Part 24 (2/2)

There was no reply. Feeling a little like a thief, he stole past the glowing banks of monitors, seeking Tristan's inner sanctum. Despite all the success Tristan had achieved in the financial world, he always seemed to be most at home in his state-of-the-art laboratory where science and computer technology so frequently fused to create magic.

It was a measure of his friend's concentration that he hadn't even bothered to key in the sequence of numbers that would close the secret panel and hide his private lab from prying eyes.

Tristan was hunched over a sterile white counter, frantically scribbling figures on a yellow pad. He wore a rumpled lab coat and his immaculately moussed hair looked as if he'd been running a weed-eater through it. The ruthless fluorescents highlighted the shadows beneath his eyes.

Crossing his arms, Copperfield leaned against the door frame. ”How many days has it been since you've slept?”

Tristan started, then turned, eyeing him over the gold rims of the antique reading gla.s.ses he so stubbornly clung to. ”I caught a little napa” His lips moved as he silently counted. ”Sat.u.r.day, I think.”

Cop sighed. ”You're not nineteen years old anymore, you know. Does Arian know what you're up to?”

His friend's shrug was sheepish. ”I think she suspects.”

”What about Tabitha?”

Tristan shook his head. ”I don't want her to know. There's no point in getting her hopes up. I don't think she could survive having them crushed again.”

Copperfield frowned. ”I thought she was doing better. I saw her on the elevator yesterday and she looked d.a.m.n good. She even seemed excited about her new position.”

”Oh, she's putting on a brave face. She's determined to make a life for herself and the baby, which is why I offered her the Vice Presidency of Operations. But her smile still doesn't quite reach her eyes.” He dragged off his gla.s.ses and pinched the bridge of his nose, revealing his weariness. ”There were so many years when I could have given my little girl anything her heart desired and she never asked. Now the one time she asks, I can't help her.” He slid his gla.s.ses back on, giving his friend a bleak smile. ”It's killing me, Cop.”

Copperfield propped himself up on one of the stools that flanked the counter. ”I thought there was more at stake than just what Tabitha wanted. Didn't you swear you'd never risk the amulet's technology falling into the hands of another s.a.d.i.s.tic son of a b.i.t.c.h like Arthur Linnet?” He shuddered, remembering their own near fatal trip to the past all those years ago. ”From what you told me about this Brisbane, he sounds like Arthur's even more evil twin.”

”Ah, but that's the beauty of my new design.” Tristan marched over to the nearest keyboard, a hint of the old excitement in his eyes. An impenetrable tangle of wires rested on an a.n.a.lysis pad next to the computer. ”I'm not trying to create a tool for wish fulfillment. I'm trying to deliberately duplicate what Tabitha achieved by accident that night in her apartment. By locating and isolating the one component within the amulet that allowed both Tabitha and Arian to breach the time continuum, I hope to create a stable conduit that could be used to travel back and forth across time.”

Copperfield was thankful he was already sitting down. Tristan had attempted to defy both the forces of science and nature before, but this time he was afraid his friend's desperate desire to help his only child had finally pushed him over the edge. Cop cleared his throat, but could not quite dislodge the lump of skepticism that had lodged in it. ”You're trying to build a tunnel between the centuries?”

”Precisely! A tunnel that could only be accessed and operated from this very location.”

Cop forced a strained smile. ”My, my, wouldn't that be convenient come Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the baby's first birthday!”

Tristan slanted him a glance that was a curious mixture of guilt and defiance. ”I want my daughter to be happy, but I'm not sure I'm willing to give her up forever.” He slid the mouse across its pad, highlighting a complex chain of numbers on the glowing screen. ”I had a breakthrough today. I think I just might be on to something here.”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting the final sequence of his formula with a flourish. Something popped and sparks flew. Copperfield ducked behind the counter, having been the victim of Tristan's flying test tubes and exploding Bunsen burners too many times in the past.

He didn't dare peek over the counter until he heard Tristan bite off a less than paternal oath. His friend was staring down at the ma.s.s of singed wire on the a.n.a.lysis pad, his hair charged with static electricity, his face blackened with soot, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Cop gently took him by the elbow and led him toward the door. ”Come on, Pops, we've got to get you scrubbed and in your tuxedo. Your daughter's party is less than an hour away and Arian would never forgive you if you missed it.”

As Cop dimmed the lights, neither of them noticed that they'd left the panel to the private laboratory ajar.

Sven Nordgard had been Chief of Security of Lennox Enterprises for nearly twenty-four years.

Although he'd never fulfilled his dream of starring in a successful string of action-adventure films and his TriBeCa loft was still papered with blowups of the romance novel covers he had so proudly posed for in his youth, the towering Norwegian took great pride in his current job.

Which is how he happened to be patrolling the hall outside Lennox Labs a half hour before the party on the eighty-fifth floor was scheduled to begin. He knew the job could have been entrusted to one of his underlings, but it was his policy to do a final walk-through of the Tower from top to bottom before any major event. In all of his countless patrols, he'd yet to find any potential a.s.sa.s.sins, kidnappers, or terrorists. But he never stopped hoping.

As he pa.s.sed the lab, he heard a whisper of movement behind him. He whirled around, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster. His heart thudded with antic.i.p.ation as he slunk back to the lab doors and keyed in the sequence of numbers that would release their computerized lock.

At the telltale click, Sven burst through the swinging doors and dropped to one knee. He swept the perimeter of the room with his outstretched gun, bellowing, ”Freeze!”

The laboratory was empty, its gleaming tile floor reflecting nothing but the dim reddish glow of the security lights overhead.

Disappointed, Sven sighed and bolstered the gun. As he exited the swinging doors, he would have almost sworn he felt something brush against his leg. His nose began to twitch. The twitching worsened until he sneezed a” once, twice, and, after a brief respite, a third time. He hastened his steps down the corridor and glanced nervously over his shoulder, wondering if Tabitha's kitten had escaped the penthouse again. He'd never cared for cats, especially black ones. He'd much rather confront an Uzi-toting terrorist.

He thought he saw a murky shadow slink through the swinging doors of the lab, but rather than return to investigate, he managed to convince himself it was just a trick of his watering eyes.

Lucy was a very unhappy little cat.

She missed the warm summer wind stirring her whiskers and the fat, juicy gra.s.shoppers she loved to crunch between her teeth. She missed the children who rubbed her furry tummy and crooned what a bonny wee cat she was. And she missed the man with the gentle hands and rumbling voice that perfectly complemented her purr.

But most of all, she missed her mistress's laughter.

So it was in a fit of boredom and defiance that she'd stowed away on the elevator when a maid had arrived to turn down her mistress's bed for the night. Not even antic.i.p.ation of the dish of leftover caviar her mistress was sure to bring her when she returned from her party could coax her to remain in that lonely apartment with its recycled air and sealed windows.

She slinked past the blond giant, silently chuckling at his fear of her, and b.u.t.ted open the swinging door to the lab with her head, hoping to find some mischief to get into. Her pupils expanded, her extraordinary eyes automatically adjusting to the dim light. She reached into a trash can with her paw, overturning it, but scowled to find it empty. Overzealous janitors and exterminators were the bane of her existence.

She trotted into the next room, mewing in triumph when she spotted a juicy mouse cord dangling from an overhead counter. She gripped it between her teeth, giving it a fierce little shake. The hard-sh.e.l.led mouse came tumbling off the counter. Lucy settled into a tense crouch, waiting for it to make a dash for freedom so she could pounce on it and subdue it with her mighty claws.

But the disagreeable thing just laid there on its back, refusing to join the game. Wrinkling her nose at its cowardice, she bounded to the countertop, landing on a computer keyboard.

A jumble of numbers appeared on the glowing monitor. Lucy spent several minutes batting at them before realizing they were out of her reach.

Bored with that game, she pranced merrily over the numerical keyboard, enjoying the satisfying click-click of her paws striking the numbers.

Until a sizzling jolt of electricity charged the air.

Lucy jumped a foot, her fur bristling to twice its normal size. She'd felt that peculiar sensation once before, and if her mistress had been in the lab at that moment, the kitten would have run up her sleeve or her dress or whatever shelter was most readily available.

But this time, Lucy was on her own. As a s.h.i.+mmering ribbon of mist appeared in the air, she pranced sideways down the countertop, hissing to hide her terror.

The mist slowly coalesced into a tear in the fabric of the room. Lucy blinked in astonishment as a rush of warm wind poured through the circular tunnel, perfuming the stale air with a breath of summer. She crept nearer, curiosity overcoming her fear.

She was perched at the very edge of the hole when a bright yellow b.u.t.terfly fluttered through the tear and perched on her nose. She shook her head and when the b.u.t.terfly took off, disappearing into the rift, she bounded after it.

Colin lay on his back in the meadow, gazing up at the crisp blue sky. The air was hot and hazy, but he could feel deep in his bones that it was summer's last gasp. Autumn was coming, and after autumn, winter, when a mantle of snow would bury the meadow, freezing every bloom, every branch, and every blade of gra.s.s.

He'd already worn the gra.s.s bald on this small hillock. But he would have sworn it was where he had last seen Tabitha. She had been nothing more than a glimmer in the air, but sometimes when the breeze blew soft and sweet, he swore he could still catch a whiff of her scent and his entire body would ache with need.

He knew his time for languis.h.i.+ng in the meadow must soon come to an end. His people already thought him half-mad for pitching his pavilion so far from home and even Arjon had begun to cast him pitying glances when he visited with news and fresh supplies. But Arjon had no right to pity him, not when he had the woman he loved in his arms and in his bed. Not when she had become his wife and would bear his child during those very months when winter was laying its bitter blanket over the meadow.

Sighing, Colin sat up. There were times when he wished Brisbane had killed him in that moment when Tabitha had vanished. But Auld Nana never would stand for anyone bullying her babes. So she'd snapped Roger's neck like a twig, forcing Colin to keep living, even without a reason.

Colin shook his head to clear it. This was not what Tabitha would have wished for him and he knew it. She wouldn't have wanted him to waste his life pining for something that could never be. She would want him to rise from this place and march boldly toward the future, to seek some manner of happiness, even if it was only a shadow of the joy they might have shared together.

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