So, for now, I’d use them. I’d deny them. I’d stop them from becoming a reality.

  And then I’d figure out how to get my sister back.

  “Don’t do this,” Jack begged.

  “It’s not real,” I whispered.

  He huffed out a breath, hands fisted on his thighs, jaw set.

  “It’s as real as it gets, Miss Wylde. Until it isn’t.”

  And then he stood up and walked away, leaving me wondering just what the effing hell that meant.

  Leaving me feeling like I was losing something precious. Maybe even more precious than my sister.

  Only Time Would See

  Mimi

  I realised it was cold. That the golden leaves on the ground at my feet were a message. RATS was in England; even I could tell that. I half expected the Academy to look like Westminster Palace; my go-to reference image for that country. But despite its modernity, RATS was definitely in England. And in England, in this time, it was autumn. It was cold.

  I wrapped my arms around my body and hugged myself tightly, but for the life of me, I couldn’t make myself shift from where I stood. I was in England in an unknown time, well past the time that I should have been in. I was miles away from Cape Canaveral; where it was warm, and the air was moist with the promise of an afternoon thunderstorm.

  I was on my own. Out of time. Out of options. So far out of my league. And I missed my sister. I missed her so very much.

  For the past several months she’d been my rock. She’d been the only thing in my life that had kept me grounded. When our parents hadn’t returned from their holiday in Russia, Carrie had been the one to hold me tight. When we’d taken phone calls in the middle of the night from the New Zealand Embassy in Moscow, Carrie had been there holding my hand, keeping me strong, pressing for information on their possible whereabouts. When we’d seen the last pictures taken of our mother and father at a peasant commune - happy, entranced, alive - Carrie had been the one to cry with me. To grieve with me.

  No one else understood that level of loss.

  I hadn’t been able to find my parents; I was determined I would find Carrie. But how?

  I stared up at the RATS building, wondering where I could start. How I could get them to go after Sergei. And not send me back to my time. I needed a plan. I needed allies. I needed a certain Surgeon to help me out.

  I wasn’t sure I could count on any of that.

  I was on my own. But I have never been one to shy away from a challenge. Just that my challenges in the past have been of the scientific variety. Not the life and death reality I was currently starring in.

  A sound startled me from my thoughts, and then the bitter laughter of an unseen observer overrode all other noise. For a second, I thought perhaps Sergei had found me. However, the laughter was too high pitched to be male. But the notion that he’d be acting alone was also ridiculous; even I had to concede that Carrie was aiding the Russian now.

  I spun in a tight circle, but whoever was watching me was keeping themselves hidden. The chestnut tree was not the only aged plant in the garden. Something came out of the bushes to my right, arcing through the air and whacking me on the shoulder. Something else rocketed toward me from another direction. Hard, spiky, accurate.

  I took a step backwards, my head sweeping from side to side, my breaths too fast and loud, my ears ringing. I rubbed at my upper arm and glanced down quickly, trying to determine what the projectiles were. Not bullets. No gun had been fired. And all I could see on the ground were yellow-gold leaves and the odd chestnut burr.

  Chestnuts. They were throwing chestnuts at me. I shook my head in disbelief.

  A chestnut whacked me on the side of the face. That one stung considerably. And was a little too close to my eye to have been thrown in jest. Another hit me mid-section, making me double over slightly to protect my vulnerable belly. Then several were thrown at once, bouncing off my back and head, hitting my cheeks and chest, glancing off my legs to land in pattering thuds on the leaves below.

  “Cut it out!” I yelled, picking up a prickly chestnut and hurling it back in the direction of one of the mysterious attackers. I received a satisfying “Oomph!” for my efforts. “Two can play that game!”

  “You have no idea how to play the game,” came the reply. I recognised the voice immediately.

  Pratt.

  “You really are an adolescent,” I growled, picking up a chestnut just in case I needed it.

  She stepped out from behind a bush, a sneer on her face that seemed familiar. She glanced down at the chestnut in my hand and raised a blonde eyebrow.

  “You going to throw that, Novitiate?”

  My eyes darted to the object in my hand, but before I could lift them to her face again, a chestnut hit me on the forehead. That was it! I hurled the chestnut directly at Mikaela’s face just as a flash went off blinding me. I blinked as the bright white light kept flickering, making spots appear before my eyes, and heard Pratt grunt out a sound of distress as the chestnut hit home.

  Silence followed. My eyes took a second to adjust. And then Pratt was grinning.

  “See?” she said. “You have no idea how to play the game.”

  “What game?” I said, utterly confused now.

  She just smiled, and then turned on her heel and walked away.

  Twice now I’d been abandoned under this chestnut tree, but this time I wasn’t so sure about what had just transpired. Mikaela Pratt was a psychotic, immature bully. She was crazy. And somehow she’d decided to play games with me.

  “This is ridiculous!” I muttered, forcing myself to start in the direction of the RATS building. I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one was following me or lurking in the shadows, but the entire walk back was devoid of confrontation.

  “What is wrong with these people?” I continued to mutter under my breath. “Effing chestnuts!”

  “Is that some kind of new swearword or somethin’?” a voice said off to the side.

  “Bloody bollocks!” I shouted, jumping out of my skin when Dean suddenly appeared. “You scared me half to death.”

  He grinned and said, “Now that’s a swearword I’ve heard bandied about ‘ere many a time. Did you know you sounded just like Jack Evans then?”

  “He must be rubbing off on me,” I growled.

  “He has a tendency to do that,” Dean agreed. “Where you been? We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Sally and me, of course.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh! You’re the guest of honour, and you’re not even ‘ere celeb
rating, but skulkin’ around in the gardens as if up to no good.”

  “I wasn’t up to no good.”

  “Weren’t you? Shame.”

  I smiled. Dean Jordan had a way of making you do that. Jack made me swear. Dean made me smile. Mikaela Pratt…Eff knows what just happened with that psycho.

  “Tell me something, Dean,” I started.

  “Anythin’ for you, luv.”

  I tried not to smile. “How old are the Surgeons here? I mean, clearly the Surgeons are older, but the Interns seem rather young to me.” Childlike in some cases. Crazy bitch.

  “Ah,” he said, looking a little uncomfortable.

  “What is it?” I pressed, coming to a stop and turning to face him. I reached out and laid a hand on his arm; he seemed to need the reassurance.

  “Well, you know time travel ain’t a walk in the park, right?” I nodded encouragingly for him to go on. “So, there’s been a few times that things ‘ave gone awry.”

  “Awry?”

  “Disastrous, more like.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.” He scrubbed the back of his head. “A while ago, it was just the Surgeon and an Intern who flew the Orions. Then we lost several in quick succession.”

  “Lost them? Lost who?”

  He held my gaze with a steady one of his own. “Several Interns. The Novitiates didn’t fly back then. All their time was spent in theory. So when we lost all those Interns within weeks of each other, the Novitiates were bumped up to replace them, and a new class of Novitiates was brought in.”

  I was silent for a moment. Not much you can say to all of that. I’d thought Sergei had been an anomaly. Clearly not.

  “How long was Novitiate training before this?” I finally asked.

  “Four years. Interns need a further two to complete training. It takes six years in total to become a Surgeon. But most of those Novitiates raised to Intern back then hadn’t even been ‘ere more than twelve months. Straight from school.”

  I frowned.

  “Don’t they go to university first?”

  “Nah, we teach ‘em all they need to know ‘ere. Time travel ain’t a course taught at Oxford or Cambridge, Mouse. It’s specialised like.”

  “Yeah,” I said, unconvinced. “And they call themselves doctors.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s been recognised by Parliament and all that. I don’t know what it’s called. Department of Education or somethin’.”

  “So, Mikaela Pratt and Jessica Harding?” I pressed.

  He snorted. “Practically still in fuckin’ nappies.”

  “And you?”

  “You askin’ me my age, Mouse?” I smiled. “I’m twenty-six. Got an engineering degree and all. Bet you didn’t see that comin’?”

  I laughed. “I’ve got a masters in science,” I admitted.

  “I know,” he said. “Everyone knows. It’s all they’re talkin’ about. How much like a Surgeon you already are. Done your time, so to speak.”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t. I’ve been stuck in theory.” Just like those former Novitiates.

  “How did you lose them?” I asked after a stretch of silence.

  “Lunik,” he said. One word and it meant everything.

  “I didn’t know,” I murmured. I’m sure there was much more I could have added.

  “How could ya? It ‘appened a year ago.”

  “Just a year?”

  He nodded, thrust his hands in his white overalls and stared off over the garden behind us.

  “It hit us hard. No one saw it comin’. Sometimes the Surgeons dream and we get a bit of a warnin’. But this time it ‘appened out of the blue. Even Crawford was devastated.”

  “And they haven’t been found?”

  “We’re still searchin’. Most of our flights now are to search for our lost. The occasional one to fix a new rip, like the rip you got caught up in. But every day an Orion flies back to those coordinates. Back to where we lost our people.”

  “The same time? I thought that was dangerous. To go back to a time you’ve visited often.”

  “It is, but they’re our people, ya know? We can’t just leave them there.”

  I shook my head. “They won’t be there anymore.”

  He frowned down at me. “What makes you say that?”

  “Sergei Ivanov has a plan. Something big that involves destroying RATS.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck to him. RATS Surgeons don’t go down without a fight.”

  “Why would he need Interns?” I asked quietly.

  “Fucked if I know.”

  “Why didn’t he take the Surgeons?”

  “Too knowledgeable?” I nodded in absent agreement. “Those last two years of trainin’ must pack a punch.”

  Yes, I thought perhaps they did. What was Clive Crawford holding back for the final two years of training a Surgeon? And why did it make a difference to Sergei Ivanov?

  “So, now ya know,” Dean said conversationally. “RATS is a quagmire of risk. Danger lurks at every corner. You’ve missed out on some of the trainin’, but one of the things they teach a Novitiate before they let them fly an Orion is how everything connects. How one slip ‘ere can cause a rip there. How a butterfly fluttering its wings in China causes a tsunami in Australia. That kind of thing.”

  “So those lost Interns?”

  He let out a long breath of air. “Those lost Interns caused Time to warp. We’re travelling down a different dimensional wave now. The future has been altered. The past changed.”

  “One year,” I whispered. One year ago in my time, things had changed. One year ago in Jack’s it had too.

  “What does Ivanov want?” I wondered aloud.

  “What does any plonker with a time travelling device want, Mouse? To rule the fuckin’ world.”

  Money. Power. It didn’t make sense. Sure, both were commodities that an egomaniac would desire. But it seemed so paltry compared to death. He’d kill for both. If that’s what he’d done to those Interns. He’d certainly taken them to affect Time. To change the past and alter the future. Had he killed them too? Would he kill Carrie?

  I closed my eyes and breathed through the physical pain that thought brought with it. The world swam around me, making me sway.

  “Hey, you all right?” Dean asked. “Come on, come over ‘ere and ‘ave a seat.” He helped me to a low wall surrounding a well-maintained garden in front of the building. I sat down and let the world right itself, feeling not just a little lost myself.

  Ivanov had changed - warped - Time by taking those Interns out of theirs. Carrie was out of time. I was out of time too. This was a quagmire of risk. No wonder Fawkes wanted to return me. No wonder Carrie wasn’t a concern, but I was. They couldn’t find their Interns. They couldn’t find Carrie. But they had me. Me they could fix. Me they could use to help mend the lost time.

  I understood Bryan Fawkes’ motivation now. I understood Clive Crawford’s as well.

  But Jack’s I didn’t. Because he wanted to keep me here. He wanted to realise those dreams. Was it all a way to return me too? To trick me into something he knew I wouldn’t fall for otherwise?

  I didn’t trust anyone here to help me. Dean wanted to be a friend, but that could have been for other reasons as well. Maybe he’d been put up to it. Explain the situation, get her on side, then she’d do what was right.

  But abandoning Carrie was not right. It couldn’t be. I wouldn’t let it be.

  The door behind us opened suddenly, and a shaft of yellow light shone down on the ground around us, making our shadows lengthen and warp on the paving stones, much like Time itself.

  “Miss Wylde,” a voice said over our shoulder. “Is this where you have been hiding?”

  Dean and I turned to the owner of the voice, my heart sinking. What could Jessica Harding want with me now? I stood up, taking in her well-presented form, out of an orange jumpsuit and in skinny jeans and a midriff baring top. I noticed how young she was then. Younger than me, that’s for sure.
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  Even if I wished I had a chestnut hidden in the palm of my hand right now.

  A shadowed form appeared over her shoulder. It took a second to recognise it. Dr Crawford.

  “Sir,” Dean said, standing straighter.

  “Best you be off, Jordan,” Crawford said dismissively. “Rather nasty business, I’m afraid.”

  Dean frowned. “You want to speak to Mouse?”

  Crawford blinked. “I wish to speak with Miss Wylde. An accusation has been brought against her.”

  Dean turned slowly to look at me but didn’t make a move to leave. Jessica stood behind Clive Crawford and sneered. I hadn’t realised the sneer had been missing until then.

  I had a very bad feeling about all of this.

  “Mr Jordan?” Crawford pressed.

  Dean offered me an encouraging smile and shrugged his shoulders, then moved past the towering forms of Crawford and Harding to walk inside. We all waited for him to be far enough away not to listen.

  I had a really bad feeling about all of this.

  “Please tell me, Miss Wylde,” Crawford began. “Did you happen to throw something at an Intern this evening?”

  Oh, effing bloody bollocks.

  “There’s no point lying,” he added. “The evidence speaks for itself, I’m afraid.

  Crawford held a photo in his hand, thrust out toward me so I could see it. In it, a surprised and much abused Mikaela Pratt was receiving a chestnut to her forehead, clearly thrown from my hand, as the evidence showed in a blindingly bright white flash from an unseen camera. The photo was overexposed but undeniable.

  My eyes met Harding’s. The sneer was replaced with a self-satisfied smirk.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

  “No, sadly this is not a joke,” Crawford said, but I saw something in his eyes as he looked down his nose at Harding. I held my breath. “I’m afraid I must ground you, Miss Wylde.”

  “Ground me?” I queried.

  “Yes, standard operating procedure for this sort of thing.”