Hearts Out of Time (6 page)

Chapter 6

Tracy jumped up at the loud sound.

Heedless of his irritated reaction, Garrett observed his guests with intent before looking at her. “Miss Richardson, it’s high time we tell you about us. The hosts around this table are the members of a clandestine society founded by your father. He named it ‘The Circle’ after enlisting us. We have pledged to keep his work secret and to protect it at all costs. To protect it with our lives if need shall arise.”

His gaze swept the room while they all nodded, but her.

She shook her head. A clandestine society named The Circle?
Wow, just wow
. Trying not to look too obvious, she studied them one by one: the man she’d been told to trust, the companion from the north and his wolfdog, the dubious gunslinger, and the lovely daughter of a vampire hunter.

Watching them, a larger picture formed in her mind. The importance of her father’s invention prompted him to shield it because this risky and unsafe device posed a threat in the wrong hands. Right now, she might be in the wrong hands herself, but looking at Garrett’s inscrutable face, she didn’t think so. He was abrupt, inflexible, but also reliable, and her dad hadn’t mistaken that trait in him.

“I bring new intelligence provided by Miss Richardson,” Garrett said. “The person responsible for William’s abduction wants the painting in exchange for his life. We must strike a deal.”

“What painting?” she asked.

Her question didn’t get an answer.
Thanks, guys, am I invisible to you?
She’d remember if they had discussed art earlier, and she didn’t recall providing any kind of intelligence either. Yet his words seemed crystal clear to everyone in the room, and the tacit complicity uniting its members began to get on her nerves.

Jake Cooper traced a faint straight line on the tablecloth with his knife, a grave expression tainting his features, and shook his head. “That’s impossible. The painting’s disappeared.”

“Not disappeared. Stored in a safe place.” Garrett seemed so sure of his facts that the gunslinger’s expression turned even darker.

Jake shifted in his seat. “That’s all very good but it doesn’t change a damn thing as long as William isn’t around to tell us where it is.”

“He told me.”

This supported the theory that her dad trusted Garrett more than anyone else. Still, it didn’t answer her question.

“What painting?” Tracy asked.

What did a girl have to do to be heard around here? Throw a chair against the table? Scream at the top of her lungs?

Jake’s attention remained fixed on Garrett as everyone continued to ignore her. “Do you mean to say you’re aware of its location?”

“I most certainly am.” Garrett seemed sure as hell.

Beside her, Weedon fidgeted in his chair, cheeks colored with excitement. “Tell us, man. Where is it?”

Enough was enough. If none of them took three seconds to indulge her, she just might bang her fist on the table like Garrett did.

“What painting?” Tracy asked again. Third time better be the charm because she also had the option of storming out of the dining room and letting them debate the question of the mysterious artwork without her. Not that any of them would care. They really didn’t seem to need her, nor the mysterious
means
she supposedly had.

Finally, the master of the mansion noticed her pursed lips, irritated stare, and maybe the scowl on her face.

“My apologies, Miss Richardson,” Garrett said. “Perhaps I should explain.”

“Perhaps you should,” she retorted, “though you’ve done a fine job up to now.”

Although peeved, her heart beat faster as soon as Garrett rested his gaze on her. She waved her hand and sighed. “Please, continue.” She wriggled her fingers.

Garrett cleared his throat before resuming his elucidation. “The Everett program was originally designed to grant access to the telepods solely to your father, your mother, and yourself. Ultimately, William also wished to enable the members of The Circle to use his invention safely.”

Her dad’s idea made sense. These people were his friends so why wouldn’t he let them play with his toys? Unaware of her train of thought, Garrett continued.

“However, sensing his work was on the verge of being discovered and misused, William created a safety catch to lock down the Everett program. Without it, no one can cross over between our worlds. Unfortunately, he was abducted before he could disclose the nature of the safety catch.”

Her own trip this very morning springing to mind, she swallowed and dropped her nervous hands on her lap. “Assuming someone tried to employ the telepods without this . . . thing, what do you think would happen?”

Garrett faced her. “I can only speculate that person would either fail in the attempt or die.”

She cringed, one of her hands dropping to her thigh to scratch the dress. Good thing she’d been unaware of the existence of this safety catch or she might not have entered the telepod so readily. Relying on a computer felt too tricky for her taste, even a program designed by her genius of a father.

“Okay,” she said, “I don’t want to be the one to ruin your extraordinary theory, but I used the telepod today. I don’t have a clue about the safety catch, yet, hey there”—she waved her hands—”I’m still very much alive.”

“That’s because the safety catch hasn’t been integrated into the program yet,” Garrett said. “William needed more time to finalize the process. To keep it safe for a few days, he hid the safety in his favorite painting. Then he disappeared.”

“His favorite painting . . .” She paused. This time, none of the guests butted in while she probed her memory then continued. “As I recall, it’s a beautiful piece of work by Edwin Deakin, depicting an old hotel on a snowy night. I remember, this painting used to hang in our living room. Yes, that’s it, and the name was . . .”

“‘Christmas Morning,’” Jessica provided.

Yes, exactly. Excitement heating her cheeks, Tracy smiled her thanks at Jessica before turning her attention back to Garrett. “But I didn’t tell you anything about a painting. There must be a mix-up.”

Tracy searched her recollections for more clues. As understanding dawned on her, she winced. “His Christmas gift, of course. God, that one was farfetched. The guy you’re looking for is a joker, isn’t he?”

“The clue must have been intended,” Garrett said. “Whoever he is, he’ll go to any lengths to acquire the painting. Assuming he’s perfectly aware that the safety catch is essential, it means your father is safe for the time being.”

Jake threw his napkin on the table. “All right, the guy’s a clown. But damn it, Garrett, are you going to play Almighty for much longer? Tell us where it is.”

“Here in California. Gold Run to be precise.”

Drawing the napkin back toward him as though he wanted to take back his impetuous throw, Jake looked surprised. “That location is quite far away. Are you sure you’re not mistaken? There are so many places closer to home he could have picked.”

“Indeed, Jake,” Garrett said, “although I must say there’s a good reason for William’s choice. A few years ago, he purchased a mine in Gold Run, for he had found in that location what he called ‘a complex’ and ‘weird robotics.’”

Tracy frowned. Her dad’s mysterious life in this world kept growing and growing. What would come next? Finding out he got married in Las Vegas to a retired casino card dealer and fathered a dozen kids? Unwilling to go down that alley, she refrained from sighing and licked her lips before gazing at Garrett. “What kind of complex?” she asked. “Is it like a secret lab?”

What appeared to be a brief smile slipped across Garrett’s lips before he replied, “I haven’t been there myself, but I know he had materials brought in from your dimension. Which is why I believe that you, Miss Richardson . . .”

The breath caught in her throat and her mouth dried up when his lecturing composure shifted to keen interest as he looked at her pointedly. “You have a pivotal role in entering the complex.”

Garrett might well see a link between her world and the mysterious
means
giving access to the complex, but she didn’t. As a matter of fact, she felt kind of blind and lost in the intricacy of her dad’s brain.

“Should we consider ourselves lucky or doomed?” Jessica smiled at her with such vitality that Tracy wondered why Jake Cooper didn’t marry the woman when he had the chance.

“Sorry, why?” Tracy asked.

“I’m just saying, your father seems as secretive and eccentric as mine,” Jessica replied.

As much as she didn’t want to, Tracy had to agree with her. True, a mad scientist versus a blood sucker hunter. What a lovely couple. Yet, the mention of her dad’s eccentricity reminded her of the silver necklace and the precise, unequivocal instructions he’d attached to it.

The necklace might well be important to enter the complex. She didn’t possess anything else, but she didn’t dare voice her hypothesis right then because her father’s life was at stake. But not just that.

Her instincts never let her down. She’d follow them, even though she sort of perceived herself like a betrayer amongst a circle of friends. Because, to her dismay, her instincts didn’t trust Jake Cooper.

“How are we going to get to Gold Run?” she asked.

Reluctant to consider the possibility of a ride on horseback, she nonetheless figured a jet was out of the question.

Jake, ever the gunslinger, stood up to strike a pose, his hand on his heart. “My dear lady, my train is at your entire disposal as of this moment. It will take you around the world, if need be.”

Given a skull and a sword, the man could have played Shakespeare in the most famous theaters. He was funny in a ridiculous kind of way, yet Tracy sensed Jessica’s hurt from across the table.

The young woman seemed so nice and obviously still in love with the jackass that it was hard to fathom what she saw in Jake. Or what she thought she’d seen.

Garrett also pushed his chair back. “Very well, thus the matter is settled. We shall depart for Gold Run tomorrow morning at dawn. Any objections?”

When there were none, he got to his feet, walked to the door of the dining room, and bowed in turn to her and Jessica.

“We ought to take some rest. Goodnight, ladies. Weedon, may I have a word with you in the parlor?”

“Absolutely.”

Despite an eventful day, Tracy didn’t feel tired. She needed fresh air to think, to clear her head, and to let this new universe sink in.

Once Weedon and White Fur followed Garrett inside the parlor, she bid goodnight to the two star-crossed lovers and pretended to go upstairs. Sneaking out proved easy considering the main door was unlocked.

Blissful air stroked her face. She didn’t intend to go very far, just a short walk up and down the street before going to bed. In spite of the chill, she enjoyed the darkness as much as the feeling of solitude.

About a hundred feet from the mansion, someone grabbed her from behind and brought a long knife to her throat. Her heart keeled as the cold metal pricked her skin and an ominous voice whispered in her ear, “You shout, and I’ll slice your throat. Now move.”

Never letting go of her, he started driving her toward a boxy black shape concealed in the shadows. A carriage? He was half pushing, half dragging her to the back of the wagon when the horses neighed.

She tottered from the sudden urge to kick, punch, bite, tear, but the weapon didn’t move an edge. As panic gnawed at the edges of her brain and threatened to engulf her, a second voice cut through the night.

“Hurry, I can’t hold the horses.”

Before the knife-man could shove her inside, the horses neighed again, shook their manes, and began pulling the wagon forward.

Tracy swayed on her feet, jostled by her assailant, his blade almost slicing her neck.

“Come on, they’re edgy.”

The carriage jolted and she heard a cry from the driver, born from pain and fear. Then the knife was wrenched away. She filled her lungs with air as the man holding the vanished blade was seized and violently repelled to the other side of the street. Knocked out, he crashed onto the sidewalk.

The scene happened so quickly that she didn’t have time to be scared. The horses quieted as soon as the attack was over. Getting her breath back, Tracy raised her head to take a look at her Good Samaritan.

The moon came out of the clouds, allowing her to recognize the short black hair, the night eyes, the pale complexion, the brooding features.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” she said, her breath shaky.

He was the drifter, the man who watched her earlier in the street and who stirred up Garrett’s jealousy. Why would this stranger rescue her? Coincidence, or another piece to add to the puzzle?

“It isn’t safe in the streets,” her rescuer said. “I’ll walk you home.”

Was she also supposed to trust this one? Probably not, yet he spoke with a faint Scottish accent that softened her distrust. As her gaze fell on the knife-man sprawled on the ground, she pushed the words out of her mouth. “Are they dead?”

“No, they’ll live. Don’t look at them. I’ll take care of this.”

She wouldn’t have looked, but for the whimpering. A wail of pain that prompted her to advance toward the sound. The driver lay on the seat, blood running down his neck from distinctive punctures.

The kind of wound only seen in science-fiction blockbusters and television shows, seemingly inflicted by an undead citizen who had clawed his way out of his grave. A vampire’s bite.

“What did you do to him?” she asked.

Damn, didn’t she already know the answer to that? But it was too late to swallow back her spontaneous question.

“They were going to hurt you.”

Unlikely characters.
Her father found the exact term to name what had to be a vampire. Should she feel surprised, frightened or simply upset? With everything going on, the sole emotion now pushing toward the surface was curiosity.

She touched the spot on her throat where the blade had pinched her skin before looking at her savior. “Who are you?”