A Time & Place for Every Laird (2 page)

“Claire?  Hello?”

Claire
looked up to find her friend Darcy Washington looking down at her with a frown.  “You’ve got a mark on your forehead, you know?” Darcy continued when Claire didn’t speak.

Reaching up,
Claire rubbed her forehead. Of course she had a spot there.  She’d been face down on her desk, numbed with shock over her recent encounter.

“Come on, girl!  It’s time for lunch.”

Claire blinked up at her friend and then at the clock in surprise. For more than an hour, she’d been trying to figure out what Dr. Fielding might possibly be working on that had him keeping specimens of any sort in his lab, let alone human ones, but so far had been unable to even hypothesize a single logical explanation.  Mark-Davis Laboratories was awash with top-secret activities, but in reality most of them weren’t that big a mystery to those working on campus. 

Grabbing her pu
rse, Claire rose and trailed her friend out of the building before coming alongside Darcy. Like fictional Eureka, Mark-Davis was a sprawling campus rather than just one building.  Since the higher-ups preferred to keep their employees from having reason to leave work, there were places to eat, a gym with a swimming pool, day care facilities, a small medical office, and even a post office housed within the corporate confines.  Inside the dozen buildings there was a honeycomb of sectors working on everything from ballistics to bombs. 

Claire’s sector worked in the development of ultrasonic weaponry, or USW.  USWs employed focused beams of sound as a weapon in the form of bullets, grenades, or mines.  This was one of the many projects helping to make science fiction into science fact.

As they walked down the sidewalk and around a tiny park surrounded by buildings on their way to the cafeteria, she continued to rub her forehead, trying to rationalize what she had seen, but still couldn’t think of a single project in the works that used animal testing … or human.  Of course there were many levels of security clearance at play in the company, but regardless of the secrecy of any project in the works, there was always some gossip in the company cafeteria.  Whatever secrets Fielding was keeping, he was keeping them well.

Still, Claire couldn’t help but ask Darcy if she’d heard anything
.  “I suppose you think Todd probably said something,” Darcy grimaced, referring to her former boyfriend, who worked in Fielding’s sector.

“Did he?”

“Just pillow talk,” Darcy confessed in a whisper.  “Todd never told me exactly what they’re working on but I do know that whatever it is, they are failing miserably.  Billions of dollars given to them by INSCOM and nothing to show for it.”

“IN
SCOM?”

“Army Intelli
gence and Security Command,” her friend explained the acronym. “I know, I had never heard of them either but apparently they’re like the black ops of Army intelligence.  Todd said Fielding’s so afraid of losing his funding that each night at Riley’s he cries like a baby into his beer.  That’s what you get for putting an astrophysicist in charge of a weapons division, I say.”

Claire
wasn’t interested in Fielding’s decline into academic depression, however. “He never said anything else?”

“Just that it had something to do with
surveillance, I think.”  Darcy shrugged as they entered the cafeteria building, which was similar to a shopping mall food court, with several different choices of foods.  There was a grill with burgers and chicken; a bistro with soups, sandwiches, and the like; a bakery with fresh bagels, donuts, and pastries for early morning arrivers; a new sushi bar that had opened just the week before; and even a Starbucks.  Claire and Darcy went by rote to the bistro’s salad bar, picking up trays, plates, and utensils.

“
Surveillance?”  Surveillance in military-speak often translated to spying, and with the project being funded by this INSCOM that made sense, but even so, how would that result in a lab full of caged beings?  Claire scooped up a small amount of baby spinach onto her plate with a wrinkled nose.  It was repugnance that gnawed at her stomach now, not hunger, at the thought that a botched experiment – whatever it might be – had led to the incarceration of human beings.

“
Yes,” Darcy nodded.  “Why do you want to know?”

Shaking her head,
Claire halfheartedly tossed on some mushrooms and a little vinaigrette. “I’m really freaked out, Darcy.”

“That much is abundantly clear,” Darcy quipped.  “The question is why?”

They paid for their meals at the register and went to their usual table near the windows.  In the distance, Claire could see the mountains of the coastal ranges in Washington State.  Even in May they were covered in snow.  Clean and pure compared to the unethical practices she’d just uncovered.

Glancing around,
Claire answered in low tones, “I was in Dr. Fielding’s lab today and saw some … animals there.”

“What were you doing over there?”
was the first thing Darcy wanted to know.

“I was getting coffee this morning,” C
laire explained, gesturing toward the Starbucks numbly.  “I was talking with Marcia – do you know Marcia? – anyway, she got a call from her son’s school saying that he was running a fever, and asking her to come pick him up.  She had a stack of files with her and asked me to drop them off in Dr. Fielding’s office so she could leave right away.”

“She shouldn’t have done that,” Darcy pointed out
, only to receive Claire’s arch look that mutely stated, "no kidding" in response. “Fine.  No lecture.  What kind of animals are we talking here?  Lab mice?” Darcy speared a green pepper before popping it in her mouth but Claire only nudged her salad around her plate.

“Bigger,” she mumbled.  “What could he possibly be doing that he would need
… specimens?”

“Specimens?” Darcy asked with more focused curiosity.  “More than mice?”

Claire snorted softly and glumly nodded her head.

“Bunnies?”

Darcy’s voice had taken on an edge of hope that Claire knew was little more than denial rearing its head.  It was nothing compared to the misery that had been eating at Claire.  She’d never considered herself an ardent humanitarian before.  She cried for the troubles in other countries, the poor, the hungry, but thought America had enough troubles of its own to focus on.  She gave to St. Jude’s and to the Wounded Warriors Project, volunteered her time at the local animal shelter, and did what she could to be the change she wanted to see in the world, but had always inwardly acknowledged that the influence of one person was negligible in changing the fate of many – animals or human.

For the first time, she wanted to
truly save someone – someone specific.  She
needed
to do it.  This went beyond wrongful imprisonment.  Those men!  Claire couldn’t even contemplate how they had come to be there, but neither one of them probably had a clue as to what had happened to them.

“Not just bunnies, Darcy.
”  Claire nudged her salad around with her fork again before pushing the plate away.  “There are men in that lab.  Two of them.”

“Men?”  Darcy squeaked
, then lowered her voice to a whisper.  “Like,
human
men?”

“
Are there any other kind?  But not just like the guy next door.  One is an Indian.  A Native American.  You should see him.”  Claire paused.  “Darcy, there’s no way he’s from…
here
.”

“Here
, as in Washington?”

“No, here
, as in now,” Claire said, voicing the truth that was becoming clear to her, no matter how preposterous it sounded.  “He’s from a different time.  He has to be.  No one, not the most brilliant costume designer in the world, could come up with something like that.”

“That’s ridiculous, Claire,” Darcy protested
before digging back into her salad.  “You’re talking about time travel?  It isn’t possible.”

“Really?” Claire scoffed.  “Would a time machine really be the most unbelievable thin
g that came out of this place?  Your projects are right up there with
Star Trek
, aren’t they?  Why not something out of
Dr. Who
?”

Darcy’s team was
developing the next generation of orbital weaponry – weapons effective in the vacuum of outer space, should the world ever come to that.  Naturally, that division’s work was all supposed to be limited to theoretical development, as the United Nations had banned the militarization and weaponization of outer space long ago.

“Come on, Claire!”

“Come on, Darcy!” Claire shot back, her heart pounding desperately against her chest.  “He has them locked up in cages, the Indian and the other one …” Claire drifted off picturing the larger man, the one whose emotional stare had affected her so.  “I think he’s Scottish or something.  It’s hard to tell.  He’s all bloody and mangy looking.  But even if he is a medieval savage, he doesn’t deserve being locked up like that.  He has them in cages, Darcy! Wallowing in their own filth!  This is bigger than the ACLU or PETA here.  We need to do something!”

Wide-eyed, Darcy shook her head
in denial.  “We?  No, no, no.  Claire, I need this job.  I can’t afford to do something stupid.”

“Stupid?”
Claire asked incredulously.  “It’s not stupid to save a life.”

“Oh,
Claire,” the other woman moaned.  “You know the kind of security they have in there.  There’s just no way.”

“I know.”  And she did.  Hadn’t she thought
the same, back in Dr. Fielding’s lab?  But what else could she do?  Just stand aside and let the men rot in those cells?  “There must be something, some authority we could report it to.”

“Really?” Darcy scoffed
at that.  “If these two men are really from another time – and I’m not saying they are – who do you think would take them without treating them like a science experiment?”

Darcy had a point there and Claire knew it.

“Go home, Claire,” Darcy said then, aware that she had finally given her friend something to think about.  “Get out of here before you do something stupid.  After a good night’s sleep you’ll realize that you just need to keep your head down and forget about what you saw.”

“I can’t just forget.”

“You had better, and don’t you be calling the ACLU!”

If Darcy was right about anything it was that Claire needed to get out of there and clear her head.  Giving up on her lunch, Claire told her supervisor she was going home with a headache and left the building.

But she could
not erase the image of that prison, those two long rows of cages.  It was one thing to keep animals for scientific experimentation.  Perhaps it was not a PETA-friendly concept, but at least it was accepted.  But to keep people? That was something else entirely.

Claire tugged at the edges of her cardigan and wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection with a
tremor of repulsion.  While the Native American man had seemed more than a little animalistic, the other man, for all his savage appearance, had more in him than anger.

Something had to be done for them. 
But what?

And where had they come from?  What was
Dr. Fielding working on?  Surveillance?  Bah!  There was something more than that going on.  Something had potentially transported not information but two men through time.

Time travel.  Claire shook her head.  It was
ludicrous, or at least unprecedented.  The two men might have just been in costume.  Exceedingly authentic costumes.  Geez, she scoffed inwardly, for some reason that sounded far more unreasonable than her time travel notion.

Lost to the mad scramble of thoughts clashing with the questions in her mind, Claire robotically pulled her keys from her purse, absently unlocking the door of her Toyota Prius as she approached.  The usual beep-beep and flash of her taillights passed unnoticed but the vice-like grip that wrapped around her wrist as she reached for the door handle brought her back to the present with a squeal of surprise.  In a heartbeat, she was yanked to the ground, a rough hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her cry.  For a moment, she froze in shock and denial.  A thousand news reports of women assaulted and killed flashed through her mind, sending an icy blade of sickening fear through her gut.

Then somehow
the adrenaline born of panic kicked in, and Claire began struggling against the arms that held her. She clawed at the hand covering her mouth, trying to pry it away, until her eyes … and her nose . . . caught up with her mind.

The arm and hand that held her were large,
filthy, and bloody.

The smell that assailed her held the metallic tang of dried blood, perspiration
, and death.

A harsh voice sounded in her ear
, speaking words she couldn’t make out, but Claire recognized it immediately.  It was hard to forget something that sounded like that.

Something that smelled like that.

He spoke again.  The rhythm of his guttural words was familiar but she still couldn’t make them out. She tried to speak against his hand, and after a moment he reluctantly lifted it away, his body tensed to react should she dare scream.  “I can’t understand you,” she whispered shakily, wondering if her death was imminent.

“Send me back!”
came his carefully enunciated reply accompanied by a rough squeeze that nearly stole her breath.  His command sounded like “Sen mae back” and was still nearly unintelligible, but Claire got his point.

“I can’t!” Claire choked out, quaking with fear as she
launched a futile struggle against him once more.  The mass of his huge body felt even larger behind her than her short glimpse of him in the cell had led her to believe.  His arms were like steel bands around her, making her resistance pointless.

He twisted her about in his arms until Claire was staring up at him with wide
, fearful eyes.  Up close, he was even more terrifying.  His black beard was crusted with blood and grime, as was what she could see of his face and arms and clothes.  The whole of him was just as nasty as it had seemed from a distance. “Send me back home,” he commanded fiercely once more, his hands rough on her upper arms as he gave her a little shake.  Had she truly just been thinking that there might have been a softer side to this man, whoever he was?  She was at his mercy and suddenly regrettably sure that there was none within him.

“I
—I told you, I can’t,” she repeated, terror evident in the high octave of her voice.

“Who can?  Take me tae
who can!” he growled ferociously, sending a more violent shudder of alarm racing through Claire’s limbs, and she began to fight again, pushing against him.

“Stop fightin’ wi’
me, lass.  I mean ye nae harm,” he said, enunciating each word slowly to ensure that he was understood.

An incredulo
us squeak escaped her.  “Oh, is that so?  Where did all that blood come from then?”

“From m
e.”

Claire’s eyes darted over him
in disbelief, finally seeing the half-healed wounds on his forearms and one on his neck.  His left leg was caked in blood from the knee down.  Then she raised her eyes to his vivid blue ones, held them.  Of course, they were all she could see beneath his matted hair and beard, but those eyes didn’t glow with murderous intent or with cold rage.  Instead, they held the same despair and desperation she had seen in the lab when he’d been caged.  While desperate men could do desperate things, and logically Claire knew she should fear for her life, somehow she felt the fear ebb just as it had in the lab. 

“Are you
badly hurt?”

Clearly, the question startled him, much as it had her.  His gaze turned to
bewilderment for a brief spell before the anxiety began to return.  “I want tae gae home.”

Heart pounding wildly against her ribs at his
impassioned words, Claire felt her chest tighten with emotion, and tears sprang to her eyes as sympathy rushed through her.  She understood that.  She knew what it was like to desperately want something you could not have.

To beg and plead, curse and wail at Fate and still be denied.

Suspended by the thought, Claire stared up at him, not even flinching when the wail of sirens and alarms filled the air.  He did though, his eyes darting around in alarm.

The Scotsman – if that’s what he actually was
. Who knew, really? – looked wildly around, trying to identify the source of the noise, while Claire tried to come to terms with the inherent insanity of what she knew she was about to do.  She could hardly believe it herself.

“We need to get you out of here,” she said calmly, recalling his attention.  “I assume that’s for you?”
  While he stared at her in surprise, Claire stood and opened the back door of her car.  “Get in and stay low.”

His
blue eyes were easy to read.  Mistrust.  Doubt.  Who could blame him?  She was as dumbfounded by her actions as he.  “Do you really have any choice?” she asked.  “It’s them or me.”

If she hadn’t known better, Claire might have thought he rolled his eyes with something akin to humor
before he disappeared inside her Prius.  Shutting the door, Claire opened the driver’s door and slid in.  Calmly, she started the car and shifted into reverse, backing out of the parking space.  Just as serenely, she put the car in drive and pressed her foot down on the gas pedal.

That was about how long it took for her to second-guess herself.

“What am I doing?” she whispered to herself, gripping the steering wheel tightly at ten and two.  Doubts and recriminations filled her mind.  “Are you insane, Claire?”

S
till, she drove calmly through the gates while the big Scot hid in her backseat, glad the gate was unmanned but fearful that the cameras might catch something, some movement, as she passed.  Fearful?  Her mind whirled.  Shouldn’t she be hopeful?  Hopeful that someone had seen what had happened and was on their way to save her from this savage madman? To save her from herself?

What was she thinking?  The guy might be a mass murderer for all she knew
, and she was actually thinking of taking him … where?  To her townhouse so she might be slaughtered in the privacy and comfort of her own home?

A hysterical giggle escaped her as Claire steered her car through the streets of
Spokane.  At worst she would be dead by nightfall.  At best she would be unemployed by the next morning.  “You’re risking your life and livelihood here, Claire,” she continued to mutter under her breath in self-recrimination.  “Why?  Why are you doing this?  Turn around, take him back, and claim temporary insanity.  Kidnapping.  Something.  Oh, my God, I’m such an idiot.  Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid!”  Claire pounded on the steering wheel with those last three words.

What was she thinking?  Was she thinking at all?  There was a time and a place for sympathy.  This was not it.  That man might have a sad story that tugged at the heartstrings
, but was she really going to risk her whole life just because …

“
What is this conveyance?” The garble of words from the backseat was barely intelligible.

“What?” Claire asked, unable to work out his thick brogue
, and the Scot repeated the question more succinctly, pointing at the dashboard.

“It’s a car
,” she told him.

“Car,” he repeated, pushing himself into a sitting position until Claire could see him in the rearview mirror.  He was looking around him with that odd
combination of fascination and denial people get when they’re subjected to something new.  A low, brushing noise told her he was running his hands over the upholstery, as if tactile sensation could prompt belief or acceptance.

“
What is this world?” he asked harshly as his eyes took in the scenery passing by the windows, the panic once again rising in his voice, but Claire had a question of her own.

“How did you get out?”

“Tell me what I want tae ken, lass!” he barked.

“You first!” Claire shot back
, taking her eyes briefly off the road to turn and look at him.  His blue eyes were as blazing hot as the pilot light on her stovetop.  He was … terrifying.
She
should have been terrified, but whether she was doing the right thing or not, some part of her illogically believed that he wasn’t going to hurt her.

Or at least he wasn’t
actively planning on it.

Taking an abrupt
left, Claire pulled into a parking lot behind a small strip mall and threw the car into park even as she twisted around to face her would-be kidnapper.

“
What are ye doin’, lass?” he gaped in disbelief.  Each word was clipped and carefully enunciated so that she could understand him the first time.  “We hae tae flee ’fore they coordinate a pursuit!”

“I’m not going any
further until you tell me what happened.”

Their eyes locked, warring for position and power.  Claire
couldn’t believe that she was taking such a drastic step as to challenge him so.  Her insides were a mass of nerves that shook her until she felt like jelly but she couldn’t back down.  Somehow she knew that showing any weakness was the very worst thing she could do with someone like him.

Apparently her instincts were correct.  A moment later, his fierce frown eased and a grudging re
spect lit his fierce blue eyes.  He fumbled against the door for a moment before finding the handle and deducing its operation.  The door flung open, and he was out of the car and into the front seat before Claire could even think about taking advantage and making a quick getaway.  He looked at her as if pondering her state of mind.  He crossed his arms over his broad chest, over the bloodied tartan, without thought and Claire could only shudder, wondering what else this savage man might consider with such disregard.

“Well?”

His teeth were practically grinding out his annoyance.  “Our jailor came in wi’ food an’ the savage …”

“The Indian?”

“Aye, if that’s what ye would call the savage warrior, though he dinnae appear to be from that nation, but I willnae argue the point.  The guard got too close tae his cage and the savage caught his arm and pulled it ’twixt the bars.  He broke it rather ruthlessly before taking the guard’s keys,” he explained, missing Claire’s grimace at his unemotional retelling.  “I could tell the
Indian
was unfamiliar wi’ them but had seen them in use often enough these past days tae know their purpose. Cannie lad.”

No argument there. 
“And he let you out?”

“Aye
, and the animals as well,” the Scot nodded, and Claire thought of the animals she had seen that morning.  Many looked harmless, but the bear and the wildcat would have provided additional chaos in the lab.  Canny lad, indeed.

“
But how did you get out of the building?” Claire persisted.  “Its security is state of the art.”

He shrugged. 
“I dinnae ken yer terminology but ’twas simple enough tae elude the roving eye.  I had a view from my cage into the outer room, which allowed me tae see the mobile portraits staged there.”

“The monitors?”

He only raised an impatient brow to indicate once again that he was not familiar with the term.  “It wisnae difficult, watching the movement of the eye within our prison walls and the portraits, tae ken that they showed only what the eye could see.”