Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel (31 page)

That trait was one that so charmed him—that and her openness, and her warmth and kindness, and her plump, silken breasts. Those in particular charmed him, but he reminded himself that he was an erudite man, and not one who thought about his woman’s breasts, and how warm they felt, how soft they were, how delightfully they fit into his hands. Men of his ilk did not get erections just
thinking about the breasts of their women, not while those women were at that very moment being held captive.

He adjusted his bulging crotch, and ordered his brain to cease thinking about Kiya lying sated and drowsy in his bed, and instead to focus on how he was going to get her out of Andrew’s caravan without bringing the ire of Lenore Faa down onto their respective heads.

“Not that I should care if she is angry at Kiya,” he growled softly to himself as he shifted his position, remaining hidden by the darkness and the trees. “Lenore Faa’s opinion does not matter to me.”

But Kiya’s did, and he knew she’d be more than a little distraught if he forced her to give up her work for the old woman.

He didn’t have to like it, however.

Peter waited and watched, expecting movement, his gaze locked on William’s caravan. Just as he was about to chance being seen going after Kiya, the two men emerged, and banged on Lenore Faa’s door. He was too far away to catch what was said, but when she opened her door at last, her expression was plain enough—she was not happy.

William and Andrew mounted the stairs after she grudgingly gave them permission. This time, Peter didn’t wait to see what would happen. It would probably take William and Andrew at least five minutes to say whatever it was they had to say to Lenore Faa, and in that time, he could retrieve Kiya, and spirit her away to safety.

A mental stopwatch started as he dashed around the front of the caravan to the door. Thirty seconds to open the door. Another ten to make his way down the length of the dark interior. Five to peel off the duct tape that had
been placed across Kiya’s mouth, and another forty-seven to cut the tape wound around her ankles and wrists.

Thirty-two more seconds were spent in kissing her, after which time an alarm went off in his head.

“Hush,” he told her when she started spitting indignant threats toward Andrew. “We’ll verbally castrate him later. First we have to get out of here.”

“It’s not going to be such a verbal castration if I have my way,” she grumbled, and started forward. Peter ran into her when she stopped suddenly.

“Kiya, we don’t have time—”

Lights flooded the interior of the caravan.

“You see?” William’s voice was high and fat, filled with satisfaction as he heaved the slight form of Lenore Faa up the stairs. He pointed dramatically at them. “I told you he was here, stealing from us, and that the woman was helping him. Now you have to believe me. Now you must call a kris.”

“What’s a kris?” Kiya asked him in a whisper. He moved forward, pulling her back to his side while watching his father closely. Behind Lenore Faa, Andrew glowered.

“It’s another word for a tribunal,” Peter said calmly. He didn’t want Kiya to be any more frightened than she was, and could tell by the way her hand sought his that she was more worried than she let on. “It is called by Travellers to judge other Travellers.”

“You see we do you the honor of considering your blood,” William snarled before turning back to his mother. “You must admit that we cannot delay punishment any longer. He has taken from us that which was most dear, and he must pay the price. Both he and the woman, for she is clearly working for him.”

“OK, one, you’re a bastard,” Kiya said before he could stop her. “And two, I am not working for Peter. I’m helping him find a murderer, yes, and happily so because people who kill other people by sucking up all their time are just asshats. Big, gigantic, sombrero-sized asshats. Who should be locked up. Yes, I’m looking at you, Andrew.”

“Kiya,” Peter said with an obvious warning in his voice that he had a pretty good suspicion she’d just ignore.

She did, and spoke firmly to William. “What’s more, how dare you talk to your own son like that! Peter has never done anything to you, not that I can say the same about a baby-abandoning father!”

“That is enough,” he said firmly, giving her waist a meaningful squeeze. “Arguing with him will do no good.” He lifted his head to address the man who had severed all ties with his mother. “If you have something to say, you will say it to me. Kiya is not involved in any of my activities.”

“Then why did we find this in her purse?” Andrew shoved his arm past his silent grandmother. In his hand was the vial. “It is proof, puridaj. The woman was going to plant this proof upon one of us so that he might call in the Watch and have us all arrested. Call the kris!”

“You must call the kris,” William repeated, his eyes intent on his mother. “To delay is to let him damn us. We must be finished with this threat once and for all.”

“Or,” Kiya said, elbowing Peter when he tried to restrain her, “you could listen to the truth. Which is that Andrew, who is a—” She bit off the word, grinding her teeth for a moment before continuing. “Andrew stole Peter’s vial with evidence of who the murderer was. He
also probably stabbed him, since no one else really has a motive for that. Do they?”

She glanced up at him.

“I imagine there are quite a number of people who’d like to stab me, but none of them are in this region that I know of.” He met his grandmother’s gaze, and addressed her when he said, “We have not stolen from you or your family, Lenore Faa. We sought and reclaimed only what was mine—the vial that Andrew holds. They stole it from me and planted it here, in this caravan, using it as bait for which they hoped to trap us.”

“I hate to mention this,” Kiya said softly, “but I think the trap worked.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” he answered before addressing the old woman again. “As for the other charges that William Faa lays at our feet, they are ridiculous. Kiya is not working for me, and I have not sought the downfall of this family, nor have I stolen any valuable object from it.”

“You do not consider my nephew’s life valuable?” William gasped, holding tight to Lenore Faa’s arm. “Did you hear that? He does not consider the life of Gregory valuable. Does this not prove what I have said? Does this not validate our complaints—the complaints of all the family—against this man? He seeks to destroy us! Do not give him the means to do that.”

“What’s this about Gregory?” Kiya asked him.

“Do not act as if you had no hand stealing Gregory’s time!” Andrew screamed, shoving aside the old woman in his haste to get at them. “We know the truth! Gregory is gone, and it is you and the whore who killed him!”

“Whore?” Kiya rolled up her sleeves. “Oh, you did not just say that again. No, not even you, the man who
kept stealing my time, and probably hit me on the head so I thought zombies were after my brains, not even you would be so stupid as to use the word ‘whore’ in reference to me a third time. Because not only is that insulting to your grandmother—it shows that you have a tiny little penis and are compensating for that fact by slandering others in a pathetic attempt to pretend that your gentleman’s personal wang is an outie, and not an innie. Which it most likely is.”

Andrew sucked in approximately half the existing air in the caravan.

“IN ADDITION TO WHICH,” Kiya finished loudly, forestalling the inevitable explosion, “Peter would never steal anyone’s time, let alone that of his own cousin, because he learned that lesson with the tragic situation with Sunil. Not, I should point out, that it was his fault a drunk driver mowed down Sunil. So if you are implying that he killed Gregory by taking all his time—the very act that Peter is in the process of investigating, although obviously not concerning Gregory, since he was very much alive a little bit ago when I saw him coming out of my tent
right behind you
—then you are not only at a deficit in the penis department, but in brains, as well! And you can just take back that whore slur before I show you what a really pissed-off half-Traveller woman of
great virtue
does in response to such slander!”

“Of all the outrageous statements coming out of their mouths, the word ‘whore’ is what you fixate on?” Peter asked Kiya, unable to keep from smiling just a little. How she delighted him. Not only did she surprise him with almost every word out of that deliciously sweet mouth; she actually stood up for him. In front of his family. He had definitely made the right choice in selecting her
for his bride. If only she’d acknowledge that fact, they could get on with the business of being deliriously happy together.

“The woman is deranged!” Andrew told his grandmother. “How can you tolerate her presence? Do you not see what a threat she poses to the others? Do you care about your own family so little that you would tolerate an obviously insane slut like her to contaminate the very air we breathe?”

“Insane slut!”

Peter had to physically keep Kiya from attacking Andrew, and even then, he might not have been able to stop her from getting to him if Lenore Faa hadn’t spoken at that moment.

“That will be enough, Andrew. Kiya Mortenson, cease flailing your arms. Peter has enough common sense to not allow you the freedom to act upon your ill-conceived desires.”

“Just let me have a few minutes alone with him in a small room,” Kiya begged. “Just me and a rubber hose. Or maybe a baseball bat. A sheep gelding device would work, too, not that I think that he has much to—”

“Kiya!” Peter gave her another squeeze. She grumbled, but relaxed into his side. Pleased, he gave her a quick smile before fixing his gaze on the old woman, who shrugged off William’s hold and hobbled forward to stand before Kiya and him.

“You have left me no choice but to agree to the kris,” Lenore Faa told him.

Peter met her gaze without flinching, an odd feeling of empowerment stealing over him. He tried to pinpoint just why he felt that way, and was startled to realize that Kiya was responsible. She was warm pressed against
him, a delicate presence that nonetheless made him feel both extremely protective and astonishingly in control of the situation. He was half-inclined to examine this strange sensation more deeply, but recoiled in horror when he realized that such actions might qualify him for the label of “self-aware, sensitive man.”

“You have been caught red-handed, as the mortals say.”

Then there was the matter of this kris that Lenore Faa threatened to hold. But even in the face of such a situation—one fraught with danger, if his memory of the history of Travellers was accurate—even in the face of that, he was calm.

“And now I’m told that it isn’t just our property that you have stolen, but the life of a most-beloved grandson.”

“That is utter bull, and you know it,” Kiya snapped. “Gregory is no more dead than I am, not unless someone offed him in the last few minutes, because he was perfectly hale and hearty when I saw him coming out of my tent.”

His arm tightened around her. How she delighted him. Look at how irritated she was now, talking back to the woman who not only employed her but held a great deal of power. But his Kiya did not let that scare her. No, she was as brave as she was smart. She would give him strong, intelligent children.

“When was this?” the old woman asked.

He just wouldn’t mention to her the fact that their children would be born full-blooded Travellers. She might balk a bit at the idea of children who could control time.

“A little bit ago.” Kiya touched the side of her head.
“Someone bashed me on the head—again, which I can tell you I don’t appreciate in the least. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t suffer some sort of permanent brain trauma. My poor id will be all mixed up with my superego, who she dislikes intensely because my superego tries to tell the others what to do, and my ego will think he’s an id, which is ridiculous, because he’s not in the least bit idlike.”

The thought of making those children was an absorbing one, but regretfully not suitable for the moment. He made a promise to himself that he’d trot out the idea later, when he could act upon his whims.

He became aware that Lenore Faa and the two others were staring at Kiya as if she’d just said something outrageous. He searched his memory of what it was she had been saying. Something about her inner voices?

She gave a little embarrassed cough. “Anyway, Gregory was fine just before I was knocked out, and since it’s still night, that can’t have been that long ago.”

Peter looked down at her, anger gripping him in a red-hot vise. “Someone
struck
you?”

“Weren’t you paying attention? I mentioned that ages ago. Well, almost a minute ago.” She squinted up at him. “Why do you have that confused look? Were you daydreaming while we’re being falsely charged with offing your male-model cousin?”

“I wasn’t daydreaming. I never daydream. I wouldn’t know how to daydream if I wanted to. I was merely thinking about our children,” he told her calmly. Zen, that was the word to describe his mental state. Other than the fury over the idea of someone striking her. He was Zen with a side of fury.

She looked startled. “What children?”

“The ones we’re going to have. Don’t worry about
training them—I will help with the process. Who struck you?”

“We’re going to have children?”

“Kiya,” he said sternly, giving her his best frown. “Please keep your mind on the situation at hand. Who was it who hit you?”

She rubbed her head. “You’re the one who brought up kids. And you bet you’re going to help with the potty training. I don’t know for certain who whomped me on the brain, but I’m willing to bet it was him.” She pointed at William.

Peter turned his eyes to the man who was his father, and for the first time in his life seriously considered using his abilities to harm another person.

“Oh, no,” Kiya told him, clearly reading his expression accurately. “If I can’t, you can’t. It’s only fair. And besides, he’s your father.”

“If he was the one who struck you, then it matters little who he is.” The fury in him grew with the thought of his family taking out their ire at him on the soft, warm, wholly unique, and utterly precious woman at his side.