Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1) (53 page)

She spied a sledge hammer in the corner of the garage. After scanning the back of the house to make sure the slow-witted man was nowhere in sight, she laid it on the floor and lifted the hammer. Two swings left it a mangled mess of plastic and metal. Satisfied, she scooped it off the floor, wrapped it in her dress, then walked toward the house, dress wadded up in her hand.

The yard and back of the house were deserted, thank heavens. A tall, wooden fence bordered the yard, and a picnic table sat on a concrete porch alongside the one-story brick house. Flies buzzed around three green, barrel-like containers near the door through which the man had disappeared. The lid had fallen off of one, and as she neared, the odor of garbage stung her nose. She glanced around once more. Perfect. She stuffed the dress down the side of the container, relief washing over her the instant it left her hand.

She knocked on the door. The man had told her to come in, but it didn’t feel right. “Sir?” she called.

“In here.” He hunkered under the sink, his head hidden beneath the cabinet. “Bathroom’s down the hall...”

She found the washroom, though like everything else in the house, it looked... strange. The lavatory sat on a big, wooden cabinet, and magazines with names like
Cosmopolitan
and
Glamour
atop the toilet tank showed such scantily clad women, it made her face heat. Strangest of all was the air gun lying on the sink. At least that’s what she guessed it was, with a name like Conair printed on its side. The urge to pick it up and study it racked her body, but she feared it might be dangerous and best left alone.

She wanted to explore the rest of the house, see what curiosities it held, but…
Shame on you, you know better than that!
It wasn’t polite to nose through people’s things, especially after the kindness the man had shown her, so she returned to the kitchen.

Books and papers, keys and unopened mail littered the small wooden table—along with a newspaper. She picked it up.

Dayton Daily News.
Fifty cents.

Fifty cents? For a newspaper? Not even a Sunday edition?

The man bumped his head on the cabinet door as water sprayed out. “Dad burn it!”

She jumped up. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, but...” He backed away from the sink as the stream of water kept spraying.

He’d loosened the wrong joint. Strange as so much else in the house was, the pipes at least looked familiar. “Here, let me...” She reached behind him and found the shutoff valve. “I’ll help you fix this, if I could just get a drink—”

“Oh man, that would be fantastic.” Rubbing his head, he climbed to his feet and yanked open the icebox. “I think we got some pop, unless Vince drank it.” He rummaged around, then held a green and silver can out to her.

Pop? She took it, eying the unfamiliar print. Mountain Dew? As in moonshine? But surely no one sold that in a printed can. “Th- thank you, sir.” He watched, expectantly, while she turned the can over. “Do you have a can opener?”

He chuckled and took the can. “Whatd’ya need that for?” He sat the can on the table and pushed a little lever on the top, and miraculously, a hole appeared. Grinning, he handed it to her.

As she reached for the drink, the newspaper caught her eye. The date on the masthead read Monday, June 7...

That couldn’t be. She reread it.

June 7. And an impossibly distant year.

It had to be a mistake. “Hey!” The man thrust the Mountain Dew at her. “You want this, or no?”

She took it from him and sipped from the hole. Not moonshine, but a soda, sweeter than even Coca-Cola. And it was delicious. Nothing had ever felt so welcome as the cool wetness coursing down her throat.

But that paper... She let out an ahhh as she set the can down on the table, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then pointed to the newspaper. “Sir, how old is this paper?”

He looked curious. “That ain’t old. It’s today’s.”

His words faded as a rushing sound pounded in her ears.
That can’t be right!
She’d gotten something mixed up, she didn’t know what, but the date should not be after 2000! She didn’t know what it should be, or how she knew it wasn’t right, but—

“My name’s Timmy,” the fellow said. “You shore are a pretty lady. What’s your name?”

What
was
her name? Panic lanced through her. She tried to concentrate.
Think!
If she didn’t come up with something fast, he might call the police, or take her to a hospital.

All she knew was the pickup truck. Mountain Dew. This slow-witted, but kind man. And blood. All over that beautiful dress, with its lovely, purple violets... and there was a word she’d seen somewhere, in big, lit-up letters.

“Violet,” she finally answered. “Violet Sinclair.”

It wasn’t her real name, but it would do.

Violet sat alone at a table by the window in the company cafeteria, watching fat, fluffy snowflakes fall from the January sky. She’d taken to sitting there after Tony had gone on leave of absence the past summer, because it reminded her of him.

It was where he’d always sat.

Unable to keep her mind on the computer manual she’d brought to read while she ate, she finally gave up and pushed it aside.

He’d come back that morning. She hadn’t seen him, but she’d heard Mr. Lynch telling one of the other executives as they’d walked past the tech support department.

Those six months Tony had been on leave had been the longest she could remember—not that she could remember anything further back than the day she woke in Stephanie’s garage and helped Steph’s brother Timmy fix the plumbing.

Nothing would happen. There was no reason her relationship with Tony would be any different than before the trip to Mexico, almost a year earlier. Professional, friendly, polite, nothing more.

She just wanted to see him, that was—

“Violet?”

Sparks shot through her body. She could hear his voice, could feel him behind her...

Footsteps clacked on the tile floor, and a man’s well-filled-out dress shirt and slacks came into view.
Who—

Her eyes traveled up his body. “Tony?”

His blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses, and his mouth curled into a thin smile—the word
wary
came to her mind, though she couldn’t fathom why.

He rested his hand on the chair across from her. “Mind if I join you?”

Rational thought fled, and her fork tumbled to the floor. “Uh... of course.”

H
eavens, he must think I’m a doddering fool.
She bent to pick up the fork as he pulled out the chair and sat. She took as long as she could get away with to pick up the fork, hoping her face wasn’t flaming red by the time she straightened and thought of something halfway intelligent to say. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” She did her best to rein in the sappy grin that threatened to steal onto her face, tried not to look too excited.
He
was sitting with
her?

“I’m glad, too. And glad to be back. I was bored out of my mind, not working.” He squeezed a packet of crackers and dumped the crumbs into his chili.

Violet let her gaze linger on him. He definitely filled out his shirt more than before. Must’ve been using the gym, spending all that extra time on his hands lifting weights.

They talked of inconsequential things—the weather, the news, people they both knew. Finally, he ate his last spoonful of chili, and scooped the cellophane cracker wrappers into the empty bowl, then reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “My sister gave me a couple of tickets to the opera... not really my thing, but...” He turned the envelope over in his hands.

Was he going to offer her the tickets? Maybe she could interest Stephanie in going.

He kept his gaze on the envelope, turned it over once more. “Her son’s playing in a basketball tournament that night, so they can’t go. I was wondering... would you like to go?”

“With you?” Her breath hung up in her throat. Surely he wasn’t—

“Well, yeah.” His brows pressed down and his mouth tipped up as he met her gaze.

Violet pressed the back of her hand against her mouth before she could say anything stupid, like how much she wanted a cigarette, even though she’d quit months ago.

Finally, the man she’d dreamed of, watched, longed to know, was asking her on a date.

It was what she wanted. The chance she’d been waiting for.

With that thought, her jitters faded, and warmth slowly coated her. She slowly lowered her hand and let her smile, the one she wanted to give him, come out. “I’d love to.”

An Excerpt: Chapter One

V
IOLET
S
INCLAIR MIGHT HAVE STAYED HOME
if she’d known she’d end her dream date running for her life.

It would have been a tough choice. Tony Solomon, the man she’d pined for for years, the man every unattached woman in the office wanted, the man who never dated, had asked her out.

He slowed to navigate a curve on the dark, deserted street, and her belly fluttered with excitement.

A traffic jam on the way to the opera had forced them to take back roads. The snow that had started that afternoon was beginning to stick and get slippery, slowing them further.

He shot her a wan smile. “Looks like we’re going to be late.”

“It’s all right.” The opera didn’t matter, even if that one was never performed in Dayton again. She doubted she’d remember any of it when the show was over anyway.

A bubbly feeling rose inside her. Would Tony kiss her good night? Her roommate had made plans for the evening, so Violet could invite him in. Would she have the nerve?

He’d said she looked fantastic when he’d come to pick her up, and the way his eyes lingered on her told her he’d meant it. Maybe he’d do more than kiss her. Maybe she’d even let him—

The car jerked, throwing her forward.

“What the hell?” Tony whirled around.

Violet twisted to see out the back window. A black SUV—a big, military-styled one–closed in on them. “Did he hit ice?”

“
I
didn’t.” The truck’s headlights glimmered in Tony’s glasses and magnified his round eyes. The SUV drew close again. Violet doubled over as it impacted with a grating crunch.

Tony swore and dug into his pocket as the truck pushed them for several yards. He jabbed at his cell phone. The car bumped and jounced as it went off the right shoulder of the road and slowed to a stop. “What do you mean, no service?” Tony tossed the phone down.

Outside Violet’s window a thin, red light slashed the night. “What was that?”

Something burned through the Buick’s roof with a sizzle. “Holy fuck!” Tony ducked as a line of red light speared through the hole.
Laser.

A man leaned out of the SUV’s passenger window and pointed a narrow object at them. A red beam burst from its end, and Tony’s car’s back window shattered.

Violet grabbed the door handle. “That shopping center we just passed! It should be on the other side of the woods, he won’t expect—”

“Get out!” Tony threw open his car door and tumbled out. Violet did the same.

Behind them, car doors clicked open. Violet stumbled down the road’s shoulder and bolted into the trees. A red beam sliced the air inches from her head. She looked back as two men hopped out of the truck. One raised a weapon. The other man staggered into him and both crashed to the ground. Violet turned and ran. Muffled curses punctuated the night behind the crunch of her and Tony’s footfalls in the frozen vegetation.

“Thank God,” Tony panted as he glanced behind them. Before Violet could follow his gaze, he shoved her in the back, slamming her into the snowy leaves face first. Beside her, a red beam sizzled into a tree trunk, smoking where it struck.

Violet slowly raised her head. Her heartbeat thudded in her throat.

Tony grabbed her arm and pulled her up. “Come on!”

He dashed to a clump of bushes a few yards away. She scurried after him, her pumps sticking in the frozen leaf cover, until something tripped her and she tumbled to the ground.

Snapping branches and crackling undergrowth heralded their pursuers’ closing distance. She clawed her hair out of her face, then fought to free her foot from a root. Tony hurried back and pulled her up. “You go that way, I’ll go...” He dropped her hand and darted for a stand of bushes to his left. Violet clambered up a rise toward where the strip mall should be. She gulped in the numbingly cold, February air.
Tomorrow.
She’d start exercising–and get back on her diet. Nothing like running from maniacal killers to drive home the danger of being overweight and out of shape.