Chapter Twenty-Six

“What the fuck?” Quinn said. “Not even a puff of fucking smoke.” He stared at the spot where the man had stood only moments ago. He glanced to the side. At least the dead body was still there. He turned his attention to Mel. “What the hell just happened? And if you say, ‘I don’t know,’ I may very well shoot you, too.”

“Already been done,” she said through gritted teeth.

Christ, he’d forgotten. Seeing disappearing people would have that effect on a person. She’d been shot. She was clutching her side as blood seeped through her fingers, and panic flared inside him, churning in his stomach.

“God, Mel. Are you okay? Hell, no of course you’re not okay.” He hurried to her side, crouching down beside her. “Let me look.”

“We need to get out of here,” she said.

For a moment, rational thought returned. “Are there more of them? He reached out, but he wasn’t picking up anybody. But then, he hadn’t picked up the man who’d shot Mel or his friend. What the hell was going on? He had no clue, and he hated that.

“I don’t think there are more,” she said.

“Let me look at you, and then, I promise we are out of here, so fucking fast.”

She nodded, not that it would have made a difference. He was looking. He gently moved her hand out of the way, then lifted her shirt, peeling it away from the wound. The air left him in a sigh of relief. The bullet had taken her in the side, just above her waist, grazing her rib cage and bouncing off. It looked messy, but the damage was minimal. The bleeding had already stopped. He could take her back to the house, but he didn’t think it was urgent and he wanted to get the hell out of here.

He thought about the two men. He hadn’t been able to read them, even though they clearly hadn’t been wearing reflector devices. Just like Mel. And she’d called one of them by name. Then the other had vanished. None of this was making him happy. They needed to get to somewhere safe and have a good long talk.

“You’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

“Just a second.” She pulled down her shirt, wincing at the movement, and then crossed to where the body lay. She kept her eyes averted. For an FBI agent, she obviously wasn’t very comfortable with death. But then again, she wasn’t actually an FBI agent, was she? She crouched down. What was she looking for? She didn’t search him but went straight to his wrist. He was wearing a black watch, just like Mel’s. She unfastened it, rose to her feet and came back to him.

He held out his hand for it. She pursed her lips but gave a nod and handed it to him. “Just tell me something. Can these things, whatever they are”—he dangled the watch in front of her—“be used to track you?”

“They can be. But I didn’t know they were here and looking for me. I swear.”

The thing was, he believed her. He pushed it into his pocket along with hers, then turned and headed back the way he’d been going.

They came upon the abandoned helicopter five minutes later, undamaged and with the keys in the engine. They were out of here.

…

Quinn heaved a huge sigh of relief as he closed the motel door behind them. It was only eleven o’clock in the morning and already, it seemed like a long day. Beside him, Mel was flagging. She had held up well, but it was clear she was in pain. Her lips were a tight line, and she held her hand to her side.

He’d flown the helicopter to the outskirts of the first town big enough that two strangers shouldn’t be noticed. Then he’d set the chopper down in an abandoned quarry about a mile outside the town limits. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be found until after they left. They were due for a little good luck.

The motel was clean, and the woman on the reception desk had asked no questions. Quinn had added a little compulsion to his registration, so that if anyone asked about strangers, the woman hadn’t seen any.

He looked around. The room had two double beds and a window looking out over the street. He’d noticed an ice machine in the reception area. He’d get some, but not quite yet.

Mel was standing in the doorway, looking lost and sort of sad. She was such a strong woman, but everyone had their limits. Clearly, she had known the man who had nearly killed her, and she was still in some sort of shock. He’d obviously been unexpected, so at least Quinn could put to rest the idea that she had led them to the ranch. He walked over to her, overwhelmed with the need to give her whatever comfort he could. She was hurting, and he wanted to take that away. He stepped closer, laid his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her very gently against him. For a second, she resisted, then all the tension drained from her and she relaxed into him, resting her head on his chest.

They stood like that for long minutes, then he pushed her away and kissed her forehead before releasing her. “We need to get you cleaned up, and afterward, we’ll talk.”

She nodded, though apprehension flashed in her eyes. For what, he wasn’t sure. That he wouldn’t believe her?

He was getting to the point where he’d believe almost anything. What could be more incredible than a vanishing man?

Or maybe she was just getting a whole new list of lies ready to tell him. How would he even know?

He sank down onto the bed behind him, took her hand and tugged her into the V formed by his thighs. After slipping her jacket from her shoulders, he tossed it onto the floor. Then he opened the buttons of her shirt and unpeeled the material from her. She made no noise, but her lower lip was clamped between her teeth. He stroked his fingers lightly over the wound, though it was more graze than wound, and it looked clean; he didn’t think any fibers from her shirt had entered.

For a second, he rested his head against her bare breasts, then he got up, crossed the room, and peered into the bathroom. There was a shower and a big bath—he had a flashback to them sharing the huge tub last night and what had followed, and his body ached. He set the bath to filling.

When he went back into the bedroom, she was still standing exactly where he had left her. He took her hand and led her into the bathroom, then removed the rest of her clothes. This time, he hunkered down in front of her and dropped a kiss on the bare skin of her stomach. She gave a brief flicker of a smile.

“It will sting,” he said as she lifted a leg over the side of the bath and lowered herself slowly in. “But it will help clean the wound of any fabric that might have stuck.” Finally, she was in. “Just relax. I’ll be right back.”

He locked the door behind him, headed to the reception desk and persuaded the woman to sell him some painkillers. Then he got a bucket of ice from the machine and returned to the room. There was a well-stocked minibar and he studied the contents. What would she like? He had an idea she wasn’t much of a drinker, but a little alcohol might get rid of the last of the shock. He made her a long vodka and tonic, added ice, got himself a scotch and took them back to the bathroom. Her eyes were closed, and he hesitated in the doorway and just stared at her. She was so beautiful, she made his chest ache. Her face was pale, but he didn’t think she’d lost a lot of blood. She was just naturally pale skinned.

As he moved forward, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. And in that moment, he knew that whatever she told him, he’d believe.

“Here,” he said, handing her a couple of painkillers. She popped them in her mouth and he passed her the drink. She took a sip—clearly liked it—and took a longer gulp. He lowered himself to the floor, stretched his legs out, closed his eyes and sipped his scotch. He supposed he should contact someone, tell them what had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he cleared his mind. When his glass was empty, he stood up, stripped off his clothes, and stepped into the big shower. The warm water washed away the dirt and sweat and blood—none of it his—of the day, and he was feeling better by the time he turned off the water. Good thing, because his curiosity was rising again.

Vanishing people.

What the fuck was that about?

He was about to find out. He dried off and pulled on his pants—he couldn’t do serious talking naked—and then turned back to Mel, to find her watching him, still lying in the water, her glass empty.

“Up you get,” he said. She stood, and he wrapped a huge towel around her, patting her dry.

He found a medium-sized white towel and wrapped it around her middle as a makeshift bandage. He’d go out shopping later. She’d need fresh clothes as well, but for now, this would do. Then he handed her another larger one and she wrapped it around herself like a sarong. She was less distracting covered.

She followed him out into the bedroom and sat on one of the beds, her legs tucked under her while he made them both another drink. She studied it a little dubiously but took the glass from him. He looked around the room, thought about sitting next to her but decided he wanted to be able to watch her face. So, he dragged an armchair—he wanted to be comfortable, he had a feeling this might take a while—up beside the bed, and sat down, resting his bare feet on the mattress close to her.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then back at her, gave a shrug. “I have no clue where to start this conversation.”

“You could tell me what this secret is that your friend Kane is hiding in Africa.”

“Ha.” Ballsy. He liked it. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not yet, at any rate. “Or you could tell me who you really are and who you’re working for.”

She played with the knot that held her sarong together between her breasts. Was she trying to distract him? Actually, he didn’t think so. He was pretty sure that distracting him with sex would never occur to her. Pity.

“Let’s make it easy to start with. Who are you—what’s your name?”

“My name’s Melody Lyons.”

He exhaled loudly, hopefully expressing his displeasure with her answer. “Except Stefan could find no record of any Melody Lyons anywhere in the world who could possibly fit your description.”

She took another sip of her drink. “I like this,” she said. “Was that who phoned you this morning? Stefan? Is he another like you?”

“No and yes. Stefan is one of us, but it was Kane who phoned with the happy news. He also told me Rose and Kaitlin are safe.”

“That’s good.” She went silent.

“Mel?”

“Will you torture me if I don’t talk?”

“No.” He had no clue how to make her cooperate. “But I might just get up and walk out of here, and you’ll never see me, or hear from me, again. And I somehow don’t think you want that.”

She sniffed, and he was sure she was going to make some snarky comeback about how she didn’t care. Instead she straightened her shoulders, and his gut tightened because he was going to hear the truth, and he was afraid. Of what, he wasn’t sure.

“My name is Melody Lyons and I’m a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Time Management.”

He frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it doesn’t exist for another two thousand years.”

He’d been about to take a drink; he missed his mouth and spilled scotch down his chest. He cleared his throat. “You’re from the future?”

His first rational thought was—why hadn’t that occurred to him before now? Because yeah, it was the first thing that came to a person when he was faced with someone he couldn’t understand. They’re from the future. Except, he was hardly a normal person. He knew that time machines existed. But in that moment, he realized he had never really accepted that what Kane and his jolly little group of guardians were hiding in a cave in the Mountains of the Moon was a real honest to fucking God time machine.

He studied her closely, the dark hair around her face, pale skin, eyes, nose, mouth. All as expected. There was nothing different about Melody, nothing that screamed “I’m from the future.” Except, of course, for one significant difference. He couldn’t read her mind. Was it some kind of evolutionary advancement or something else?

“Why can’t I read your mind?” he asked.

“I have an implant. It’s a little like the reflector devices you have now, except it’s surgically implanted.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “All the agents working for the Bureau have them. It’s standard procedure.”

“And presumably the reason I couldn’t pick up those two guys this morning was because they also had these implants. So, they were agents? Friends of yours?”

“Agents, yes. Friends, no. I couldn’t stand Brent. But that’s personal stuff and not relevant.”

He wasn’t sure personal stuff wasn’t relevant. He wanted to know why, but again—maybe later. “And why do agents in the future need these implants? What are you guarding yourselves from?”

“Most people in my time aren’t telepathic. But there is one group—the Tel-group—who are powerful telepaths, among other things. They keep mostly to themselves but are available to hire. The Bureau uses them occasionally. The implants are to guard against that.”

Something occurred to him. “This Tel-group—what do they look like?”

“They look like you.”

Hell, why wasn’t that a surprise? He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“But the Tel-group aren’t involved in my mission, at least, I don’t think they are. Though obviously, there has to be some link. I thought at first that it was coincidental, which is stupid, because I don’t deal with coincidences.”

“Okay, tell me some more. If you’re from the future, what are you doing here?”

“As I said, I work for the FBTM.”

“Still have no clue what that means.”

“Well, in the future, time travel has been outlawed. There were a number of unfortunate…accidents which resulted in the destruction of whole planets, even a small galaxy.”

“So, it’s dangerous?”

“It’s…tricky. If things change in the past, then it can have enormous consequences on the future.”

“What about the actual time travel?”

“That can be dangerous, as well. But only on a personal level, and only in the outward direction. Going home is pretty safe.”

Her use of the word “home” really brought it back to him. She wasn’t from here. She was just visiting, and she would no doubt return to her home when she was done doing whatever it was she had to do. Leaving him behind, probably without a backward glance. Except he didn’t believe that. She cared for him on some level. Just probably not enough.

“With the exception of the Bureau’s, all known time machines were destroyed,” she continued. “And any research into time travel made illegal. The FBTM was set up to enforce those rules.”

Which meant she was a good guy, after all. “Go on.”

“Mostly we work on routine things, investigating illegal activities in our time, but occasionally we will get an anomaly.”

“And that would be?”

“We have detection systems that tell us when something is in the wrong time. A sort of alarm system. We go and find what caused the anomaly and gather the information to decide how best to deal with it.”

“You go where?”

“You mean where and when. To whenever the anomaly took place. Most tend to be close, a few days or weeks. Time travel becomes more unstable the further back you go. We’ll find the perpetrator, usually take them back to their proper time—where they will face prosecution—then find their equipment and destroy it.”

“Sounds fair enough. I gather you found an anomaly here.”

“Yes. We’d just expanded the range of the machine. Actually, we were trying to improve accuracy, and this was a by-product. And we picked up a new anomaly. At first, we believed it to be a glitch in the system. We’d never picked up anything so far back before.”

“How long?”

“Two thousand years. Your last year. But every time we ran the setup, it came out the same.”

“And you were sent to investigate?”

“I volunteered.”

He raised a brow. “You volunteered. Time travel gets more dangerous the further you go, and you volunteered to go back two thousand years.”

She grinned. “I’ve always been fascinated by this time in history. I studied it in college. The lead up to—” She broke off. She’d clearly been about to reveal something and thought better of it. But he didn’t want secrets between them.

“The lead up to what?” he asked.

“Later. That’s something different, and not related, and I’d be breaking all sorts of protocols by telling you.” She ran a hand through her hair, wincing as she made the movement. It was the first sign of pain she’d shown since they’d started talking, and while he was sure it was real, he also suspected she was trying to put him off. Well, he’d let her for now.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But I’m also running out of time.”