There was something about her that had made a stealthy pass through his defenses, not just the base’s. She was wrong for him in every way—including too young. He could be her father. Maybe if he repeated that enough, if would finally sink in. But that wasn’t going to happen while he was sitting here opening her suit while the warm, clean scent of her filled his nostrils. Here he’d thought it would be better to smell anything but fresh, sea breezes. It was a reminder to be careful what you thought you wanted because the universe was listening and happy to show you where you were wrong.
He tried taking a deep breath, but that just made it worse, so he held his breath and finished exposing her from waist to neck. Underneath she wore a light weight tank top that hugged her skin and revealed the fact that the suit had seriously compressed her…chest.
Briggs massaged his temple, but stopped when he caught the bird looking at him in a way that was kinda unnerving. Like it knew exactly he was thinking. The skin he could see was smooth and also lightly tanned. No sign of tan lines—not that he was looking. Much.
He averted his gaze from the danger zones and eased the suit off her shoulders—sweat beading on his skin and hers—dang tropics—until the suit was folded down around her waist. Normally he’d have been interested in that suit. Of course, he’d left normal when the parrot bounced out of the disc. His gaze accidentally tracked across her tee shirt and he found one reason to be glad it wasn’t cold. Just the one, though. Because the heat outside was not helping him at all with the heat stirring inside.
“Where did she get hit?” His voice came out husky, but maybe the bird didn’t notice.
“Back left shoulder.”
He shifted her onto her uninjured side and all heat fled in the face of a cold rage that wasn’t any more appropriate than the—his mind rejected lust. Oh, he wanted her, he admitted reluctantly, but well, he needed to move on. She needed his help. He studied her injury.
It was an ugly, sluggishly bleeding gash high on her back, partly inside, and partly above the rounded edge of her tee shirt. The force of something had driven bits of wires, small pieces of metal, and cloth into her skin, but—he studied it carefully—he didn’t think it was deep, despite the debris. He could probably patch it up, but—his thoughts strayed to the alien infection that had put him in the infirmary for several days….
“She should see a doc.” And what would that involve? Their presence was a security breach that was going to be hard to explain. He glanced at the bird, who was perched on the bed examining her injury with a bird-like, but oddly professional, interest.
“It could have been worse,” the bird said, relieved. “Can you apply first aid?”
The bird said. Had he just thought that? It wasn’t a shock that a parrot, or parrot-looking bird, could talk. It even had the croaking overtones of a parrot. But this was talking, not just talking. He shouldn’t be surprised. They’d been looking for non-human, sentient alien life from the first flight of Project Enterprise. It was even possible this wasn’t the first contact with a non-humanoid, since there were other ships out there nosing around. It was his first, however. Until now their people had had contact with only humanoid aliens.
Briggs nodded, dug his first aid kit out of his duffle. and opened it. He found the supplies he needed and started cleaning and disinfecting the wound. He didn’t hesitate, even when she stirred and muttered in pain. He’d tended battle wounds before. And this was a battle wound, no question. He might have cussed under his breath, but he kept going. It had to be done. When he was sure it was cleaned, he studied the injury carefully. There were signs of scorching around the edges. His lips tightened. Someone had used an energy—a ray gun—on her. And she’d fired back, he reminded himself. Still pissed him off someone had hurt her.
He doused the area with antiseptic, waited for it to dry, then carefully applied Super Glue to close the torn skin. He sprayed on some pain killer, then covered it with a light bandage and eased her onto her back again. Only then did he look at the bird, trying to decide what to ask.
The bird hopped up on the headboard and looked around. “Are you marooned in this place?”
Briggs sat back, shifting to ease his wound, which was complaining about the workout, now that he wasn’t busy focusing on Madison’s injury. Madison. That probably wasn’t her real name either, but it meant something to her. He’d felt it, felt truth in it somewhere. “I’m recuperating.” His annoyance with this broke into his tone. “The base…”
He stopped that sentence unfinished. For all he knew, these two were attempting to infiltrate the base. Just because they looked like time travelers and she’d asked what year it was, and they’d appeared out of a disc, didn’t mean they’d traveled through time. It could be a simple transport pad. A decoy? Donovan’s handwriting had looked genuine, but it wasn’t like he could give her a call and ask. And it might have been an unintended consequence. He had been the one to fix it and turn it on—something no one at the base or Area 51 would have approved. In his boredom, he’d been careless. He could face the uncomfortable truth now that he was forty-five and probably more mature.
“You are wise to take care. The people hunting us are ruthless and highly trained. If they find you useful, they will take you, and reprogram you to serve their needs.” The bird moved one way along the headboard, then moved back.
“And if they don’t find me useful?” Briggs asked, his gut tightening at the thought of the “useful” people at the base, including Doc Clementyne’s brother, Robert. Robert, who had finally found happiness and purpose in his life.
“They will erase you from time. It will be as if you never lived.”
He frowned. “But wouldn’t that…”
“Do you think they care about fallout to others?”
“The time service—”
“…has changed,” the bird said. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely. They began trying to fix and repair time breaches, but at some point their focus changed. And now it ripples back through all time in an unchecked rotten flow.”
“But—” he started to protest, but how would he know that big events hadn’t changed? Or if this bird spoke the truth. They were the ‘opposition,’ but that didn’t make them allies. Even if he had a built-in prejudice against the time service thanks to Doc. The bird could be talking to earn his sympathy and turn him into a weapon against its enemy.
“The only place they take care is around large events, because these anchor time and time will push back.”
If the bird could have smiled grimly, Briggs sensed it would have.
“They learned that lesson the hard way, but they did not learn enough.”
Briggs studied the bird, but it was not like he had experience reading a bird’s face for truth or lies. Odd that his gut felt it spoke the truth—the truth as the bird knew it, he decided.
“Why are they after you two?”
“We are hunting a traitor and they seek to stop us before we can return to our base with that information.” The bird ruffled its wings and stepped lightly along the headboard again. “They did not factor in the transport pad or they would not have left it for us to find.”
Was the bird sure about that? That thing didn’t seem like the kind of thing you left lying around in an unsecured area.
“We found it in a storage closet, shoved into a corner,” the bird said, as if it heard Briggs’ thought.
Had it had the same thought?
“I can not be sure it was not part of the trap,” the bird conceded. It looked around. “I do not think it meant us to come here, however.”
Yeah, a trap that depended on him turning that thing on at the right time wasn’t a very good trap. More like a lucky chance if these people were as bad as the bird thought they were.
The bird looked around now. “I did not expect to arrive here.”
Briggs let himself grin. “Where did you think you were going?”
The bird regarded him solemnly. “Anywhere that wasn’t where we
were.” It paused, then added, “But more useful than here.”
Briggs’ grin widened. He was kind of starting to like the bird. He grinned. “Yeah, I’m not thrilled to be here either,” he admitted.
The bird regarded him in a way that might be thoughtful. “You should leave.”
Briggs’ gaze narrowed. There’d been a warning in there. Did it expect trouble to follow them here? He looked at the bird. “How do I know your trouble won’t follow me?”
“It is our job to contain it,” the bird said.
Briggs didn’t try to hide his skepticism. Then his brows lowered in a scowl.
“They can’t get here on that,” Briggs pointed out, already sure that wasn’t how trouble was gonna arrive.
“No,” the bird’s head bobbed as if it was aware of the irony, “but nevertheless, they will come.”
Eight
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Sir Rupert.” Madison’s voice was husky, but calm.
Briggs twisted around to look at her. The fog was clearing from her eyes, revealing worry. He saw something else in there though, something he recognized because he’d seen it many times during his years in the USAF.
The look of a warrior preparing to meet the enemy.
“And thank you for the third time.” She shifted her shoulders. “It feels much better.”
Better wasn’t fighting fit, but he also knew when someone couldn’t be talked out of a fight. Not someone with that stubborn jaw line.
“You’re welcome.” He kept his tone even with an effort. He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to grab her and change her mind the old-fashioned way. Not that he wanted to get caught with his pants down when the enemy arrived. If they arrived. And when had her enemies become his? A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, and regret filtered into her expression. She could be his daughter, he reminded himself. It didn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would because she didn’t look at him like he was her dad. Was it because he wanted her to be older that it seemed like she was older than she looked?
“You never said what year this is?” she prompted softly.
He hesitated, but couldn’t think of a good reason not to tell her. “2017.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?” She glanced up at the bird. It ruffled its wings, which could be its version of surprised. “But I thought—” She stopped, then asked, “Where…”
“That’s classified.” His non-disclosure agreement didn’t say he couldn’t mention the base to time travelers, but there were all kinds of clauses about not talking to anyone—including yourself—and getting shot if you did. So it added up to not disclosing to time travelers in his opinion. And the kind of shooting in the agreement? It wasn’t the kind that required recuperating in a hut or anywhere else.
“I need to get up.” She reached out and he did, too, maybe to stop her, but her fingers slid between his, her palm brushing against his and he forgot about stopping her. Might have made him think about pushing her back down. Warmth surged from where their hands touched and it felt like they’d always held hands and always would. There was the heat of desire in the mix, but also the warmth of a wood fire, the kind that invited you to settle in, to stay, and make something that lasted—
His fingers tightened involuntarily on hers. There was no fool like an old fool…
For several seconds, it felt like she returned his grip, probably just so she could swing her legs over the edge of the bed and rest them on the floor. Side by side, her head barely reached the top of his shoulder. He waited for her to free her hand, but she didn’t. If anything her grip tightened. Her breath came in quick bursts for several seconds and she bit her lower lip. He had to stop himself from reaching for her as she lost color, but after a moment or two, her breathing slowed and some of her color came back. Her lips formed into a thin, stubborn line.
She looked at him, her smile wavering a bit, and finally there was some sad in her eyes. He didn’t mind because there were other things in there, too. If he died right now…well, he wouldn’t be happy, but it would be better than seeing her walk away…
The bird flew over to the top of the rustic dresser, breaking into whatever was happening between them. It walked one way along the top, then back, almost as if it were pacing.
She hesitated, her shoulders stiffening as resolve pushed out every other emotion in her eyes.
“How big is our possible risk zone?” she asked.
It stopped, a wing came up, as if rubbing the lower part of its beak. “They’ll come in on a tight beam because they won’t know what they’re jumping into.”
“They won’t like that,” she said with a grin. “Couple of hundred yards? More? Less?”
The bird appeared to nod. “Less, I think.”
Madison shifted a bit, so that she half faced Briggs, their hands still linked.
“Is that enough to keep your people safe?”
“If it wasn’t, could you do anything about it?” he asked, though without heat. He figured she was trying to find out what she needed to know, without actually finding it out. He appreciated the effort, even if he wasn’t sure it would work. She had no idea what this island contained.
She nodded. “There are some things we could do.” She glanced around. “Defensively, this isn’t the best location. Or the worst.”
“The structure will give them something to focus on,” the bird pointed out, his tone in the range of ‘it was what it was.”
Wary and trust contended for the upper hand inside his head. Last time he’d felt like this, he’d been trying to decide if he could trust Doc Clementyne—but he hadn’t felt like this around Doc. Then he had needed to only believe his head, not his heart. Could he trust either when all he wanted to do was sit here and hold her hand? Okay, not all he wanted to do. His lips twisted wryly.
“That should be enough,” he admitted. If he’d put Robert Clementyne at risk, there was nowhere in time or space he could hide from Doc Clementyne.
She squeezed his hand one last time and then released it so she could stand up. This time she didn’t face him when she said, “You need to go.”
She didn’t know he couldn’t, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. He’d never walked away from an important fight in his life. But there was more to it than this girl and his uneasy feelings for her. More that was both complicated and simple. It was his fault the base and its people were at risk. He’d opened the door these two came through. And he had to close it. He couldn’t die trying. He had to live and do it. That was the simple part. The complicated part? He stared at her profile. He sure as hotel wasn’t leaving her—these two to face the incoming alone. That wasn’t in his DNA—though it was the first time he’d felt the need to protect a bird.
“No,” he said, his tone mild, but firm.
She spun to face him, her head tipped to one side as, he guessed, she assessed his resolve. Finally she glanced at the bird. It almost seemed like it shrugged.
“We could use the help.”
“The risk—” she said, but her protest lacked force.
“I’m guessing we don’t have a lot of time to argue. Is the ray gun your only weapon?”
Her posture changed. Kind of reminded him of Donovan when she was preparing to toss someone on their ass. He rose, towering over her with his brows arched. Not that Donovan had ever managed to toss him. After a pause, she nodded.
“How many hostiles incoming?”
She wasn’t the one who answered him.
“At least six. Highly trained and outfitted with dangerous and deadly technology they’ve stolen from the future.”
Briggs mouth straightened into a line, and he shot a look at Madison. She seemed startled, but not annoyed. Was she surprised by what the bird had told him? Who was in charge? Who got to decide what? He could take orders, but—as if she sensed the question, she spoke.
“Sir Rupert is my,” she hesitated, “…boss. I’m his bodyguard. It’s my job to get him safely back to our base.” He knew
his gaze narrowed sharply because she added, “But it is always in my brief to protect innocents from hostile actions of the Time Service squads. You do not have to believe me, but I am as committed to protecting your people as you are.”
“We are committed to that,” the bird amended. “It is why we do what we do. To protect all living things from the damage done by the Time Service.”
Because he couldn’t do it to the bird, he directed a drilling gaze on Madison, using all the technique he’d learned during his years in the military. She didn’t flinch or look away. Her lips might have twitched once.
“So,” he said, finally, “six hostiles incoming?” That didn’t seem too bad, even with fancy dancy technology.
“There might have been more than six who attacked us,” she cautioned with a frown. “There was a lot of incoming fire, but they could have upgraded their weapons from our last, um, encounter.” She rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t get a look at any of them. Just heard one or two go down.”
“So what’s your highest estimate?” Briggs pressed.
Her lips twisted wryly. “They might wait to reconstitute their squad before they come after us. Or they might call in backup. Twelve is the most I’ve ever seen them risk on a single op.” She frowned. “It depends on what they think they’ll jump into.”
“If they believe you are alone, injured, and cut off from assistance,” the bird said, “they will not wait for backup.”
“But…” she started to protest, then stopped. “They would have brought a full force if they thought we jumped back to our base. But they know the manhole cover wouldn’t take us there.” She looked more hopeful.
Briggs grinned at the “manhole cover.”
“But…” she murmured, the look she exchanged with the bird was interesting.
“What?” he asked, adding impatiently, “I need to know.”
“He is correct. He does need to know.”
Madison shifted her shoulder as if it pained her, but she met his gaze with sober determination. “If they saw Sir Rupert during the op, they will come in at full strength and loaded to kill. They can not afford to let him return to our base alive.”