Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) (6 page)

BOOK: Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)
9.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

She would have been content to stand there for an hour, but Simon was waiting. She toweled off and slipped on her robe.

“It’s all yours—” she started to say, as she re-entered the bedroom, but the sight before her brought her up short.

Simon sat in one of the large wing backs in the sitting area, one boot on and one boot off. His head was tilted back against the cushion, his eyes shut and his breathing deep. A lone sock dangled from his fingers. He’d fallen asleep mid-undress.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. He was such a giant doodlebug. The poor man probably hadn’t slept in days. His hyper-awareness and perpetual DEFCON-3 status had finally caught up with him. Elizabeth walked quietly over to his chair and gently moved his disheveled hair away from his eyes. She thought about leaving him and letting him sleep there, but chair sleep was no sleep at all.

She caressed his cheek, the stubble rough under her palm.

Slowly, his eyes blinked open and a gentle smile came to his face. He looked down and realized where he was. “I fell asleep,” he said needlessly.

Elizabeth nodded. “I think the bed will be better.”

Simon nodded and stood, giving an enormous stretch and dropping the sock onto the floor. He frowned as he noticed he still had one boot on.

“Do you want to shower first or just conk out?” Elizabeth asked.

He took in a deep breath and wrinkled his nose. “Unless that’s you, I think a shower is in order.”

Elizabeth laughed and pointed him toward the bathroom and then turned back to their room as he closed the door behind him.

Feeling strung out, but oddly invigorated now, Elizabeth opened their trunks and aired out their clothes. She found her hairbrush and sat down at the small vanity. She frowned at her reflection. Ugly dark circles hung under her eyes. She looked as tired as she felt. She tossed a silk slip over the mirror so she wouldn’t have to look anymore.

It had been a hell of a few days and hardly what she’d expected. They’d been planning on moving down Sebastian’s list. Having a list of people, places and times where the forces of darkness threatened made their life simpler, except for the nearly dying every time.

Their most recent trip to Natchez was a case in point. They’d had several close calls and Simon’s arm took over three weeks to heal, but all that remained now was a thin red scar. However, the part of the mission that shadowed Elizabeth, shadowed both of them, was Old Nan’s prophecy—that their child, their future child, would die. They’d discussed it and then discussed it again, finally deciding that they could not live in fear of what might be and put their worries aside as best they could. Despite that, it was never far away, this fear for a child they did not yet have, lingering just on the edge of thought.

Trying to move on meant a return to normalcy. Of course, normal for them was planning another time traveling adventure. They’d been about to do just that when a different sort of ghost from the past appeared at their door. Peter Travers, a member of the Council for Temporal Studies, arrived and brought with him disturbing news from the Council. Was there any other kind?

The Council had apparently split into two factions, one even less trustworthy than the other. This new Shadow Council, as Travers had called it, the enemy within, was secretly trying to collect all of the time traveling watches. To what end, Travers didn’t know, but it surely wasn’t anything good.

Of the few loyal members, one had disappeared completely and another, Charles Graham, fearing for his life, had gone on the run. In order to stop whatever nefarious plans the Shadow Council had, Travers and the handful of remaining members he trusted made plans of their own to recover all of the watches. They’d sent George Mason to find one that had been lost in time, its location unknown. But when Mason himself hadn’t returned as scheduled, Travers had come to Simon and Elizabeth for help.

While they wouldn’t have wept at the demise of the Council, the idea of its corruption was the stuff of nightmares. Each member held a powerful privilege, the ability to travel in time, and if it were turned toward evil…

Elizabeth shivered, shook her head and went back to brushing her still damp hair. She couldn’t get caught up in the giant what ifs, she had to concentrate on what she knew. Which, sadly, wasn’t very much.

They had no idea what Mason knew about the location of the missing watch or why he’d gone out into the desert in the first place. Or, honestly, what they should do now that he was dead.

Elizabeth sighed and put down the brush just as Simon emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist. He scrubbed another towel over his hair and then held onto the ends and put it behind his neck.

“Feel better?” she asked.

He ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back. “Marginally. No food yet?”

On cue, there was a knock at the door.

“Ask and ye shall receive,” Elizabeth said with a flourish.

She started to get up to answer it, but Simon waved her off. He ducked into the bathroom and re-emerged belting his robe.

Answering the door, he took the tray of sandwiches and two bottles of Perrier, and set them on the small table in the sitting area.

He patted his robe pockets. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything today. But, tomorrow,” he assured the bellboy.

“Wait,” Elizabeth said as she dug into her trunk. She pulled out a small clutch purse and pulled out one of the of-the-era pound notes Travers had supplied them with. She hurried to the door and handed it to the man. He blinked at it for a moment and then grinned, bowed and hurried down the corridor.

Simon closed the door. “That was extravagant. Probably fifty times what he’s used to receiving.”

She shrugged and went straight for the food. “Let him live a little.”

She bit into her sandwich and said in between bites, “I don’t know what it is, but it’s good.”

Simon took a sandwich and carried the tray over to their bed.

“Oh, breaking Cross House Rule Number Seven,” Elizabeth said. “Food shall not be eaten in bed unless: A) The person in bed is ill or B) It’s a very, very special occasion.”

He swallowed and put the tray down at the foot of the large bed. “This qualifies under the second exception.”

Elizabeth arched a questioning brow.

“We’re alive.”

“Good point,” she agreed and stacked the pillows against the headboard before she crawled up onto the high bed.

Simon took the damp towel from around his neck and tossed it into the bathroom before sitting up at the head of the bed with her. Elizabeth slid the tray between them and took another bite of her sandwich as he uncapped one of the green pear-shaped bottles of Perrier and poured each of them a glass.

Elizabeth clinked her glass against Simon’s. “To staying that way.”

He looked into her eyes and nodded solemnly.

“Do you think Hassan’s all right?” she asked. The man had risked his life for them and not knowing his fate had started to eat away at her.

“Yes, I think so. He’s rather…resourceful, I’m sure he has things under control.” He took a drink and set his glass aside. “However, on that front, I’m not sure we should pursue this.”

Elizabeth shifted to the side. “The watch?”

“Yes, all of it.” Simon’s brow furrowed.

She put her sandwich down. “After all we went through?”

“Precisely
because
of that,” Simon said. “We are out of our element here. I understand we have to accept some dangers, but…”

She reached out and laid her hand on his forearm. “We made it through the worst of it.”

“We don’t know that, Elizabeth,” he said with a sigh. “And if this mission is anything like the others, and I have no reason to suspect otherwise, things will only get worse the nearer we get to our goal.” He picked up his drink again. “No, I think perhaps we should leave this for someone else.”

Elizabeth frowned. Something wasn’t right. Simon was definitely not one to dive into anything headfirst, but he’d come to terms with the dangers inherent in what they did. Or she thought he had.

He looked down into his glass and then finished it and put the empty glass on the end table.

“What’s really wrong?” she asked.

He glanced over at her and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. His eyes danced over her face until he shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just tired, I suppose.”

She didn’t quite believe that. There was something else going on, but she didn’t want to push him. Not yet, anyway.

She was about to change the subject when an enormous yawn overtook her. Maybe it was just fatigue. They’d barely slept or eaten for days and had spent half of the time tied up and the other half running for their lives. It tuckered a person out.

“Finished?” Simon gestured to what was left of the sandwiches she’d wolfed down.

Elizabeth nodded and Simon set the tray aside. He smoothed down the pillows and lay back against them. She followed suit and rolled onto her side.

Simon’s head turned toward her and he smiled tiredly and lifted his arm, his silent plea for her to join him. Elizabeth nestled into the crook of his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her more snugly against his side.

Elizabeth ran over the days in her head, but the usually crisp IMAX feature was running slowly and increasingly out of focus, until sleep finally claimed her and the picture stopped altogether.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jack ran a smoothing hand over his hair and then knocked sharply on the Crosses’ door. He waited a minute and when no one came, he knocked again. He checked his wristwatch. Almost eight o’clock. They’d only had four or five hours rest since they’d arrived at the hotel, but it would have to do.

He was about to knock a third time when the door opened and a frazzled Elizabeth greeted him.

“Sorry, we overslept.” She turned back into the room and hurried over to her large steamer trunk. “Jack’s here!”

She gestured for him to come in. “Simon’s shaving.”

“You want me to come back?” he asked.

She waved the thought away and pulled open one of the trunk drawers. “He’s getting pretty good with the straight-edge, it shouldn’t be-”“

“Dammit!” came the cry from the bathroom, followed by some low-level grumbling.

Elizabeth stifled a laugh. “Usually. We’re both still a little googley-eyed.”

Jack nodded. He hadn’t gotten much sleep himself the last few days and the few hours shut-eye he’d managed that afternoon were hardly enough.

“Aha!” Elizabeth cried and held up the shoes she’d apparently been searching for.

“Take your time,” he said.

Elizabeth smiled her thanks and sat down at the vanity. She slipped on her shoes and then turned to look at her reflection, needlessly touching up her perfect make-up. A small frown tugged at the corners of her mouth and she sighed heavily.

Jack walked up behind her. She looked beautiful, as always, but a little worried, maybe even sad. It was an expression she seldom wore and he didn’t like seeing it on her face. “Something wrong?”

She looked at his reflection and tried to brighten, but quickly gave up the pretense. “Simon thinks we should go home.”

That wasn’t all that surprising. As far as he could tell, Cross felt that way every time they’d traveled anywhere. And, frankly, Jack could hardly blame him. Putting yourself and your wife in mortal danger didn’t come easily, shouldn’t come easily. Hell, if the roles were reversed, he wasn’t sure that he could do it.

Jack squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. “He’ll come around.”

Cross entered the room, wiping the last bits of shaving cream from his neck with a small towel. “Who’ll come around?” he said as he plucked a tiny bit of toilet paper that covered a small shaving nick from his chin.

Elizabeth turned around on her bench. “You.”

Cross made a sour face and tossed his towel back into the bathroom. “Let’s just say I’m unconvinced this is worth the risk.”

He picked up the dress shirt that had been laid out for him. Slipping it on, he worked on the buttons and looked at Elizabeth in a gentle challenge as he waited for her inevitable counter-argument.

Elizabeth raised her hands out in front of her, balancing out the options as she ticked them off. “Maaaybe getting hurt, versus the end of the world as we know it.”

Cross opened his mouth to say something, something harsh judging from the set of his eyes, but caught himself with noticeable effort and settled for one of his mildly chiding “Elizabeths.”

She might have been a bit dramatic, but from what that weaselly little man Travers had told them, it was a possibility.

“The power of the watches in the wrong hands?” she said. “If there is this Shadow Council like Travers said and they really are secretly trying to gather all of the watches…”

Cross tucked his shirt in. “I’ll admit that is troubling, but it doesn’t mean we have to be the ones to stop them.”

“There aren’t exactly a lot of qualified applicants,” Elizabeth said.

Cross shouldered his suspenders with a snap. “I’m sure they can find someone.” He turned away to search for his jacket and Elizabeth looked pleadingly at Jack.

He was sympathetic to Cross’s concerns, but his time in WWII had taught him that hoping the other guy would take care of it rarely worked out.

“I know I don’t have as much skin in the game as you do. I’m new to this whole time travel thing,” he said. “But I do know that nothing good happens when people who can do something don’t.”

Cross pushed out a long breath through his nose. Jack could see the tension in his shoulders as he turned back to face them. He glared at Jack, but didn’t argue the point.

Elizabeth stood and walked over to her husband. She straightened a twist in his suspenders. “The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”

Jack could see Cross weakening. His eyes softened as he looked down at her.

“If this Travers guy is right,” Jack said. “And the bad-guys on the Council have plans for the watches, the good guys better get them first.” He peered at himself in the mirror. “Like it or not,” he said, straightening his tie, “that’s us.”

BOOK: Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)
9.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Target Lancer by Collins, Max Allan
Death Match by Lincoln Child
The Butterfly Mosque by G. Willow Wilson
Hungry Girl 1-2-3 by Lisa Lillien
Every Last Cuckoo by Kate Maloy
The Ice is Singing by Jane Rogers
Beyond Deserving by Sandra Scofield
Sex Tool by Elise Hepner