Hearts Out of Time (2 page)

Chapter 2

What in the Hell?

The telepod must be malfunctioning. Positive she typed in the correct code, she couldn’t figure out what went wrong. Maybe resetting the Everett program and trying again would be a good idea. With her father’s letter in hand, she opened the door and stepped back out into the secret basement.

Nothing had changed. In front of her, the row of computers appeared fine, busy doing the job they were meant to do. No screeching alarm sirens, no furiously blinking lights, no disturbing smoke clouds.

“There you are. It’s about time.”

She stifled a scream. Spinning around so quickly that she almost tripped over her own feet, she located the source of the unfamiliar voice. A tall, elegant man stood at the foot of the stairs, watching her.

Heart pounding, she couldn’t move a muscle. Who was he? How did he get in here? What did he want with her?

“Are you planning on standing there all day?”

His haughty tone carried a hint of impatience as she struggled to take in his appearance. Under a dark topcoat, he wore a three-piece suit: a black sack coat with matching trousers and a white vest, fastened high on the chest, under a dotted necktie. He could have been in his late-twenties, maybe early thirties. True to character, his old-fashioned suit even matched his posh British accent.

The computers remained silent and the air in the room kept entering and exiting her lungs. Who was this guy?

Although he appeared cold and unfriendly, she didn’t feel threatened. What she felt was something very different and very inappropriate. Now wasn’t a good time to blush, but, looking at his strong face and lean body, sudden intimate images swirled in her mind, swirled and danced as if alive.

She pictured his shirt slowly sliding down his shoulders, his hand reaching for the button on his pants, his smoldering eyes beckoning her to touch him. Naked images so vivid that a tongue of desire licked her. Such an unpredictable reaction to a total stranger, she didn’t know what to make of it.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Garrett Burnes.”

“Ah.”

So that’s who Dad meant.

Garrett’s matter-of-fact voice belied his impatient body language as he tapped his fingers on the banister. “I take it you have heard of me.”

“When . . . how did you get in?”

A light smirk she didn’t care for stretched the corners of his full lips before he pointed to the top of the stairs.

“Time is of the essence, Miss Richardson, and I do not have any to spare for stupid questions. We already ought to be on our way.”

Who did he think he was to call her stupid? She only saw a jackass on his way to a kitsch British Halloween.

“Let me tell you something, Mister Burnes,” Tracy said, “I’m not going anywhere with you, no matter what you—”

“William informed me you were a stubborn child. I believed he was exaggerating, but I dare say it is a reputation well deserved.”

“My father would never . . .” She drew in a breath, Garrett’s sarcastic interruption quickening her pulse and making her choke on the words. “
Never
say such a thing.”

“Therefore, you shall come with me.”

This interesting turn of events cooled her down. Had this man been walking around with a top hat and a cane, she’d have thought him straight out of the nineteenth century.

She studied so many oil paintings and art sketches during her senior year at San Francisco Academy of Art that the pictures were imprinted in her mind. The dress codes from the past often brought a smile to her lips as she memorized the diverse clothing.

His eccentric, old-fashioned outfit sobered his looks, yet he managed to appear young and dashing. She eyed him from head to toe without trying to hide her mocking stance. “You haven’t been to Barney’s recently, right?”

When he shot her a blank look, a grin stretched her lips while she made an encompassing gesture with her hand. “I’m only saying this because you . . . well, you know what I mean. That three-piece suit is a killer.”

“Good gracious. Am I to presume you have no knowledge of your situation? Do you not know where you are?”

He sounded surprised, the brief widening of his eyes displaying for the first time some kind of emotion.

She was having more and more doubts about trusting this man. Handsome, yes. Attractive, yes. Hot, freaking yes. Kind and honest, that was a different matter altogether. What did her dad see in him?

“I’m in my basement,” she said, starting to wonder if his awesome looks matched a feeble mind.

He shook his head. “William hasn’t told you, has he?”

“Told me what?”

“Have you indeed come through this machinery without any knowledge of your destination?”

He quirked an eyebrow as he took a step forward.

Keeping her eyes on him, she edged toward the computer chair. “Sure, but it isn’t working, and I don’t know why.”

“It’s functioning perfectly.”

The guy must be on the edge of insanity. Charming and interesting, but wacko. She saw a new glint in his eyes as he observed her in a different way. What was it? Maybe something akin to respect? Admiration? Or did he take pity on her because he believed her stupid and foolhardy?

“No, it isn’t working and I—”

“You are in San Francisco—”

“I’m pretty sure this is Sausalito, but given your awesome outfit, I guess that’s only a technicality to you.”

Could she use anything on the desk as a weapon? A sharp letter opener, perhaps? She didn’t have a clue as to how this crazy man entered her father’s lab, but she’d better be a little more cautious.

His dark eyes glued to her face, he ignored her last comment and finished his statement.

“In 1899.”

Icy tremors ran down her spine as all thought of self-defense left her. Deep inside, she knew Garrett spoke the truth. Wheeling the computer chair around, she dropped into it, her throat dry and dread in her heart.

“Damn.”

“You really had no idea?”

He sounded less stern now. Not kind, but a little concerned. All she could do was shake her head.

“Not a clue.”

She glanced at the letter in her hand. Although he didn’t mention it in the brief note, she figured she’d just come out of her father’s most recent invention: a device designed for time traveling.

The stranger before her hadn’t dressed up for a Halloween party. Hell, no. He lived in the year 1899. So did she now. Was her dad here too?

Disregarding her slumped posture, Garrett took another step. “I fear we don’t have time to waste on idle talk. If you would please come with me, Miss Richardson.”

Back to his usual, stony, and ever-so-polite self. His kind-of-nice attitude hadn’t lasted very long.

“Why?”

“It’s essential we locate William.”

Her father’s name coming out of the stranger’s mouth spurred her out of the swiveling chair in a rush. “You’ve seen him? You know where he is?”

“Indeed I have. Two days ago.”

“How was he? What did he say?” Her heart stilled. She expelled a sigh while gripping the corner of the desk and wishing Garrett would talk faster.

“Your father was faring well. However, he seemed to have a lot on his mind. Something uncertain and secret troubled him. When I sought a clarification, he indicated that he intended to go home for a while, then . . .”

Garrett wavered for an instant, his silence prompting her to move forward.

Eager for news, she urged him on. “Then?”

“Thirty minutes ago, an unsigned message delivered to my door informed me that he’s missing.”

Garrett crossed the short distance separating them.

She stared at him while he took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

I have Richardson. Daughter contacted. If you want to see him again, bring it to me. You have forty-eight hours. Further instructions will follow.

Damn, the whole thing was real. She’d embarked on this adventure like a youngster excited by a make-believe story, but the paper in her fingers was solid proof of her father’s abduction. Someone bad roamed out there. Someone who would go to any lengths to get what he wanted.

“Oh my God, he’s got Dad.”

“I fear so.”

She read the note again. The mysterious person was obviously after something, but what? He called it a Christmas present earlier on the phone, yet she couldn’t see the connection. Without much to start on, she tucked the message along with the letter into the back pocket of her jeans and raised her gaze to the dark eyes observing her.

“Who do you think he is?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Do you know what he’s after?”

“I might have an idea but, unfortunately, I feel we don’t have much time to find your father, Miss Richardson. May I suggest we leave?”

“Stop calling me that. It makes me feel old and grumpy. My name is Tracy.”

“Very well.”

The agreement dropped from his lips with evident reluctance. Heedless of his personal tastes in handling the English language, she gave a last glance at the computers and sprang to her feet.

“Where are you taking me, Garrett?”

“Outside.”

He backed up toward the stairs.

About to follow him, she caught the sway of his stiffening shoulders. “What? What’s wrong?”

“One is not used to being addressed in such an informal manner.”

In that second, the arrogance in his voice and manner reminded her of royal people waving to the crowd from their carriages. Given his British accent, was his mother the queen of England?

“Who’s one?” she asked.

Garrett just stared at her.

For a second, the sight of his handsome face stirred a weird longing in the pit of her stomach and she ignored it with difficulty.

“Oh,” she said, “you mean . . . you. I’m sorry, but you lose me sometimes. So, are you going to spend sleepless nights if I call you Garrett?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good. Then let’s go to wherever it is we’re going. You’ll fill me in on the way, and I want to know every detail.”

Above the duplicate lab, she found herself in a small warehouse that had nothing in common with her family’s house on Bonita Street. Just empty rooms with a musty lingering smell reminiscent of abandoned places.

She did her best to follow Garrett’s lead once they were outside. Arms pumping, breathing hard, and so glad she put her sneakers on this morning instead of heels, she nevertheless ended up a few feet behind him in spite of her efforts.

Here she strode in the heart of 1899 San Francisco and she was being dragged along too quickly to take in the sights. What she could see looked old and dirty, but the smell and noise were even worse.

Clusters of houses seemed on the verge of collapsing. The narrow and muddy streets full of horseshit, crisscrossed with streetcar tracks and cable slots, were just a hazardous mess. She wondered how anybody could function on a daily basis surrounded by such stinking and aggressive odors.

Walk-running around a square she didn’t recognize, she spotted people riding bicycles, people riding on horseback, horse-drawn wagons, steam tricycles, gasoline-powered automobiles, and even a penny-farthing.

She wanted to stop right there, to gape at the fantastic opportunity life was throwing at her but her companion kept walking on. She saw children playing with sticks and funny diamond-shaped objects in the thick, viscous stuff that was called a street, dirt on their faces, shouting at—

Her left foot slipped. She instantly shifted her weight, thought she was going to make it, didn’t. She fell butt first into the mud, droplets splattering her, unhurt but conscious in an instant of her ridiculous position.

“Garrett!”

He feigned not to hear her cry.

Damn him and his ways. His pretense didn’t fool her though because he also shortened his long strides, probably thinking she was a spoiled brat who couldn’t take a challenge. Or avoid obstacles. Damn, wasn’t that man unnervingly irritating?

“Garrett!”

He turned around at last and eyed her. “Aren’t you a tad old to amuse yourself in the mud?”

“Don’t you start.” She longed to wipe off the smirk on his oh-so-gorgeous face, but raised her finger instead. “You’d better help me get up.”

He complied, and she grabbed his firm hand to let him help her up. At the hot touch of his skin, a pang of desire struck her so hard that she almost lost her footing again. Their gazes met.

She could have sworn Garrett reacted to her contact in exactly the same way, but unlike her, he brushed it aside with perfect control. His composure tickled her nerves. He was a man set on his path, not to be toyed with.

He released her fingers as soon as she stood on her own. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. Could you just walk less quickly? I’m not training for the Olympic Games.”

“I hear women shall be authorized to participate in the Games for the first time, but I would not be too hopeful in your training.”

“My training?”

Appearing severe in his impeccable, somber three-piece suit, he spoke with the utmost seriousness.

“Yes, for the Games will be held in Paris in a matter of months.”