Death in Time Read online

  “What do you know about the scientist?”

  Donovan turned left, and Brooke followed, feeling like the unwanted kid sister on a big girls’ play date.

  “I know where that batshit crazy bitch is holding him.”

  Donovan laughed, but it didn’t sound genuine.

  “Yeah. So do your buddies. I’m not walking into that.”

  Donovan stopped at an old truck, tried the door, and found it unlocked. Brooke watched through the passenger door window as she pulled the wiring panel away, fiddled with some wires, and kicked the beast into action. Being able to hotwire a car was a great skill, another one she hadn’t learned at the academy. Now I know how. Brooke tried to quietly open the passenger door and cringed when it groaned in protest, like it hadn’t been used in years.

  “I’m not taking joyriders.”

  “Just get me out of the city. I don’t want to be anywhere near Chicago when they return. If Delaney tells Frankie what’s gone down, she’ll have every hood she’s got looking for me, and the way she likes to kill people who betray her is not how I want to go.” She thought about the last informant Frankie had discovered. Death by bamboo wasn’t on her bucket list for sure.

  Donovan pulled the truck out, and from the direction of travel, Brooke decided she was heading for US-41.

  Brooke noticed her constantly checking the mirrors. “There’s no tail. This isn’t some stupid plan to get you to trust me and drive me out to wherever you’ve got this time travel screwdriver thing.” Donovan responded with an eyebrow raise and a wry look that signaled skepticism. “I understand you being reluctant to trust me, but I am with the FBI. Why do you think I didn’t take part in any of the torture stuff?”

  Donovan shook her head and kept her eyes on the road. She turned up the stereo loud in a blatant attempt to drown out Brooke’s questioning. Watching Miller and Walker beat Donovan before she and Delaney left to follow Muniz had been uncomfortable, but she also admired her fortitude. She never backed down no matter what they were throwing at her, although they did seem to hit an Achilles heel with Jade, the girlfriend who wasn’t a girlfriend. Or some shit like that. Even so, Donovan was prepared to die rather than give up the gadget Delaney wanted from her.

  “Are you worried about Jade? I don’t think you need to be. I never heard any mention of her or Kondo before tonight. Delaney was bluffing. She has a tell. You probably knew that. I probably can’t tell you anything about her you don’t already know.”

  Still, silence prevailed. Brooke hadn’t held a conversation with herself like this since elementary school with her imaginary friend. She stayed silent for a few miles, but as they approached the I-90 exit, she panicked.

  “Please tell me you didn’t hide your gizmo in the William Powers State Park? That’s where Muniz is. That’s where Delaney was heading.”

  Donovan didn’t respond, and Brooke was glad she didn’t take the exit. Maybe she was heading farther out to Indiana Dunes. Brooke wasn’t getting anywhere with her, and she knew there was nothing she could really do to make Donovan trust her, not in this short time. She got to thinking about what she’d do when Donovan dumped her somewhere outside of the city. Brooke had to know if all of this was real. She remembered the last tracker she had in her jeans pocket. She pulled it out, careful not to be noticed, but there was no real need. Donovan was focused on the road and clearly doing her damnedest to ignore Brooke. She dropped her hand down the side of her seat and let the tracker fall noiselessly to the ground. Now she could follow Donovan and see if she really was some time traveling world saver.

  “Not happy working for the FBI?”

  Donovan’s sudden question jolted her from her musing. I’m not the only one who reads people for a living then. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Well, since you ask, I need a new challenge. And I want to make a bigger difference, you know?” It’s what I signed up for, and it just hasn’t happened.

  Donovan smiled as if she’d finally found some common ground with Brooke.

  “Bringing down the Cagle Gang would make a difference, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would if anyone could do it. But she’s got her tentacles in so many important fish tanks, that no matter what we do, she’s protected. It’s hard to know who’s even on the right side anymore.” Brooke shrugged. “It seems that the only way to enforce the law is to break it, and then maybe we’re no better than she is.” Criminals like Frankie Calvin had all the important officials and law personnel in their back pockets. It had been the same last century, and Brooke expected it to be the same in the next. She wondered if this Pulsus organization would use its resources to bring Calvin down. She was probably small fry compared to the missions they authorized.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be so jaded?”

  “You talk like you’re my grandma. You’re what? Five or six years older than me?”

  Donovan laughed an easy, relaxed laugh, and Brooke dared to think she might be making inroads into her confidence.

  “In age, sure. But I’ve lived a few more years than that.”

  “So you really are from the future? It’s such a cheesy straight out of a movie question. But I have to know I didn’t risk my life and career for someone with a delusional disorder.”

  Donovan said nothing for an unbearable length of time, and Brooke wondered if she was weighing the odds of trusting her.

  “I can’t answer that. But I can tell you I’m immensely grateful that you did.” Donovan slowed and pulled the truck to a stop. “Which makes it slightly harder for me to ask you to get out here.”

  “You’re kidding?” Brooke didn’t move. She knew this was coming, but somehow hoped Donovan might take a chance on her. It was a ridiculous thought. She was a professional. Professionals didn’t take chances so they didn’t make mistakes.

  “I’m sorry, but no, I’m not. We’ve put enough distance between you and Chicago for you to be able to get safely back to your headquarters, wherever that is.” Donovan reached into her bag, pulled out a roll of dollars, and offered it to Brooke. “This should get you where you need to go.”

  Brooke shook her head. “I don’t need your money.” I want to see where this leads. She laughed quietly. “I don’t know what I expected. A big adventure, maybe.” She released her seat belt. “I’m being stupid.” She opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, before leaning back into the car. Her tracker sat like a good sentry in the well between the seat and the doorjamb. “Good luck, Landry Donovan.” I hope to be seeing you soon.

  Chapter Two

  Somewhere between 2055 and 2076

  Landry’s pain intensified as she moved through empty space, clinging tightly to her cosmic string. She’d forced herself to feel nothing and had been running on adrenaline since Sledge facilitated her escape from an uncertain future in Delaney’s warehouse. Out of immediate danger, the damage Simson and her cohorts had inflicted was kicking in, and she wished she’d taken Sledge up on her Florence Nightingale offer to bandage her body. Landry couldn’t see her blood because the speed of travel made it impossible to open her eyes. But she could feel it slow-stream trickling from the numerous deep knife wounds across her back, chest, and stomach. She estimated she’d lost up to two pints already and had to hope that she wouldn’t pass out before she reached 2076. The system Jenkin had invented relied on the time traveler being compos mentis enough to hold on to their cosmic string. A loss of consciousness would result in Landry falling through the time circle and into the empty space beyond it, forever lost.

  She distracted herself with thoughts of Sledge, or Brooke Jackson, FBI agent as she proclaimed to be. Given that Landry had left 2055 unimpeded, it looked like Brooke was telling the truth. Landry had been pinning her hopes on turning Brooke to free her, but she did it without prompt and at great personal and professional cost. The Cagle Gang was a big deal to law enforcement in 2055, and for another decade, they ran Chicago’s dark underbelly. Blowin
g the operation to save Landry would’ve cost Brooke her career. She’d look her up when she got back to Pulsus to see what became of her. Landry couldn’t help but think that if Brooke had been born two decades later, she would’ve made a great extractor.

  Landry squeezed her eyes closed tighter against the almost invasive air she was speeding through and concentrated on Delaney. In truth, she still hadn’t reconciled the new, power-hungry version of her best friend. The Delaney she knew was in there somewhere. She had to be. Landry was sure she could’ve gotten through to her if not for Simson’s interjections. With her own growing feelings for Jade, Landry could empathize with Delaney and her desire to get back to Ilsa. Their mission and actions had resulted in her death, and there was no way Pulsus would authorize a costly foray back to 1942 to rescue someone they saw as insignificant. But she wasn’t insignificant to Delaney; she’d become everything. If Delaney had come to Landry and confessed the depth of her enduring desire for Ilsa, could she have helped her? Would she have helped?

  Concentrating on anything other than the physical effects of the jump became impossible. Landry knew she was nearing the end of the time tunnel as nausea took hold of her. She gripped the string and prayed to whatever it was you were supposed to pray to for a swift and safe end to the journey. She wasn’t eager to speak to Jenkin or her mom, but she did want to make sure Jade was safe from Kondo. She hoped Brooke was right and that Delaney was bluffing.

  The exit of the time circle pressed against her face before the rest of her body. It felt like sticky Saran Wrap and made the final moments almost unbearable. Landry entered the jump room and gulped the conditioned air gratefully. It took a few seconds before she could open her eyes and adjust to the light. Her mom and Jenkin came into focus. She expected her mom to look concerned; she always did when she returned. But Jenkin looked worried too, and that was unexpected. An engineer removed the PRU from her clenched hand, and Landry felt arms slip around her body to support and lead her to a regenerative pod.

  “Pumpkin…”

  Her mom had no more words. Another surprise. The blood loss made Landry weak, and her legs buckled beneath her. For once, she was content to accept someone else’s assistance, and she let herself be carried to the pod. A mixture of warm and cold hands touched her skin as they undressed her, and the alternating temperatures soothed her.

  “We can’t put her in the chair, not with those wounds. She’ll need to be suspended.”

  “Get on with it, then. Hurry.”

  Landry heard the impatient fury in her mom’s voice, but she sounded far away and echoed like the ocean in an abandoned seashell. She felt gravity fall away until she was fully horizontal. Someone placed a soft cushion beneath her head to straighten her spine, and at that moment, she stiffened. “Jade.” Landry was sure she’d shouted her lover’s name, but she didn’t hear herself. Her mom appeared over her and took her hand. She appreciated its warmth, and her presence comforted her.

  “What did you say, Pumpkin?” She turned her ear close to Landry’s mouth as if her previous exclamation had been nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

  “Jade…Kondo.” She could manage no more, and her consciousness began to drift away into the horizon like a wispy cloud on a breezy day.

  “She’s fine, honey. Relax.”

  I trust you, Mom. She’d been the one to save Jade before. Maybe she’d saved her from Kondo. Landry heard the door to the pod close and the multiple voices floated away until she could hear nothing other than the steady stream of sleep gas as it snaked its way through her nose to its intended receptors. Jade.

  Chapter Three

  July 4, 2055—William W. Powers State Recreation Area, Chicago

  Delaney slowed the van to a stop, and it cut out without her switching off the engine. “Fucking piece of shit. If this manages to make it back to the factory, I’m calling on Frankie for a replacement.”

  Miller laughed. “Good luck with that. You’ve run out of credit, and she’s not known for her generosity.”

  Delaney stepped onto the broken tarmac. The sun was setting, and the silo cast a dark shadow across the park. She couldn’t decide whether or not she was relieved that Kelly’s SUV was still beyond the locked gates. It would’ve been less risky to Muniz if she’d left for supplies, duct tape, or something. Her presence did give Delaney the opportunity to put an end to her career in killing. Delaney reminded herself that was supposed to be a major reason for all her recent actions. This couldn’t all be about Ilsa. Could it?

  Simson handed her a cell phone. “It’s ready to call Kelly.”

  She’d managed to get the number from the car rental place they’d tracked Kelly’s car to. A flash of her fake FBI credentials, and they were happy to give up all of Kelly’s details, including her current alias of Nelida Staton. “Excellent.” Delaney made the call and waited for her to answer.

  “Hello?”

  If she was currently engaged in torturing poor Muniz, it wasn’t reflected in her voice. Her clipped English tones were crisp and even. She had the kind of voice that was perfect for public radio, a voice you could listen to reading the dictionary.

  “Diane Kelly? Or should I say, Nelida Staton? Not that it really matters what you want to call yourself, I suppose.”

  There was a long pause before she responded. “Who is this?”

  “That doesn’t really matter either. What does matter is that you’ve chosen the wrong victim this time.”

  Nelida laughed. “On the contrary. I choose my playmates with extreme care. In what way is Lyman wrong for me?”

  Her self-assuredness was surprising given the circumstances, but Delaney doubted she had any idea they were right outside the front door of her play cave.

  “You’ve been made, Nelida. Muniz is a very important man, and we need him back.”

  “I need him. This conversation is pointless. Good-bye.”

  “It’s only pointless if you’re ready to die. Are you?”

  Nelida scoffed. “What are you talking about? I’ve got a very long life ahead of me, thank you, and you’re not about to change that.”

  “Really? Perhaps you should look outside and give us all a wave, then. Though you’ll have to come to the door, since there are no windows in your little den.”

  Simson looked shocked that Delaney had just given away the upper hand of surprise, but she knew what she was doing. Nelida was a serial killer, not a soldier. She’d have no idea how to cope in this situation. Delaney signaled for her team to follow her, and she approached the metal fencing. She motioned for Walker to cut an entrance with the bolt cutters she had hefted over her shoulder.

  Finally, Nelida spoke again. “Who…who are you?”

  “We’re the people who’ll rain the fire of American hell on your English ass unless you give Muniz up right now.”

  Walker pulled back the cutaway fencing, and Delaney led the way to the front door of the silo. A small camera positioned at the top of the door whirred in their direction, and Delaney waved.

  “I don’t understand. How did you find me?”

  Nelida sounded far less confident now. That’s more like it. “Now that’s pointless. What does it matter now that we’re here? I’d ring the doorbell like a polite guest, but there doesn’t seem to be one. Perhaps you should make sure you and Muniz are far enough away so you won’t be hurt when we blast the doors open with a little C4.”

  Simson took the verbal cue and forced her hands into tight latex gloves for protection. She placed her backpack on the ground and pulled out a small amount of plastic explosive. Delaney watched as she shaped it around the hinges of the heavy metal doors. She smiled as Walker and Miller took a few steps backward, perhaps frightened it might spontaneously detonate. They weren’t as tough as they made out. Landry would’ve laughed at their lack of knowledge. C4 was a particularly stable explosive to work with. Delaney grasped the thought by its throat and shook it to the ground. Let me go.

  “That’s not necessary, is it?”
>
  Nelida’s voice now sounded hurried and somewhat breathless. Her lack of composure made Delaney smile. “You’ll open the door, and we’ll discuss Muniz’s release over a cozy cuppa?”

  Simson laughed and shook her head at Delaney’s attempt at an English accent. She inserted blasting caps into the molded lumps and began to unwind the detonator cord, traveling backward and around the corner of the building. Delaney motioned for Miller and Walker to follow. They complied while trying to look unconcerned and nonchalant. It didn’t work. Simson fake-dropped the electronic ignition, and they both looked like they might soil their pants. Delaney and Simson laughed, while Miller and Walker muttered expletives impossible to hear.

  “Nelida? Are you coming to the door, or are we coming in?”

  “I need to know who you are. Are you law enforcement or a private corporation security firm?”

  “You’re concerned about your future?” You should be. You don’t have one.

  “Of course. I want to know what your intentions are.”

  Because you want to continue your killing career. “We have no interest in you.” I’ll even terminate you quickly. “If you cooperate now before we have to waste our valuable resources, you can walk free and stalk yourself another victim to spend the week torturing.” Delaney glanced at Simson, aware she’d just dropped a piece of information she shouldn’t rightly know. “Whatever is it you have planned, you can do it elsewhere.”

  “And how do I know I can trust your word?”

  “You don’t. No more than I know I could trust yours if you say you won’t harm our asset. But we have to start somewhere, don’t we? Open the door, hand over Muniz, and walk away.”

  “You’re the women I saw at Lyman’s hotel. And in the city where I snared him. Are you the one I knocked unconscious?”