Lying on top of Jared with her head pillowed on his damp chest, Mac merely listened to his steady heartbeat, allowing it to calm her racing pulse. His fingers carded through her short blond hair. If she were a cat, she would have been purring.
“I think we needed a bigger bathtub,” Jared said, laughter in his voice.
Mac raised her head to gaze into his relaxed face. “How’s your head?”
“It’s fine. Besides, the pleasure far outweighed the pain.” He chuckled. “I didn’t think what we did was possible.”
“I was a contortionist in another life.”
He kissed her forehead. “Nothing about you surprises me anymore.”
She drew back in mock indignation. “Are you saying I’m no longer a woman of mystery?”
Jared trailed his fingertips down the side of her face, cupped her chin, and tenderly pressed his lips to hers. “Never. Even if we’re together a hundred years from now, I have a feeling you’ll still be an enigma.”
She would be around in a hundred years, but Jared wouldn’t.
“Good, I’d hate to be predictable,” Mac said flippantly, hiding her sudden attack of melancholy. She felt his laughter in the motion of his chest beneath her.
“No worries there,” he said, running a fingertip down her arm.
Mac closed her eyes, losing herself in his gentle caress. Back in her time, it was slam, bam, thank you, ma’am. Jared was her first lover who enjoyed cuddling after the main event was over, and she found herself liking the intimacy. A lot.
Her time. Her contentment slipped away with the reminder that this was only a visit, and Jared was only her temporary lover. With the mood broken, she attempted to get out of the tub without accidentally kneeing Jared in a vulnerable spot. He took hold of her arms and helped her up. She stepped out onto the soaked floor.
“I found all the water that disappeared from the tub,” she said, keeping her voice, light.
Jared grimaced as he stood. “Agnes won’t be happy.”
“Who says she’s going to find out?” Mac passed Jared a towel. “Here. Cover yourself up before I lose control.”
“Again.” Jared grinned, but did as she said. His gaze skimmed over her, and Mac shivered, causing her nipples to pucker into little pebbles. “I would suggest you do the same.”
Mac grunted, but grabbed the other towel and wrapped it around her, covering herself from breast to thigh. Jared stepped out of the tub, then clasped Mac’s arm to guide her out of the bathroom, ensuring she didn’t slip.
“I’ll take care of the mess in there,” Jared offered.
Mac shook her head. “I’ll do it after you leave.”
She sat on the bed, her back against the headboard. She patted the mattress next to her. “Join me?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jared said as he remained standing by the bathroom door.
“Why?” Mac asked with playful innocence.
He leveled a quelling gaze at her. “You know why. You. Me. Bed.”
“And here I thought you were exhausted from your ‘bath.’”
Jared shook his head but smiled. He sat beside her as he kept his towel in place with a firm hand. Mac quickly eliminated the space between them and settled herself close to his side, an arm resting on his waist. The towel over his groin moved.
“Behave yourself,” Jared said.
“Me or your towel?” Mac teased.
“Both.” Jared wrapped his arms around Mac and she snuggled against his chest, their towels the only barrier between their bodies. He settled his chin on her head. “I tried to stay away, Mac.”
“Why?”
“To prove I could.”
“That’s a stupid reason.”
He kissed her crown. “You’re right. It was a stupid reason.”
Mac detected an increase in his heartbeat. “What’s wrong?”
“When I came in, you thought I was the killer, didn’t you?”
She shivered with remembered fear. “Yes.” Suddenly, she remembered the man she’d seen the night of the murder in her time. Her breath caught in her throat and she opened her mouth to tell him that she may have seen the killer. Abruptly, she clamped her lips together. What could she tell Jared—that she may have spotted the killer over a hundred years in the future? Right before she traveled back to this time?
Even if she could come up with a lie to go along with the truth, she had a feeling Jared would insist that she needed protecting. Though the thought of having him around twenty-four hours a day was a pleasant one, she couldn’t chance it. She was here for a reason, and she doubted it was to make love to Jared Yates every day, although the idea had merit.
“I’m sorry I frightened you.” His breath huffed gently in her hair.
Her arm tightened around his waist. “Don’t worry about it. You more than made up for it.” She dropped a kiss onto his chest. “I’m just glad you changed your mind.”
“You’re a hard woman to ignore.”
“And you’re such a sweet talker.” She brushed her palm across the crinkly hair in the center of his chest. “I’d like to do a story for the Times about the murders.”
Immediately, his body stiffened just as she knew it would.
“What kind of story?” he asked.
Mac wished she could take back her words, but this might be the last chance she had of getting his approval. “I could write a helluva story with all the information you have on the murders, along with what I know.” She paused, knowing she had to strike quickly. “Someone might read it and remember seeing somebody.”
Jared lifted his head from hers. “It also might scare off the killer so I’d never catch him.”
“If we scare him off, maybe he won’t kill another woman.”
He shifted Mac away from his chest to look into her face. “Do you really believe a newspaper article will stop this cold-blooded killer?”
“What have we got to lose?”
“The murderer,” Jared said, his jaw clenched so tight Mac wondered if his teeth hurt.
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
Mac stared up at Jared’s granite expression. “There isn’t that much that was in your notes that isn’t already common knowledge.”
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t use all the information until the murderer was caught.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Banks would like a story covering all the murders.”
“What did Banks do, bribe you with a front-page story?”
Mac blinked, startled by his insight. Should she lie? No, he’d already seen the truth before she could hide it. “I wouldn’t use the word bribe.”
Jared’s laughter was harsh. “You newspaper people are always so good at semantics. You can twist words around to make them mean anything you damn well please.”
“What if there’s a chance the information will help someone remember something?” she asked. “Or make the next victim stop to think before she goes out alone? I think it’s a risk worth taking.”
Jared surged off the bed and grabbed Mac’s shoulders. “That bastard killed my fiancée. I want him so bad I can taste it. Do you know that every morning, I wake up and wonder if today that bitter taste will finally go away?”
Mac had known he’d loved his fiancée, but she had believed he was over her. Obviously, she was wrong.
The knowledge sliced more deeply than it should have.
Her temper flared. “You don’t care if he kills another woman. You just want revenge.”
“And you just want a story.” He stared at her as though she were a frog in a dissecting tray. “What we did here, did it mean anything to you? Or were you just doing your job?” He didn’t hide his bitterness.
He made what they’d done seem dirty and sordid, but she hadn’t meant it that way. What she and Jared had shared was something Mac hadn’t felt before, and suspected she’d never feel again. It was clear Jared didn’t feel the same way toward her.
She lifted her chin. “I guess I didn’t do my job very well, did I?”
Pain flashed across his handsome features, and Mac nearly capitulated to her own hurt.
Jared shook his head as his eyes darkened. “No, you did it too well, Mac.”
He returned to the bathroom as she remained rooted in place. When he came out fully dressed five minutes later, she still hadn’t moved.
“I’m going back to Staunton in a few days. I won’t be stopping by again,” he said curtly.
“What about the case? What if I learn something new?” Mac managed to ask above her heart’s thundering.
“You can send a telegram to the Pinkerton office there.” He paused. “I’m usually traveling, so it may be days or weeks before I get back to you.”
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
He turned the doorknob but didn’t open the door. “Write your damn story if it’s so important to you, but don’t ask me to condone it. I can’t.” He jerked the door open.
“Will you be back in June?” Mac asked.
Without turning, he replied, “Yes, but don’t expect me to come calling. I plan to catch a murderer and you damn well better not get in my way.”
Then Jared was gone, the door’s slam echoing in the void he left behind.
Mac’s trembling legs buckled and she dropped to her knees. Her eyes burned, but there were no tears.
Jared had left her, just as everyone else she’d ever cared about. It didn’t matter. She still had her newspaper job and that was all she needed. All that she had ever needed. She’d write the story about the murders and maybe some good would come of it.
It was that hope that gave her the strength to dig out her notebook and pen from her backpack and begin writing.
“Damn, this is good stuff, Mac,” Banks said, grinning around a cigar. “I figured the murders were connected, but you drew it all together like a good book.”
Mac wearily brushed a strand of blond hair from her brow. “The only problem is, this book doesn’t have an ending.”
“It doesn’t matter. This is going to sell newspapers.”
Impatience surged through her. “It does matter. The next murder will probably happen in June, which means some innocent woman will die. Or don’t you care about that?”
Banks aimed his smelly cigar in her direction. “Don’t you know a good reporter doesn’t get emotionally involved?”
“Once upon a time, I believed that, Mr. Banks.” She rose from the chair in front of her boss’s desk and moved to stand by the window, her arms crossed as if she could ward off the chill within her. “Do you want me to start setting type on the story?”
“Why are your petticoats all ruffled, Mac? I thought you wanted this chance.”
“I did, but I didn’t realize how costly it would be.”
“It’s Yates, isn’t it?”
Mac continued to stare out the window and was surprised when her vision of the street blurred. “He’s a good detective. I don’t want this story to hurt his chance to catch the killer.”
“Sit down.”
“I have to—”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Banks said.
She drew her arm across her eyes and crossed back to the chair she’d recently vacated. “What?” she demanded with a surly growl.
“First thing, get rid of that tone of voice. Then we talk.”
Mac closed her eyes and tried to relax with her deep-breathing exercises. She could hear the editor’s impatient grunts, but surprisingly, he didn’t speak. Finally, she achieved a modicum of relief from her tense muscles and taut nerves. “All right. I’m ready,” she said, opening her eyes.
“When did you fall in love with Yates?” Banks asked.
Her muscles went back into overdrive. “I don’t love Jared.”
Banks merely continued to stare at her silently.
“Maybe he and I got together a few times, but the sex didn’t mean anything.”
Banks’s face turned brick red. “Did I ask for details?”
On firmer ground, Mac smiled sweetly. “Didn’t you want specifics?”
“No.” Banks struggled to regain his aplomb. He took a drag of his cigar and exhaled slowly. “I think it’s pretty clear that you and Yates had more than, uh, sex.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “I don’t want to hear about it. The only thing I care about is your ability to do your job, and if you’re pining for Yates, your work is going to suffer.”
Mac had never pined for anyone in her life. “I wrote the story. What else do you want from me?”
Banks stared at her a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing.”
Mac stood. “Good, because I have work to do.” She was aware of Banks’s gaze on her, but she ignored him. Jared Yates was history. Literally. Mac had a mission to complete, then she could return to her time. Working at the newspaper office appeared to be the best route to accomplish that.
So what if Jared left? It wasn’t as if she was planning a happily-ever-after with him. No promises were made, which meant no promises could be broken.
Except for the one I made to Jared promising not to use the information he showed me for a newspaper story, her conscience reminded her. However, his parting words last night had been such that she could write the article if it was that important to her. It was that important, and she’d managed to hang onto some part of her shredded self-respect. She had resisted using the detailed notes from Jared’s files—his personal conjectures on the killer and the two pertinent facts that were clearly the murderer’s modus operandi. The first was the use of piano wire for each strangulation, and the second was the two distinctive twists of the wire that had ultimately killed the women.
As she set type for the story, she wondered if Jared would read it or merely condemn her, believing she had broken his trust.
It didn’t matter. He had said good-bye, and Mac knew what good-byes meant.
They meant forever.
As Mac’s job expanded to both reporter and typesetter, winter gave way to spring. Green grass replaced brown and leaves fattened up the trees and guaranteed a shady place as the sun grew hotter. Birds that had migrated in the fall returned to build nests and start new families.
When the first day of May dawned, Mac dragged herself out of bed, her vivid dream still haunting her.
Cold. Wet. Snow.
Have to find shelter. The ruins of an old building loomed and she entered tentatively, half expecting the remaining walls to lose the fight against the blustery north wind. Once inside, however, she was glad for the scant protection and sat with her back against the strongest-looking wall.
A chest. She crawled toward it, surprised she hadn’t noticed it when she had stumbled in. The dust-free wood appeared incongruous within its time-neglected surroundings. A master craftsman must have carved the flowers in the front, top and sides of the chest. The initials EMS were etched into the front below the fashioned flowers.
Her hands trembling, she raised the lid. She had expected a musty odor, not the rich cedar scent that arose from within. She noticed shiny objects nestled inside the chest, but the one that caught her gaze was a broken, rusted pair of handcuffs with some letters engraved upon them. Her fingers closed around the cuffs and she squinted in the dim light to try to make out the barely discernible initials: an E and a J—
Then her world shimmered and disappeared.
It didn’t feel like any dream she’d ever had before. In fact, it felt more like a . . . memory. She squinted at the haggard face in the mirror, trying to find the answer.
She had been holding the handcuffs when she took her unscheduled trip into the past.
That’s what Esme wanted me to remember.
But why?
She had to speak with Esme. Find out why the handcuffs with an EJ inscribed on them were so important.
Mr. Banks had asked if she wanted to attend the May Ball at the Chesterfield this evening, but she’d declined. She would tell him she changed her mind and accompany him so she could see Esme.
Now, if only they had a mall where she could do some last-minute shopping.
Mr. Banks alighted from the coach that halted in front of the ballroom entrance. He turned to lend Mac a hand. With the weight of the powder blue gown she’d managed to find and the numerous skirts beneath it, Mac had to accept his assistance, or she would have found herself on the ground in an undignified heap.
Once standing safely on solid earth, Mac tried to take a deep breath, but the corset Agnes had insisted she wear made that impossible. Panic swelled, but the moment passed, and Mac forced herself to breathe shallowly.
“Are you all right, Mac? You look like you buried your face in a keg of flour,” Mr. Banks said.
She glared at him. “No, I’m not okay. I hate dressing up and I especially hate corsets.” She no longer censored her speech around her boss, having become friends as well with him. For a nineteenth-century man, he was amazingly open-minded . . . about some things.
“Then why did you change your mind and come with me?” he asked in exasperation.
“Because I have to speak with Miss Sparrow about a confidential matter.”
Banks eyed her curiously but didn’t interrogate her. After Jared had left, Mac had found sanctuary in the newspaper office working for the deceptively gruff-looking man. As long as she was there, she could forget about the Pinkerton. But the moment she returned to her room, one look at the bathtub and the memories returned with a vengeance. It was probably good that she’d agreed to go to the ball—she could get away from the memories for an evening. The only problem was, the resort carried its own memory bombs.
Banks handed an invitation to the stiff-necked man at the door to the ballroom. Standing too straight and not cracking a smile, the man appeared to have been trained by the ever-correct Major.
“How about first things first?” Mac asked, snatching a glass of champagne from the tray being carried past.
“I prefer something a little stronger.”
They moved through the throng toward one of the bars, greeted by many of the businessmen in town who knew the editor. Most ignored Mac, but she couldn’t help but cast them mocking smiles. Even though she’d done stories on some of them, she was still below their station.
At the bar, Banks ordered bourbon while Mac watched the swirls of color and listened to the artificial laughter people typically used at snobbish galas. She caught sight of a hook-nosed matron trying to pawn off her daughter on a blushing boy. A paunchy man stared with unconcealed interest at a woman’s cleavage until his wife elbowed him in the side. Mac grimaced in sympathy and cheered the woman for her powerful right elbow.
“Edward.”
The familiar voice caught Mac’s attention, and she spotted the Major striding in their direction. She found herself smiling at the familiar swagger and soldier-perfect posture.
“Hello, Reg,” Banks said as he greeted his friend with a hearty handshake.
“I’m glad you could attend,” the Major said. He glanced at Mac, and instead of the expected censure, Mac saw fondness. The Major took her hand in his and kissed the back of it gallantly. “I see the newspaper business agrees with you, Miss McAllister.”
“Better than the toilet business,” Mac quipped.
The Major’s expression slipped momentarily. “Ah, yes, I’d forgotten about your unique wit.”
Banks chuckled. “Unique is the right word to describe her, Reg. I never did thank you for sending her my way.”
“It was entirely my pleasure,” the Major said dryly.
Mac nudged him with her elbow. “I’ll bet it was.”
“Trish,” a woman’s voice called.
She glanced around and caught sight of Esme moving toward them. It had been over a month since Esme had been down to Hope Springs. Mac and Esme hugged briefly.
“It is wonderful to see you again, Trish,” Esme said in her proper British accent. She turned to Banks. “And you, too, Mr. Banks. I am so very glad you could make it to the ball.”
“Mac insisted I come,” Banks growled and winked at Mac.
Esme smiled. “I rather doubt that. I believe Trish stated before the Valentine’s Ball that she despises such social affairs.”
“Despise might be a little weak,” Mac said. “Abhor is closer to the truth.”
“Then you won’t mind if I leave you here with Esme to commiserate while Reg and I go argue about old battles?” Banks said.
“No, that’s fine. You two behave yourselves,” Mac said, anxious to speak to Esme alone.
The Major appeared affronted, but Banks only shook his head in amusement. “I’ll find you when it’s time to leave,” the editor said.
She watched them weave their way through the crowd and smiled.
“You’re fond of Mr. Banks,” Esme commented.
“I guess. He’s a pretty good boss.” She winked at Esme. “And he puts up with me.”
Esme smiled and led her over to a relatively secluded area. They took advantage of the empty chairs and sat down.
“How’re things going at the resort?” Mac asked.
“Business has been a bit slower than normal, thanks to your article.”
Though there wasn’t any accusation in Esme’s voice, Mac felt compelled to justify the story. “It was only the truth.”
“I know that, dear. Most of the employees—including the Major, even though he can never admit it aloud—were grateful for your insights.” She sighed. “It was only the owners who weren’t so pleased.”
“I don’t care about them. It’s you and all the other women who live and work here that I wrote the story for,” Mac stated. She knew she should ask Esme about the handcuffs, but found herself procrastinating. “How are Erin and Louise?”
“Doing well. Louise has found herself a beau.”
Mac pictured the shy blonde and smiled. “Are they serious?”
“They announced their engagement yesterday. The wedding will be in three weeks.”
Mac chuckled. “They didn’t waste any time.”
“Time is too precious to waste, Trish. You of all people should understand that.”
Mac’s laughter died in her throat. “I had a dream last night, Esme.”
“Oh?”
“I think it was more a memory of the night I time-traveled.” Mac’s palms grew slick. “I found this chest in the ruins of the Chesterfield and opened it. There was a pair of broken handcuffs with the initials EJ on them. I picked them up and the next thing I knew I was here.”
Esme smiled. “Then you must have those same handcuffs in your hand on the summer solstice in order to return to your time.”
Mac had suspected Esme’s explanation. “But whose are they? The only lawman I know is Chief Garrett and his initials don’t match the letters.”
Esme laid her palm on Mac’s arm. “You will know when the time is right.”
Mac groaned. “I solve one mystery and get another. Isn’t there anything about this time jump that’s easy?”
“Anything worth having is worth fighting for.”
Mac’s treasonous thoughts took her to Jared. Was he worth fighting for? “Have you seen Jared lately?” Esme hesitated, and Mac knew the answer. The hurt tore the breath from her lungs. “I guess he pretty much hates me, huh?”
Esme laid her palm on Mac’s arm. “No, he doesn’t hate you, my dear. He is disappointed in you. There is a difference.”
“Then he didn’t read the story. If he had, he’d know I didn’t print everything.”
Esme’s eyebrows shot upward. “Why?”
“Because I made him a promise.” Mac rubbed her brow. “Was he all right when you saw him?”
She nodded slowly. “He appeared well, though I believe he may have lost some weight and he didn’t smile nearly as often or as easily as before.”
Puzzled, Mac glanced at Esme. “Before what?”
“Before he fell in love with you.”
The words were delivered in such a calm voice that Mac wasn’t certain she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“He loves you.”
The orchestra’s music dimmed as the ballroom itself zoomed in and out of focus. Mac’s temples throbbed as Esme’s words echoed in her mind, but she forced a laugh. “And I thought I had an imagination.”
“I know you do not want to believe it.”
“How can you be so certain? He never said anything to me.”
“He does not realize it either,” Esme said.
Mac hadn’t felt this off-balance since she realized she was in the nineteenth century. “Then how do you know?”
Esme laughed, a soft tinkling sound. “It is obvious, just as it is obvious you are in love with him.”
The air whooshed from Mac’s lungs even as she tried to laugh at the absurdity of Esme’s claim. “I’m not sure what you’re seeing here, Esme, but it’s definitely not love. I don’t plan on falling in love now or ever. It’s not in my game plan.”
“The only problem is, love follows its own game plan, Trish.” Esme rose and waved to a man across the room. “I must go. It was so very nice to see you again. If we do not run into each other again this evening, I will stop by the next time I’m in Hope Springs.” She leaned over and gave Mac a quick hug. “Good-bye, my dear.”
Stunned, Mac watched Esme weave through the dancing couples until her vision blurred. Moisture on her cheeks made her wipe the back of her hand across her face. Tears? It couldn’t be. Trish McAllister never cried, because there was nothing in the world worth crying over.
Nothing except love.