A Time & Place for Every Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  Hugh shook his head angrily, refusing to get lured into asking once again what Sorcha was talking about. “Perhaps ye should stop talking tae me as if I am a simple-minded fool, lass, and explain the problem ’fore I lose my temper.”

  “Perhaps you should stop acting like an arrogant barbarian before I call the police and turn you in!” she shot back with flames in her vivid eyes. The Scot had a propensity to thunder and roar, that fierce scowl clearly meant to subdue. Claire didn’t know who was more surprised by her lack of intimidation – him or her.

  A loud knock shook the door and echoed through the room, and they both froze, staring across the room at the door. “Mrs. Manning?” The pounding sounded again.

  Chapter 6

  Claire met Hugh’s wide eyes, her heart suddenly pounding with more fear than this Scot had yet to inspire. Hugh might have showered, put on clean clothes, and much improved his smell, but he still looked savage and foreign in her living room. Those who were looking for him would know who he was in a heartbeat, and the thought chased through her mind that maybe she should just let them find him. Her conscience clashed with her good sense, winning out in the end. “Damn! You need to hide!” she whispered.

  “I willnae cower like some …”

  “Shhh!”

  “Mrs. Manning?” a voice called insistently as the knocking continued.

  “Just a minute, please!” she called out lightly while glaring at Hugh and jerking her head toward the stairs. The obstinate man just crossed his beefy arms over his chest and glowered right back. “Oh for Pete’s sake!” Claire hissed, bodily pushing him toward the stairs. “Get up there! Get in the closet and don’t say a word!”

  “How do I know ye’ll not …”

  “You’ll just have to trust me!” She half pushed, half led him up the stairs and into her closet, quietly closing the door. Heart pounding, she raced back to the living room, hoping Hugh would remain hidden.

  Taking a deep breath, Claire snatched up her phone on the way to the door and held it to her ear. Plastering on a smile, she opened the door and held up a finger with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I know I need to find a nice man, Mom, but can we talk about this later? There’s someone here. Okay. Okay. I love you, too.”

  Claire lowered the phone and shook her head. “Sorry about that. Mothers, you know? Hey, you’re Bryce, right? Bryce Muldoon?”

  The words emerged cheerfully, and Claire was thankful for that because her insides were already twisting with fear. She recognized Muldoon right away, a security officer from the lab. The guards were always a step apart from the rest of the lab’s employees. They didn’t smile, gossip, or socialize. No one brought a cake in for their birthdays. How had they found her so quickly? Had someone seen them after all?

  “Yes, ma’am. And this is Special Agent Phil Jameson with the NSA.”

  Claire was immediately able to assimilate and translate that particular acronym. “The National Security Agency?” she asked with wide eyes. The owlish expression was no act. She was truly surprised to have a federal agent standing at her door.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Muldoon answered. “Agent Jameson is the NSA liaison to INSCOM.”

  Agent Jameson added, “We’ve been called in regarding the security breach at the lab today.”

  Fear snaked a path all the way down to her toes, and Claire was hard pressed to control the shudder that followed it. They’d called the Feds in? Already? “Wow,” she breathed. “That was fast.”

  Bryce Muldoon apparently agreed with her. “I told Dr. Holmes that we could handle this internally,” he said, referring to the director of the entire lab, “but it seems that there was some disagreement on that.”

  “It really must have been a big deal then. What happened? I heard the alarms and just figured it was a drill or something.” Claire shouldered the doorjamb as casually as she could, then straightened again. “How rude of me. Did you guys want to come in? Can I get you something? Coffee, maybe?”

  “No, no,” Muldoon began, but Jameson boldly stepped inside and she studied him as he passed. Beyond the stereotypical dark suit, the agent was tall and lean. He was about forty with a receding hairline and deep furrows in his cheeks and brow that told her he didn’t find much humor in life.

  He probably wouldn’t find any in this either.

  “We’d like to ask you some questions, Mrs. Manning.”

  Claire felt as if she were going to be ill but plowed on. “Sure, come on in! But what can I do?”

  “You were present today when the alarm was sounded?”

  “Yes. Well, not in the offices. I was in the parking lot.”

  “Why did you leave the office early today?” Jameson asked.

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” Claire answered honestly. “I cleared it with my supervisor before I left. You can ask Dr. Crandel if you like.”

  The agent sniffed in such a way that Claire had to assume they already had.

  “Did you see anything unusual as you left?”

  “No. I heard the alarm but, like I said, I thought it was just a fire drill or something.”

  Muldoon shrugged at the intelligence agent in what was clearly an “I told you so” gesture. Unfortunately the agent was not half so trusting in nature. Jameson drifted about the room, touching and lifting her things as he went. Though Hugh had done the same, the agent’s intrusion delivered a sense of personal violation Claire had never experienced. He wandered toward the stairs and Claire held her breath, but it was quickly evident that the agent was more idly observing her townhouse than executing a thorough search. Still, he lifted the Army sweatshirt Claire had brought down for Hugh off the end of the staircase bannister and held it out by the shoulders curiously, making Claire’s breath catch. He carried the sweatshirt to the mantle and tapped on one of the framed photos. “Mrs. Manning, your personnel file says that your husband was in the Army, killed by an IED in Afghanistan.”

  Claire’s lips tightened at the mention of her husband’s death. “Yes, he was.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Three years ago,” she said tightly.

  “Yet you still have his clothes out.”

  “You don’t know women very well, do you?” she asked, countering his question with one of her own as she snatched the sweatshirt away from him.

  “Do you wear them?”

  Claire bristled at the question even as she hugged the shirt against her. “Is everyone being asked rude questions this afternoon or am I just the lucky one?”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Manning,” Muldoon cut in apologetically. “All the employees are being questioned. It’s not just you.”

  “Well, we’ll have to compare notes tomorrow then, won’t we?” she bit out.

  “The lab is closing down until this issue is resolved,” Muldoon told her. “You should be getting a call from Dr. Crandel this evening.”

  “An unexpected vacation. How wonderful,” Claire said without enthusiasm. “Though it won’t do much for the company’s bottom line. Is that it, then?”

  “No,” Agent Jameson said, cutting off what might have been Muldoon’s more affirmative answer. “I find it curious—given the way your husband died—that an up and coming engineer like yourself would choose to leave a promising career in materials engineering—saving the world, so to speak—to work in weapons development. Mark-Davis is the veritable antithesis of EnviroCom.”

  “You think I have a grudge against Mark-Davis and planted a bomb or something this afternoon to shut them down?” she snapped, resenting the agent’s prodding into her life more and more with each passing moment.

  “Did you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” Claire replied, her voice trembling now not in fear but in sick rage, “but I came to Mark-Davis because I thought that perhaps it might be a bit cleaner for widows in the future to have their husbands come back to them in one bag rather than in pieces. Now are we done here?”

  The agent’s eyes narrowed as he studied
her, his expression carefully blank. “We are … for now. But Mrs. Manning, be warned. We will be watching you.”

  “As we will all the staff,” Muldoon put in.

  “For what? You still haven’t even said what happened.”

  “Some property of the lab was … stolen,” Jameson said, watching her carefully. “Given the instability and potential danger of the item, our national security is at stake and the safety of the general public is at risk. We could offer protection and immunity to anyone who was coerced or forced into assisting in the robbery.”

  Claire stared at him stonily.

  “However,” he went on, “anyone who had a hand in the theft or aided and abetted anyone who did would be in violation of numerous federal laws and would be subject to the harshest punishment our government has to offer to those who threaten our country.”

  There had been enough news coverage over the years for Claire to know what he was saying. He was speaking of terrorists and federal indictments. Indecision lapped at the edges of her resolve but in the end she was too angry with Jameson to offer anything more than a shrug. “Well, I didn’t take anything, so I have nothing to worry over, do I?”

  “We’ll be back if we have any more questions for you.” Agent Jameson took a step toward the door before he turned back. “I would wager that I will have more questions.”

  Chapter 7

  Claire closed the door and leaned back against it, releasing a trembling breath as the burning fear that anger had pushed to the side rekindled within her. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and banged it softly against the door with a thud. What was she thinking? She’d just been given an out from prosecution and she hadn’t taken it. All she’d had to do was point up the stairs and Hugh Urquhart and all his troubles, all of his cantankerous attitude, would have been swept out of her door. But her dislike of the agent had overridden her more manageable irritation with the lab’s stolen property and she hadn’t been able to do it. She hadn’t wanted to give Phil Jameson the satisfaction of finding what he was looking for.

  It had been the right choice, but eventually Claire knew she would end up paying the price. This wasn’t like freeing a dog destined to be put down from the pound. Evidently, this was a federal offense. She could go to prison. Or worse.

  But what if she didn’t help Hugh? What would happen to him? His fate could be much worse than hers potentially was. He might be a massive, arrogant, ignorant bully but he was still a human being. Sighing, she opened her eyes to find the big Scot contemplating her solemnly from across the room. There were questions in his eyes that she didn’t have the answers to.

  “Ye dinnae tell them …”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she scoffed. “I’ve heard I have a soft heart.”

  “Sorcha …”

  “We’ll need to get out of here before they come back,” Claire cut him off, pushing away from the door. Her mind was already spinning, thinking of what they could do. Where they could go. Clearly, Jameson hadn’t believed her at all. Either that or he was naturally suspicious. Either way, she knew he’d be back, and next time a search of her townhouse wasn’t something she would have an option about.

  She rushed up the stairs into her bedroom and to the closet, pulling down her biggest suitcase. Then she rejected it for a smaller version. “We can’t take much. They’ll know we’re on the run for sure.”

  “Sorcha …”

  “Cash! Damn, we’ll need cash. The Feds can track you anywhere now with a credit card. I have some, but it won’t last for long.” Claire went to her dresser and opened the top drawer. She pulled a small box out from under her socks, grabbing some underwear and bras as well and throwing them into the bag before slamming that drawer shut and opening the small box to count the cash inside. “I can’t go to my parents. If those guys notice I’m gone and connect the dots, that will be the first place they look. We need somewhere unconnected.”

  “Sorcha.” Hugh’s huge paw covered her hand and Claire looked up at him with wide eyes. She was panting, blood pumping with renewed fear and adrenaline.

  “What?”

  “This isnae yer fight.”

  “Really?” She raised a mocking brow, finding solace from the fear in the comforting arms of sarcasm. “You think you can go out there into the great wide open by yourself and come out a winner here? Do you have any idea what they will do to you if they catch you?”

  Hugh just shrugged as if it were of little matter. “More of what they’ve already done, I would wager.”

  “Wrong!” Claire shot back, infuriated by his nonchalant attitude. “If you go out there and more people find out what happened and where you’re from, they won’t be able to stick you back in that hole and pretend nothing’s wrong! They’re going to come after you with guns blazing, and after that—if you aren’t dead by then—they’re going to drag you back to the lab and make a science experiment out of you. They’ll slice and dice you without mercy because you aren’t a person to them. You’re a thing to them. A mistake. And they’ll have to cover it up. After that it’ll get really bad.”

  “Are ye always so optimistic?”

  “Always,” she snapped. “Can’t you tell from my charming, upbeat personality?”

  “Sorcha, look at me.”

  “My name isn’t Sorcha!” she screeched.

  Hugh only raised a brow and took her hands in his. He looked down at her, forcing her to meet his compelling gaze. “Ye’re frightened. I ken that. I hae nae wish tae burden you wi’ my presence or the consequences of my escape.”

  “Which I’m already an accessory to,” she added, but Hugh only shook his head and brushed a tear Claire hadn’t even noticed away from her cheek. As if his touch held a magical balm, Claire’s panic ebbed and her breath slowed, though her heart was still racing. “Forget it. There’s no backing out now. I just need to figure out what to do about you.”

  “Yer a brave lass to be sure,” he said softly, “but this isnae yer burden tae bear. This is my war tae be fought … and won.”

  Unconsciously, Claire tilted her head against his hand, feeling the rough texture of his palm against her cheek. The warmth of his skin against hers. He was alive. So very alive. She wanted him to stay that way. Call it pity. Call it a humanitarian effort to right a moral wrong. Claire knew that she couldn’t just let Hugh Urquhart walk out that door and face the unknown dangers that awaited him in her time. The logical side of her knew he wouldn’t last a minute out there. The dangers of this time were almost as bad as what awaited at the lab for a man so out of his element.

  Out of his time.

  Finally, Claire awed over what science had done. Dr. Fielding had somehow created a time machine. The ramifications were huge. There was no telling how the ability to travel through time and space might change the world as she knew it. It was a power that might be used for the benefit of all mankind. However, given the history of that selfsame mankind, Claire knew that it was more likely to be used for less than benevolent reasons. Business and national governments didn’t normally have great track records when it came to altruism.

  Releasing a deep breath, Claire smiled tightly up at Hugh. Her voice calmed. “I must say you’re taking all of this incredibly well. Far better than I am.”

  “’Tis a surprise tae ye, while I’ve had time tae get used tae it,” he said. “I hae been in that prison for weeks, mayhap months, wi’ time aplenty tae consider the horror of what awaited me. I ken that it is a wee bit worse than I imagined, but I can make my own way now. I can make my own way now.”

  Claire shook her head. “No, Hugh. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me … for now, anyway.”

  Still Hugh did not relent. “It isnae a burden for a lady tae bear.”

  Claire’s brows shot up. How utterly primeval he was! “Are you saying that I shouldn’t help you because I’m a woman or that you think I can’t at all because I’m a woman?”

  Looking puzzled, Hugh grimaced at her tone. “The art of strategy and combat is hist
orically a man’s domain.”

  There wasn’t much of a feminist in Claire, but his words were enough to rouse what little there was. “Well, I think now I have to save you just to prove you wrong. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you wouldn’t last a day out there on your own.”

  Hugh visibly stiffened, and Claire was quick to put a Band-Aid on his male pride by adding, “No, that is not a challenge. It is a simple truth and one you’ll just have to accept. You have no money, no mode of transportation … no clothes! You could walk through the NSA’s front door without even knowing it. You need help, and I’m willing to give it to you.”

  “I dinnae need yer charity,” he ground out stiffly, prompting a wave of impatience to wash over Claire, keying her up all over again.

  What was it about him that was so irritating? Was it the masculine refusal to acknowledge that he was lacking in some way or the implication that, as a woman, she was? “Really?” she drawled with a touch of mockery. “’Cause from here it looks like you could. I’m just saying.”

  The Scot drew away, crossing his arms over his thick chest as he glared down at her.

  Claire would have none of his He-Man BS though. She shook out her hands as if the motion could wave off her growing frustration with his archaic ways. “I know, I know! You Tarzan. Me Jane. Well, welcome to the twenty-first century, pal. To America! Land of equal rights for everyone, the ACLU, ERA and Rosie the Riveter!”

  Hugh blinked. “Yer a most bewildering woman.”

  “Is that a ‘yes’ then?”

  “Aye tae what?” he asked. “I dinnae ken a word ye just said.”

  A surprised huff of what might have been laughter escaped Claire and finally, the tension truly deflated. “How about my friendship then, Hugh? Instead of charity? Could you use some of that?”

  The question hung in the air for a moment, and Claire held her breath until Hugh’s shoulders dropped a notch. “Friendship is always welcome.”