Timeless

by Teresa Reasor

  “Were there any other vehicles parked on the street?”

  Had there been? She pictured walking down the sidewalk. Focused on the car. Holding Quinn’s arm. The hedge at the side of the house. A flash of light off of glass. “At the corner, just behind the hedge, I saw the gleam of light on a windshield and the nose of a vehicle. Not the nose but just a sliver of the hood and the passenger window.”

  Gordon leaned forward. “What color was it?”

  “Dark. Maybe black.” Regan swallowed her mouth so dry it was difficult to even speak. She forced the words out though dread stole the sound and her voice emerged a whisper. “Something happened to her—to Dr. Reinhart?”

  “She was attacked yesterday afternoon and is in hospital in a coma.”

  Regan’s hand stole to her mouth. The woman had been so upset when they’d left. Guilt tweaked her conscience.

  “Did you touch anything while in the house, Miss Stanhope?”

  “The doorbell. And the chair I sat in. Possibly the edge of the desk as I sat down. Quinn helped her pull the shades and sat in a chair next to her.”

  “Pull the shades?”

  “Yes, she pulled the shades and lit a candle. She asked me to focus on the flame.”

  He nodded. “Will you voluntarily allow us to take your prints? It’s to eliminate yours from the others that might be in the room.”

  The request was delivered in such an innocuous manner Regan studied Gordon closely. “That will be fine. They should already be on record with Historic Scotland. They ran a background check on us before we were allowed to work for them this summer.”

  He nodded as he wrote something down in a small notebook. “Very good, but we’ll want our own.”

  “All right.”

  “Do you think you would be able to identify the make or model of the car by looking at pictures?”

  Regan shook her head. “All I saw was the window and a sliver of the hood.” And she’d had the headache from hell.

  “Could you see anyone inside the car?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “Where did you go from Doctor Reinhart’s house?”

  “Back to our B and B.”

  “What time did you arrive there?”

  “I’m not certain. I fell asleep in the car and I was still a little drowsy when we arrived. Perhaps Ms. Miller can tell you. She gave us a message from our supervisor when we came in.”

  “So, she saw you come in?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll need the address so we can corroborate that.”

  Regan flipped back the pages of her notebook to the address and telephone number and read it to him.

  “Did you know that Dr. Reinhart recorded her sessions?”

  Shock traveled from the crown of her head to mid chest where it settled like a band around her midriff keeping her from breathing. Her face felt hot. Jesus, what would they think when they listened to it? Unable to speak, Regan shook her head when he waited for an answer. “No.”

  “There were digital recordings on her computer for every session but not one for yours.”

  “So she didn’t record our session.” Thank God!

  “Or someone took the machine. Do you have any idea why they’d do that?”

  Her emotions rose and fell as though they rode the valleys and peaks of a runaway rollercoaster. “No. It was personal to me, detective. If they took it—” Was it the same person who had cut the bolt on the ROV sling? Did they know about her connection to Coira? If they did, how much did they know? How did they know? Jesus— they’d hear what happened!

  She looked up to find him watching her, his gaze narrow.

  “I don’t think I like the idea of someone listening to it.”

  “Understandable.” Gordon leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and ran his fingers over the barrel of his pen as his hazel gaze delved into her own. “Is there someone responsible for your nightmares, perhaps some very personal reason behind them they may have been afraid you would reveal?”

  Regan remained silent for a moment. Only to someone involved in the dig. Nicodemus wouldn’t dirty his hands. Argus or Dr. Fraser? “My dreams are centered around the dig we’re doing, not any deep, dark physical abuse I’m trying to hide from the world. But I wouldn’t want my bosses to learn about them. If they got the idea they somehow affected my ability to do my job—”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “Do you think she’ll be all right?” Regan asked. Were they responsible in some way? Was it their visit that caused this attack? But no one knew they’d planned to go there. Only she had, and she’d sprung it on Quinn to avoid an argument. Had someone been following them all this time? Guilt reared its ugly head again.

  “We don’t know.” He gathered up his notebook and pen.

  “When do you want us to come in to be printed?” she asked looking up.

  “We can do that here.”

  “All right.”

  Gordon flipped open his cell phone and pushed a button. He spoke to his partner a moment. “Come with me please.”

  Though his tone was polite, Regan recognized the authority that would intimidate a criminal. She rose and grasped her backpack.

  “How long do you intend to stay in Scotland, Ms. Stanhope?” Gordon asked as they walked out of the reading room together.

  “I have to leave the second week in August. My work study program will be over then.” Her shoulder muscles ached from the tension and she fought the urge to shake her hands to relieve it.

  “And how are you finding that?” Gordon walked down the hall his gaze scanning the narrow plaques on each door as they passed.

  “I got off to a rocky start with a diving accident, but things have smoothed out now. I’m learning something every day.” That was certainly true enough.

  “Diving accident?” He stopped at a door.

  “Yes, I’m a marine archaeologist. I experienced a blackout at seventy meters down, and Quinn had to come down and rescue me.”

  “Perhaps the accident is what has caused the nightmares.”

  More than he knew. “No doubt. I hoped the hypnotism might stop them.”

  “And has it?”

  “I haven’t had a bad dream since Dr. Reinhart hypnotized me. I suppose I’ll have to wait until I get back to Loch Maree and see what happens.”

  Gordon opened the door and stood back for her to precede him into the room. Quinn leaned back against the edge of a desk.

  Quinn offered her a brief, tight smile. Regan’s pulse leaped. Had something happened while he was being questioned?

  Detective Keith made short work of rolling her fingertips over a digital printer and transferring her prints into the system.

  “When do you leave Edinburgh?” Gordon asked.

  “That depends on when we can get a flight out to Inverness.” Quinn glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to call right away to change the current one. But you have my cell, and you can call the site. We can both be reached through the main office there.”

  “You were going to leave today?” Gordon asked.

  “Yes, but we didn’t get the research done we had hoped and need an extra day to finish it,” Regan answered.

  “When did you decide to change your plans?” he asked.

  He was suspicious of them. Why? They hadn’t done anything. “Just before you arrived. A journal came to light that we want to look at, and we have to wait until tomorrow to see it.”

  “This dig you’re working on, it’s the one all the media have been hyping for months?” DS Keith asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do they allow civilians to come down and look about?”

  “Not yet. Right now it’s still pretty muddy. We’re trying to clean the algae from the monoliths and record the Ogham on their surfaces.” Regan smiled. “But if you come, I’m sure someone can take you around. Probably me or one of the other students. We’re the gofers there.”

  “Gofers?”

  �
�Go for this, go for that.”

  “Oh.” DS Keith smiled. “Very good.”

  Keith folded away the portable printing scanner and put it into a case.

  “Will you let us know about Dr. Reinhart?” Regan asked.

  Detective Gordon pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. “You can call to inquire in a few days.”

  Regan nodded. “Thank you.”

  The two detectives thanked them and took their leave. Regan leaned back against the desk beside Quinn and drew a deep breath. Her legs felt weak, her neck stiff with tension.

  “What happened?” she asked, as she searched Quinn’s face.

  “They didn’t just fingerprint me, Regan. They took a DNA sample as well.”

  “So?”

  Quinn peeled back the sleeve of his sweater where small crescent scabs marred the skin of his forearm. “They’re going to find my DNA beneath her fingernails. They’re going to think we did it.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Blessed silence settled over the office after the inspectors left. Quinn drew a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his forehead where a tension headache beat like a hammer across his brow. He and Regan hadn’t done anything wrong. Then why did a niggling feeling of guilt continue to crawl across his conscience? Because they had led them, whoever them was, to Dr. Reinhart. It had to be someone from the dig who wanted to know what they were doing. Fraser? Nicodemus? His henchman, Andrew Argus?

  There were twenty doctors at the site at any given time. They had no way of narrowing the list. Nicodemus was the moneyman and could buy anyone—anyone but him and Regan. And his brothers. They’d not do anything to hurt him.

  Leaning against the desk beside him, Regan rested her hand on his arm, just over the scratches Dr. Reinhart had dug into his skin. “They’ll have the person responsible in custody by the time it goes though.”

  God, he wanted to believe that. “If the police think I’m guilty, they’ll develop blinders to anyone else.”

  “We can alibi each other,” she said, “We didn’t do anything to her. Besides, we had no motive for hurting Dr. Reinhart. We didn’t even know her.”

  Was that desperation he heard in her voice or reassurance?

  “Someone had to have followed us to her home,” he said. “If they’ve recovered your computer files of the Ogham translations— Nicodemus is running out of time. He’ll do whatever he has to do to find out how to use the stones to heal himself. Including this.”

  She looked up, her brows creased in a frown. “If he wanted answers, why would he try to keep us from finding the information we need? Who reserved the diary to keep us from reading it?

  He remained silent a moment then shook his head. “I don’t know. But it’s reserved for us tomorrow. I need to call and change our flight. We need to eat a meal and find someplace to stay the night.”

  Regan straightened away from the desk. “I’ll go clean up our work area.”

  Quinn nodded.

  He needed a moment to collect himself. He couldn’t have refused the DNA swab. It would have made him appear guilty. But sweet Jesus!

  Halfway to the door Regan paused, pivoted and strode back to him. Her arms slid around his neck and her lips homed in on his with an intensity that hit him first in the heart then arrowed down to his groin. He reached for her, parting his thighs to draw her in close. The comfort she offered eased the tension from his body.

  She leaned back from the kiss. Her blue eyes looked dark. “They can’t arrest you for something you didn’t do. I won’t let them.” Her lips clung to his, sealing the pledge. For countless moments he lost himself in the taste, the feel of her, and allowed her closeness to lull the anxiety from him and transfer it into sexual energy.

  When she turned her lips from his, her breath, warm and moist, fanned his neck. He shuddered as a fresh wave of blood rushed downward to his groin. He rested his forehead against hers, and then brushed his lips against her cheek. Just touching her eased his gut clenching anxiety. “Should Dr. Reinhart die, they’ll have committed murder. And we won’t even know why.”

  Regan leaned back. “I know why.”

  Time stopped. Quinn’s hands tightened around her hips.

  Regan’s expression grew anxious. “Dr. Reinhart recorded the session. The detective told me the digital recording device might have been stolen.”

  His stomach plummeted with the same sensation he experienced each time the diving bell dropped. “Jesus—“ He sucked in air. “They’ll know—”

  “Yeah. We’ll know who they are when we get back to the site.”

  Jesus. They’d know. He straightened from the desk, his hands gripped her arms. and he held her away from him. His pulse beat at his temples, intensifying the headache. His breathing accelerated. “You can’t go back to the site, Regan.”

  “I have to, Quinn. You know I do. If there’s one chance that we can seal off the stones and save Bryce, you know we have to take it.”

  “You’ll be in danger.” He wouldn’t be able to protect her.

  “You know as much about the stones as I do,” Regan said.

  “Without you, they haven’t a chance of getting them to turn on.”

  Her features grew still, her eyes wide. “Do you really believe that?”

  “Aye, I do.” As much as he hated to lose her, she couldn’t go back to the dig. “They laid dormant for three months until you arrived. Without your connection to Coira to trigger them, they won’t work. You’ll have a life, Regan. If they figure out that it’s all about you-—”

  Color leached from her skin, but her gaze remained steady. “If I leave now, they’ll arrest you for Dr. Reinhart’s assault. They’ll view it as an instant admission of guilt.” She leaned into him again. “We have to figure out who hurt her.”

  “There’s an outside chance that what happened to Dr. Reinhart has nothing to do with us,” he said.

  At her deadpan expression, a wry smile twisted his lips. “Aye, I know. And pigs may fly.” He smoothed a stray curl from her cheek. “ Go clean up while I make some calls. By the time you finish I’ll have our flight rebooked and a place for us to stay.” When she hesitated, he forced a smile to his lips. “We’ll work it out, lass. Go on.”

  The door closed behind Regan. Someway, somehow, he’d have to get her on a plane bound for America at the Inverness airport. There was no way she could go back to the site.

  *****

  At the bed and breakfast, Quinn laid his keys atop the dresser and tucked his bag against the wall out of the way. Kicking off his shoes, he collapsed face down on the queen-sized bed. The thick down comforter made a soft hissing sound as the air squeezed from it.

  A groan stifled by the pillow reached Regan as she tossed her belongings next to the door and rushed to join him. She toed off her shoes and lay back against the luxurious bank of pillows. “What a year today has been.”

  Quinn grunted in reply.

  Regan rubbed her stomach where a rock of anxiety had settled, bordering on nausea. Her worry for herself was nothing compared to the grinding pressure she experienced when she thought of Quinn. He didn’t deserve any of the trouble she’d brought him. It had been her idea to visit the hypnotist, her idea to try and change things for Coira and Braden. If only she’d left him alone. He’d have never been dragged into this situation.

  Had it been her need to succeed that had driven her? Or was it really Coira’s need that had guided her?

  The woman’s love for her husband and child had reached across eons.

  With all they had both experienced—that was undeniable.

  But had their relationship progressed because of their connection to the couple in the past? Or was it more than that? It has to be more than that.

  She turned on her side toward him, and fought the urge to touch him. The thick black hair at the back of his head lay in heavy waves and curls against his neck. She longed to run her fingers through it.

  Quinn turned his head and his green gaze m
oved over her features. “What is it, lass?”

  Worry notched a crease between his brows and etched lines of stress around his mouth. Tenderness welled up inside her. He deserved better than she had given him, had brought to him.

  She shook her head and slid her fingers through the curls that fell over his forehead, pushing them back. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his forehead, his cheek, his lips.

  He turned, encouraging her touch. She traced the curve of his jaw, the coarse texture of his beard prickling her skin.

  This opening of her senses and her heart had nothing to do with Coira, and everything to do with him.

  Quinn sat up and in one smooth movement tugged his sweater over his head. He tossed it into a nearby chair and drew her against him.

  Regan rubbed her cheek against the hair on his chest, pressing close.

  “I need to be skin-to-skin with you, lass.” His hand ran beneath her sweater and the camisole she wore beneath, drawing both layers up between them.

  His deep husky voice rumbling beneath her ear sent a sensual tremor through her. Regan shimmied out of the garments, and he tossed them aside. Her breathing grew unsteady as his hand ran upward from her waist to her breast in a slow sweep. He cupped the tender flesh and bent his head to take the nipple in his mouth. Watching him, feeling the rough texture of his tongue caressing her so intimately, opened a well of guilt and regret.

  He was the man she was meant to be with, no one else. Here was where she was meant to be, always. It didn’t matter how they had come together. Or why. I have to believe that.

  Regan ran a hand up the back of his neck and combed her fingers through his hair.

  He raised his head to look down at her, and tears stung her eyes. This is what Coira had felt with Braden. These all-encompassing feelings of fear and hope blended with the need to protect. But these were her feelings, her experiences, and Quinn was her—

  She had to find a way to protect him.

  As he bent his head to kiss her, she pushed aside her thoughts, her fear for him, and concentrated on giving to him.