Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1) (54 page)

And the danger of her unknown past. It only surprised her that they hadn’t come after her before now.

She fled for the other end of the gully, branches slapping her face. A laser shot singed the earth near her feet. The crisp smell of burnt vegetation stung her nose. Though the moon was full, she could barely see. She inhaled as if she’d been gagged and bound, and each breath made her bonds tighter. Where was the shopping center?

Behind her, something crashed to the ground. She risked a backward glance. The tree that the men had shot had fallen, weakened by the laser. A shouted curse, the snapping of branches, and crashing in the leaves told her one of the gunmen had been caught in the fallout.

She pushed onward, her lungs burning, her stomach churning. Even if she lost the men, they’d see her footprints in the snow. After an eternity, a building appeared at the gully’s edge. She stumbled onto a strip of snow-covered, crumbled asphalt and the bottomed-out feeling in her belly lifted.

She dashed under a rust-stained, unlit sign on a high pole that read Paradise Motel. Not a strip mall, but the kind of place she’d seen on television, where people took prostitutes and conducted drug deals. Despite its seedy appearance, it would be a welcome haven.

When she topped the rise and beheld the building her belly turned to stone.

Holes gaped where doors and windows had once been. Moonlight filtered through the long-gone ceiling to reveal a snow-dusted carpet of leaves on the rooms’ floors. Black charred the walls, and soot had settled into the etched date—1959—of a once-white cornerstone.

Laser fire whizzed behind her. Violet bolted for the nearest door. As she tumbled through, a red blaze missed her leg by inches. She slipped on a mat of leaves and pitched forward, but before she hit the ground strong hands gripped her arms and yanked her upright. She screamed. A hand clamped over her mouth.

“Violet! It’s me!” Tony hissed.

She drew back. He released her. “Are you okay?” The moon lit his concerned face.

“I- I think so.” Though she was sweating, she trembled.

Tony leaned against the wall and panted. The impression of his fingers lingered on her arm. The acrid smell of something burnt broke through the motel’s musty scent. Violet looked down, then jerked straight. A charred, black slash rent her dress’ hem.

Apprehension fell over her body in a tidal wave. Why had Tony pushed her away and run in another direction?

Unless those men were after him. With all his strange disappearances over the past year, maybe... “Tony?” she panted. “Do you... know these men?”

“No,” he gasped, his face in a funny twist.

He was lying. Did he know about her past? She waited for her breathing to slow. “Why are they after us?”

“You wouldn’t believe—”

“Try me.” Violet squeezed a fistful of her coat.

“They’re from the future. Time travelers.”

Violet wrinkled her nose. “What?”

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

Fear cooled into firm resolve. Her logical mind slipped around the concept and found no purchase. It went against every fiber of her being, yet...

She let go of her coat. What if it was true? Tony’s face had gone slack. He wasn’t lying now. But why on earth would gunmen from the future be after him?

There are no gunmen from the future!
Those men were from here and now. She didn’t know Tony that well, maybe all those times he’d disappeared over the past year, he’d gotten mixed up with something bad. Or maybe something had happened to him

(mentally unstable)

but she couldn’t imagine that.

The unlit motel sign and its darkened “No vacancy” mocked them. As fantastic as it seemed, she believed him.

In the distance, a man shouted. Tony pressed his back into the wall, palms flat. Fear crashed over Violet in waves, suffocating, drowning.

There was no place to run. If they’d stayed in the car, they’d be dead. If they’d kept running, they’d be dead. If they ran now, they’d be dead. By ducking into the motel, they’d only delayed the inevitable.

The shouts grew louder. She inched closer to Tony. She had to do one thing before she died. “Tony, there’s something I have to tell you—”

“Not now. Maybe we can get out of this alive.” He clamped a hand around her arm, then turned her to face him. “These guys are after me, not you.” Violet drew back, stiffening. “Turn around. Don’t look at me. If I disappear—”

“Disappear? Like you did in Mexico?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah. Now turn around.”

“But—” With a hand on both her shoulders, he spun her so her back was to him, then released her. “1959,” he mumbled. “1959...”

Violet’s fear solidified. What on earth was he doing? What had he done to draw those men’s wrath? How would he make himself disappear? She started to turn, but he held her shoulders. “Stay there. Don’t look at me for... a slow count to ten. It’s our only chance, okay?”

She wet her lips. “All right.”

“When you turn around, I’ll be gone—”

“How?”

“Do it!”

The men’s shouts and footsteps drew nearer. Tony let go of her. “When I’m gone, they’ll know you’re alone. You’ll be safe. God, I hate this, but there’s no other way. Okay, count.”

She tried not to consider the possibility he was wrong. Or crazy.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three—

Vertigo blasted through her, and she stumbled backward into Tony. She barely felt him catch her through the dizziness and the sense of the ground beneath her disappearing. Even the dizzy spell she’d had earlier that day hadn’t been as strong. She grabbed Tony, but instead of steadying her, the dizziness intensified.
1959.
When the motel would have been new. Why had he said that?

“Violet!” He tried to shove her away.

“No!” She clutched harder, pulled at his coat with both hands, the vertigo so bad it was like her head spun on a dozen different axes. Then the world faded to black.

The first thing Tony noticed when the dizziness wore off was the smell of vinyl.

And warmth.

The blackness faded from his vision. A vertical crack of light bisected a curtained picture window. All he could make out were the hulking shapes of a bed, a dresser, and a small, square table with two chairs.

The motel. Before it burned. He’d made it! He pushed himself off the cool, tile floor—

“Tony?”

His blood froze as his warp-befuddled mind registered warmth and pressure against his side. “Violet?”
No way. No way. No way.

She moved away. Her voice trembled. “What happened? Where are—”

“Oh my God... How did— you shouldn’t be—”

“Where are we? Where are those men—”

“Gone. We’re safe for now.” Good God, what had he done? How had she come with him? He lurched to his feet and walked to the door, his footsteps clacking on the floor.

She pushed herself up, then straightened her dress with a sharp tug. When she spoke, her voice regained its firmness. “Where on earth—”

“The Paradise Motel.” He gave a wry half-laugh. “Look.” He yanked open the door. The sign in the parking lot glowed brightly. Beneath it, a pink neon “Vacancy” welcomed them.

“Oh my word.” Violet drew up beside him. “What—? How...?”

Crisp stripes marked parking spaces in the smooth, black asphalt. In a few of the spaces sat cars with huge fins and bulging headlights. She blinked.

“Welcome to 1959.” Tony said.
Shit, shit, shit!

“Ninetee— Good heavens! Do you mean to tell me we’ve traveled back in time?” She leaned on the door frame, and touched two shaking fingers to her lower lip. “It’s—surely I’m dreaming.” She pinched the back of her hand, then jerked her fingers away. “Ouch!”

“‘Fraid not.” Dread gripped Tony in a bear hug. Months ago he’d sworn he was through with time travel. Never again. Yet there he was.

Though there was no snow, a chill breeze brew dry leaves between the cars and chased Tony and Violet back inside. He shut the door.

“What are we going to do?” Violet fumbled with a lock of blond hair. “Where are those men? Will they find us here?” Her voice rose with each question. “Who are—”

“I don’t know.” Tony moved closer, laying a hand on her elbow. “I have no idea why they’re chasing us, but there’s not much chance they’ll find us here,
now
.”

“But... are we stuck here?” Her words came fast. “I don’t want to be in 1959! What will—”

“It’s okay.” Tony pulled her into his arms. “We’ll be able to go home once we get the Pull—when our mental energy builds back up. But that probably won’t happen for a few days.”

“What about- when we go back? Will those men be there?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. You warp in time, but stay in the same physical location. All I can think of is to jump home from someplace else. And pray they’re elsewhere—else
when
.” He stroked her hair.

“What will people at home think? This is what happened when you disappeared, wasn’t it? I can’t afford to lose my job—”

“I’ll talk to Keith.” Tony rubbed her back. She calmed, though she still trembled. “I do have a little pull around there, you know. As for the rest...”

What would he tell his daughter? Or his parents? Last time, he’d told them he went on a cruise and he’d never had a chance to call home. He’d hated to say it, the lie burning his mouth, but the truth was too strange.

Thankfully, Keith, his boss and CEO of the company, had accepted Tony’s claim of not remembering where he’d been, but would he force Tony to go on leave of absence again? “We’ll figure out something,” he said. “I’m not thrilled to be here either, but it beats the alternative.”

Violet covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, it’s not like me to prattle on so—”

“It’s okay.” He pulled her closer, trying to give—and take—comfort in her nearness. “I’d worry if you
weren’t
freaked out.”

Guilt blanketed him. He’d stayed away from the office, spent his leave of absence working out, building his strength. He’d learned to shoot, and re-learned martial arts, hoping he’d never need any of it, and when six months had gone by with no sign of the snipers, he’d hoped his last change in time had relegated them to a timeline that never happened. But now it looked like they’d just been biding their time. Bad enough they’d shot at Violet too, forcing Tony to do something he never wanted to do again, and jump into the past to escape. But how in hell had she come along? Was physical contact all it took? Or what if—

She could time-travel too? Because she was Charlotte? Charlotte had been able to—

It’s impossible to travel into one’s future.
And Charlotte was dead. Violet must have come with him because she’d grabbed him as he warped. Simple proximity.

She slumped against him. “I’m... exhausted. Not just from running, but...”

“Recovery.” Tony was growing fatigued too. “Once it kicks in, nothing will keep you awake. It’s like being in a coma.”

“What’s—”

He walked her to the bed. “Lie down. Once recovery hits, you can’t fight it.” She sank onto the bed, then struggled to shrug off her coat and purse. When he grabbed them, his gut dropped. There was only one bed.

It didn’t matter. Not when neither would have the energy to move, much less take advantage of the situation.

Violet slouched against the headboard, oblivious to the cleavage her black, v-neck dress revealed.

Tony snatched his glasses off, then rubbed them with his shirttail. He wasn’t typically attracted to big girls, yet there was something about her. Something had made him ask her out, and not just her resemblance to Charlotte.

He jammed his glasses back on and tossed her coat over a chair. Heavy or no, she’d be attractive even if she didn’t look so much like Charlotte she could be her older, blonder twin. Not model-gorgeous, but with an inner grace that transcended society’s definition of beauty, just like Charlotte’s had. She carried herself with the same quiet confidence Charlotte had. Even her voice bore the huskiness of a longtime smoker—like Charlotte’s had.

And Charlotte had been able to travel in time. The Saturn Society insisted it was impossible to jump into one’s own future, but what if they were wrong?

Tony’s heart curled in on itself at the memory of the woman from the past he’d loved more than he’d thought possible.

She’s. Not. Charlotte.

Charlotte died in 1933. Why had he tortured himself by asking her modern double on a date?

Because he liked Violet. Still, her words were Charlotte’s.
My word. Good Heavens. What on earth.
Too much coincidence—

“Tony?” Her voice jerked him out of a past better forgotten. “What if someone comes in here while we’re doing this… recovery?”

“Damn, you’re right. I guess I’d better go check us in before I drop.” He grabbed his wallet. Bills and loose change plinged onto the dresser, along with business cards and a joke from his friend Bernie—a condom. “Holy hell.” It wasn’t funny now. He crammed it back into his wallet, hoping Violet didn’t think he’d asked her out expecting to get laid.

Her gaze flicked from the offending item to the money. “Surely that’s plenty—” Her eyes fixed on a ten with the twenty-first century, large portrait. “Oh, dear, that won’t work, will it?” She stifled a yawn. “Hand me my purse, I have a bunch of singles. Maybe together we’ll have enough.”