TimeSlip (10 page)

“I’m sorry, Finn. Please don’t worry. I have a little money
from my dad. We’ll manage.”

He wasn’t listening. Finn was on his feet and then he went
down on one knee beside her, with a determined expression on his face. Oh no,
he wouldn’t dare.

“Look, I know the big guy smashed your heart for good. I
can’t offer you anything like that. But I’ll never love anyone the way I love
you, even though you’re a woman.”
That last bit probably could have done
with a second rehearsal.

Ingrid raised her hand to stop him, but Finn brushed her
protests aside. “Let me finish, Sorrenson, I’ve been rehearsing this speech for
days. Think about it, Ingrid. You’ve still got to publish your doctoral thesis.
I work nights, you work days. So one of us will be here all the time, and if
anything happened to you, the kid will need a father.”

That one hit home. Finn was right. Apart from some elderly
cousins of her father’s in Norway, she had no relatives. “Finn, I don’t know
what to say.”

Her response seemed to give him hope and he pressed on.
“Face it, Sorrenson, you’re almost thirty and you’re knocked up. You mightn’t
get another offer.”

Ingrid giggled. “Finn O’Leary, that is positively the worst
marriage proposal I have ever heard.”

Finn’s blue eyes looked hopefully at her. “So it’s a yes,
then?”

Could she do it? Could she marry her best friend? Everything
Finn said made sense, in a crazy illogical kind of way. She was worried about
what would happen to the baby if she died, and Finn was the nearest thing to
family that she had. But he had his own life and it wouldn’t be fair to tie him
down like that. She had to give him a way out.

“I’ll marry you on one condition. You have to promise that
you’ll leave me when you meet
the one
.”

“You too,” he quipped. Then he was sorry as hell when she
started to cry. The love of his life might still be out there, but Ingrid had
already met and lost hers.

Winter 2011

Two fiancés in one year, Ingrid mused as she fixed her
lipstick in the bathroom mirror. Not bad for a pregnant, soon-to-be unemployed
assistant curator. Neither of them were particularly religious, so Finn had
organized a quiet civil wedding ceremony at lunchtime with two of his friends
as witnesses. He was throwing a wedding-baby shower-leaving work party at the
theater later that evening. Theater management seemed to suit him, though he
would still belt out a medley of songs with very little encouragement.

Ingrid took the jeweler’s box with the shiny, new wedding
rings out of her handbag. Finn had surprised her by turning out to be almost
conventional when it came to the ceremony.

“Please, Ingrid, neither of us is likely to do it again.
Besides, my mom will be thrilled.”

“Okay, we can have a party, but no bouquet and no wedding
dress.”

He was so disappointed that she relented about the flowers,
but she was wearing her own dress, a dark-blue velvet empire line that reached
almost to her ankles. When Finn commented that she looked like a giant blue
tsunami, she had offered to exchange it for a pink one. She knew that he hated
pink.

Ingrid applied concealer to the dark circles under her eyes.
Last night she had dreamed about the viking and wondered if it was an omen.
Maybe she shouldn’t go through with this, maybe she should wait a little while
longer, just in case he returned. She thought of him constantly, wondering if
he was happy or if he missed her as much as she missed him.

She felt a sudden flutter inside her. He was kicking again.
The doctor said that the baby was definitely a boy. She had never expected that
being pregnant could change her life so much. Everything centered on the baby
and his future. Her own mother had died suddenly when she was young and her
father was dead before she finished college. What if something happened to her?
Strom’s son would end up in Norway with a couple of aging farmers, probably
looking after goats. Finn was right, marriage to him was the best way to safeguard
her son’s future, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t have the occasional
crisis about it.

She was usually in bed when Finn came home, but she had to
talk to him and she wasn’t going to sleep anyway. He had arrived home after one
a.m., having consumed rather a lot of bachelor-party drinks.

“What’s up, Mrs. O’Leary to be? Are you worried the guests
will realize you’re a tiny bit pregnant?” He planted a light kiss on her
forehead. “Just wear some Spanx, and stay away from the desserts.”

“Finn, I’m as big as the Great Wall of China. I’m sure that
Strom can see me from space.”

Then the tears began. She had finally mentioned his name.
What would Strom think if he found out she was getting married? Did he already
know? Did he have some computer program that popped up with a message—Ingrid
did this or that? Strom had told her that she was virtually unknown in the
twenty-sixth century. But he hadn’t been looking for her then. Was he looking
now or had he forgotten all about her?

“Hey, hey, now stop that.” Finn gathered her up in a hug.
“You’ll ruin the wedding photos if you have a big puffy face.”

“I thought we agreed there would be no photos.”

“No,” he argued, “we agreed no wedding album. Besides, do
you really think my mom would pass up an opportunity to show off the
photographs of her only son and his pregnant bride to the neighbors back home?
Now tell me what has you so upset?”

“I’m all mixed up, Finn. I feel like I’m going to give birth
to a giant. And I’m worried that you’ll get fed up with me. I couldn’t bear it
if I lost you too.”

Finn cupped her face in his hands. “Ingrid, listen to me. I
will never, ever, get fed up with you. Now what else is bothering you?”

Ingrid rested her head on his shoulder. “I feel guilty about
the baby. Strom deserves to know about it, but how can I tell him? How can I
send a message five-hundred years into the future and be sure that he’ll get
it?”

Finn was silent. His chest rose and fell and Ingrid realized
that he had fallen asleep. She would have to figure that one out for herself.

Ingrid took one final look in the mirror. The reflection
that stared back at her was as good as a heavily pregnant bride-to-be was
likely to get. She reached for the chain around her neck and kissed the wolf
head ring twice for luck. She had worn it every day since Strom left and she
hoped that he was still wearing hers. The taxi was waiting outside. “Chin up,
Sorrenson.” She smiled at her reflection. “Everything will be fine.”

Chapter Seven

Winter 2525

Strom stepped out of the sonic shower stall and reached for
his razor. Twenty-sixth-century technology still hadn’t found a way to defeat
stubble. As he shaved, Strom’s hand brushed against the chain holding the gold
wedding band. Nine months had passed since he left her. For the first few
weeks, Strom had counted the days, hours, even the minutes. Each night in bed
he wore her ring, wondering as he lay awake if she still wore his.

Following his return from the twenty-first century, he had
spent weeks searching for the wolf-head ring, going through old catalogues to
see if it had turned up at an antique sale. Then he stopped, feeling as if he
was spying on her. For all he knew, Ingrid had forgotten him.

The old Strom hadn’t returned from the last mission. Some
part of him remained behind in the twenty-first century. He found himself
looking for Ingrid everywhere. A smile, a head of dark curls, any small
resemblance to her was enough to send him spiraling into a black hole of
misery. Jake and Pete knew. They had tried to drag him back into their old lifestyle,
but drink and random women no longer held any fascination for him.

In the end, he had done the only thing he could do. He had
signed up for a three-year diplomatic mission to the Cyraelian territories. Not
all Cyraelians were as psychotic as Raoul Jasson, and there was quite a
substantial bounty on his head, which they would be happy to collect if the
opportunity arose.

“You ready, Boss?” Jake’s voice came from the adjoining
state room.

“Almost, grab my dress uniform, will you?”

Jake spotted the ring around his neck. “Ever think of going
back there?”

Almost every single day, but he would never admit it. He
shrugged casually. “Sometimes.”

Jake grinned slyly at him. “Strom, you are such a bad liar.
I hope your diplomatic skills are better than that. Lying is almost compulsory
in diplomatic circles.”

Strom pulled on his uniform and reached for the colored
sash, which denoted his rank. “We’ll soon find out.”

Outside the reception hall, Pete was waiting for them,
tugging at the neck of his white uniform. Jake grinned at him. “You look like a
well-dressed monkey.”

“Fuck off, Jake. You know I hate these formal dinners.”

“Gentlemen,” Strom announced, “it’s time to meet the
Cyraelians.”

As was befitting the first official contact between their
two species, dinner was long and the speeches and formalities were endless.
After almost four hours of polite introductions, encouraging trade enquiries
and accepting as many invitations as they could get through over the next
month, Strom was ready to leave. He refused yet another offer of refreshments
from the ambassador and stifled a yawn. It was almost time to go. That was
before they saw her. Tall and slender, her sleek blue-black hair was
elaborately arranged. Ivory skin contrasted with her dark, slanted eyes, heavily
made up with kohl to make them appear even more dramatic. Her lips were pure
carmine.

Jake whistled. “What’s the protocol on relations of the
non-diplomatic kind?”

Strom took a sip of his wine. “Don’t even think about it.
Cyraelians are very protective of their women. Stay away from her.”

“That might prove difficult, Boss. She’s coming this way.”

Strom watched her cross the room. She didn’t so much walk as
glide and she headed directly for their table. “Who is she?” Strom murmured to
the Cyraelian diplomat sitting beside him.

“That is Tanith Jasson.”

“Is she any relation of Raoul’s?”

“I’m afraid so, she’s his sister.”

Jake
, he commed,
she’s Raoul’s sister. You have
free rein
.

“Wolf and she-wolf,” the diplomat observed as he watched
Jake intercept Tanith and lead her to the dance floor. “You play a dangerous
game, my friend. Raoul Jasson may be in hiding, but he is well briefed on his
sister’s activities.”

Strom’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “That’s what I’m
counting on.”

It was morning before Jake returned to the ship. Strom noted
that the neckline of his once-pristine dress uniform was somewhat tarnished by
carmine lipstick. “Good night?”

Jake winked. “A gentleman never tells.”

“I know that you’re not a gentleman, Jake. So tell me what
happened.”

“We kissed.”

“And?”

“She asked a lot of questions. Tanith was extremely
interested in you. Are you sure you don’t want to take this one?”

Strom thought of Ingrid and shook his head. He couldn’t
imagine touching another woman. “Is she working for Raoul?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say no, but that doesn’t mean she’s
not in contact with him. How do you want me to handle this?”

“Hot, heavy and public. If that doesn’t smoke Raoul out,
nothing will.”

Strom knew his plan was working when he received a third
complaint from the ambassador relating to the conduct of one of his officers
and an unnamed Cyraelian woman. The ambassador was distressed that the
officer’s behavior might well bring the unwelcome attention of a certain
individual to the city.

Perfect.

Even by Jake’s standards, his conduct at the Cyraelian
National Day celebratory dinner was completely outrageous. Strom and Pete did
their best to remain stone-faced as Jake practically made love to Tanith on the
dance floor in front of over two hundred dignitaries.

“It’s called dirty dancing,” Pete observed. “Ingrid showed
him how to do it.”

Strom’s hand closed into a fist at the mention of her name.
“Ingrid did that with him.”

“Yeah, at the burlesque club.”

Strom’s fingers tightened on his wineglass, snapping the
delicate stem in two. He looked down in surprise at a single drop of blood that
ran down his finger. He had an overwhelming urge to beat Jake to death on the
dance floor. How could she do this to him? They were a million light-years away
from each other and Ingrid could still drive him crazy. God, he would give
anything to be with her this minute.

Winter 2011

“Can’t you give her an epidural?”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Mr. O’Leary. Your wife’s
labor is too far advanced. It won’t be long now.”

Ingrid was cursing like a sailor and demanding drugs. Way to
go, girl. He could do with some himself. She thought she had indigestion, until
her water broke. He was never, ever buying her silk sheets for Christmas again.

“Finn, Finn, get in here. I’m not doing this on my own.”

He swigged deeply from the hip flask he had prepared
specially for the occasion and opened the cubicle curtain. It was more woman
than he ever wanted to see. “Ingrid, hon, I don’t know if I can do this.”

She was lying red-faced in the bed, wearing a distinctly
unattractive hospital gown. “You better get your butt in here, O’Leary, or you
can find yourself a new roommate.”

Finn got through it by looking at her face the whole time.
The nurses thought he was tender and romantic and Ingrid was satisfied, so long
as she could squeeze his hand viciously. At the end of it they were presented
with a son. A boy with sherry- colored eyes. Finn’s heart melted. He was a dad.

He looked down at the red-faced bundle lying in his arms.
This was it, the reason why he was sitting in a maternity hospital, with a
sleeping wife lying exhausted in a bed next to him. Some of his friends thought
he was crazy, but others were envious. He watched Ingrid’s chest rising and
falling. Her hair was a sweaty, matted mess and her face was red, but she
looked kind of beautiful.