Stolen Time Page 10

  Just three more feet . . . two . . . one . . .

  Dorothy burst through the surface of the water, gasping. The air burned, but she gulped it down anyway. It tasted sweet. When her eyes focused, she caught sight of two things simultaneously: the narrow dock set against the outer edge of the hotel wall—and Roman.

  Roman stood balanced on the windowsill eight stories above, calmly reloading his gun. Wind whipped his coat around his legs, causing the black cloth to billow and swell.

  “That was very brave!” he shouted, but the wind ate snippets of his voice so that it sounded like “. . . at . . . wa . . . ery . . . brave!”

  Dorothy ignored him. He was too high up to do anything but shoot at her. She kicked through the water, grasped the dock, and dug her fingers into the slats between the wood. She pulled—

  A thud sounded above, followed by a grunt. She looked up.

  Roman was two stories lower than he’d been a moment ago, climbing down the scaffolding, gun sticking out of the waistband of his trousers. Dorothy could see the muscles moving beneath his coat, flexing and relaxing easily, like this was something he’d done many times before. He dropped onto a patio on the fifth floor, and then whipped over the side of the ledge, holding on with one hand while the other reached for the windowsill beside him.

  “You learn a few things growing up around here,” he shouted. “Bouldering, in particular, is a useful skill. I hate getting wet.”

  He swung, fluidly, to the floor below and then crept along the narrow ledge, like a circus performer walking a tightrope, before dropping onto a third-floor patio.

  Blast. Dorothy pulled with all her strength, scrambling onto the dock. She heard another thump. Roman must’ve leaped to the second floor. Limbs still stiff with cold, she pushed herself to her hands and knees and then up to her feet. Her legs wobbled, threatening to collapse.

  Another thud—this one made the dock below her feet tremble. Dorothy lifted her head. Roman stood in front of her, gun hanging lazily from one hand.

  He frowned and gestured with his gun. “You look nervous.”

  The statement was so ludicrous that Dorothy couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. “You kidnapped me.”

  “Barely.”

  “You were going to kill me.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “You . . . you shot at me,” Dorothy sputtered. Pain beat in her arm where the bullet had grazed her.

  Roman shrugged with one shoulder. “How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

  He took a step toward her, rolling his weight from heel to toes in a way that kept the dock from rocking. It was a slow, careful movement, and it made Dorothy feel like prey. She took an instinctive step backward as Roman lifted both hands, surrendering. The gun dangled from one thumb.

  “Honestly, I’m surprised,” he said. “I thought you’d be curious.”

  “Curious?” Dorothy swallowed, one eye still trained on the gun. She didn’t know what he was talking about. She considered running, but her arm ached from her bullet wound, and her pants were so heavy with water they were slipping from her hips. “About what?”

  “Don’t you want to know why I took you?”

  Dorothy thought of the drunk man who’d smelled of rotten fish. Real men take what they want. Her eyes flicked back to Roman’s face. “I assumed you wanted to rob and kill me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Roman leaned toward her, like he was about to tell her a secret. His breath smelled of mint leaves. “The truth is, I’ve been watching you.”

  Liar, Dorothy thought. It was the sort of thing she could imagine saying to some foolish man to lower his defenses. I’ve been watching you from across the room, and you’re ever so handsome. Would you mind terribly if I joined you?

  “You can’t have been,” she said. “I just got here.”

  Something in Roman’s face shifted, though Dorothy couldn’t have said exactly what it was. It was like he’d winked at her, but he hadn’t. “I’ve been watching you for longer.”

  “How?”

  “My darling, Alice. When you followed the white rabbit down the rabbit hole, you fell into a world where time is a circle instead of a line.”

  White rabbit? A chill spread over Dorothy’s skin, raising the hair on her arms. “What does that mean?”

  “Didn’t you ever read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?” Roman shook his head, twirling the gun around on his thumb. “Pity. It’s one of the great works of literary nonsense. You should pick it up. I believe it was around in your time, but I admit I don’t exactly remember when it was published.”

  He knows, Dorothy realized. Somehow, impossibly, he knew that she’d come from the past.

  She remembered the feeling she’d gotten on the docks, right before Roman had kidnapped her. The feeling of having lived this moment before.

  Her skin creeping, she repeated, “Time is a circle instead of a line. Are you trying to say that you’ve seen the future?”

  A wolf’s smile flashed across his face. “Perhaps. Perhaps I’ve even seen yours. Is there something you want to know?”

  Dorothy took a step toward Roman, almost without realizing what she was doing. Questions blew through her head like so many colorful pieces of confetti.

  Will I have to face my mother again? Is Ash going to send me back to 1913? Do I end up married to Avery? Will I ever see . . . ?

  Her heartbeat was cannon fire. She blinked, refocusing on Roman’s face. In the moonlight, his eyes were dark navy, not nearly as bright as they’d seemed before. In that moment, she would’ve given him anything he asked for if it meant knowing her future. She’d have handed over her soul like it was a forgotten scarf.

  She shook her head, and the confetti questions blew away. Instead, she saw her mother’s withered hand, yellowed fingernails tapping. She heard Loretta’s too-sharp voice. Everything’s a con.

  Nobody offered something for nothing. If Roman was promising her future, he must want something in return.

  A shadow crept around the edge of the concrete structure on the other side of the narrow waterway, saving Dorothy the trouble of considering his proposal any further. Roman was facing away and didn’t see it, but Dorothy could follow the shadow’s movement from the corner of her eye.

  She didn’t want to draw Roman’s attention to it, so she blinked, letting her focus shift back to his face. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You’ve impressed me.” There was something hungry in the way he looked at her. “You escaped your cell, listened in on a private conversation, jumped out of an eighth-story window. It would be a shame to rid the world of your talents. I’d like to offer you a job.”

  “A job?” This caught Dorothy off guard. She was momentarily at a loss for words—flattered even—until she remembered that Roman had kidnapped and shot her. Indignation took the flattery’s place. “I’m not for sale.”

  Roman picked an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. “Everything’s for sale.”

  Dorothy was overcome with the sudden desire to slap him, a desire she might have given in to if he hadn’t been holding a gun. Through her teeth, she said, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I’m rarely disappointed.” Now, he did wink. “In fact, I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”

  In the background, the shadow grew closer. It looked like a bear, at first, but then he stepped into the light and Dorothy recognized the man from the bar. His name was . . . Willis, wasn’t it? He caught her eye and lifted a single finger to his mouth. Quiet.

  Stalling, she said, “Why would I do that?”

  “Power.” Roman smiled again, that same wolf’s smile, all teeth and twitching lips. “Money. What more could a person want?”

  Dorothy felt a pang somewhere deep inside her chest. He reminded her of her mother. You put everything we’ve worked for at risk. As though that was all there was. It made her feel strangely empty, that Roman would look at her and think she was the sort of girl wh
o cared only for money and power. As in the chapel, she was again struck by the thought that her outsides and her insides didn’t fit together. That there’d been some mistake.

  Luckily, Willis chose that moment to leap for the dock. He seemed to hover in the air for far longer than physically possible before curling a massive forearm around Roman’s neck. Roman choked out an expletive, and the two of them fell back with a splash, disappearing below. A spray of droplets cascaded onto the dock, soaking Dorothy’s bare feet.

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second, long enough to watch the ripples spread across the surface of the water as she contemplated how strange this all was. Why had this man she barely knew come to save her? What could he possibly expect in return?

  Then, shaking the questions off, she picked a direction and ran.

  14

  Ash

  Ash waited out of sight, back pressed against the grimy bricks of the Fairmont, cold wind nipping at his neck. He wanted to see what was going on around the side of the hotel but couldn’t risk blowing his cover.

  Snippets of conversation blew toward him.

  “What . . . talents . . .”

  “. . . money . . .”

  He strained to listen, but the wind was a roar in his ears, and the voices were low murmurs. Ash hunched down in his jacket, rubbing his chapped hands together to keep the blood pumping. Any second now . . .

  A shout cut through his thoughts—followed by a splash that sounded like bodies hitting water. Willis had made his move. Ash whipped around the corner of the hotel and—

  Wham. Something small and soft and smelling of wet denim slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. He stumbled, hands clutching for his chest.

  Dorothy flew back onto the dock, hitting the wood with a thud. She looked wet and pale, her sopping curls sticking to her face. Her legs were angled to either side of her, reminding Ash of a baby fawn just learning to walk.

  But she was alive. Ash had a sudden flash of her frail body sinking through the water, bullets whizzing past her. He was unreasonably relieved that she hadn’t been hurt.

  He swallowed, struggling to catch his breath. “Damn it, woman,” he croaked. “Where in God’s name were you going?”

  Dorothy pushed the sopping hair off her face, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to rescue you.”

  She propped herself up on one arm. “Why?”

  Ash was pretty sure she wouldn’t have asked him that if she knew how guilty he felt about baiting her back at the tavern. It was his fault she was in this mess. She must think he was a pretty terrible person if she thought he wouldn’t come after her.

  But, out loud, all he said was, “Because you needed help.”

  She looked skeptical. “Well aren’t you a Good Samaritan?” Water splashed onto the dock, interrupting her. Roman and Willis had thrashed back to the surface and Roman seemed to be trying to lift his gun. Dorothy flinched and pulled her legs away from the edge. “He just leaped at him, you know. Was that the whole plan? Leaping?”

  Ash felt the corner of his lip twitch, but he quickly bit the smile back, reminding himself that this was the second time he’d gone out of his way to help this girl, only to have his efforts thrown back in his face. “We would’ve had everything under control if you hadn’t jumped out a window,” he pointed out.

  “I had to jump. He was going to kill me!”

  Her voice caught on the word kill. Ash frowned, suddenly struck by the knowledge that she was scared and that it was only coming across as anger because she didn’t like admitting that she was scared. He cupped the back of his neck with one hand, ashamed of himself for taking the bait.

  She looked pretty pitiable right now, crouched on the dock, soaking wet and shivering. He remembered, again, the sight of her body sinking. The rush of relief when he realized she was okay. Heat climbed his neck.

  “Here,” he grunted, and reached for her arm, but she gasped and jerked away. Annoyance flared through him, and he snapped. “Do you want help or don’t you?”

  “It’s not you,” Dorothy gasped, nodding at her arm. “I—I was shot.”

  The idea that he’d hurt her made Ash feel even guiltier than he did already. Swearing, he knelt on the dock beside her, carefully folding her sleeve back. Her skin was a deep, ugly red, fading to purple, but at least it wasn’t bleeding. The bullet had just grazed her.

  “You’ll be all right,” he said, tracing the bruise with his thumb. “The shot didn’t even break skin.”

  Dorothy’s eyes fluttered closed, the pain clear on her face. But she didn’t cringe, didn’t gasp or cry out. Ash was impressed. The bruise had to hurt like hell.

  “So it’s a good bullet wound,” she mumbled, standing. Again, Ash’s lip twitched—almost a smile.

  Willis was crawling back onto the dock, pulling Roman along with him by the collar of his shirt, like a kitten. Roman tried to lift his gun, but Willis swatted it from his hand and the weapon skidded across the dock, coming to a stop just feet from where Ash crouched.

  Ash lunged for it, fingers curling around the familiar grip. It was his gun, after all. The navy-issue snub-nosed S & W revolver he’d had since 1945. Roman had stolen it a year ago, the night he’d left. Holding it now, Ash felt something shift into place. A wrong made right.

  He knocked a boot into Roman’s shoulder, and Roman lifted his head, eyelids heavy.

  “Oh my,” Roman droned, and Ash’s shoulders went stiff at the familiarity of his voice. “Gang’s all here.”

  Ash wasn’t prepared for the revulsion that rose in his chest. He had his old gun in his hand and Roman, broken, on the ground in front of him. He’d expected to be angry but this was more than that—it was a force of nature. Everything in him wanted to grab his old friend by the collar and slam the butt of his gun into his temple. To hit him until he bled.

  He leveled his gun at Roman’s head. “How’d you do it?”

  “How’d I steal your gun?” Roman coughed, spitting up water. “You used to keep the damn thing in your bedside table, and you sleep like the dead. It was like you wanted someone to steal it.”

  “The ship, Roman.” Ash held the gun steady, though his arm trembled with anger. He thought of the Black Crow, sitting in a garage below their feet. “You built a time machine. How?”

  Roman gave him a withering look. “I worked alongside the Professor for much longer than you did. You think he never taught me anything?”

  “He’s lying,” Willis said through clenched teeth. Ash thought so, too. The Professor wouldn’t have taught Roman something so valuable. He hadn’t even taught Zora, his own daughter.

  “You need to train your monster better,” Roman murmured, eyes flicking off Willis and then back again. “He speaks out of turn.”

  Willis lurched forward, grabbed Roman by the collar of his jacket, and lifted him into the air. The blood drained from Roman’s face. His feet dangled inches above the dock.

  “What did you call me?” Willis growled.

  “Willis,” Ash warned. His friend’s eyes were molten, his mouth a savage crack in the stone of his face. It was a cruel twist of irony that he looked most like a monster when people called him one. “Put him down.”

  “Yes, Willis,” said a new voice, one that sent a chill straight through Ash’s bones. “Put him down.”

  Ash lifted his eyes from Roman’s face, resettling them on a figure standing a few feet down the dock. Heavy coat. Dark hood. She lifted her arm, and Ash hardly had time to register the tiny, silver gun she was holding before the portion of dock directly in front of his left foot exploded in a mess of wood and water.

  He stumbled backward, swearing. He could feel Dorothy shrink behind him, one hand dropping onto his arm.

  “I saw her,” she whispered fiercely. “She was in the room with Roman.”

  “That’s Quinn,” Ash spat, eyes moving over the sketchy white fox painted across the figure’s coat.

  Quinn cracked off a
nother shot, and Ash felt the heat of it whizz past his leg.

  “The boat’s around the corner,” he said. “Go wait there.” Dorothy didn’t argue. Ash heard the patter of her feet against the dock as she hurried over to where the boat was tied. Willis came up beside him, fingers curling into fists, his eyes on Quinn’s gun.

  “These are more difficult to aim than I thought they’d be.” Quinn let the gun dangle from her fingers, sounding bored. “You should have told me.”

  She tossed the gun to Roman, who had just pushed himself to his feet. He caught it in one hand and said, “You always preferred knives.”

  “True.” Quinn whipped two pencil-thin daggers out from the folds of her coat sleeves and struck them together. The sound of clashing metal was almost like music.

  Ash caught Willis’s eye and knew the giant was thinking the same thing. Every bar in New Seattle echoed with stories of what Quinn could do with those knives. Shredded skin and ribbons of blood. Ash was pretty good with a pistol but, just now, it felt like a toy.

  “We’re leaving,” he said, raising both hands. He took a step backward.

  “It’s too late for that,” Quinn said, cutting her blades against each other. There was something dark and brown crusted on the metal. An unpleasant emotion flipped through Ash’s chest.

  He leveled the gun as Quinn lunged—

  A motor cut through the air, and Ash’s boat jerked forward, Dorothy crouched inside, both hands over her ears. Ash was impressed for a fraction of a second, and then the boat shuddered past him, nearly passing the dock entirely.

  Shit, he thought, moving his eyes away from Quinn. Quinn swiped at him with her dagger, catching the side of his face with the tip of the blade. Heat burned through his cheek, but Ash didn’t have time to retaliate. The boat was leaving without them. . . .

  He raced down the length of the dock and leaped for it, landing hard in the back. He heard a splash in the water and realized Willis had dived in after him.

  “I didn’t think it would keep going,” Dorothy explained, breathless. “I pulled on that thing in the back there, and then—”