Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1) (49 page)

Someone fired a gun. Charlotte jumped. Had they shot Tony? She searched the murky darkness ahead. Nothing but black.

Theodore and Caruthers wouldn’t shoot to kill. Not when that would send Tony back to his own time, where he might not be adequately punished. Their goal would be to injure him only enough to prevent his escape.

Another shot. A light came on in a house near Third Street. Shouts from that direction drew her onward.

She recognized Theodore’s voice. “Over there!” Ben Caruthers’ shouted reply, even from a distance, made her skin prickle, brought back rushing memories of pain between her legs, made the bruises on her arms burn.
Find Tony.
That was all that mattered.

She crept along the wall, ignoring her cramping foot as she kicked aside another discarded bottle. It made a loud clink against the concrete. She looked around, but none of the others were close enough to hear, thank goodness. Darn people, why couldn’t they find a garbage bin? And where had Tony gone?

Tony crouched in the doorway of the closed gas station’s office, and tried to catch his breath. Pippin and his cronies yelled back and forth at each other.

He’d been shot at three times in two days.

Tony had no clue what the twenty-first century snipers wanted, but with Pippin there was no doubt. Both of his shots had impacted the ground near Tony’s feet.

They wanted to disable. Not kill.

So they could take him back to the Saturn Society House and turn him into a zombie. Make sure he’d never travel in time again, never mind that Tony was determined this was his last trip to the past.

The darkened, round signs atop the gas pumps reflected the streetlamps like evil eyes. “I think he’s in here,” someone shouted.

His back against the wall, Tony sidestepped along the building until he could peek around the corner. Flashlights bobbed in a strip of yard between two houses across Third Street, their lights ringed in the mist. A car sat at the intersection of Robert Boulevard, its headlights on, the driver no doubt waiting for direction from Pippin. Tony scanned the street in front of him, one he’d never heard of. Sunset Place, the road sign read. Must’ve been a casualty of I-75.

A low, stone wall ran along the other side of the deserted lane, a dividing line between the city and the blank darkness of the river bed, bisected by the Third Street bridge.

To the west, nothing moved. No cars lay in wait. The sound of voices came closer.

He had to run. Now. Or they’d trap him.

He assessed the gas station. A high fence bordered it on the back and the north. The Saturn Society awaited him on Sunset Place, as well as on Third Street to the east.

One option left. The bridge across the river, to the west. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and his strength. Then he bolted.

His feet slapped the pavement to the bridge. Voices behind him. His breath was short, but he had no choice but to keep running. He couldn’t think about the fact he was on a bridge, a good thirty feet above the river, nothing but a waist-high metal railing between him and the empty air. Couldn’t think about anything except evading the Society guys. He would run along the opposite bank, run back over at Fifth Street, circle to Charlotte’s house and snag the calculator.

Panting, he slowed. Halfway across. He’d never make it if he didn’t conserve his energy—

A car pulled up to the west end of the bridge, angled so it blocked most of the road. Tony stopped and whirled around. A second car appeared from the opposite direction to complete the obstruction.

He turned again. The car that had been sitting at Robert Boulevard rolled forward, then stopped at the end of the bridge. Two men—one pale, one dark-skinned—climbed out.

They walked toward him with slow, deliberate steps. They didn’t need to run.

Charlotte stumbled along the wall toward Third Street, careful not to slip in the wet grass. Theodore’s car straddled the lanes ahead, and two other cars parked across the river. Their headlights cast weak beams over the street. She stopped. Something moved on the bridge. Tony!

She couldn’t move except to grip her quarter so tightly it cut into her palm. Theodore shouted and broke into a run for the center of the bridge.

Tony leaned over the railing—heavens, what was he doing?—and peered down.

Like he was about to jump.

Was he crazy? The river was only a few feet deep. He’d be killed.

Unless that was what he wanted...

Tony tore his gaze away from Pippin. Couldn’t let them see his fear. God, how could he have been so stupid? Now he had no escape. Except...

He leaned over, forced himself to look down, over the rail.

The river below churned on its inexorable path to the Ohio. Calm, placid, it cut a dark swath, textured by the drizzle, broken only by the rippled reflections of streetlights. Images rushed through his mind in a rapid-fire slideshow. Shooting hoops with Bethany. Dora on vacation a long time ago, before too little time together had wrecked their marriage. Bethany learning of her friend’s close call. Lisa, laughing at the dinner table. And Charlotte...

Electricity coursed through his body. The men’s shouts muted. Below, the river darkened while the reflections on it grew sharper. Time crawled to a near standstill, and his fear disappeared as his mind tripped over the possibilities.

If he jumped, he might die.

Was thinking about it enough to make it intentional, and therefore, for good? Or would he go home? If he did, he could come back to 1933 a third time to retrieve the calculator—provided the snipers in his own time didn’t get him first.

But it was only a twenty-five or thirty foot drop, so chances were he wouldn’t die. Maybe he’d just get banged up, break a few bones. Then Pippin could simply drag Tony out of the river and cart him off to the House.

A car door slammed on the west end of the bridge. Approaching footsteps resounded in Tony’s ears. He glanced back at Pippin, coming closer. The gun in his right hand gleamed dully in the light from the cars’ headlamps.

If Tony jumped, he might escape in death.

If he didn’t, his fate was certain.

He looked down at the river, and fear came crawling back. He gripped the railing, the metal icy cold despite the warm weather. He swung his legs over and sat there a second, poised over the rail.

He jumped.

Charlotte’s body went rigid as Tony straddled the rail, then plunged into the water. A muted splash stung her ears. Paralyzed, her thoughts thick as molasses, she waited for the dizziness that would tell her Tony had died and jumped back to his own time.

She twirled the quarter between her thumb and index finger. Imagined the vertigo, willed it to come.

Nothing.

The water remained still and black. Tony had to be hurt. Not dead. Memories of being swept down Seventh Street assailed her. She pushed them away, gripped the rough stone retaining wall, and climbed over.

Her dress caught on a sharp edge. She pulled at it, but something held it. No time to fiddle with it. She cut it away with the knife she still held in her hand, the ripping sound unnaturally loud, then she half-stumbled, half-slid down the dewy, grassy riverbank. Mumbles and snatches of curses reached her from above. She had to get to Tony before they did, but what could she do?

She picked her way across the gravelly shoal at the water’s edge as fast as she could, shoving aside remembrances of icy floodwaters, the feel of her lungs burning as she gasped for air and took in water instead. No time for fear.

Her heart almost stopped. Where was Tony? Had he drowned? He hadn’t jumped in time, so he must be alive, unless... “No,” she said. He wouldn’t kill himself. Not after he’d taken such risks to hide from Theodore and learn how to save his daughter. She squinted at the river where he’d gone in. Clouds obscured the moon, making it hard to see. A light splash, then gasps and choking as something broke the water’s surface a few feet upstream. A dark form emerged, and an arm snaked out to clutch at gravel and weeds.

Charlotte tossed the knife down and rushed to him, grabbed his arm and pulled. “Tony!”

He sputtered and spit. “You!” he wheezed.

Wasn’t he glad to see her? Why hadn’t he spoken to her in her house? She gritted her teeth and pulled harder. The clouds parted, and the moon cast an eerie glow on the river’s surface. With a grunt, she gave another sharp tug, and Tony came out of the water, flopped onto the gravel like a fish.

He lay panting. “How... can you... do this to me. After all I’ve...”

“Do what?” One of his legs twisted beneath him at an impossible angle, and blood streamed down them in dark rivulets in several places. “I saved your life!”

“I saved...
your
life. And you repay me...” His eyes drifted shut. Shouts came from above. Charlotte looked up.
Theodore
. Despair settled over her. What had she thought she’d do? Should she have let Tony drown? Regardless of whether he’d return to his own time, or die permanently?

“Get it over with.” His voice was raspy. “Holler for them...”

What on earth? The moon cast sharp specks of light in his pain-filled eyes, unmarred by his glasses which must now lay at the bottom of the river. What was he thinking? Why would—

Realization dawned. “How could you think—”

“I heard.” He inhaled raggedly. “Your dedication extends...” His voice dwindled to a whisper. “Even to using your body.” His eyes roved over her, stopped briefly on her bruised forearms, then met her eyes, his gaze cold and accusing.

“What?” Then it sank in. He’d heard her and Caruthers. “No! I lied! To Caruthers!” If only Tony knew.

“You... seduced me. So you could give me over—”

“I tried to distract him, so you could get away!” Her throat swelled, and tears burned in her eyes. “Tony... believe me,” she sobbed. “I love you. Even though you could never say it to me, I love you. I couldn’t possibly make believe what we had those few days.”

He regarded her for a long moment, his teeth clenched, each breath sharp and short. His eyes flicked beyond her, and she followed his gaze. “Knife,” he choked. “Give it to me.”

Something in his voice made her hurry over and grab it. She started to hand it to him, then hesitated. “What are you going to do?” Above, Theodore shouted. He’d seen them. In minutes, his legions would be crawling down the riverbanks, to—