Kit heard him out: The job sounded intriguing. A lucrative, full-time consultantship, unlimited trips to a time he was pretty sure he'd never visited, as primary consultant to the Time Tours agent looking to develop a new gate destination, paid apartments at TT-27's finest luxury hotel.. .
It was a magnificent chance to escape Neo Edo's paperwork and the endless stream of raucous, thieving tourists. Kit scratched his chin and thought about it Leaving TT-86 meant leaving friends. And he did owe it to Jimmy and the other retired time scouts in his employment to look after them. He wouldn't sell out to just anyone.
"No," he decided, "I don't think so, Mr. Fisk. I have a hotel to run."
"We would be more than happy to install a full-time manager for the duration of your consultantship, Mr. Carson. Time Tours wants the best for this project."
Huh. Now there was a fat offer. Paradise for as long as he wanted to live in it and he kept his steady income, too. And somebody else did the paperwork. The image of Margo, her face pinched and white as she stood over his table staring him down, flashed through his mind.
Dammit, kid, stay out of my head.
Kit toyed with his cold eggs, scooting them back and forth on the plate with the tines of his fork. He'd been waiting for something like this for a long time.
"No," he found himself saying. "I appreciate the offer, really; but not just now"
Mr. Fisk's face fell-ludicrously. "I really wish you would reconsider, Mr. Carson."
Kit shrugged. "Ask me again in a week or so. We time scouts are a changeable lot."
Fisk tightened his lips imperceptibly. "Yes, so I've discovered. Well, you have my card, but my employers are most anxious to press ahead with this project and there are other retired time scouts on my list."
Kit nodded. "I expect there are. And I'm sure most of them need the job more than I do." He held out his hand. Fisk shook it, betraying grudging respect in his eyes.
"If you reconsider your position in the next two days, please let me know."
He had until Primary cycled to change his mind.
Kit didn't foresee that happening.
Mr. Fisk left him with his cold eggs.
"Huh. It was probably a scam, anyway," Kit muttered. "Too good to be true equals dubious in my book. Besides, who wants to live in the Bermuda Triangle?" He could do that by Jumping down La-La Land's unstable gate. He shove Fisk's business card into his pocket and tackled his cold breakfast, telling himself his decision had nothing to do with keeping track of that stupid little imp, Margo.
Sure it doesn't, Kit. And toadie frogs got wings.
He muttered into his scraggly mustache and finished his morning paper, determined not to think about Margo or her suicide mission. Why was it, Kit mourned silently, that all the real trouble in his life inevitably came skipping in on the coattails of some irresistibly pretty girl?
If word of this got around ...
Well, he'd just take his lumps and deal with the snickers. What Kit Carson did, or didn't do, was his own damned business. Yeah. Mine and the rest of La-La Land's. He signaled Bertie for a fresh cup of coffee and promptly fell to worrying about where Margo was going to find someone reputable enough to trust with her life. Maybe he could talk to Sergei or Leon or ...
No, he told himself, if you won't teach her yourself, do not try and line up somebody else for the job. Frankly, he couldn't think of a single time scout who'd be willing to try it, anyway.
Vastly relieved by that observation, Kit put Margo firmly out of mind.
Why, Margo wailed silently, does he have to be so beastly? She'd found a quiet spot under a vine-covered portico in Urbs Romae where she could sit with knees tucked under chin and indulge in a good, long cry.
Mom warned me ...
That only brought fresh misery and a new flood of angry tears. She wiped her cheek with the back of one fist and sniffed hugely. "I won't give up. Damn him, I won't. There just has to be someone else on this miserable station who'll teach me."
So far, she had struck out with everyone she'd approached, even the freelance guides like Malcolm Moore. At least most of them had been nicer about it than Kit Carson. Even a brusque "Get lost, brat" was kinder than gruesome images of people being tortured to death.
"I'll bet he doesn't have any lousy scars," she sniffed. "And Sam One-Eagle probably isn't any more real than, these stupid fake columns. He doesn't want me to be a scout, is all, so he's trying to scare me."
The thought of returning to Minnesota and the jeers ...
Never mind her father ....
Margo shivered and hugged her knees more tightly.
"Hell will freeze over first."
"Hell will freeze over before what?"
Margo jumped nearly out of her skin. The voice had spoken almost in her ear. She swung around and found a face peering at her through the vines. A male face. A gorgeous male face. Margo's personal-defense radar surged onto full-power alert. She'd had all she wanted of gorgeous men. But his winning smile was the friendliest thing she'd seen in two and a half days and after that miserable, gawdawful interview with Kit Carson ...
"Hey, what's wrong?" He'd noticed the tears. Whoever he was, he ducked under the vines and dug for a handkerchief. "Here, use mine."
Margo eyed him suspiciously, then accepted the hanky. "Thanks." She dried her face and blew her nose, then wadded up the handkerchief and offered it back.
"No, keep it. You look like you need it more than I do." He sat down cross-legged on the floor. "You're still a little drippy," he added with an attempt at a laugh.
Margo grimaced and blotted her cheeks. "Sorry. I'm not normally so weepy. But it's been a bad week."
"What's wrong? You look half starved."
Margo sniffed. She was. "Well ...it's been a couple of days since I ate."
"A couple of days? Good grief, what happened? Some con artist steal all your money?"
Margo laughed, surprising herself. "No. I didn't have much to steal in the first place. And what there was, I've used up. All I have left is my suitcase and a hotel bill I can't pay tonight"
He tipped his head to one side. "Are you the girl everyone's talking about? The one who wants to become a time scout?"
"Oh, God..." Insult on top of injury.
"Hey, no, don't cry again. Honest, it's okay. I've been looking for you."
Margo blinked and stared at him. "Why?"
"I'm a scout. I've been looking for a partner."
"Honest?" Her voice came out all watery and breathy It couldn't be true-but oh, Lord, how she wanted it to be...
He grinned. "Honest. My name's Jackson. Skeeter Jackson. I just got back from a quick run up time and heard you were looking for a teacher. I've been thinking I need a partner for a while-that's why I was uptime, actually-then I come back and what do I find The challenge of a lifetime, right in my own back yard!" He grinned and held out a hand.
Margo couldn't believe it. A week of her precious six months gone and all she'd had to show for it was a collection of insults, and now ...maybe there was a God, after all. She'd be careful-Billy Pandropolous, who was enough heartbreak for any lifetime, had taught her nothing, if not that. But Skeeter Jackson didn't appear to be hustling her. At least, not yet. She shook his hand. "Mr. Jackson, if you're for real-well, you'll be a lifesaver. I mean it. And I promise, I will work as hard as I have to. I'll make you proud." She ventured a tentative smile, appealing directly to what men seemed to value most. "I'll even try to make you rich."
Skeeter Jackson's eyes were warm, friendly. "I'm sure you will. Come on, let me buy you some breakfast."
He gave her a hand up. Margo dried her cheeks again and gave him a brave smile. "Thanks. I'll pay you back ....
He laughed and gallantly offered his arm: "Don't mention it. I'll take it out of your wages."