Flirtinis with Flappers (27 page)

I'd been so full of hate. And now that hate had gone. And it'd been replaced with an overflowing fountain of love. I felt like belting out a song from
Moulin Rouge!
The one about how wonderful life was, now that Nick was in the world.

"I'm so happy, Dora," Nick whispered in my ear. "To have you back. Even in someone else's body. I can't even explain what it feels like."

"You don't have to," I said, giving him a small squeeze.
"
I already know."

He lifted his head to look at me. To look at me with those amazing eyes. But the love I saw in them wasn't from the eyes' owner. It was one hundred percent Nick.

He rolled off me, and for a moment, I felt a pang of emptiness as our bodies separated. But that was silly. He wasn't going anywhere. He was right next to me. I turned on my side and wrapped my arm around his chest, snuggling my head in his shoulder.

He let out a chuckle. "I don't want to ruin the moment, but I'm dying of curiosity here. You gotta tell me how you got here. And why."

I nodded against his chest. I felt so snuggly and warm I just wanted to drift into sleep. But he was right. We had things to discuss. Like, history-changing things.

"Look, Nick," I said, hoping my explanation didn't change anything between us, didn't wrench apart the closeness we shared. "I know about the Time Warriors. I know what you came back in time to do. And so does the FBI. And they sent me back to find you and stop you."

Nick was quiet for a moment. Too quiet. I lifted my head to look at him. He stared back at me with puzzled eyes.

"Stop me?" he repeated. "Stop me from what?"

"Stop you from committing yet another St. Valentine's Day massacre, of course," I said, instantly regretting the word choice of
another
the second it came out of my lips. There was no reason to bring up Iraq just yet.

He squinted his eyes. "Committing a what—?"

I snuggled against him, kicking at the tangled sheets to better wrap my feet around his ankles. With my head resting on his chest, I could hear his heartbeat thump against my ear. "Look, Nick, you don't have to play all coy. I know all about it."

"Know all about what?" he asked, reaching over to smooth my hair. He kissed the top of my head. "What are you talking about, Dora? I need more to go on here."

I sighed. "Fine. Here's the scoop. I was recruited by the FBI. They told me all about it. How you joined a group called the Time Warriors, and you were going back to 1929 to mess with the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. I mean, time travel—who knew?" I snorted. "But anyway, I know all about your mission. To wake up Bugs Moran so he won't sleep through the massacre, and he'd get whacked too. But since something like that would totally change history, they said I had to stop you."

"But, Dora," Nick said, his voice laced with confusion. "I don't know anything about the—what did you call them? The Time Fighters?"

Oh, so he was going to play hard to get, eh? I sat up in bed, frowning.

"Come on, Nick, give me a break," I cajoled. "I mean, I know it's all supposed to be so über secret and stuff. Against the Time Warriors' code of ethics to tell or whatever. But at least give me some credit here."

"I'll give you all the credit in the world, baby," he replied, reaching for my hand. "But I can't admit to something I don't know about."

I stared at him, confusion knotting my insides. He looked back at me, all innocent, meeting my eyes without difficulty. Was he really telling the truth? Did he really not know what the Time Warriors were? If that were true then what…?

"If you aren't with the Time Warriors, then what are you doing back in time?" I asked. Might as well throw all the cards on the table.

He shrugged. "The FBI sent me," he said simply. "To seduce you."

"Seduce me?" I pulled my hand away and inched to the opposite side of the bed, suddenly very afraid.

"Well, not you, exactly. I mean, they said I had to seduce Louise Rolfe. They never told me you were inside, obviously."

"So, wait." My head was spinning. "You're telling me that the FBI recruited you to go back to 1929 and seduce Louise? Why would they ask you to do that? And why did you go along with it?"

"It's an experimental new program they're running," Nick explained. "Operation Past Reconstruction. The idea is to send people to the past to help with court cases that failed, to prevent criminals from running free and causing more havoc."

"Huh?"

"You know, like they sent someone back to talk to the Untouchables to suggest they charge Al Capone for tax evasion."

"But they already got Al Capone for tax evasion."

"Maybe in the version of history we're living. How do you know it turned out that way originally? Maybe old Scarface originally didn't get caught. Maybe he ran for president. Maybe the United States became one corrupt nation under the mob."

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to sort it all through. I couldn't even begin to grasp the complex quantum physics—or however time travel happens—that he was suggesting.

"It doesn't always work. They gave the O.J. lawyers the bloody glove, but they still managed to screw that one up."

"So, let me get this straight," I said, drawing in a breath. "The FBI sends men back to the past to help with the prosecution of criminals using information they know from the present day."

"Basically, yeah."

"And so, why did you get sent back to seduce Louise?"

"Easy. She's supposed to be Machine Gun's alibi. If I could get Louise to fall in love with Sam and decide not to testify in defense of McGurn, he wouldn't get away with the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. It'd be a big win against organized crime in this country and could really stop a lot of lawlessness. A lot of killings. Break up the Gambino family before it's even born."

"But why do it that way? Why not prevent the massacre from happening in the first place?"

"The FBI doesn't have that jurisdiction. They have only been given permission to aid in the prosecution, not intervene with the crimes themselves."

It was strange, but for some reason, I was almost buying it. This all made sense in a very weird way. But still, I had a lot of unanswered questions. "So why did they send you—a TV news reporter?"

"Actually, I've helped out the government in the past. Over in Iraq. I can't give you details, it's all classified stuff, but let's just say they saw an advantage to using a private-citizen journalist for certain missions."

I raised an eyebrow, reassessing. Wow. Nick was a real spy. Who knew? I should have been angry that he'd never told me, but of course, spies aren't supposed to tell. In any case, it was kind of cool. My boyfriend, James Bond. I pictured him back in his own skin. In a tux. Sipping martinis that were perfectly shaken but never stirred. (Unfortunately, in real life he was more of a PBR type and hated tuxes with a passion, but I was not about to let that technicality ruin my fantasy.)

"Okay, fine," I said, pushing the sexy image from my mind to better concentrate on the real situation that had just presented itself. "You're, like, a spy or something? Well, let me ask you this. If the FBI set up this whole thing, if it was their idea to send you back to the past, why the heck did they send me back to stop you? It doesn't make any sense."

Nick shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "That's what I can't figure out."

"They told me you were a part of some rich white man's club, sick of the golf circuit, they said, who bought a machine off the KGB and traveled back in time on a lark. To sleep with Marilyn Monroe and stuff."

Nick frowned, sitting up in bed. "Does that sound like me, Dora?" he asked. "Does it sound like something I'd be into?"

"Well, no, not really."

"Who told you this? How did they approach you? Did you get their credentials? Are you sure they were the FBI?"

Worry gnawed at my insides. I couldn't answer any of these questions. Well, not in ways that would assure Nick that I wasn't a complete idiot.

"This guy, Agent Fredricks, approached me on the street and asked me to come with him. He brought me to some underground room and there were three men, dressed in black. They had some slide projection with your photo…" I trailed off, realizing how lame and naive I sounded.

"And you believed them?" Nick asked incredulously.

"They said it was a matter of saving the world!"

"Oh, my little Dora," he said. "You're still the same, aren't you? Charging into things without thinking them through."

I frowned, not liking his patronizing tone. "I didn't charge. I thought about it. It seemed legit at the time."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "It seemed legit that some random guy on the street suggested you go back in time to stop me from changing history?"

"Hey, they had badges and stuff. And they knew things. I'm not a complete moron. And besides, they got the 'you' part right. You're here, aren't you?"

Nick ran a hand through his hair. "Yes. True. There's got to be some reason this group sent you."

Grr. Now I was getting annoyed. Angry, even. Why did he so quickly assume I was the one who had been duped? It could just as easily have been his side that was lying. Or—a troubling thought suddenly dawned—maybe this was part of his plan all along. He'd realized he'd been caught, and now he was trying to throw me off the scent by making me feel as if I were an idiot.

"You know, now that I think about it, how do I even know you're telling me the truth?" I demanded. "What if this is all part of your Time Warriors game? To throw me off the scent? To make me think you aren't going to wake up Moran?"

"Give me a break, Dora."

"No.
You
give
me
a break," I retorted, not appreciating his tone. So arrogant. So typical Nick. "You just expect me to believe your side of the story without question. What, just because we had sex, now I'm supposed to trust you again? Look at what you did to me in Iraq. Was that part of an FBI mission too? Did they want me to be captured for some reason? Did you sell me out for them?"

"Dora!" Nick cried in an anguished tone. "Will you calm down for a minute? This isn't helping!"

Anger burned in my gut, and my hands were shaking. What had I been thinking? Why had I slept with him? Allowed myself to trust him?

"I've got to go," I said in a tight voice. "Louise is supposed to meet McGurn at the hotel, give him his alibi. And I'm not going to let you destroy the world, Nick. It's bad enough I let you destroy my life."

I jumped out of bed and grabbed my clothes. I shoved my hands through the sleeves.

"Dora, don't do this," Nick said. "You need to stay here. You can't be the alibi. By being the alibi, McGurn will go free. And others will die."

"But that what's supposed to happen," I said, pulling my shirt over my head and then stepping into my skirt. "That's how history is supposed to play out."

Nick shook his head. "Screw history. We can make the world better this way. We can make the bad guys pay for all they've done." He rose from the bed and approached me, taking my hands in his. "Imagine, Dora," he said, his earnest eyes boring into mine. "What if by changing this event, by making McGurn pay for his actions, it shuts down organized crime in the US? This could lead to different governments being voted in. Maybe even ones that wouldn't have started a war in Iraq. When you go back to the twenty-first century, you may find a world of peace. A world where there is no war."

I stopped for a moment. I had to admit, the idea was somewhat appealing. Could he be telling the truth? Was it really possible to change history for the better?

I imagined this world of his. The one where there was no Iraqi war. The one where I didn't get caught. Captured, hurt, humiliated. A world where I didn't have ugly scars, both inside and out. Where I didn't live each day with pain, fear, anger.

What would it be like? I pictured Nick and I as husband and wife. Maybe even as an anchor team at some Los Angeles station. We'd go to Hollywood premieres, and everyone would want to know where I got my dress. I'd smile demurely, of course, and tell them it was a present from my very wonderful husband Nick.

It sounded like heaven. But it also sounded wrong.

"It's too dangerous, Nick," I argued, dropping my hands from his. His touch was making me too vulnerable, and I needed all the strength I had. "Sure, by manipulating the past, the future may become better for some. But for others it could be much worse. Are you willing to do that? Are you willing to take the risk?

"The new governments you see filling in after you supposedly 'vanquish' so-called organized crime—what if they're worse than the ones we know about? What if they let Hitler get away with it? Or start a nuclear war in the fifties?"

"You're looking at this wrong," Nick argued. "Focusing on the negative. What if this leads to the cure for cancer? For AIDS?"

"Nick, it doesn't matter. I truly believe things are supposed to happen for a reason," I said angrily, realizing at that moment he'd been so brainwashed I'd never be able to convince him. "Even bad things."

I reached up to touch my scar, knowing, of course, it wasn't actually cut into Louise's face. Suddenly, I realized that, in my efforts to convince him, I was also doing a pretty good job of convincing myself.

I'd been so angry, so bitter, about what had happened in Iraq. How my life had taken such a downturn. But truth be told, every event in my life, even the emotionally and physically scarring ones, had shaped me into the person I was today.

Sure, I wasn't so beautiful anymore. I wasn't glamorous or famous. But I was me. And I didn't want to change that, go back to the old Dora, who now seemed sorely underdeveloped as a person. I'd learned things about life. About loss. About love. I'd learned what was important at the end of the day. And now that I had, I didn't want to give all that up just to rid myself of some pain.

"Nick, you know what I went through in Iraq. But even that, that painful time that I endured, it made me the me you see before you. And I wouldn't change that. At least not at the risk of destroying the rest of the world."