by M. S. Parker
Sometime later, we laid in each other’s arms, neither one of us speaking. Sleep was a heavy weight, drawing closer and closer, but I pushed it back for a few more minutes, eyes focused on the lamp on the table. I hadn’t turned it off. Now I was too tired, too content.
The light glinted off the gilt lettering on the diary I’d gotten from Florence’s dressing room. I’d taken it to avoid it falling into some reporter’s hands once news of her suicide attempt hit the papers. Smiling, I thought about the day I’d first found it, how I’d ended up back here.
Glenn smoothed a hand down my hip, drawing me back to the present.
“I don’t want a long engagement,” he said, voice drowsy.
“Me, neither. I want to be Maya Jackson as soon as possible.”
“Good.”
An uncomfortable sensation pressed in on my belly and I groaned, easing away from him. “I have to…Too much champagne.”
While I was in the bathroom, I grabbed the dress shirt I’d stolen from Glenn nearly a month ago to use as my regular sleep shirt.
He was waiting for me, eyes drowsy, one arm reaching out. I slid in and settled down, the light from the lamp still gleaming. But that was fine. If it was on, I could stare at Glenn.
And he was staring at me, smiling.
I guessed the lamp didn’t bother him either.
Sleep pressed in closer.
He said something. I could see his lips moving.
But sleep gave one final, demanding tug. And I was gone, lost to dreams.
That stupid lamp.
That was the one clear thought in my head.
A light, bright and harsh was shining in my eyes, forcing me to wake up when that was the last thing I wanted.
I tried to turn away from it and bury my face in Glenn’s neck.
But there was no soft bed under me.
There was no soft anything under me—and when I swept out a hand, I didn’t find Glenn.
All I encountered was hard, cold stone.
Shivering, I sat up.
“Maya!”
The sound of that voice, familiar as the sound of my own, made me cringe, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
That bright light continued to beat down on me, but now I knew it wasn’t the lamp.
Reaching up, I went to rub at my eyes.
Something smacked against my cheek.
I looked down and saw the locket, the gold once more dull and dusty.
No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.
“Maya, are you okay?”
I looked around the dressing room.
Florence’s dressing room.
I wanted to scream, cry.
I was no longer in 1962.
I was back.
The Glenn Jackson Saga continues in Chasing Temptation, coming in September. Turn the page for a sneak preview.
Chasing Temptation: Preview
1
Maya
“Are you okay?”
Throat tight, I stared at Daniel for a long moment, then around, my mind stuttering and trying to come to grips with what was going on.
“What…” I swallowed, then had to clear my throat when the word came out as nothing more than a squeak of sound. “What happened? How long was I gone?”
“Gone?” Daniel knelt in front of me and brushed his fingers over the back of my cheek.
A few months ago—before everything had changed—that small gesture probably would have annoyed me. As much as I loved my uncle, I was tired of him and my parents fussing and hovering over me.
But now, I reached up and caught his wrist, clinging to him. “Uncle Daniel?”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. You were only trapped down here for a few minutes, I think. But you must have fallen, hit your head.”
“Trapped…” I looked around, the wrongness in those words hitting me straight in the chest.
I hadn’t been trapped—
My jaw fell open.
That dusty, sad changing room—the one I recognized as Florence’s—was no longer dusty or sad.
It was well lit, a near perfect replica of how it had looked when I’d seen it last, just a few short weeks past—or was it years?
Don’t, a tiny part of me argued. You’ll make yourself crazy.
“What’s going on?” I whispered, clambering to my feet. When Uncle Daniel reached out to steady me, I brushed his hand away impatiently. Slowly, I turned around in a circle, not understanding anything I was seeing.
“They fixed it up pretty nice, I have to admit. They did most of the restoration using photos they found in Miss Woods’ collection.”
Those words had me turning to face him. “Miss Woods…Florence?”
He eyed me strangely. “Yes. I think they’ll be ready to open for visitors within the month, but the family has decided they’ll wait a little longer—out of respect. I understand that.”
“What…” Okay, I was saying that way too often. I went to rub my head, and the gold of the locket—the chain still woven through my fingers—glittered in my hand. Driven by instinct, I shoved the necklace into the pocket of my jeans, desperate to keep it hidden and close.
Daniel turned back to me just as I pocketed it.
“What do you mean, ‘visitors’?” I asked, confused. “Why would they do that after she killed herself down here?”
Daniel blinked. For a moment, he looked just as confused as I felt—then he shook his head. “Honey, Florence didn’t die down here…I told you that. Her assistant found her just in time and saved her life. It was all in her memoir.”
“In her memoir…she wrote a book?” I huffed out a breath. “Uncle Daniel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He immediately took a step toward me, his face grim. “I think we need to have a doctor look at you. Does your head hurt? Where?”
I smacked at his hand again when he reached out, intent on inspecting my skull. Immediately, I felt bad. He was just trying to help. But I didn’t need help. I needed to…
“No. I don’t need a doctor. I’m just a little out of it, okay? Just…” I stopped and looked around once more time.
Something on the nightstand, near the little bed where Florence had sometimes napped, caught my eye.
It was her diary.
I started toward it, only to stop.
The diary.
I’d left that by the bed last night when I went to sleep…with Glenn.
Glenn…
“This is more than a little out of it, sweetheart. I sent you a copy of her book for your birthday a few months ago. You’ve always been enamored with the story of Florence and how she nearly lost her life. She’s one—was one of your favorite movie stars. I even managed to get the book personalized for you.”
As I turned to look at him, he passed a hand over his eyes. “It was a good thing I managed it when I did. She got sick so suddenly…I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Gone. I thought you said she didn’t die…”
“No, I said she didn’t kill herself.” Daniel narrowed his eyes, and I knew he was still considering taking me on a nice trip to see a doctor. Like hell he was. “She passed away last year. She died from a heart attack.”
I spent the drive back to Uncle Daniel’s reading up on Florence on my phone. She had entries up all over the web—Wikipedia, interviews on People, Time, Biography.com.
She had indeed died of a heart attack last year.
Just last month, one of her children had died.
I guess that explained why they were holding off on opening the set to visitors.
What wasn’t explained was why the set I’d left looked so much…different.
The movie hadn’t been finished—I knew that.
Daniel had told me.
And when I did a search on that particular movie, it was indeed unfinished. The studio tried it again a few years later with new leads, but the attempt failed.
Florence had gone into rehab. I read article after article about h
ow active she’d been in the field, even before advocacy for addicts had been a thing.
She’d been a powerhouse.
I hadn’t looked up anything on Glenn.
I was afraid to.
Other than the movie set, everything looked…normal. Seemed normal.
How could anything be normal, though? Everything in my world had been flipped upside down. Closing my hand into a fist, I fought the urge to look down at my fingers.
A few short hours ago, I’d worn an engagement ring.
Did you?
It was a small, ugly voice in the back of my head, and I resisted the urge—just barely—to start drumming my skull against the window as we drove on through the crowded, bustling streets of LA.
I didn’t want to listen to that voice. I didn’t want to think about what it could mean.
Did you…?
Maybe I hadn’t. Uncle Daniel said I’d only been in that room for just a few minutes.
“Are you okay?”
The soft sound of my uncle’s voice drew me back to myself, and I stirred in the seat, looking over at him. “I’m fine,” I said, summoning up a smile from somewhere.
“Are you?” He didn’t look at me.
But I felt his keen interest nonetheless.
“I’ve known you your entire life, Maya. You don’t do quiet.” He laughed softly. “Not unless you’re plotting revenge or you’re very, very upset. So…which is it?”
“I’m not plotting revenge,” I said.
“Then you’re upset. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But even I could hear the lie. I didn’t know what to tell him other than that, though. If I told him what was wrong, he’d escort me to the nearest psych hospital. Or worse…he’d call Mom and Dad.
Mom…my heart ached. It felt like it had been months since I’d seen her. Tears pricked my eyes, and I wondered if maybe it had been.
“Maya—”
“I’m fine!” I snapped.
Of course, I wasn’t.
But Uncle Daniel simply went quiet and I sat there, my hands knotted in my lap as I struggled to find some way to tell him I was sorry.
The words wouldn’t come and after a time, I got tired of trying to force them out.
I just want to be alone. I wanted to be alone and I wanted to think.
I had to think. I had to figure out what was going on…was any of this real?
Not what was going on now—everything I’d thought had happened before…now. Before my uncle had opened the trap door and I’d opened my eyes to find myself in a completely different time, in a completely different place, wrapped in the warm, safe embrace of Glenn’s arms.
Was that real?
How had I gone from 1962 to now?
And more…how could I get back?
That question, more than anything else, caught me off guard.
Get back?
Was I seriously thinking about getting back?
But the insane thing was…I didn’t even have to think about that.
I already knew the answer.
Of course I was.
I was thinking about it hard.
I still hadn’t let myself look up anything about Glenn.
Out of everything else, that was what worried me the most. Part of me kept wondering if all of this was a dream. It felt too real to be a dream, but if it was a dream, then that meant everything would fade, right?
But a huge part of me worried that if I looked up anything about Glenn, then I’d figure out the truth—and I wasn’t sure if I could handle it.
I could still feel the weight of the engagement ring on my finger.
I could still feel the brush of his lips on mine.
And I could swear I could still feel his body rubbing against mine, his arms around me.
I didn’t want to know if I had dreamed him.
I didn’t want to know if it had all been my imagination.
But worse, I couldn’t handle knowing that it had all been real…and he was gone.
2
Glenn
I’d drank too much champagne.
I could drink all night long if it was anything else—wine, beer, vodka. I’d once had some country singer from Kentucky offer some moonshine, and I’d shared that with him, sipping on it and trading stories until dawn—and while I’d ended up drunk off my ass, I’d been clear-headed enough come morning, I’d at least been able to wake up.
But now…
I knew the feel of the headache I had, knew the heavy press of it.
Memories from the past night were dull, but there was one series of events that was clear as day, and it was enough to make me smile.
I’d given Maya the engagement ring.
And she’d said yes.
That was why I’d brought out another bottle of champagne.
That was why I felt like shit.
And that was okay.
We’d been celebrating.
I didn’t mind feeling like shit if I was celebrating.
Rolling onto my side, I slid out a hand, seeking out the soft, warm heat of her.
The bed was empty.
I groaned and buried my face under the pillow.
I could have handled the day if she’d been there, but as it was, not having her there made the hammering in my head increase.
Maybe if I laid there a little longer…
I contemplated the idea long enough that I slid back into sleep.
I wasn’t sure for how long.
I woke up again when it was clear I had to piss or risk my bladder exploding.
After a long, staggering trip to the bathroom, I stood with my shoulder against the door jam and my eyes searching the bedroom.
There was no sign of Maya, but that wasn’t a surprise. She was almost obsessively neat. By contrast, I was a total slob.
It was enough to make me smile, because unlike most others, she called me on it, tossing shirts and jeans and even underwear at me when she found it lying wherever I might have dropped it.
Nobody else I’d ever been with would do such a thing. The only person who might call me on being so lazy was Mrs. B—and she was practically a second mother to me, so she didn’t really count.
Groaning, I eased away from the door and waited there, listening a little as I waited for my head to stop spinning. It took a minute, but eventually, the room centered and took focus.
Once it did, I started forward.
The remembered lectures from Maya had me pausing by the bed to straighten to it. Not that I expected I’d turn into a neat freak, but she’d said she’d marry me.
I wanted to show her that it mattered; that I’d try to be a better person.
As I flipped the sheets back, something gold glinted in the light.
I paused, staring down at the bed.
Gold. Small. Round.
My heart jumped into my throat as I reached down.
The room spun again.
But this time, it had nothing to do with the champagne I’d chugged.
It was because of the small object I’d seen.
The small, gold, glittering object—the engagement ring.
Maya’s engagement ring.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Mrs. B twisted her hands as she looked at me. “She’s not here. I’ve checked everywhere twice.”
She took a deep breath and looked away. “I also called your drivers. They haven’t talked to her.”
I nodded at her, still gripping Maya’s ring in my hand as I stared outside.
“What should I do now, sir?”
She hardly ever called me sir. I didn’t know what to tell her. I knew what I needed to do, but I couldn’t speak and I didn’t know to tell Mrs. B, somebody I considered family—sometimes, I thought she might be my only family.
“Call the hospital,” I said finally. “I don’t want Florence knowing that you called. But make sure she didn’t go up there to visit.”
Neither of us mentioned that it was unlikely Maya would have mad
e that two hour drive up to see Florence—after all, she didn’t drive. None of my cars were missing. None of the drivers had seen her.
But I needed to have something. What else was I going to do?
Once Mrs. B was occupied, I went to my office and locked the door. I had to make a phone call and I dreaded it, but what else was I going to do?
Blowing out a breath, I reached for the phone and turned the dial.
It seemed forever before a polite, distant voice came on.
“Yes, hello. I need to speak with the police, please. My…fiancée is missing.”
“Of course, sir. May I ask your address?”
I gave it, feeling like another being had taken my body over.
The phone went silent and I waited, staring outside.
Maya was missing.
She wasn’t anywhere in the house.
She was gone.
“I’ve already answered these damn questions!”
The man across from me, Captain Tom Ridley, lowered his notepad and studied me with big, tired-looking eyes. He smiled at me, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I could see the real thoughts shooting through those tired eyes, and they weren’t too nice. His partner was younger, and his features offered much more concern. He held up a placating hand.
“Mr. Jackson, I know you’re frustrated. I understand, trust me. If my fiancée had disappeared in the middle of the night, I’d be frustrated, too.” He gestured toward his partner, Captain Ridley. “Ridley, here—he’s married, got two daughters. If one of them were to disappear, he’d be just as upset, wouldn’t you, Captain?”
“You bet I would.” He nodded at me, that fake smile still plastered in place.
“But we can’t help if we don’t do our job, and part of our job is asking these questions—and yes, we have to ask them several times over.” Detective Lewis Broad gave me a commiserating look. “You never know what small detail could be missed. So, we go over it until we have everything down. You don’t want to miss any detail that could help find Maya, right?”
I sucked in a breath and looked away. “Right.” Of course, I didn’t want to miss anything that could help lead us to her.