Kitabı oku: «A Sexy Time of It», sayfa 2

“Earth to Neely…”

“Hmm?” She turned to find Linc watching her in concern.

“You’ve been drifting away like that ever since I came back from lunch. You need to get out of this place for a while. Live a little. Come with me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Linc frowned. “I know exactly what you’re going to do. The minute I leave you’re going to try to bring on one of your dreams and go off to London again. What can I do to convince you to take a break—at least until you talk to Dr. Rhoades?”

“I don’t think you can. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I feel like this is something I have to do.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But there must be a reason I was given this ability.” Because she wanted to ease the worry in his eyes, she said, “Besides, if I went with you, what are the chances that I would meet any straight men at your club?”

“No chance at all, I hope.” He smiled then. “There’s no way I can convince you to get out of here for a while and play?”

“I’m going to the Psychic Institute tomorrow.”

“That’s not getting away. That’s work.” He crossed to the door and retrieved his jacket from the coat rack. “You need a change.”

Her mind drifted back to the stranger who’d come into her bookstore. He’d been a radical change. All day she’d been wondering what would have happened if he’d kissed her? And every time she thought about it, she experienced that curl of hot lust all over again.

Pushing the stranger firmly out of her mind, Neely walked to Linc and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Go. Have enough fun and excitement for both of us.”

Giving up, he shook his head at her. “Be careful.”

“I will. I’ve been taking the pepper spray you bought for me.”

“Make sure you use it if you have to.”

She nodded. She hadn’t thought to the night before. She’d been so intent on escaping. But she would use it if necessary.

Linc gave her a nod, then turned to let himself out. “Lock the door and put on the alarm.”

She did exactly what he’d ordered. Then she made her way to the stairs and hurried up them. To be honest, except for that time when the stranger had occupied her mind, her whole being, she’d been filled with an urgency to return to London, 1888. She was becoming more and more convinced that she had some kind of purpose there—or perhaps a mission. The bookstore had given her life direction for a while, but now that it was operating successfully, she’d begun to yearn for a new challenge.

Linc had made a strong argument that she needed to expand her social life. No doubt that’s why she’d had such a powerful response to the stranger today. Linc was also right that she needed a lover. If she was going to react to every man who walked through her front door the way she had today, she definitely needed some sex in her life.

But tonight she had something else—someone else—on her agenda. She was going to see if she could have another encounter with Jack the Ripper.

Before she talked to Dr. Rhoades tomorrow, she intended to gather more evidence by seeing if she could travel again to London, to the scene of the Ripper’s first murder. Once in her bedroom, Neely changed into dark jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt. Then she tucked her hair into a cap. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she felt an onslaught of doubt. Did she actually believe that she was going to psychically travel back through time?

Neely met her eyes in the mirror. Yes. She did. Pressing both hands against the legion of butterflies in her stomach, she checked her reflection one last time, and decided that she could pass for a boy—if it was dark enough. If she was going to wander the streets alone at night in Victorian London, it was much safer to appear male. Finally, she made sure the pepper spray was in her pocket. Then she crossed to the chair next to her bed and sat down.

Before she fell asleep, she was going to review in her mind the story of Jack the Ripper’s first victim—Mary Ann Nichols—who was killed on August 31, 1888. Mary Ann’s body had been found in Buck’s Row in front of a stable entrance. Neely had discovered a detailed sketch of the scene in one of the books she’d located for her armchair detectives. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and brought the gate into focus. Next, she pictured the time in her mind as if it were the readout on a digital clock: 11:00 p.m. Hopefully, that would be early enough. She might not have been able to save Catherine Eddowes, but if she got there in time, maybe she could save Mary Ann.

If this worked—well, she was going to have a lot of questions for Dr. Rhoades tomorrow.

2

August 1, 2128,

San Diego

MAX GALE PUSHED his way onto the glass-and-steel elevator that would eventually lift him to the one hundredth floor of the Trans Global Security Enforcement Building. Trans Global Security or TGS was a privately owned company that handled security for the entire planet. TGS had offices in several major cities, including Hong Kong, London, New York and Buenos Aires, and each specialized in a specific branch of security enforcement. The home office was located in Paris, and its new director, Lance Shaw, oversaw all the branches. The San Diego branch handled Psychic Time Travel Security Enforcement.

Nearly all of the fifty or so passengers surrounding him wore a uniform that either by color or emblem denoted their rank in TGS. Those in red handled background checks on all who applied for time travel permits. Those in blue handled personal interviews and psychic evaluations. His own one-piece black suit, and the silver badge on his arm, identified Max as a three-star inspector. His job for the past five years had been to track down and arrest anyone who violated the laws regulating psychic time travel.

The elevator slid to a stop on the second floor and the “blues” exited. The telecom screen to his left came to life, displaying a red “breaking news” banner with what had become a too-familiar headline: The Ripper Strikes Again. The video feed scrolled through shots taken at a crime scene that morning while a pleasant female voice informed viewers that the latest victim of the serial killer the media had dubbed the Ripper was a twenty-two-year-old student at San Diego State University. The girl’s body had been discovered outside a popular nightclub.

Every enforcement officer in the elevator car now had his or her eyes glued to the screen. Everyone except Max. He’d just come from viewing the body in person. Lucy Brightstone was the fifth victim of the Ripper in the last six months. All of them had been young, beautiful, and they’d each been stabbed to death, their bodies mutilated and then discarded somewhere near the university. Max had viewed each one of the bodies. The third one—Suzanna Gale—had been his sister. She’d been killed on June 1, and like the other victims, she’d been a student at San Diego State.

Since then, Max’s one goal in life had been to catch the Ripper.

As the elevator crept upward, Max looked through the glass wall at the San Diego Bay area. The bridge to Coronado was used only by pedestrians. No vehicles had driven over it since the turn of the century when solar-powered hover vehicles had become affordable to the masses.

Max shifted to allow three female enforcement sergeants to exit the car on floor 48. He’d been surprised when Assistant Director Deirdre Mason had contacted him at six-thirty this morning and asked him to come in. She’d had his proposed plan of action for less than twelve hours. What he wanted to do had been controversial enough that he’d expected her to take a few days to consider the plan. When he’d heard about the latest victim he’d understood. The fact that the Ripper had struck again might just pressure the assistant director into approving his proposal, and while he didn’t want to be grateful to the coldhearted bastard who’d brutally murdered another woman, he needed all the help he could get.

When the elevator door opened on the hundredth floor, Xavier, Assistant Director Mason’s administrative assistant, was waiting for him.

“She’s ready for you. This way.” The tall black man led Max down a short hallway. Xavier had been with Assistant Director Mason for as long as Max could remember. The man was well over six feet, muscular and broad shouldered. He shaved his head, used one name and wore a gold hoop in his left ear. Xavier had never smiled at him.

Deirdre Mason stood with her back to him studying a screen that filled nearly one wall of her office. On it were images of the Ripper’s five San Diego victims. Max looked at each one of them, and as his gaze moved over his sister’s photograph, pain took his breath away. Clenching his hands into fists, he pushed down his emotions. But his gaze didn’t waver from the photo.

He’d taken it himself six months ago, on a day that they’d gone sailing. It had been one of the last times they’d spent together before they’d become estranged. Suzanna had been eighteen, ten years his junior, and too young to die. It had been two months since her mutilated body was found, but he could still see her every time he closed his eyes, the images of the crime scene were forever burned into his mind. Deirdre was the one who’d called to give him the news, and he’d arrived just in time to watch them put what was left of his sister in a body bag. There’d been so much blood…

“Close the door, Xavier.”

As the door snicked shut, Max brought his thoughts back to the present.

Deirdre turned. “He has to be stopped.”

Max drew in a deep breath and willed his pain away. “Agreed. If you approve my proposal, I’ll do just that.”

She ran a hand through her short blond hair and turned to face him. “How sure are you that our Ripper is the same one who terrorized London in 1888 and Manhattan in 2008?”

“Positive.”

She let out a laugh. “You’re always so damn sure of yourself.”

For a moment neither of them spoke; they merely faced each other across Deirdre’s desk. He’d known her from the time they’d been at the TGS Academy together. They’d even had a brief affair during their first year. It had been pleasurable, but they’d learned quickly that they were too much alike and too competitive to be a couple. However, they’d managed to remain friends. His knowledge of Deirdre Mason was a point in his favor. Her corresponding knowledge of him might not be. She knew that he didn’t like all the rules and that he’d bent some on occasion. And one of the unwritten rules of TGS was that an inspector wasn’t supposed to be assigned to a case involving a family member.

Max sank into a chair. “The man who killed my sister and the other women is not a Jack the Ripper copycat. He’s a psychic time traveler, Dee. He’s not just killing here. He’s killing in other times. I’d stake my life on it. There’s a chance he’s from the future, but my gut feeling is that he’s from this time, and he’s found a way to beat the security system.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Deirdre sat down, pressed a button and brought his proposal up on the screen. “And I’m well aware of the accuracy of your gut feelings. They’re what make you one of the best agents at TGS. But I’ve got questions—several of them. They’re the kinds of questions that Director Shaw will have for me if I approve this.”

Max’s brows shot up. “The new director intimidates you, does he?”

“Strictly speaking, he’s not so new. He’s been on the job for nearly a year. And he doesn’t intimidate me at all. But Lance Shaw doesn’t suffer fools gladly. So I won’t have you making me look like one.”

“Fair enough. Ask your questions.” Max lifted his gaze to the first part of his proposal, which she’d highlighted. There were some things that he’d purposely left out because he’d wanted to be present when she heard them. Speech was always more effective than the written word when it came to persuasion. “You want to know how he gets past our security measures.”

“Yes. The ability to psychically travel into the past runs in families…the gene lies dormant in one generation and becomes active in the next. Less than one-half of one percent of the population carries the gene. We have records, and anyone born with the active gene is implanted with a tracking device at birth. There are no exceptions.”

“No exceptions that we know of. If he’s from the future, the security rules might have changed.”

Deirdre sighed and shook her head. “I was hoping that you weren’t going to say that.”

So she had thought of the possibility of a time traveler. It shouldn’t surprise him. Deirdre Mason was one of the smartest women he’d ever met.

“I don’t believe he’s from the future. Everything that I am as a security agent tells me he’s from our time. This is his home. I also believe that he’s established identities in each time where he’s killing.”

“Why?”

Max shrugged. “I figure he needs a base of operations and an identity in other times, also. The profilers who’ve written about the other Rippers agree they’re planners. For the most part, they selected their victims. That requires a familiarity with the times. And I believe this kind of killer would want to be able to live in the time period and enjoy his notoriety.”

“If you’re right about the killer being the same man, there might be some significance to the cities he’s choosing. Or the time span—exactly 120 years.”

Max said nothing. She’d been giving his ideas some thought. He took that to be a good sign.

She raised one hand. “Okay. I prefer your gut instinct to the theory that this bastard is from the future. But if he’s found a way around our security, how are you going to catch him in another time?”

“I’m going to discover the identity he’s using in 2008.”

This time the noise she made was a snort. “The size of your ego always amazes me. I’m concerned about rules, namely, our Prime Directive. You can’t change anything he’s done in the past or you run the risk of changing the future.” She waved a hand toward the panoramic view of San Diego. “Of destroying the present as we know it. You’ve taken an oath to follow the Prime Directive.”

“I understand that.” Nothing the Ripper had done in any of the times he’d killed in could be altered. If even one of his victims survived in 1888, 2008 or 2128, ripples of change would occur that could affect the present. That was the fear that the Prime Directive was based on.

“I’ve never broken the rules,” Max said.

“We both know that you’ve skirted around them on occasion.”

He tried to control his impatience. “I’ve gotten the job done.”

This time she didn’t laugh or snort, she merely met his eyes very directly. “The problem is that you’re still beating yourself up for not finding a way around them when you arrested your sister six months ago.”

Max said nothing as pain and regret tightened his chest. He had tried to bend the rules a bit for Suzanna. When he’d learned that his sister and a group of her friends were traveling without any authorization, he hadn’t waited to be assigned the case. He’d just gone after her. He’d wanted to bring her back and hire legal counsel. But she’d refused. She wouldn’t desert her friends.

She’d been eighteen, a freshman in college. This type of illegal time traveling happened fairly regularly. Eighteen was the age at which citizens with the time travel gene could apply for a license to travel. But that was the same age at which students often adopted very idealistic causes. Suzanna and her friends had been studying the bloody tribal wars that had raged through the continent of Africa in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, and they’d decided to travel there with the goal of saving lives. A laudable objective but totally against the Prime Directive.

When she’d refused to return with him voluntarily, he’d had no choice but to arrest her. She’d declined his help again when they’d returned to 2128, preferring to make a statement against the unfairness of the Prime Directive. Suzanna and her friends had paid the price for their violation of the law by having their time travel gene neutralized. She’d never forgiven him.

“Suzanna is the reason I’m so sure the Ripper is a time traveler. She refused to see me since I arrested her. But on the day she died, she visited my sailboat and left a note.”

He hadn’t found the note until he’d returned from the crime scene. She’d put the time at the top of it—3:00 p.m. How long had he stared at the time, knowing that she’d been alive then…that if he’d just been home, she might still be alive.

“Remind me what was in the note,” Deirdre said.

Max dragged his thoughts back to the present and his proposal. “She said she had something to tell me that was ‘right up my alley.’ Her roommate said she’d been seeing someone. I think Suzanna had met the Ripper and that she suspected something. So he eliminated her.”

“Perhaps.” Deirdre folded her hands on the desk. “You’re too personally involved in this. For that reason alone I should turn your proposal down flat.”

Should. Max latched on to the one word, but he didn’t allow himself to feel relief. Not yet. His eyes never wavered from hers as he leaned forward. “I can get him for you, Dee. That’s my only goal. I swear. Yeah, I’m personally involved. I admit I want to catch the man who murdered Suzanna. But I’d want this case anyway. If I’m right and he’s a psychic time traveler who’s managed to breach our security, he’s got to be stopped. What if the Ripper is only one of his personas? What if he’s used other methods on other victims?”

She rose, throwing up her hands in a gesture of surrender, but she wasn’t quite ready to give in.

“I have another question.” On the screen she brought up an image of Cornelia—Neely—Rafferty and enlarged it. “The Ripper killed and mutilated six women in 2008, and Cornelia Rafferty was his last victim—he killed her in the early-morning hours of May 17. You’ve made several trips to New York to observe each of those women. Why have you singled her out as the one you’re going to get close to?”

Max had anticipated the question, so he had an answer prepared. Some of it Deirdre already knew. The Ripper had selected prostitutes in 1888—women whom Victorian society cared very little about. In 2008 he’d selected middle-class women, all single, all living alone. The slew of criminologists who’d studied the cases over the years all agreed that the 2008 Ripper had established some kind of relationship with each victim. All had been found in their own homes. There’d been no sign of forced entry, no sign of struggle. The experts across time had concluded that the 2008 Ripper had to have been someone the women knew, someone they trusted enough to invite into their homes. Hell, he was doing the same thing in 2128.

“In the time I’ve spent observing the six women, I discovered that besides being single and living alone, each of them had some kind of connection to books. One was a librarian, one was a college professor with several publications in the field of psychology, two were high-school English teachers, another was an editor at a publishing house and Neely Rafferty was a bookstore owner. If that’s what he used—an interest in books or a specific topic—to get close to them, I figure she’s my best bet. The Ripper might even have used her store as a base to select his victims.”

“Gut instinct again?” Deirdre asked.

“Yes. I believe she’s the key to identifying the killer.”

Max waited then. This was the trickiest part of his proposal. What he intended was to get close enough to Neely Rafferty to find out who in her circle of customers or friends might be the Ripper. Most time travelers were required to make themselves psychically invisible when they visited another time. This made it easier for them to follow the Prime Directive. Becoming personally acquainted with anyone in a previous time was prohibited—unless it was absolutely necessary for security enforcement purposes. He’d argued that in this instance it was.

Deirdre studied him very closely. Anyone worth their salt in security had a sixth sense for recognizing a lie when they heard it. He prayed that she wouldn’t see through him. He’d spoken the truth. It just wasn’t the whole truth. As seconds ticked by, Max had to put some effort into not glancing back at Neely’s picture.

The first time he’d seen it, he hadn’t been able to look away for a very long time. There was something in her face that pulled at him. No. That was too weak a word for what had compelled him to study Neely Rafferty’s image for hours.

Seeing her in person, watching her go about her business, had only deepened the effect she had on his senses. He had no idea why, but he knew that she posed a threat to him. Walking into her store that day had been a mistake. Everything that had pulled at him from a distance had intensified during those minutes he’d spent in Bookends. But when he’d touched her, held her wrist in his hands for those few moments, he’d known beyond a doubt that she was the key. Without her, he was not going to avenge his sister’s death.

If he could just figure out what it was about her that scrambled his brain. In many ways she was ordinary looking. Her hair was the color of honey and she wore it short, the way many women in his time wore theirs. Her face wasn’t what he would have called beautiful, but it was interesting. Her skin was pale and her features delicate, but she had a strong chin and a mouth that hinted at stubbornness and passion. It was her mouth that had nearly been his downfall.

He’d felt her eyes on him the whole time he’d wandered through the store, and it had been as intimate as a caress. That was when he’d known that he had to touch her. Just once. So he’d dropped the book as a ploy, and he’d timed it perfectly. She’d been so close that her scent had wrapped around him. Something that reminded him of spring rains, and he’d wondered if he would taste that flavor on her skin—or on her lips.

He’d watched her blue-gray eyes darken, not in surrender, but in sensual excitement. And then he’d felt her in his mind, willing him to kiss her. Her desire had fueled his own, nearly destroying his control. Never in his life had he experienced anything like it. God, he’d wanted to touch her—to slip that blouse off of her and let his hands run over every inch of her. For a moment, in his mind, his mouth had covered hers and he’d known that he could have her. The power of that knowledge had streamed through him. And he’d almost acted on his desire, taking her right there on the floor of the bookstore, quick and hard and hot. It would have been incredible. Crazy. And not at all what he’d gone there to do.

Pure survival instinct had given him the strength to pull back at the last minute, and he’d nearly run out of the store.

Deirdre was still studying him, still trying to read him, so he said, “Look, Dee, I can’t explain it but she’s the key. I’m as certain of that as I am that the Ripper is a psychic time traveler. And who knows what other advanced psychic abilities he possesses. He has to be stopped.”

“I hope I’m not making a mistake.”

Max smiled at her then. “The mistake would be if you don’t approve my proposal.”

“Right.” She held his gaze, not returning his smile. “Now all I have to do is convince Mr. Shaw of that. I want to make one thing crystal clear. You have to catch the Ripper here in this century, at this exact time. I don’t want you pulling off any tricks so that your sister and the other four girls here won’t be killed. I need to know that I can trust you not to mess with the rules before I give you the go-ahead.”

Max rose then and extended a hand. “I know I can’t undo my sister’s death. I’ll bring the Ripper to you. My word on that.”

She grasped his hand. “Take care.”

BACK IN HIS OFFICE, Max checked to see if he had everything he needed. He’d packed ahead of time. He didn’t want to stick around long enough for Deirdre to have second thoughts. The black shirt and jeans he’d changed into were from 2008. He’d selected them earlier from the supply that TGS stocked for each time period. The small cylindrical weapon that he tucked into his pocket wasn’t. Neither was the palm-size computer clipped to his belt. The small duffel he’d slung over his shoulder contained what he’d need for a very short stay. The hunt was on. He planned to arrive in 2008 on the evening of May 15, and the Ripper would kill Neely Rafferty in the early hours of May 17. That gave him only about thirty hours to identify his man. Considering his experience in the bookstore, the less time he spent with Neely Rafferty, the better. Once he arrived in 2008, the clock would be ticking.

Shutting his eyes, he pictured the row of brownstones on Thirty-fifth Street where Neely lived. As soon as the details became clear in his mind, he would begin the journey. For nearly forty years now, a percentage of the population who carried a specific gene had been able to psychically travel back through time. They could travel to any time they could vividly picture in their minds. Thirty years ago TGS had added training classes and licensing requirements for anyone wishing to travel to the past. So far, no one could travel to the future because they couldn’t “see” future times in their minds.

Of course the whole concept of going back in time was based on an older theory that time existed in a linear way—the way in which humans experience it. But physicists at the turn of the twenty-second century had proposed a new theory—that all times exist simultaneously. The image with which they proposed to replace the older time line was one of concentric circles. Not all scientists bought into the idea, and the discussion was ongoing. The only thing that everyone agreed on was that in this experimental stage of psychic time travel, absolutely nothing should be done to change the past—because altering past events could destroy the present.

Suzanna had disagreed with the whole concept of the Prime Directive. Max had taken an oath to enforce it. And now, he wasn’t supposed to do a damn thing to save his sister. But he sure as hell could catch her killer.

Realizing that he’d allowed his mind to wander, Max drew his thoughts back to Thirty-fifth Street in Manhattan. The first time he’d visited he’d studied a photo, but this time he had the memory fresh in his mind. As if he were painting a scene, he arranged the details in his mind—the budding trees filtering the moonlight, the street lamps, and the geranium-filled pots that flanked the door of Bookends. When he’d pictured the street in his mind with as many details as he could remember, he set his will to it. Immediately, he experienced the sudden suspension of his body as if he’d become totally weightless. Then came the howling rush of wind, the velvety blackness. When he felt the pull of gravity return, he opened his eyes and found himself sitting on a stoop across from Bookends. The store was dark, closed for the night, but there was still a light on in an upstairs window.

Leaning back against the railing, he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. Tomorrow, he and Neely would meet again face-to-face. A tingle of anticipation moved through him. He didn’t believe in lying to himself. He wanted her, and the connection he felt with her was so strong that he wondered if he would be able to control his craving. Time was on his side. In less than thirty hours, she would be the Ripper’s last victim in 2008. Surely he would be able to restrain himself.

On the other hand, time was running out. What would happen if instead of waiting until morning, he walked across the street, climbed the steps and knocked on her door? An image struck him forcefully, vividly, pushing everything else out of his mind. They were locked together in a bed, arms and legs tangled, moving as one. The desire that knotted in his gut was raw and primitive. He could taste her lips, smell her fragrance and feel the silky heat of her skin rubbing against his. For a moment, Max could have sworn that the sensations were real. He shook his head to clear it and took several deep breaths. Still, the urge to cross the street and finish what his mind had pictured was so compelling that he wrapped one hand around the wrought-iron railing to keep himself seated.

Well. That was a first. She was a first. Neely Rafferty was going to be a bigger complication than he’d anticipated. But she was part of the hand of cards he’d been dealt, and he intended to play them—no matter the consequences.

Deliberately, he shifted his gaze away from the window to the street. He usually had a plan, but this time he wasn’t at all sure about his approach and had no clue how he would navigate their next encounter. He’d get a little shut-eye and let his subconscious sort through the possible approaches he might take.

His mind had just begun to drift when he sensed her. Straightening, he glanced up at the window and there she was. Their eyes met and held for a moment. Even at a distance, Max felt the impact of the connection like a two-fisted punch to the gut.