Final Hours (12 page)

Elizabeth braced herself
for fury, retaliation,
violent denials.

Kane surprised her on all counts. He pulled her into his
arms and held on to her.

She clutched the front of his borrowed shirt, horrified by
the thought of going after Guy, alone. The bold black headlines from the paper
in Kane’s hand horrified her more.

“Beth.” He whispered against her hair. “I can’t let you do
this.”

“Who else is there?”

He jerked back, hope in his grey eyes. “Another agent.” He
let her go and activated his transport. “If I can get through to Mac, he can
send another agent to stop…” His voice faded, and he dropped his arm.

“What is it?” That hope died so quickly it scared her.
“Kane. Talk to me.”

“We don’t have enough time.”

“What do you mean? We can go back, anytime, right before Guy
killed him, and stop it from happening—what?” Kane shook his head. “What don’t
I know?”

“We discovered not long after the project started that once
something happened in the past—something caused by one of our agents—the portal
starts a real time countdown. We have only twenty-four hours to go back and correct
it, before it becomes a permanent part of history.”

Her heart tried to lodge itself in her throat. “According to
the article, Ramsay was killed hours before he was found, most likely sometime
in the late afternoon. Oh, God—”

“You understand now.” Kane paced away from her. “Guy killed
him before we met. Most likely right before we met.”

Elizabeth took the time to calculate in her head, though she
already knew the answer.

“That means—”

“We have to get back there today.”

~ ~ ~

They decided to
take refuge with Bridget while
Kane tried to reprogram the transport. Elizabeth didn’t hold out much hope.
Whatever Guy had done, it seemed to be irreversible. Kane couldn’t even get
through to the lab. Which meant their chance of getting back in time to save
Ramsay was slim.

Her grip on Kane’s hand tightened as they walked through the
city. Even with the photos she had seen to prepare her, the devastation left
her speechless, and heartsick.

Entire streets had been leveled, leaving nothing but the
foundation, maybe a wall, and a pile of rubble and broken furniture to mark
what had once been a home, a business, a life. Men swarmed over the ruins.
Elizabeth pegged them as the Heavy Rescue team, skilled men who worked to
safely and quickly rescue those trapped in the bombed buildings. She knew they
would find the dead as well as the living; bodies of those who had been caught
by surprise, or refused to leave their home.

Kane started the journey by holding her hand. To keep her
from being separated, she told herself. By the time they reached Bridget’s street
he had his left arm around her, Elizabeth firmly tucked against his side. She
wasn’t the only one affected by the destruction.

They both halted at the corner, and he let her go. Every
house on the block had been flattened, except for one at the far end.
Please—not
Bridget’s house.

“What is her address?”

Elizabeth jumped at his voice. He hadn’t spoken since they
left the street in front of Holborn station. She dug the card out of her
pocket. “Number twenty-eight.”

Kane took her hand and they walked down the middle of the
street, the only safe place to navigate—safe being a relative term. The house
on the end looked like it had been dropped in place after the bombing.

It stood on its own plot of land, set back from the street,
which probably saved it. That, and what was left of a screen of trees across
the front of the property. A gate still attached to the mostly intact stone
wall told them the address. Relief washed through her as she read the number—it
was twenty-eight.

The only damage she saw as they headed down the gravel path
that led to the door were some broken windows, and gouges out of the brick
façade. From flying debris, most likely.

Light poured through the windows, and people moved around
inside. A lot of people.

“Wait.” Kane stopped before they reached the front door.
“Are you certain you can trust her?”

It was far too late to be asking herself that question. She
wasn’t about to tell Kane how much Bridget knew; he had enough on his plate.
“Yes.”

He nodded, and they climbed the front steps. She had to
pound on the door several times before it opened. Bridget stood in the entry, a
smile brightening her face.

“Welcome, both of you. Please, come in out of that cold.”
She closed the door behind them, and pulled Elizabeth, then Kane, into a hug. “It
seems all the luck landed on my home. Please excuse the noise, and the chaos.
All my neighbors are here, at my invitation… what is it, my dear girl?”

Elizabeth should have guessed the older woman would notice.
“We need a quiet place, to—make some plans.”

“Of course. Let me think… the attic is still unoccupied.”
Bridget took her hand, guided them through the groups of people, toward the
staircase. “I will bring up some blankets, and what food I can scrounge. I am
afraid there will be a scarcity of either.”

“Whatever you can spare.” Elizabeth hugged her. “Thank
you—again.”

“There is a bed in the corner of the attic, made up for any
who needed temporary shelter. Take advantage of it, and take some rest.” She
reached up and patted Kane’s cheek. “Both of you. And watch your head, lad. The
ceiling up there is rather low.”

She bustled off, stopping to run her hand over the head of a
little girl who sat in another woman’s lap. Kane started up the stairs, taking
them two at a time. He waited for her at the top. When she joined him she
understood why. Bridget had greatly understated; the low ceiling would force
him to bend over, quite a bit.

She took his hand. “Come and sit on the bed.”

“Fine.”

Biting her lip on a smile, she moved forward, the lowest ceiling
beams brushing the top of her head. At just over five foot four she knew she
was almost a foot shorter than Kane. Sure enough, he was bent almost in half,
and not happy about it.

Once he sat on the bed, he had fewer issues. But if he stood
too fast, he risked knocking himself out. The peaked center of the room was his
only safe spot, so if he wanted to stand, or pace, he’d have to take really
short strides.

Elizabeth sat long enough to take off her boots and her
socks. Her feet thanked her as she let them breathe. The attic was surprisingly
warm, with threadbare rugs of all sizes and colors spread across the wood
floor.

She explored, and tried to keep her mind from hashing out
their problem, over and over. What she wouldn’t give to have her notebook.
Being able to sketch would have taken her mind off everything—and she could
indulge her fascination with Kane’s sculpted face, without embarrassing herself
by staring at him.

She glanced over at him, watched as he slipped the holster
off his waistband and slid it under the bed. He bent over and unlaced his heavy
boots, using his left hand to pull each one off. His careful movements told her
his shoulder bothered him. When he pulled off his socks, she looked away. What
was it about a barefoot man? With his shoes off, it felt more personal. More intimate.

Once she worked up the nerve to look at him again, he was hunched
over the transport, touching buttons, and staring at the screen. The constant,
low cursing told her his lack of progress.

“Whatever Guy did to my transport, it now blocks any direct transmission
to the lab. I boosted the signal as much as I can, without any equipment.
Hopefully, it will be enough for Mac to find on their end.”

Elizabeth swallowed. “We could miss the window to save
Ramsay.”

Kane looked at her. “I wish I could say no. There is nothing
more I can do here. It’s up to Mac now.”

She hugged her waist, feeling more helpless than before.

A young boy appeared in the doorway, juggling a jar of
water, a blanket, and a small basket of food. “Mrs. Bridget sent this up.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She crossed the room, grateful
for the distraction, and took the jar before he dropped it. A vivid flush
stained his cheeks as he handed over the basket and blanket. He clattered down
the stairs before she could say anything else. The contents of the basket had
her stomach rumbling.

Kane watched her as she moved back to the bed, sat down, and
lifted the basket so he could see it. “Is that cheese?”

“Yes, it is.” It looked incredibly rich and creamy. There
were a couple of slices of bread and a handful of crackers to go with it.

She handed him the water. He set it on the floor, and his
gaze followed her every move as she split the cheese, spread each half over
bread. His scrutiny made her so nervous she nearly dropped the bread knife. She
cleared her throat and handed him one of the cheese loaded slices.

His eyes practically rolled back in his head with the first
bite. “Oh, good Lord. I could die happy now.” He winked at her. “Almost.”

Did he just flirt with her? No—she was blowing it out of
proportion. She joined him in the food love, her first taste of the creamy,
tangy cheese and soft bread like a bit of heaven. It took all her control not
to devour it.

To keep from doing so, she picked up the jar of water,
forced herself to take small sips between each bite. The first sip became
another temptation to guzzle. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was until the
cool liquid slid down her throat.

Kane held out his hand for the jar, and used the same
restraint, taking a few sips before he closed it and set it back on the floor.
When he finished his cheese and bread, he grabbed half of the crackers and lay
back on the bed. A curse had him shooting right up.

“Are you okay—oh, your shoulder.” He moved easier in the
warmth of the attic, and she’d forgotten about the cuts marking it. Apparently,
so had he. “Let me take a look. We may need to change the bandages.”

“Not necessary.”

She pressed her lips together, to keep from smiling. She
knew exactly what he was thinking—more iodine. “I just want to make sure there
isn’t any new bleeding.”

With a drawn out sigh, he scooted to the edge of the bed, his
fingers fumbling over the buttons on his shirt. It should have been perfectly
innocent, but Elizabeth felt her heartbeat speed up, all too aware of the well-defined
chest under that shirt. Kane flinched as he started to pull the shirt off.

“Wait,” she said. She crawled around to his back. “Let me
help you.”

“Beth—”

“On three. One, two, three.” She eased the shirt down his
arms before he had time to protest. The patchwork of bandages came into view;
with the exception of the one above his shoulder blade, there was no new
spotting. “Hold still. I’m going to check the worst of the cuts.”

He grumbled under his breath. She took that as a yes, and
carefully peeled the white strip at the top of the bandage. His skin flinched
as the adhesive that was stuck to it pulled away, reluctantly. The cut
underneath looked raw, but there were no signs of infection that she could see.

“You’re good.” Really, really good. The strong lines of his
back made her hands itch. “You definitely don’t want to be lying on it anytime
soon, or engaging in contact sports, but other than that, it should heal
nicely.”

“No contact sports?” He sounded amused. “Now that I’ve been
approved, can you please help me with my shirt? I prefer not to be so—exposed.”

“Of course.”
Nitwit, idiot, brainless git—

She called herself every name she could think of. Here she
was, wanting to touch every inch of that warm skin, and he wanted to hide from
her.

Kane hissed when the heavy fabric brushed his right
shoulder.

“I’m sorry—”

“Not your fault, love. Can you…” His voice faded as he waved
at the buttons. He was clearly embarrassed to ask.

“Hold still.” Careful not to touch him, she pushed each horn
buttons through its buttonhole. His breath distracted her, warm on her cheek as
he leaned down to watch the progress. His clean, woodsy scent threatened to
overwhelm her. “Kane,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Can you not—”

“What, Beth.” She lifted her head—and found him inches away,
his grey eyes darker, intense. She realized the helpless act had been a ploy. “You
smell like spring in my garden. God help me,” he whispered. “I can’t do this
any longer.”

She was already moving in when he captured her lips.

They both moaned at the contact. It was different this time;
instead of overpowering her, he drew out the kiss. His lips tasted, his tongue
teased. Her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt. She needed—oh, God she
needed him. Wanted him.

Before she could move Kane caught her around the waist and
settled her in his lap. His hard length pressed against her, and she couldn’t
help herself. She moved closer. The heat, the feel of him left her breathless.

He deepened the kiss, and her body responded. She wanted to
be closer, touch all of him, feel that heat inside her. His tongue stroked
hers, matched her rhythm as she rocked against him. With a harsh gasp he broke
off the kiss.

“Beth—I need you to—”

“Stop?” She sounded as breathless as him.

“God, no.” He cradled her cheek, his fingers trembling. “I
want you, Elizabeth Barritt. I have never wanted another woman like this, never
let them in. I don’t quite know how it happened with you.” His lips brushed over
hers, whisper soft. “But there it is. I don’t want to rush. I need to touch
you, all of you.” She swallowed, her desire building with every word. “Let me
just touch you.”

Elizabeth nodded—and gasped when he closed his mouth over
her breast.