I recovered from my Mahlia encounter and was dressed and ready by four o’clock. A pink mohair cardigan layered over my favorite white tank, skinny jeans, and blush studio flats would be acceptable for my meeting with Major General Arthur C. Potts. He’s the military personnel in charge of the WTF on the naval base at Guantanamo Bay, better known as GITMO. We are a covert operation in the basement of the most terrifying prison in the world, hidden from all eyes of the government except the president and his close advisers. I was informed we could be used as a weapon if the right people knew about us.
Travelers had to use extreme caution when traveling laterally. We valued our freedom, and that freedom would be revoked if we were caught spying on the enemy, so to speak.
Luckily, President Lyndon Johnson had used great foresight when developing the WTF and had made a special doctrine that no member of the WTF could be used to aid in the military functions of the world. I am sure he wrote this with a heavy heart, because sending a traveler back to stop the evils of Hitler, Saddam Hussein, or Osama Bin Laden—just to name a few—would have saved lives. But it also would have changed life as we know it, and that’s a pretty big risk.
Brodie had returned from his family duties, and the pots and pans had been clanging against the pot rack since I had returned from work. It was quiet at the moment, and I sat at the kitchen table sipping a Coke while I waited on Ace.
The wind spun outside, and a flash of lightning stroked the window, announcing Ace’s arrival. He knocked politely, and I pulled open the sliding glass door. His long brown hair was tucked back in a tight ponytail, and he wore white skinny jeans, a baby-blue Marc Jacobs button-down with black suspenders, and a black polka-dot bow tie. His five o’clock shadow gave him the Russell Brand appearance he was going for, and I loved the look on him. He often dressed in drag when he went to parties, but when he reported to the WTF, female attire was a big no-no.
“’Ello, love,” he said as he entered my house. I gave him a side hug and admired his new canvas shoes.
“Are those Sperry?” I asked.
“No. These babies are the latest driving loafer by BOSS—you like?” He extended his foot so I could admire the new shoes.
“No,” I said, and Ace’s face fell. “I love them!” This got a smile and a swat on the arm.
My first job out of college had been as an assistant shoe buyer for Steve Stone shoes. I had loved purchasing the shoes for next season—and the great discount. Unfortunately, Steve Stone had been arrested for tax evasion and was serving time in the federal penitentiary. He was managing to run his business from jail, but it was online only. I guess he had plenty of time to buy his own inventory.
The banging from upstairs began again, and it rattled the canisters on the kitchen counter.
“What the ’ell’s that noise?” Ace asked.
“Brodie and Gertie,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“No kidding? I’m such a great matchmaker.” He patted himself on the back.
“Didn’t you blackmail Brodie by threatening to tell Jake about a certain trip to the past that involved stealing a valuable sapphire necklace from a certain royal jewelry collection that should have ended up in the Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean?”
Ace flashed his Cheshire cat smile. “Hon, I have lots of stored information on every traveler. Your man better be on his best behavior, because you never know when that information might surface.”
Caiyan had confided in me about the blackmail on Brodie, and I didn’t want to know what else Ace had in his memory banks. “I will be sure and keep my nose clean, just in case.”
“Oh, doll, you wouldn’t steal a thing. It’s just not in your blood,” Ace said, flicking his hand in the air.
Maybe stealing was not one of my strong points, but I hoped being a good transporter was in there somewhere. I wondered if the gods ever made a mistake—like maybe I was a mutation, and the gene for time travel should have passed to Gertie instead.
“Let’s go, doll,” Ace said, motioning toward the back door. “All that thinking has your hair starting to frizz.”
I shouted good-bye up to the ceiling as we left the house.
The sun was shining, and the tiny buds of roses were showing themselves around my vessel. “It won’t be long now,” I said to my outhouse as we walked by, and I thought it stood up a little straighter.
Ace and I climbed into his vessel, a 1950s-style photo booth. The purple-velvet seat cushions and the piped-in music gave it all the comforts of home. Ace liked to travel in style but wouldn’t reveal his secrets to anyone. I had tried to put a chenille cushion in my outhouse to make the ride a little less hard on my rear end, and the outhouse had vomited me and the cushion out the door.
Ace pulled the curtain, closing us off from the outside world; mumbled his travel password; and in three magic flashes, we were sitting at Gitmo.
“Was that a Taylor Swift song playing?” I asked while admiring the black-and-white photo strips he had plastered all over his vessel. Most of them were of the unconscious brigands he had transported back to Gitmo, but a few were pictures of Ace and me. I especially liked the one of us in front of the Eiffel tower. I would have to ask him for a copy.
Ace swallowed hard and nodded.
“Why, Ace, you’re a Swifty.”
“I like the way she sticks it to the guy who did ’er wrong by writing a song about him. In fact, I’m thinking about writing a song.”
Ace was a playboy in the past and the present. He would have to write an entire compilation of songs to match up with the rejected lovers in his little black book. I laughed, and we exited his vessel into the landing area.
The WTF has a landing pad for its travelers at the secret headquarters. It consists of twelve landing blocks forming a four-by-three grid housed in a large underground space similar to an aircraft hangar. The vessels land on the blocks, and I knew that tomorrow, when the moon cycle opened, most of the blocks would be filled with vessels. I hoped mine would be one of them.
We were met at the door by a man in a black suit. CIA. When I’d first started to travel, the British secret service worked with the CIA and had an office at Gitmo. Somewhere along the way, they’d had budget cuts, and the CIA had been given total responsibility. Jake had become Caiyan’s boss, and all hell had broken loose in the battle of who was the best man for Jennifer Cloud.
Jake and I have come to a friendly compromise. He is my boss. I try to follow the orders he gives, and in return, he doesn’t give me a hard time about dating a man with criminal activity marking up his credit report. We were always better friends than lovers, but occasionally I wish for that uncomplicated life I had in college.
Ace wished me good luck and told me he would wait to make sure I didn’t need a ride home. If I did, it would mean I hadn’t gotten my key back. It was nice of Ace to hang around and provide the moral support I would need if I failed.
The black suit escorted me to the conference room. A long table sat in the center of what I call “the Blue Room” because it has dusty-blue wallpaper from the ’90s running down to meet mahogany paneling in the middle at a chair rail.
I sat down, leaving the head of the table for General Potts. Jake entered, crossed the room, and gave me a hug. Usually, hugs are given only if there are no other WTF personnel in the vicinity; otherwise, I get a nod. His hair was spiked to perfection today, as if not a single hair had dared to move out of place. He had a file in his hand and a locked box tucked in the crook of his arm. I hoped it was my key.
“How did things go with Mahlia?” he asked, placing the box and the file on the table. “You were supposed to call me.”
“Yeah, sorry. I was running late. She told me she liked my brother, and that was all.” I left out the part about the hair pulling and the stun gun.
“Are you sure nothing more happened?” Jake raised a dark eyebrow at me.
“We might have had a few cross words,” I said, absentmindedly removing a thread hanging from my cardigan.
Jake pulled his cell phone from his pocket and showed me the picture Mahlia had taken earlier at Eli’s apartment. Damn, was everyone connected?
“How did you get that?” I snatched the phone and examined the photo of me with drool running down my chin. Mahlia’s smiling face was in the foreground. She had captioned it Better luck next time. The bitch.
“Apparently she has my number.” Jake reached out and plucked the phone from my fingers.
“We had a little disagreement,” I said.
“I told you not to get in a fight with her. She’s dangerous. You’re lucky she only tased you.”
I dropped my head in disgust with myself. “It was only a stun gun.”
“I’m not going to report on this, because I need you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, with Caiyan out of the picture and Campy not finished with training, I need all my travelers.” Jake started to run a hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit from childhood. He stopped when his fingers met his shellacked masterpiece. It was cut military-style, very short by his standards, but it emphasized his big brown eyes. “I can’t believe I actually just said that. Your grounding was the best thing that happened to me.”
“Thanks a lot.” My shoulders slumped. “I thought I was making improvements.”
“You’re doing great.” Jake gave my hand a confident squeeze. “I meant that I knew you were safe. It was selfish on my part.”
Our conversation came to an abrupt halt as General Potts made an entrance. His burly frame edged in through the doorway, and he proceeded to his place at the head of the table. I read somewhere owners resemble their dogs, and I am sure General Potts had a bulldog waiting for him at home. The WTF secretary, whom I referred to as Ms. Beotch, because she was riding Jake before we officially put our relationship out to pasture, followed closely behind the general. She was Jake’s assistant when General Potts was off base, and that was quite often, according to the guys in the travel lab.
Jake and Ms. Beotch took their seats on either side of the general, and Jake handed the file to Ms. Beotch, who opened it and placed it neatly in front of the general. She threw a smirk my way as she settled back in front of her laptop. General Potts cleared his throat, and the meeting began. He reviewed my file, commending me on my training.
I should be commended. I had been at Gitmo every weekend doing combat training with one of the black suits. The guy looked like John Cena, and when he was training me, his 250-pound body wore fatigues and a permanent scowl. I was also experimenting with all types of weapons. I knew the difference between an AR-15 and an AK-47. I could load and fire a flintlock rifle and shoot a target in the heart, but I usually preferred to aim at an arm or a leg. The defenders may be able to shoot someone dead, but SuperJen would rather injure them and make a quick escape. I also spoke fluent Spanish and could mutter through conversational French.
My inner voice gave me a poke check, and I realized everyone was staring at me. Obviously, I had missed a question. I looked over at Jake, and he rolled his eyes.
“Jennifer,” he said. “Don’t you feel like you are ready to go back out in the field?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” I said, sitting up straight and looking General Potts in the eye. “I am ready. I have been training here every weekend and three days a week at home.”
My body was proof exercise works. My muscles had muscles. My arms, originally similar to the consistency of spaghetti, were toned and tan from the outside training at Gitmo. I could run up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat, and I could carry double my own body weight in a fireman’s carry back down the same stairs.
Jake was reporting all this good news to the general. He seemed pleased and gave Jake the official head nod to give me my key. Jake unlocked the metal box and lifted a small mahogany box from the container. He slid the box in my direction. The carvings on the top of the box reminded me of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. My fingers grazed across the carvings as I opened the lid.
My key sparkled up at me from its black-velvet bedding. The blue diamonds twinkled as they pirouetted around the crescent moon. I reached in and lifted my key from its prison. The weight of the titanium chain felt heavy in my hands, regardless of all my new muscles. I secured it around my neck, and the key glowed with an excitement that had been dormant for far too long.
General Potts did something I had never seen him do—he smiled. It was a nice smile that reminded me of George Clooney’s. “That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, shaking his head. “Almost like that thing’s alive.”
I placed my hand over the key, and I felt a warmth trail through my fingertips and radiate throughout my entire body. The sensation made my inner voice do a tap dance. Any prior concerns about my abilities to be a good transporter vanished as she took a bow. I was ready to travel again.
Ms. Beotch clacked around on her laptop and stood to pull a sheet of paper off the nearby printer. She handed the paper to Jake, sending a complacent glance in my direction, and followed General Potts as he excused himself to go fight the greater evils of the world. As he left, he reminded Agent McCoy to go over the details of my probation.
“What details?” I asked. “What probation?”
“General Potts and I feel you should have a few rules in place before you travel alone. Since your defender is not traveling at the moment.”
“What rules?” I frowned and gave Jake a questioning glare. “Don’t I already have enough rules to follow?”
“These are specific only to you,” Jake said, reading from the paper. “Number one, you cannot under any circumstances purposely change events in the past.”
The added emphasis on change made me grimace. I might have done that a few times in my travels. “That applies to everyone.”
“Yes, but you seem to have the most difficult time remembering it.” Jake stared pointedly at me. “Number two, you may not travel laterally without permission.”
“What the hell?” I asked, my voice increasing a few decibels. “Do you have to approve my every move?”
“Yes, if you want to keep your key.”
Damn, now I would have to ask Jake permission to see Caiyan. My inner voice threw baggy sweatpants over her cheeky panties and pouted.
“Jake, I was planning on meeting Caiyan tonight to…um…celebrate.”
His jaw clenched, and he clicked his pen a few times. He raised his eyes to mine, and I saw the regret he had over our lost relationship. “I’ll allow a short trip, but remember the moon cycle opens, and I need you back here for the traveler meeting.”
I refrained from throwing my arms around his neck. Jake frowned at my gleeful disposition and moved the paper he was reading in front of me.
“And number three, when you go on a mission, you must travel with a defender at all times.” Jake handed me his pen and pointed at the paper in front of me to sign.
“Who doesn’t have a transporter?” I asked, scribbling my name on the paper and taking a mental head count of my team members. Ace was Brodie’s transporter. Gerald had Tina, and as far as I knew, all the other defenders on other teams had transporters—except Campy, and he was still in training.
“I don’t,” a voice from the doorway responded.
Marco.
Marco was tall, blond, and belonged on the cover of Men’s Fitness. My aunt Elma and his grandfather had been involved in a secret love affair back in the day. Marco had watched both of them die and refused to travel or be part of the WTF. My last travel had been a little touchy, because I’d kidnapped Marco to help me save Caiyan. We’d completed the mission, but Marco had wanted me as payment.
I stood slowly. “I thought you were never going to join the WTF?”
“I had a change of heart.” He sauntered over and stood facing me.
“This is going to be messy,” I said, referring to the fact Caiyan was not going to like me traveling with Marco. I turned to Jake. “Is this a ploy to keep me away from Caiyan?”
“Caiyan’s dangerous, Jen, even without his key.”
I huffed. Marco stood there, his blue eyes cutting into me like a samurai at a sushi convention.
Jake moved from his chair and walked to where Marco and I were having a stare down. He explained they had been doing recon on Mitchell Mafuso and said we should report Saturday morning at 0600 hours to get our travel instructions. He looked at Marco and then at me. “It was the best I could do to keep you safe.” He turned on his heel and left the room.
“I need to walk back to the hangar and tell Ace my good news,” I said as I sidestepped Marco. He reached out and grabbed my forearm. A jolt shot through my elbow as if I’d been touched by a hot poker.
“Ouch.” I jerked my arm away.
“We need to have a discussion about this relationship,” he said.
“There is no relationship; it’s business,” I said and walked out of the room.
As I reached the hangar, I saw two vessels on the landing pads: Ace’s photo booth and Marco’s formula-one racecar. The shiny red body reflected the light from the overhead fixtures. Marco was a Ferrari, a family of time travelers from centuries past. The limbs of my family tree thinned out at my great-grandparents, but his traced back to the Knights of the Round Table.
Ace came bounding up to me. “I see you got your key back.”
I caressed the key that lay in the hollow of my throat. “Yep, but I also got an unexpected new defender.” I gestured toward Marco’s vessel.
“I can’t believe they got ’im to travel,” Ace said, having a bit of a hissy fit. “Girl, you are so lucky to be close to that body. He’s built like Superman.”
“I’m not sure lucky is the right word. Caiyan’s not going to like his replacement.”
“Be strong, love. Caiyan can be a bad boy.” Ace put one hand on his slender hip. “Marco might be just the thing to put a kink in that Scot’s knickers.”
Ace left, reminding me he would see me bright and early the next morning for our travel duties. Cuba was one hour ahead of Dallas time, so that meant I had to get up even earlier. As soon as Jake learned where the brigands landed, he could give our orders, but I didn’t understand why we couldn’t meet at nine instead.
I turned to go back into the building and have a word with Jake. This simply would not work. When Marco and I were in the same room together, things happened. He had an uncontrollable spark. He had been my first kiss when I was sixteen, and the sexual tension between us would never allow us to work together.
Marco was leaning against the doorjamb to the hangar. His long legs were encased in faded jeans that hugged all the right spots. A white T-shirt was covered with a navy button-down that I knew Marco would throw off as soon as he left Gitmo. It was common for the travelers to wear shirts they could button to hide their keys from the ungifted population. Marco’s was already open at the neck. The moonstone pendant with blue diamonds sparkling along the oceans of mother earth lay gleaming against his suntanned skin.
“I can’t travel with you,” I stated plainly, but I was coming to the conclusion that if I didn’t travel with Marco, I didn’t travel.
“Jen, you have been after me to join the WTF, and now here I am.” The dimple in his chin intensified as he spread his arms wide, indicating he was indeed at the WTF of his own free will.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I am dating Caiyan. I can’t repay my debt to you right now.”
A slow smile crept across his face. “The time will come, Jennifer Cloud, and so will you.” He laughed as he left me rooted to my spot with my mouth hanging open. He got in his vessel and with a loud engine roar was gone. Geesh. He was an overconfident asshole, but I was afraid he might be right.
I shook off the aftershocks of his machismo and called my vessel. I decided I didn’t have the energy to go head-to-head with Jake. I was still suffering some fatigue from the stun gun, and the thought of seeing Caiyan again had me heading for home. A long, hot bath and time to transform myself into sexy Jen were my goals for tonight.
My outhouse appeared at once. I was glad to have it back, and I think it was happy to see me too. I climbed aboard, concentrated on my backyard at home, and said the magic word. In an instant, I was home. The ride was a smooth one, and I stroked the chipped wood of my vessel. I felt a small vibration run through my hand. If an inanimate object could purr, I’m sure that’s the way it would feel. “I’m glad to have my key back too,” I said as I climbed out of the outhouse.
Gertie greeted me as I entered through the sliding door. She was making a pasta salad and singing a song from the Disney movie Frozen.
She took her gaze from the pot of pasta and caught a glimpse of my key. “You got your key back. That’s awesome.”
“Yes, that’s awesome, but my new defender is Marco.” I sat down hard in the kitchen chair.
“Marco?” She walked over to me. “Is he traveling?”
“Not just traveling, but he signed up to work for the WTF.”
“Holy cow!” Gertie sat down in the chair across from me. “I guess he can’t get you off his mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I saw a clip of him in People magazine, and he had a gorgeous model on his arm…oh, what’s her name, the skinny one?”
“They’re all skinny.”
“Anyhow, I thought he was dating her.”
Smoke jumped up in Gertie’s lap and gave her a friendly nudge with his head.
I reached out to stroke him, and he hissed at me. Damn, this morning I’d thought we were bosom buddies.
“I can’t help thinking there is more behind this than Marco wanting to collect on his debt.” I took an apple from the fruit basket on the table and took a bite while I chewed over the reasons Marco would decide to travel.
“You better hope Caiyan doesn’t find out about that debt,” Gertie said as the timer went off on the stove, indicating her pasta was ready.
She was right. I didn’t want Caiyan to find out, although after his escapades during the last time travel, I would have been more than justified. My inner voice nodded in agreement.
“You want some pasta?” Gertie asked as she mixed chopped, grilled chicken into the pasta.
“No thanks. I’m having dinner with Caiyan, and I want to be hungry.” My cell phone pinged, and I fished it out of my pocket.
I read the message from Caiyan: Can’t wait to see you. Wear something sexy. We are dining out tonight. I pocketed the phone and went upstairs to change and get ready to dine with the dangerous Scot.