by Lyn South
“You talk too much.” I jump backward into the edge of a tool bench shoved up against the wall.
She swings the staff again, this time toward my lower legs, trying to sweep them out from under me. It’s a narrow miss.
Stumbling backward down the bench, sweeping my hands along its splintered surface as I go, I search for anything I can use to block the blows so I can get to the knife in my boot. Lunging, I grasp a wooden shovel propped against the wall.
It’s barely in my hands when the rake lands with a solid thwump on the table leg just in front of me.
“You’re playing with me,” I say. “Won’t your superiors be angry that you’re taking so long to kill me?”
“As long as you’re dead, they won’t care how long it takes. You’ve outlived your usefulness.” She circles to the right, balancing her weapon first in one hand, then the other. “I’ll be rewarded for dispatching you. I might even get a medal.”
“Dodger,” Nico says. “That shovel isn’t gonna do the job by itself.”
I take in his meaning: the knife. I swallow hard, knowing that I’m not likely to get out of here in one piece if I’m not willing to take her life before she takes mine.
“Your boyfriend’s right. That shovel is useless.” Trevor sweeps the rake down and then quickly up, catching the metal binding behind the bowl of the shovel between two of the rake’s tines. One quick tug and she snatches the implement out of my hands.
It’s enough time for me to get to the knife and rush her. The instant Trevor spots the blade, she flips the rake around and swings it at my head.
The corner glances off the spot just above my right ear and I feel the blood gush. My head throbs.
She cocks her weapon back, preparing for another attack, but leaves just enough of an opening that I can slip under her arms and thrust the blade upward.
We’re nose-to-nose as I feel it slide into her and it’s nothing like I expect it to be. It moves through her skin with so little resistance, it’s like she’s made of soft butter.
I feel her blood on my skin.
She staggers back, eyes wide, then falls.
Carter, having seen the whole thing through the LensCam, jumps into action, barking orders to everyone. “Team One, get in that mill and secure the prisoner. Team Two, get Fagin and Lady Anne to safety.”
Nico follows up with a command of his own. “Team One, get Dodger back to the ship fast. She’s hurt.”
“Both of me,” I say. “Don’t forget the version lying outside the stable.”
“She’s been found by one of the grooms of the stable and taken to the castle. She...you will be fine,” Nico replies.
The blow to my head isn’t as serious as it could have been, but a light-headedness sweeps over me that drops me to my knees. Murdock places a steadying hand on my shoulder, then pulls me to my feet.
“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” he says with a grudging sense of admiration in his voice.
“Neither can I,” I say, still gasping for breath.
Becca Trevor, weak but still alert, meets my eyes; she’s still lying on the floor allowing one of our guys to field dress her wound as we prepare to transport back to the ship. She really doesn’t have a choice in the matter. She has six phasers pointed at her head.
“I know where Isabella is.” Her voice is raspy with the effort to speak through pain. “When I escape, I’ll pay her a little visit.”
Chapter 30
I wake to Nico’s arm draped over me and the feel of his slow, deep breath, warm on the nape of my neck. The weight of him is comforting; it’s like being a child cocooned in swaddling clothes. Protected. Safe. Cherished.
I don’t want to move. It might break this spell. Could this be for real with him? A forever thing? I’ve never really thought in those terms before, never thought of myself as the marrying or settling-down one-man woman type.
We’ve been home for two weeks and I still don’t trust this happiness we have. A cosmos-changing switch in time blasted humanity’s future to the brink of destruction and here we are playing house.
Is it real? Has he forgiven me?
I take a deep breath and let the possibilities wash over me. Nico stirs and when I move to face him, he holds me tighter.
“Please stay. I like you right where you are,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep.
I can’t help but chuckle. “Okay, I’ll stay, but remember we’re at my place.”
He grunts, lifts his head and does a quick survey of the surroundings. “Oh...yeah.” He plops down on the pillow again. “In that case, please let me stay. I like being here.”
He kisses my shoulder and I feel his need growing apace with wakefulness. The nuzzling turns insistent. Explorative and hungry. I feel my own desire rising to match his.
He flips me onto my back and settles between my thighs as his lips move from my neck to my breasts. He brushes a thumb across my nipple and my body shudders in response.
“Just think: We could have done this last night,” I say, teasingly, because my own appetite is now as ravenous as if I haven’t eaten—metaphorically speaking—in years.
His eyes hold all the hesitancy and concern that had postponed our intimacy the night before. “The doctor just cleared you from the concussion from the rake to the head you took a few weeks ago. I want to be careful,” he replies. One arm cradles my neck, his free hand drifting down between my legs. It’s slick, warm, and ready. He plants a soft kiss on my lips and smiles. “I do like how you rise to the occasion, though.”
“I think that’s my line,” I say, and we laugh. It feels as good as the moment we join. It has been months since we’ve laughed without wondering what fresh hell was around the next corner.
When we join, the rhythm is gentle, slow; I feel his caution, still not wanting to push too hard in case any overzealous jostling causes a concussion flare up.
“I really am fine, you know,” I say as he brushes his nose against mine.
Our eyes lock and we share a near-kissing breath as we continue to move together.
He feels so damn good. I could stay here forever.
“I know,” he says.
“So don’t hold back. Love me like you used to.” I cup his buttocks and pull him in closer, lifting my hips, matching his movements to encourage the coupling I want. He gasps.
“No, not like we used to. This is something new.” The sweet and tender kisses turn fierce as gentleness yields to a deeper, rougher drive.
“That was...” Nico says, after, searching for the right word. “What’s a stronger word than earth-moving?”
Depending on the situation, the after-play is usually one of two things: euphoric or awkward. The latter usually motivates me to escape as quickly as possible. For the first time, ever, I’m euphoric. I yearn to slow time and stay right where I am.
“Gloriously perfect.” I finish his thought. I feel his head raise off his pillow. Unused to effusive praise where our sexual arrangement is concerned, he gazes at me a measure of uncertainty.
As I nestle into the crook of his arm, I place my fingers on his lips. “Hush. Let’s just enjoy what we have right now. This moment. Who knows how long we get to keep it?”
He wraps his arms around me, settling into the embrace. “Roger that.”
The CommLink panel on the bedside table buzzes. “Merde.” I say. “Did you time that?”
“Yep,” Nico replies with a sigh. “Duration of post-coitus total bliss: two minutes, tops.”
Home Computer announces: Fagin Delacroix calling.
“On speaker,” I reply. “No visual.”
Fagin’s voice comes over the line. “Dodger? Something wrong with your camera?”
“Nope. I have company.”
“Hey, Fagin,” Nico says.
“Nico,” Fagin says. There’s a brief pause. “I’m glad you’re there, too. it saves me a call. I’m going out of town. I’ll check messages as I can, but I’ll be unavailable a while.”
> “You have permission to travel?” Nico asks, confused. He pushes up onto one elbow, listening more intently. The three of us have been on judicial lockdown, confined to base, since we got home. Tidying up the loose ends of our agreement with Commander Carter—and debriefing the Temporal Agency on the minutiae of our misadventures manifested itself in a shitload of post-mission mandatory meetings.
“You must be done with your obligations here. Good to know there’s light at the end of that tunnel that isn’t a fucking freight train,” I say. “You going to see Isabella?”
There’s a lengthier pause on the other end of the CommLink. “I’ll let you know when I’m back. I just didn’t want you to worry if you don’t hear from me for a while.”
“She ignored my question,” I mouth to Nico.
His eyebrows lift, and he mouths in reply. “Not good.”
“Fagin—” I say, wanting to question more, but she cuts me off.
“Look, I have to go. I just wanted to talk to you before I...before I left.”
“Why don’t you stop by for coffee,” Nico says, trying to keep her on the line. “I’ll even make breakfast. Bacon. Eggs. Whatever you want.”
“I can’t,” she replies, her voice sounding strained. “You two just take care of each other. I’ll see you when I get back. And Dodger,” she pauses, “I love you.”
“End of transmission,” the computer announces.
“What the hell was that?” Nico asks, as I jump out of bed, and grab my robe.
I shake my head. “Computer, call Fagin back.”
The line rings numerous times before going to voicemail.
“Redial Fagin’s number.”
This time, the phone goes to voicemail without ringing at all.
“Something’s not right.” Reconsidering the robe, I pull undergarments, jeans, and a crew neck T-shirt out of the wardrobe.
Nico’s already half-dressed in the clothes he brought with him. “Carter should know what’s going on. Fagin can’t leave base without his permission, and he wouldn’t let her stray too far without knowing exactly where she’s going.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re pounding on Carter’s apartment door. While he’s not surprised to see us, he’s not thrilled at the intrusion.
“You better have a damn good reason to wake me before...” he checks the time on the personal CommLink panel on the wall, “before seven-thirty in the fucking morning on a Saturday.
“Tell us where Fagin is going and we’ll be on our way,” Nico says, leaning his forearm against the door frame.
“Ah, she called you.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He nods his head a few times. “Fagin is going out of town for a few weeks. She won’t be in communication while she’s gone. She’ll check in with you upon her return. All better? Good.” He waves us toward the door, a stupid grin on his face. “I’m going back to bed.”
He tries shutting the door, but Nico blocks the closing door with his shoulder. “Yeah, we got that from Fagin.”
“Great, so you know all you need to know. She’s gone. She’ll call you when she gets back. What more do you want?”
“More than that,” I say. “Where’s she going? Who is she going to see? Will she be safe out there on her own? It’s only been two weeks since we almost died.”
Nico and I trade glances. “We’ll stand here all day, if we have to,” Nico says. “I’m sure your neighbors will love the sound of us pounding your door down for the next eight hours.”
He sighs and beckons us to follow. “This is not a hallway conversation.”
Once inside the apartment, he doesn’t waste time with niceties or play the gracious host. The place is almost barren—if architectural magazines had a template for ‘disorganized, sparsely-furnished bachelor pad,’ this would be it. “Ms. Delacroix is on assignment.”
“What kind of assignment?” I ask.
“Classified,” Carter replies.
“Where’s she going?”
“Also classified.” He yawns and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Is she going to see Isabella?”
Carter’s eyes narrow, he looks genuinely confused. “Who?”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “You don’t know who Isabella is?”
“Should I?”
I gape at him, then turn to Nico, who also stands with his mouth open.
Either Carter is lying or he really doesn’t know about Fagin’s goddaughter. Nico puts a hand on my arm.
“Is Fagin safe out there on her own?” Nico asks.
“Safe is a relative term these days, isn’t it?”
“Carter, if you get her killed—” I say, trying to keep the panic rising in my chest from choking me.
“Relax,” Carter waves a dismissive hand. “She has a security detail traveling with her. She’s in capable hands.”
“We’re a team, Fagin and me and Nico. From now on, you don’t send one of us out without the others.” My tone is as authoritative as I can make it, but I know the implied warning is bullshit. From the expression on Carter’s face, he knows it, too.
“You’ve forgotten that the Agency owns your life until it sees fit to release you from the contract. Until that time, you have no say in who goes where,” he says.
“We’re stronger together,” Nico replies. “You’ve seen it. Don’t break up the band.”
“That’s true for you and Arseneau,” Carter agrees. “Where Fagin is concerned, there are extenuating circumstances.”
“Such as?” I say, holding on to the demanding tone.
“Such as none of your fucking business,” he replies, tersely. “This is degenerating into a whiny little bitch-fest and I haven’t had coffee yet. Time for you to get the hell out of here.”
He moves to the door, but I have one more question for him before he tosses us out on our asses.
“Why did you dump me in the kitchens at Greenwich in the first place?”
He stops, turns to gawk at me with a quizzical look.
“Let me recover from that stunning non-sequitur you’ve thrown at me before I answer.” He holds up a finger, shuts his eyes briefly and then opens them again. “There. Okay, ready for the answer? Also none of your fucking business.” He leans forward and smiles like he’s just delivered the punchline to a joke only he finds hilarious.
“Contract or no contract,” I say, “these are our lives on the line. If you’re not painfully transparent with us, there’s no telling what kind of mischief you’ll have to contend with. So pay now or pay later. Your choice.”
“You’re in no position to demand anything,” Carter says, his voice a low growl as he advances on me. Nico steps into the gap between us.
“Do you want to babysit us every minute of every day from here on out? Because I’m sure that’s exactly what your bosses expect of you, right? To keep us in line...under control? We could go to war with each other starting right now, or you can answer our questions when we ask them.”
Carter rubs his chin. I can see the wheels turning in his brain, weighing the choice before him: answers now or hell later.
“Okay. I’ll give it to you, this time. But next time I may not be able to answer your questions and you’re going to have a hard choice to make about what you do in that situation.” He nods, purses his lips, then speaks. “Command headquarters thought you might be too emotionally distraught to think clearly if you came face-to-face with Trevor. They wanted to give you time to see if you—”
“To see if I was on your side or if I had really gone dark-side with the Benefactors.” I say, flatly. How could I be so stupid not to see it? It was a test. They wanted to see if I would work with them to catch Trevor or work with her.
“That’s about the size of it,” he says.
“I’m getting really fucking tired of being set up. Your purity test was bullshit.”
“We got our girl, that’s all that matters.”
“I guess my injuries were enough to convince them that I’m not one of the b
ad guys?”
“Something like that. You’ll be interested to know that Trevor was transferred to a secret maximum-security location. As far as the Benefactors know, she’s gone missing.”
“What about her crew?”
“Along with jamming transmissions from 1532 back to our time, we jammed her transmissions to her ship. They believe she died at the grist mill.”
“Are we sure the LensCam transmissions from those two days were scrambled enough to keep the Benefactors in the dark about what really happened?”
“There’s no way to be one-hundred-percent certain, of course. But the chatter we’ve heard leans in that direction. They currently believe Trevor is MIA.” He rocks back on his heels. “They will, of course, have questions for you about the incident. Our hope is that they’ll approach you sooner rather than later with a recruitment offer.”
Bile backs up into my throat as Carter’s earlier words echo in my head: Everything’s special about you: you’re clever and skilled enough to get the job done and emotional enough to go off half-cocked and step over that ethical line if it meant saving your family.
“What does the chatter say?” Nico asks.
Carter wags a finger at us. “Most of the answer to that very broad question is classified. Upshot is: It’s been fairly quiet since we got home. If it were imminent, as in the next few days, we’d give you a heads-up. Get some surveillance set up at your place to catch ingoing and outgoing transmissions. Trevor notwithstanding, the Benefactors are not usually careless or stupid. They’ll find an unconventional way to contact to avoid getting on our radar.” His posture changes and he herds us toward the door. “Enough soul-baring. You want to know more than that, talk my boss into giving you his job and the security clearance that goes with it. Bottom line is this: You just be ready to go when we call out the next mission. You tell us the second any Benefactor—or one of their Consiglieres—tries to recruit you. For now, get the fuck outta here. I’m going back to bed.”
When we return to my apartment, Nico cooks breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes. Fresh New Orleans Style coffee. I swallow without tasting; my mind is stuck on Fagin.