Timeless (41 page)

The attendant, now joined by two others, one blond the other dark-headed, stood watching, their expressions stony.

She had to say something.

“Do you think there could have been some kind of exhaust leak or something, to put us both under like that?” Regan asked.

“No one else was affected,” the blonde women said, her tone dismissive.

“Should we go to the hospital for blood tests or something?” Regan asked. “Just to be sure.”

“How do you feel?” the familiar flight attendant asked, a frown working its way across her face.

“Shaky —” That wasn’t a lie. Regan recognized annoyance rather than concern in the woman’s face.

“We’ve both been working eighteen hour days, Regan. It’s just exhaustion,” Quinn said as he ran a hand over his face. He unhooked his seatbelt, rose to his feet, and stretched.

“How could you sleep during that storm?” A flight attendant with dark hair asked.

“I’m used to sleeping on board a ship, lass. Storm or no storm, I could sleep through a hurricane.” He offered Regan his hand. She released her seatbelt and grasped it. As she rose, her legs felt spongy.

“Well, you’ve both slept through one of the worst flights we’ve ever had.”

“Good. I feel much better for the nap,” Quinn said.  He opened the overhead bin and reached for his carryon.

Regan looked into the bin. Her fingers gripped Quinn’s arm. Her heart lurched, and the blood drained from her head.  “My computer’s gone.”

CHAPTER 37

Quinn’s hand against her back guided her through the disembarking tube to the terminal.

Regan struggled to suppress the urge to scream. “All my work—all my papers are in my backpack. My passport’s in it.  Everything!”

“Aye, I know. I watched you pack it.”  Quinn pivoted and placed a hand against her shoulder. “What the hell were you about asking them if we needed a blood test?” Quinn asked, a frown darkening his features.

“They thought we were on drugs, Quinn. I was worried they’d call the police.”

“Fuck.” He took several breaths.  “Without your passport you can’t leave the country.”

“Yes, I know.” She studied his features. “I wasn’t planning on leaving anyway.”

“Reagan—” He drew her out of the traffic of disembarking travelers. He seemed to think through what to say.  He shook his head and for a moment rested his forehead against hers, and then brushed her lips with a brief kiss.

Her anxiety eased with his show of comfort and affection.

“You’ll have to fill out a wee bit of paperwork about the theft,” he said.

 “I’m sure that’s another of your Scottish understatements.”

“Aye, it is. I’ll collect our luggage and meet you there at the British Airways desk.” He pointed to a nearby counter. “We’ll decide what’s to be done about the passport then.”

“All right.”

He offered her a smile. “In the years I’ve been a salvager, I’ve learned one thing, lass.”

Regan raised her brows.

“To focus on one problem at a time until you find an answer, then move on to the next.

“Go fill out the paperwork, and we’ll tackle the passport issue next.

Regan drew a deep breath and beat back the anxious tremors attacking her stomach.  She forced a smile to her lips. “All right.”

“I’ll be back.”

Regan smiled at his attempt at a Scottish Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Quinn wove his way through the crowd down the terminal. After watching him for a moment, Regan approached the counter. How would she prove who she was without her passport or wallet? And would they allow her to fill out the paperwork without it?

“Miss Stanhope.”

Regan jerked around at the familiar voice. 

“You’re to come with me,” Andrew Argus said.

 Shock trailed through her system. “Come with you?” Regan eyed the two men on either side of him. The men Nicodemus had hired to investigate the ROV accident. What were their names?  MacBean and—Lamont.  They might be investigators, but they looked more like bodyguards. Both were muscular and fit and maintained an air of stoic menace. Wariness brought a painful tension to her muscles.   

“Mr. Nicodemus sent me to retrieve you.”

What was this? Why would he do that?

 “We’re on our way back right now, Mr. Argus. I’m waiting for Mr. Douglas to collect our bags. I have to file paperwork at the desk. Someone has stolen my laptop and my passport. They carried it off the plane.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Argus said.  Lamont lifted her backpack within view.

Her shoulders fell as relief washed through her and as quickly grew taut again. “How did you get that?” Her voice sounded weak, its strength stolen by a sudden wave of anxiety.

The intensity of Argus’s deep-set eyes, the beak-like nose, the stillness of his features left her with the impression of being eyed by some strange bird of prey. Anxiety drove a burst of adrenaline through her system. Her face grew hot and her fists balled at her side.   

“Why would you have someone watching us, Mr. Argus? And why would you steal my laptop?”

“Your laptop was never stolen, Miss Stanhope. It was just borrowed for a time to make sure you didn’t disappear until we could speak with you.”

“Speak to me about what?” Her gaze shifted from Argus to the two men behind him and back again.

If she ran would they chase her? She took a step toward the British Airways counter, and MacBean shifted to cut her off. A numbing fear raced through her stealing the strength from her legs.

“We went to Edinburgh to do research. We’ve been at the National Archives looking for information about the area. I have copies of some of the materials we discovered in my bag if you want to see them. There’s actually a very interesting journal written by an area priest that may answer the question as to when and how the stones were covered with water.”

Argus made an impatient gesture. “We know where you’ve been, Miss Stanhope. But we also know you have knowledge about the stones you haven’t shared with us. Mr. Nicodemus wants to know what it is.”

“I’ll be happy to share what I’ve learned as soon as I get back to the site, Mr. Argus.”

“And what do you say about this?” Argus raised a digital recorder and hit the play button. Static crackled in the recording, but a woman’s voice was audible speaking in Gaelic. Coira’s voice. Dear God. Someone had nearly killed a woman for the recording. She had to get away from these men.

Stay calm.

“I don’t know who that is, Mr. Argus. And I don’t speak Gaelic. Well, just a few basic phrases and I can read a little.”

“But you do hear Mr. Douglas’ voice on the recording?”

Regan cocked her head as though listening. “Well, the vocal quality is similar, and he does know how to speak Gaelic. But actually it could be anyone from the area. If you’ll play it for Quinn, I’m certain he can translate it for you. He’ll be here any moment with our luggage.” She looked down the terminal in the direction Quinn had walked.

“Where did you get the recording?” she asked.

“I think you’re well aware of where we got it, Ms. Stanhope. While you were in Edinburgh, you saw a hypnotist.” It was a statement not a question.

Regan paused. “Yes, I did. I’d heard hypnotism could help you overcome things.”

“And what things were you trying to overcome?”

“I’ve had several close calls since coming here. First the diving accident, then falling in the chamber and almost drowning. I’ve had some nightmares because of it. I was hoping Dr. Reinhart could help me stop having the dreams.”

“And did she?” His dark eyes probed her features.

“I won’t know for certain until I return to the site.”

Nicodemus fast-forwarded the recording, then pushed play. Dr. Reinhart’s voice came across clearly. “Leave. Now. Both of you. Or I’m calling the police.”

 “Get yourself together,” Quinn’s voice carried well. “And what would you tell them? That your patient caused a lightning storm in your office? We’ll leave as soon as Regan has recovered.”

The woman’s voice sounded shaky. “She’s possessed. You don’t need a hypnotist, you need a priest.”

Argus raised his eyebrows. “Do you still insist you know nothing?”

Regan took a step back from the men. Twisting around she was poised to run when the back of her sweater was snagged, bringing her up short.

She gasped at the sharp prick as a needle jabbed into her arm.  “No.”  She twisted, jerking the syringe free, and breaking away.  She half staggered, half ran down the terminal.  The drug slammed through her system like a runaway train. She forced her legs forward as though she were running through knee-deep sand. Her vision blurred and the open aisle before her swam.

Regan braced a hand against the wall to retain her balance. A sign for the ladies room loomed above her. She pushed through the door and staggered across the tile floor into a stall. Bracing herself against the wall, she squeezed her eyes closed and fought against the nausea crawling up her throat. Her arms bent like rubber as she tried to hold herself over the toilet while she gagged and heaved unproductively.

Had they overdosed her? Was she dying? Where was Quinn? Was he safe?

The door behind her was shoved open striking her hip and knocking her off kilter.

Regan covered her head as she fell across the toilet and slid off onto the floor. Harsh fingers grasped her arm and dragged her free of the stall.  She caught a glimpse of MacBean’s brow as he lifted her from the floor.  Her head fell back. The world spun like a tilt-a-whirl, triggering another bout of nausea.

Forcing her heavy lids open, she spied a familiar face and reached out. Her face felt numb and her tongue refused to function.  “Hep—” The bathroom door closed between them and the world faded to black.

*****

Quinn pushed the luggage trolley ahead of him. He scanned the area around the British Airways counter for Regan.  When he didn’t see her, he strolled the small strip of restaurants in search of her.

“Mr. Douglas.”

He twisted around at the sound of his name.  One of the flight attendants stood just inside the doorway of the information office.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and the woman you were with, but she collapsed in the restroom about ten minutes ago and was taken away by a man.”

 Quinn’s heart leapt into his throat. “Jesus. What happened?”

 “She appeared ill or on drugs.”

“Regan doesn’t do drugs, and neither do I.” His voice rose. “Did you call the police or security?”

A security guard started toward them Quinn ignored him.  “ What did the man look like?”

“He was big and had dark hair.  There were actually two of them.”

“And you didn’t think it strange that two men took her away after you saw we were traveling together? Fucking amazing.”

The woman flinched.

The guard came to stand close by.

Fuck him. A hell of a lot of sodding good he’d be after the fact.

“She fainted or passed out, and they loaded her into one of the wheelchairs and rolled her away.” A defensive tone had crept into her voice as well as her expression.

Quinn raked his fingers through his hair. She’d been fine when he left her. They’d done something to her.   “Mother of God. To where? Which direction did they take her?”

“To the car park.”

“What did the second man look like?”

“He was very thin, almost frail looking and had a hooked nose.”

Argus.
A small amount of relief relaxed the painful tension of his shoulders. But if she were ill or drugged—Why would they do that? Had Regan fought them?  What the hell had happened?

“Do you know who he is then?”

“Possibly. “ He shook his head in disgust. “Bloody hell, why didn’t you call the police?”

“I stayed just to tell you what happened.” The woman’s defensive tone had grown strident. “You can call the police now.”

Grabbing the bags off the cart, Quinn ran down the terminal to the exit.

The car park stretched several hundred feet from the airport. By the time he’d found his vehicle, sweat ran down his face, and he was breathing hard.

He tossed the bags into the trunk and got into the car. He had just shoved the key in the ignition when the door opened beside him and a man got in. “Mr. Douglas, I’m Lamont. I work for Mr. Nicodemus. I’ve been searching for you. Miss Stanhope was taken ill, and they’ve rushed her back to the site to see the doctor there.  They’ve called ahead so he’ll be waiting for her. It may be food poisoning.”

She had been fine when he’d left her. Had she eaten something on the plane? Quinn eyed the man’s expression and could read nothing from it.  He ran his hand over his sweaty face and wiped the moisture on his pants.  “This illness was very sudden. She was fine not half an hour ago.”

“Yes, it was sudden. And she was throwing up violently. I’m sure she’ll be better once the doctor can give her something for it.”

Sweet Jesus. What did they do to her?

“I’ll need to ride back with you. They left me here without transport so I could find you.”

Quinn twisted the key, started the car, and threw it into reverse.

*****

Regan awoke to the sound of a clock ticking. The horrible nausea that had plagued her had passed.
Thank God.
But the panicked fear came crashing back on her and her eyes flew open. At the sight of the large man next to the bed, she gasped and scrambled away to the other side.

“Relax, we dinna mean to hurt you,” MacBean said, his voice bland.

They already had. Her head felt as though it weighed ten pounds, and her neck too small to hold it.  Her muscles had turned to mush. Her arm ached where the needle had pierced it. She hugged the wall behind the bed and closed her eyes against the rush of tears that clouded her vision and spilled down her face.

“Do you want some water? ‘Twill flush the drug from your system.” He motioned toward the plastic pitcher of water and the cup on the desk.

Quinn. Where was Quinn? Was he all right? Had they drugged him too? Her limbs twitched as though her muscles fought the drug’s affect.

She forced herself to look at MacBean. With his heavy, irregular features and muscular body he looked like a boxer. His dark brown hair covered the top of his ears and brushed his collar. As he stared back at her, his brown eyes held no expression.