Teresa Medeiros (36 page)

As Tabitha thumbed through the thick sheaf of photocopies, her hands began to shake. She didn’t even know why it should matter if Colin died that sunny morning in the meadow. After all, whether he lived or died in that moment, he’d still been dead for over seven hundred years. Even his bones would be nothing but dust by now.

But she pored over the genealogical charts anyway, learning that the name Ravenshaw had eventually become Renshaw, slowly tracing its evolution backward through the centuries until she found the notation she was looking for.

A tear splashed on the page as she traced his name with her finger. It seemed that Laird Colin of Ravenshaw, the seventh son to bear the family title, had lived to the ripe old age of eighty-seven. Despite the exceptional length of his life, he had married only once. His wife was not named, but she had borne him three sons and two daughters, all remarkably healthy and long-lived for children of their era. Their love had spawned a family dynasty that continued over several pages, stretching all the way to the present day.

Tabitha’s tears were flowing freely now. She cupped a trembling hand over her mouth, the joy she felt at learning Colin had survived Brisbane’s attack marred by bittersweet envy of the nameless, faceless woman who had shared his life, his love, and his bed for over fifty years.

The blond attendant who had brought her the photocopies appeared at her shoulder. “Miss, are you all right?”

“I don’t think so,” she whispered before snatching up her purse and fleeing the woman’s puzzled gaze.

CHAPTER
30

M
ichael Copperfield pushed open the swinging door to Lennox Labs and poked his head inside. The lab was deserted. Most of the employees had taken off early, eager to rush home and prepare for the cocktail party their boss was hosting later that evening. A cocktail party where the new Vice President of Operations of Lennox Enterprises was to be named and honored by a fawning throng of New York luminaries and the media.

“Tristan?” he called out.

There was no reply. Feeling a little like a thief, he stole past the glowing banks of monitors, seeking Tristan’s inner sanctum. Despite all the success Tristan had achieved in the financial world, he always seemed to be most at home in his state-of-the-art laboratory where science and computer technology so frequently fused to create magic.

It was a measure of his friend’s concentration that he hadn’t even bothered to key in the sequence of numbers that would close the secret panel and hide his private lab from prying eyes.

Tristan was hunched over a sterile white counter, frantically scribbling figures on a yellow pad. He wore a
rumpled lab coat and his immaculately moussed hair looked as if he’d been running a weed-eater through it. The ruthless fluorescents highlighted the shadows beneath his eyes.

Crossing his arms, Copperfield leaned against the door frame. “How many days has it been since you’ve slept?”

Tristan started, then turned, eyeing him over the gold rims of the antique reading glasses he so stubbornly clung to. “I caught a little nap …” His lips moved as he silently counted. “Saturday, I think.”

Cop sighed. “You’re not nineteen years old anymore, you know. Does Arian know what you’re up to?”

His friend’s shrug was sheepish. “I think she suspects.”

“What about Tabitha?”

Tristan shook his head. “I don’t want her to know. There’s no point in getting her hopes up. I don’t think she could survive having them crushed again.”

Copperfield frowned. “I thought she was doing better. I saw her on the elevator yesterday and she looked damn good. She even seemed excited about her new position.”

“Oh, she’s putting on a brave face. She’s determined to make a life for herself and the baby, which is why I offered her the Vice Presidency of Operations. But her smile still doesn’t quite reach her eyes.” He dragged off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, revealing his weariness. “There were so many years when I could have given my little girl anything her heart desired and she never asked. Now the one time she asks, I can’t help her.” He slid his glasses back on, giving his friend a bleak smile. “It’s killing me, Cop.”

Copperfield propped himself up on one of the stools that flanked the counter. “I thought there was more at
stake than just what Tabitha wanted. Didn’t you swear you’d never risk the amulet’s technology falling into the hands of another sadistic son of a bitch like Arthur Linnet?” He shuddered, remembering their own near fatal trip to the past all those years ago. “From what you told me about this Brisbane, he sounds like Arthur’s even more evil twin.”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of my new design.” Tristan marched over to the nearest keyboard, a hint of the old excitement in his eyes. An impenetrable tangle of wires rested on an analysis pad next to the computer. “I’m not trying to create a tool for wish fulfillment. I’m trying to deliberately duplicate what Tabitha achieved by accident that night in her apartment. By locating and isolating the one component within the amulet that allowed both Tabitha and Arian to breach the time continuum, I hope to create a stable conduit that could be used to travel back and forth across time.”

Copperfield was thankful he was already sitting down. Tristan had attempted to defy both the forces of science and nature before, but this time he was afraid his friend’s desperate desire to help his only child had finally pushed him over the edge. Cop cleared his throat, but could not quite dislodge the lump of skepticism that had lodged in it. “You’re trying to build a tunnel between the centuries?”

“Precisely! A tunnel that could only be accessed and operated from this very location.”

Cop forced a strained smile. “My, my, wouldn’t that be convenient come Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the baby’s first birthday!”

Tristan slanted him a glance that was a curious mixture of guilt and defiance. “I want my daughter to be happy, but I’m not sure I’m willing to give her up forever.” He slid the mouse across its pad, highlighting a
complex chain of numbers on the glowing screen. “I had a breakthrough today. I think I just might be on to something here.”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting the final sequence of his formula with a flourish. Something popped and sparks flew. Copperfield ducked behind the counter, having been the victim of Tristan’s flying test tubes and exploding Bunsen burners too many times in the past.

He didn’t dare peek over the counter until he heard Tristan bite off a less than paternal oath. His friend was staring down at the mass of singed wire on the analysis pad, his hair charged with static electricity, his face blackened with soot, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Cop gently took him by the elbow and led him toward the door. “Come on, Pops, we’ve got to get you scrubbed and in your tuxedo. Your daughter’s party is less than an hour away and Arian would never forgive you if you missed it.”

As Cop dimmed the lights, neither of them noticed that they’d left the panel to the private laboratory ajar.

Sven Nordgard had been Chief of Security of Lennox Enterprises for nearly twenty-four years.

Although he’d never fulfilled his dream of starring in a successful string of action-adventure films and his TriBeCa loft was still papered with blowups of the romance novel covers he had so proudly posed for in his youth, the towering Norwegian took great pride in his current job.

Which is how he happened to be patrolling the hall outside Lennox Labs a half hour before the parry on the eighty-fifth floor was scheduled to begin. He knew the
job could have been entrusted to one of his underlings, but it was his policy to do a final walk-through of the Tower from top to bottom before any major event. In all of his countless patrols, he’d yet to find any potential assassins, kidnappers, or terrorists. But he never stopped hoping.

As he passed the lab, he heard a whisper of movement behind him. He whirled around, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster. His heart thudded with anticipation as he slunk back to the lab doors and keyed in the sequence of numbers that would release their computerized lock.

At the telltale click, Sven burst through the swinging doors and dropped to one knee. He swept the perimeter of the room with his outstretched gun, bellowing, “Freeze!”

The laboratory was empty, its gleaming tile floor reflecting nothing but the dim reddish glow of the security lights overhead.

Disappointed, Sven sighed and holstered the gun. As he exited the swinging doors, he would have almost sworn he felt something brush against his leg. His nose began to twitch. The twitching worsened until he sneezed—once, twice, and, after a brief respite, a third time. He hastened his steps down the corridor and glanced nervously over his shoulder, wondering if Tabitha’s kitten had escaped the penthouse again. He’d never cared for cats, especially black ones. He’d much rather confront an Uzi-toting terrorist.

He thought he saw a murky shadow slink through the swinging doors of the lab, but rather than return to investigate, he managed to convince himself it was just a trick of his watering eyes.

• • •

Lucy was a very unhappy little cat.

She missed the warm summer wind stirring her whiskers and the fat, juicy grasshoppers she loved to crunch between her teeth. She missed the children who rubbed her furry tummy and crooned what a bonny wee cat she was. And she missed the man with the gentle hands and rumbling voice that perfectly complemented her purr.

But most of all, she missed her mistress’s laughter.

So it was in a fit of boredom and defiance that she’d stowed away on the elevator when a maid had arrived to turn down her mistress’s bed for the night. Not even anticipation of the dish of leftover caviar her mistress was sure to bring her when she returned from her party could coax her to remain in that lonely apartment with its recycled air and sealed windows.

She slinked past the blond giant, silently chuckling at his fear of her, and butted open the swinging door to the lab with her head, hoping to find some mischief to get into. Her pupils expanded, her extraordinary eyes automatically adjusting to the dim light. She reached into a trash can with her paw, overturning it, but scowled to find it empty. Overzealous janitors and exterminators were the bane of her existence.

She trotted into the next room, mewing in triumph when she spotted a juicy mouse cord dangling from an overhead counter. She gripped it between her teeth, giving it a fierce little shake. The hard-shelled mouse came tumbling off the counter. Lucy settled into a tense crouch, waiting for it to make a dash for freedom so she could pounce on it and subdue it with her mighty claws.

But the disagreeable thing just laid there on its back, refusing to join the game. Wrinkling her nose at its cowardice, she bounded to the countertop, landing on a computer keyboard.

A jumble of numbers appeared on the glowing monitor. Lucy spent several minutes batting at them before realizing they were out of her reach.

Bored with that game, she pranced merrily over the numerical keyboard, enjoying the satisfying
click-click
of her paws striking the numbers.

Until a sizzling jolt of electricity charged the air.

Lucy jumped a foot, her fur bristling to twice its normal size. She’d felt that peculiar sensation once before, and if her mistress had been in the lab at that moment, the kitten would have run up her sleeve or her dress or whatever shelter was most readily available.

But this time, Lucy was on her own. As a shimmering ribbon of mist appeared in the air, she pranced sideways down the countertop, hissing to hide her terror.

The mist slowly coalesced into a tear in the fabric of the room. Lucy blinked in astonishment as a rush of warm wind poured through the circular tunnel, perfuming the stale air with a breath of summer. She crept nearer, curiosity overcoming her fear.

She was perched at the very edge of the hole when a bright yellow butterfly fluttered through the tear and perched on her nose. She shook her head and when the butterfly took off, disappearing into the rift, she bounded after it.

Colin lay on his back in the meadow, gazing up at the crisp blue sky. The air was hot and hazy, but he could feel deep in his bones that it was summer’s last gasp. Autumn was coming, and after autumn, winter, when a mantle of snow would bury the meadow, freezing every bloom, every branch, and every blade of grass.

He’d already worn the grass bald on this small hillock. But he would have sworn it was where he had last
seen Tabitha. She had been nothing more than a glimmer in the air, but sometimes when the breeze blew soft and sweet, he swore he could still catch a whiff of her scent and his entire body would ache with need.

He knew his time for languishing in the meadow must soon come to an end. His people already thought him half-mad for pitching his pavilion so far from home and even Arjon had begun to cast him pitying glances when he visited with news and fresh supplies. But Arjon had no right to pity him, not when he had the woman he loved in his arms and in his bed. Not when she had become his wife and would bear his child during those very months when winter was laying its bitter blanket over the meadow.