“Just . . . hold on, would you?” He relaxed his grip, but kept hold of her all the same. He tried to smooth some of the tension from his voice, but it was a challenge, given all the things that were horribly wrong with the situation he’d landed in. Not the least of which was whether or not the guy he’d been chasing had also ended up here. Stoecker was a nasty piece of work. And, against that particular threat, the woman in front of him wouldn’t stand a chance. She might not be the exotic tribal type Stoecker was usually after, but she had the height of an Amazonian warrior and just the right kind of attitude to make her irresistible to his sort.
“That must be it,” he muttered, realizing why Stoecker might have broken protocol and gone back farther in time than was legally mandated – as if the law meant anything to a man who made a living snatching women and selling them into slavery. “That must be it!”
“Must be what?”
“Stoecker’s after a new, even rarer commodity. Someone must have paid a pretty penny for him to take this kind of risk, but – how did he do it?“
“Pretty penny for what? Who’s Stoecker?” She tugged at his hand again, bringing his attention back to her. “Are you in danger? Is . . . someone following you?”
He looked at her, really looked at her now. In addition to being significantly tall for her gender, her other striking feature was her hair. It was long, well past her shoulders, and fell in dark waves and curls.
It was the kind of hair that encouraged a man to sink his fingers into it. And those dark curls framed an attractive face, now that he was paying attention, with well-defined cheekbones, and a strong chin.
Stubborn, he thought now, given her brief display inside the shop and out here in the alley. Her eyes were hazel, nothing exotic, except for the intently direct way they held his own. He wasn’t used to that.
Given what he did for a living, the people he ran across usually worked hard to avoid making any kind of eye contact with him. He supposed a woman of her height wasn’t used to feeling threatened or intimidated in any way. Well, he thought darkly, if he didn’t do something, and fast, that was about to change.
“No one is following me,” he said. “I’m doing the following.”
“Who’s Stoecker?”
Jack swore under his breath. If what he suspected was true, Dani here would be the perfect target for one of the best body-snatchers in the business. She was just different enough to get attention at the black-
market auctions, and the key part was that she was from an era in history no one remembered anything about. She’d be well and truly out of her element, without even a rudimentary understanding of how she could escape back to her time. The perfect slave. Tall, dominant in appearance, with all that hair, that stubborn chin . . . and yet completely at the mercy of her new owner. “Let’s pray like hell you don’t have to find out.”
He pulled her toward the door. “We need to get back inside.” He still didn’t know for sure if the fissure had simply flung him through to a more distant time and place, or if Stoecker had figured out a way to manipulate the fissures already documented and cleared for use. This didn’t happen often, if ever. He’d been hunting Stoecker too long, and he was the best there was. He’d know.
“You locked us out,” she reminded him, as he tried the door handle.
Of course, if the continuum had somehow been manipulated to send him so much farther back than it should have, who was to say it hadn’t warped over such a long distance? Maybe Stoecker was no longer in front of him. They hadn’t been that far apart. Jack turned back to Dani. “How long had you been inside the building?”
“You mean my shop? I’ve been there all day. I closed up a few hours ago and stayed late to work on a special order—” She broke off, shook her head. “Why? Why do you want to know? Will you please just tell me what the hell is going on? I think I deserve that much.”
He took a step closer to her, crowding her back up against the locked door. “What you deserved was to be left alone to conduct your business. That didn’t happen.”
“I – uh – well, that’s very true,” she stammered, her eyes widening, but her gaze still holding tightly to his own. It was damn disconcerting, really. “I mean, you intrude right into the middle of my shop, then you smash up the hybrids that took me two weeks to track down in that particular color, and if you had any idea what kind of bridezilla I’m dealing with on all that, well, the very least you owe me is an explanation
—”
He covered her mouth with his hand, stopping her nervous babble. Her eyes went wider, but it was her brows furrowing in a very good show of temper that actually had his lips quirking, just a bit.
“I’ll explain,” he said. “But . . . no screaming.”
He slowly slid his hand away, and was surprised to discover that the slide of her soft lips across his palm was somewhat stirring.
“Why would I scream?” she asked, her voice quieter, but no less intense.
“Actually,” he said, “I suppose if you were a screamer, you’d have already done that.”
“I couldn’t scream then, I was in shock. I thought I was having a stroke, or an exploding brain tumor.”
He couldn’t help it, the smile threatened again. “And now?”
“And now I don’t know what to think. Why don’t you tell me your version of reality? Mine involves lengthy neurological testing, and possible electric-shock therapy, so I’m hoping yours sounds like more fun.”
He outright grinned at that. “I wish I could ease your mind, sweetheart, but, on that score . . . checking yourself in somewhere – anywhere – might be the better option.”
She frowned again. “Why? Who are you? Really.”
He felt her physically tense up, bracing for his response. Something about the way she shifted against him, however, had him thinking he wouldn’t mind checking in somewhere there, either. She felt soft and warm, and, he was pretty sure, possibly inviting – if he could remember how to be charming. It had been quite some time since he’d needed those particular skills. Which was probably why his body was thinking it was on holiday instead of on a mission gone horribly wrong.
Well, he knew one way to snap them both out of that particular hormonal stupor. “When I arrived in your shop, I had traveled a bit farther than from Papua New Guinea.”
She nodded calmly enough, but he saw her throat work. “Like, from another galaxy? Or something?”
His lips curved. “Nothing so exotic as that. I’m as human as you are.”
She sighed and relaxed somewhat, even as the most delightful flush warmed her cheeks. “So, did I just imagine you appearing in front of me like a hologram come to life?”
He shook his head.
“Then . . . ?”
“I didn’t travel through space, sweetheart, just through time.”
She let that sink in for a moment. “So, that’s why you wanted to know the year?”
He nodded.
“Which means . . . what time – year – exactly, did you travel from?” She glanced down between them, ostensibly, he assumed, at his clothing. “Not the past, surely.” She looked back up into his eyes.
And he had the most peculiar urge to kiss her. He shook his head, both in response to her and his own urges. “2563.” While she goggled a little at that, he turned the conversation back to the more immediate concern. “You said you’ve been here all day. No breaks? Did you leave at any time?”
“No, why? Listen,” she tugged at her wrists again, as if just remembering he still had them in his grip.