Bought His Life (2 page)

Grey caught the boy’s arm and brought him to his knees before he could reach the captain. Red faced, the kid placed a hand over his wrist and squirmed.

“Let go, man!”

“Did you steal this money?” Jack demanded. The bills were too large in denomination for a mere kid to be carrying on hand unless he was up to no good.

“Could be counterfeit,” Grey offered, seemingly perplexed as well.

“Not fake! We won it—honestly, fair and square.”

Lawson wrenched the kid’s arm behind his back until he squealed.

“Come on, dude! That fucking hurts!”

“Then talk, and make it the truth.”

“Okay! Okay! They were too stupid to notice the game was rigged.”

Jack stepped in front of the lanky kid and asked for his name. When the boy didn’t answer, Grey gave his arm another painful twist.

“Josh, my name is Josh.”

Another twist magically produced a more honest explanation of how Joshua and the snoring quartet obtained the cash.

“Joshua, if I understand you correctly,” Jack said in a formal tone, “you and these sleeping beauties took advantage of some unsuspecting tourists in a friendly poker game, and you only cheated a little to win their money.”

“Yeah, man,” Josh answered.

“Yes, sir,” Grey corrected.

“Yes, sir,” the kid rushed. “But we didn’t mean anything by it. We were just fooling around. We don’t want any trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble yet, but you will be if you hinder us in the performance of our duty. When your buddies wake up, hightail your butts to the naval station and ask for Lt. Jensen. He’ll release your vehicle and decide what to do about the cash.”

Grey let the boy go and started toward the MB. Seconds later, the kid tried to grab him from behind. The agent swung around and landed a hard right to Josh’s jaw. Shaking his fist, he grinned at his captain.

“I really hated to do that, but damn, it felt good.”

“Youngsters,” Jack said, shaking his head.

Jack examined the clothes strewn in piles on the sand. Picking out a few items, he stepped from his wet pants and slipped into the dry clothing, indicating for Lawson to follow suit.

“These will do. Take what you need, shoes too. They’re better equipped to walk than we are.” Making his way to the vehicle, Jack opened the driver’s door, gazed at the interior, and let out a low whistle. “This looks like a damn cockpit. How did the kid get one of these?”

“I figure he conned it from someone in a different game.” Grey climbed into the passenger side, running his hand over the seat. “I think this is real leather.” He peered at the dials on the dashboard. “This thing’s got gauges we could have used on our mission.”

Jack gazed at the steering wheel, then the gearshift on the floor beside him. “The thing’s got five gears. Hang on while I see how she flies.” He shifted in his seat, stuck the key in the ignition and revved the engine. “Tell me which way to go.”

Grey searched at his feet, obviously hoping to find a map. Instead, he picked up a newspaper and fell eerily silent.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“I think you’d better take a look at this.”

Jack’s eyes locked on the headline and lead picture, then followed Grey’s finger to the date. “Not only color, but a few things we were not expecting. Since when did we start exploring outer space?”

“Looks as if we were more successful in our travels than we thought,” Grey said. “Time travel is possible. And according to
USA Today
, it’s November 11th, 2015.”

Chapter Two

“Being stuck in the year 2015 doesn’t bother me one bit,” OSS Agent Lawson Emanuel Grey announced, grasping the handhold above the passenger door as the fancy vehicle jerked to the left in order to avoid a truck entering the road. If anything, Lawson was relieved that his old life was over.

Lawson actually relaxed and took in the sights, relishing the sense of freedom that was finally his—easy to do since freedom still belonged to the good old USA.

“America won the Second World War without us. Our failure to fly through the Bermuda Triangle and back in time to assassinate fucking Hitler at the Olympic Games doesn’t mean German boots stomp over US soil. The war is over. We won.”

“We’ll be briefed on the base.” Jack narrowly missed a sleek red vehicle that looked like it had just arrived from Mars. Curves and lines, like a woman’s hips, the low-to-the-ground coupe whizzed by them as if rushing to fucking orgasm.

“Captain,
USA Today
confirms it. America is still America.” He turned a page and skimmed the articles. “And there are Jews writing for the publication. Even female Jews.” He rattled off the names of the authors, and Jack’s shoulders lowered a few inches in obvious relief.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Jack asked.

Lawson blew out a heavy breath. “Yes. Jones and I visited the lieutenant’s house numerous times before we were stationed in Bermuda.”

“Well,” Jack said, shaking his head as he checked the mirrors for more killer vehicles, “we drove past this sign four times and still haven’t found the place.”

“Things have changed over the last seventy years. The scenery, the roads—Hell, even the sky and water look different. We’re riding on a tarred surface in the swamps of Florida. Even this vehicle is so fancy compared to the Willis MB Jeep of our time. The lieutenant’s house was a shack compared to these new homes. It might not even be here anymore.” A very German and very bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle passed them with a damn daisy twirling on the driver’s right side. “Perhaps we could get there faster if you let me drive.”

Grinning, the captain glanced at Lawson and shifted the Jeep into forth gear. They traveled at fifty miles an hour, but cars weaved about and sped past them. Speed didn’t matter.

“That’s something Jones would say,” Jack muttered under his breath. “And maybe once we find him—if we find him—he can drive us to the base.”

“Right,” Lawson said.

Jack shrugged. “Seriously. I was—”

“No! Right! Turn right!”

Jack jerked the wheel hard. Tires screeching, the Jeep lurched around the corner, fishtailing. Spinning the steering wheel back around, the captain just managed to avoid hitting a mailbox, but two green rubber-like garbage cans had no such luck. After coming off the grassy curb, he got the vehicle under control and continued straight on the paved road.

Lawson shook his head. “I knew I should have insisted on driving.”

The captain slowed the vehicle to a crawl. “Maybe next time.”

Lawson resumed observing the neighborhood where people walked dogs, pushed strollers and rode bicycles. There were no pedestrian or cycle paths, so on the edge of the motorway, two older women strolled past at a brisk rate, their eyes covered by huge tinted glasses and their white hair poking out of hats with no tops.

“I sort of recognize this place,” Lawson grumbled. “Pull over.”

As Jack came to a stop, Lawson fumbled with the control buttons at his side, and all the windows rolled down. Grinning, he leaned his head out the window.

“Good morning, ladies. Would you happen to know where Michael Jensen might live?”

The women gazed at each other, seemingly puzzled by the simple question. “The only Jensen I know of had a house a few blocks away. Take the next left. It’s the yellow house on the right. After the stop sign.”

Following the directions, they turned the corner onto a surprisingly crowded street. “That’s it,” Lawson said, pointing to a house whose yard was littered with people. “I think.”

Jack parked behind a line of cars, disengaged the engine and pulled on the brake. The vehicle sputtered to a halt. They climbed out and joined the people milling up the drive. As they approached, an auburn-haired woman began jumping up and down in place, whooping happily. Two other women clustered around her.

“I found it! I found it!” the woman sang.

“What’s going on here?” Jack muttered, scanning the throng.

“It looks like some kind of sale.” Lawson pointed to the garage. “See, there’s a lady taking money.”

A tall blonde behind a wood table placed a crocheted tablecloth into a white translucent bag then passed it off to the old woman in front of her. “Thanks! Have a great day.”

When the silver-haired woman walked away with her purchase, Lawson approached the table. “Excuse me, ma’am. Do you happen to know who owns this house?”

“I do,” the blonde said with a smile, placing her money in a cashbox. “Are you interested in buying?”

“No. No. Are you Lt. Jensen’s daughter?”

“Lieutenant?” She laughed. “If you mean Michael Jensen, my grandfather retired as an admiral. But you don’t look old enough to have known my grandfather.”

Lawson exhaled the hope he’d been holding. They were some seventy years in the future, and the woman had used the past tense. That could only mean one thing.

“When did he die?”

“A little over a year ago. We all miss him.”

Lawson mumbled his apologies and turned to leave, then spun back. “Did your grandfather ever ask that nur—I mean, did your grandfather ever say how he and your grandmother met?”

The woman blinked and stepped back, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Um…yes. My grandfather was stationed in Bermuda during World War II. My grandmother was a nurse at the base hospital there. A mutual friend introduced them.” Someone called out. “Oh, I have to help a customer. Feel free to wander around.”

When she rushed off, Jack grinned. “Jensen an admiral? Wait ‘til we go back and share the news.”

They watched Jensen’s granddaughter approach the lovely auburn-haired hooter from earlier. The two ladies greeted each other with big smiles and engaged in cursory conversation before money changed hands over a file storage box.

“That’s if we go back to 1944,” Lawson said, watching the granddaughter flutter away to help another shopper. “The reality is we’re probably stranded here.”

“Nonsense.” Jack waved off Lawson’s observation with a half-hearted chuckle. “The people in this time fly to the moon. Surely they’ve perfected time-travel by now. It’s just a matter of finding—” His grin instantly vanished. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?” Lawson asked, perplexed.

Jack swallowed hard. “That girl has my notebook. She just pulled it out of a box.”

Lawson followed his line of vision. “The one talking on the tiny radio?” he asked, scoping out the beautiful brunette.

“No, the girl standing next to her.”

Dressed in a top that showed her tummy, the young lady, maybe in her mid-teens, held a leather-bound book in her tanned arms.

“It’s mine. I mean, it was mine,” Jack explained. “I had to leave it with my personal belongings before we left. I have to get it back. It contains—obscurely of course—references to our mission along with other sensitive information.”

“How do you know it’s yours?” Lawson asked.

Before Jack could answer, the feisty little redhead in question piped up. “Hey, Mom, listen to this. The guy who kept this journal claims he was one of the best fighter pilots in World War II. It says here he was chosen as pilot for some mission called
Sieg Heil
.”

“He was a Nazi?” the mother asked, her fingers fluttering to her throat.

“Doubt that,” the gorgeous brunette said, leaning over the girl’s shoulder and studying Jack’s notebook. “It’s in English, and it looks like he’s writing in some cryptic way, so I don’t think so.”

Lawson pushed on the captain’s arm. “You wrote about the mission in your journal? What if it had been stolen or fallen into enemy hands? It could have blown our whole operation.”

“In code,” Jack ground between clenched teeth. “Didn’t you hear what she said?”

Lawson placed his index finger over his mouth to indicate that they should keep listening to the exchange. He wanted to remind the captain that breaking code wasn’t as difficult as anyone believed, and it was exactly what Lawson had been trained to do, but for now, they needed to pay attention to the women and gather information.

The girl mentioned
Sieg Heil
again.

“Jen, please stop saying that,” the sex-on-legs brunette requested as she pulled the tiny radio away from her ear. She pressed a long finger to the contraption, obviously irritated at whomever she’d been talking to on it.

“Why?” Jen asked, unperturbed.

“Because it’s a German phrase the Nazi’s used to say. You might offend someone.”

“I thought they said ‘Hail Hitler’ or something like that,” Jen giggled and offered a halfhearted German salute.

The brunette brought her hand over her eyes. “Em, control your daughter.”

“Honey, listen to your Aunt Kimber,” the girl’s mother insisted.

“Yes, Mom,” Jen drawled. “It’s not like I know German or anything. Considering we live in Florida, it makes more sense to take Spanish in school. What does the phrase mean,
Auntie
Kimber?”

“Hail Victory,” the poster girl whispered.

“Mom, I’m totally keeping the journal.”

“I’m delighted with the watch I found.” Em nodded and shrugged her shoulders. She polished a gold timepiece on her shirt.

“Guess that means I’m the proud owner of a mystery key.” Kimber scrunched her nose. “Probably opened some GI’s foot locker.”

“Ooo, lemme see y’all’s stuff,” Jen said in funny speak. “Betcha’s not as awesome as my leather-bound journal written by a hottie ace pilot.”

Laughing, the ladies held up their respective trinkets for comparison.

“That’s mine!” Lawson and Jack exclaimed simultaneously.

The three woman shifted focus, puzzled by the outburst, before returning their attention back to their purchase. Well, all except for the brunette. She appeared to be the cautious sort. Lawson noticed her studying him in her peripheral.

“What else is yours?” Lawson bit out under his breath.

“Not really mine, but ours. The watch,” Jack grumbled. “It’s Jones’. The woman named Em has our lucky charm.”

“And her brunette friend has my key,” Lawson added.

“Kimber, this is your kind of treasure chest.” Em motioned to the box’s interior. “I found that key necklace in that large envelope next to those old folders. Since you’re into wartime memorabilia, why don’t you take the whole box? It’s filled with all sorts of official military documents. Maybe you’ll find something worthy of your World War II collection.”