Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(170)

I don’t want you to go.

Not after last night. They’d savored each other, then rested, then began again. Each joining built the bond between them. A bond for the future.

Now he had to leave.

With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed and began to dress. After he finished, she propped herself up and watched as he sorted through his suitcase, even though he’d not brought that much with him. He took a great deal of time folding and refolding his one pair of socks, delaying the inevitable.

She had to make it easier for him. “It’s not the end of the world,” she jested.

He dropped the socks into the suitcase like they were burning coals. “It is to me. After last night…” His deep eyes met hers. “I’ve…never felt that way with anyone, Jacynda. Not even Mei.”

Her heart melted. “I’ve never felt that way, either.” Then she winked at him, hoping to bust through his melancholy mood. “You can welcome me home in a day or two after I settle things here. I promise I won’t stay any longer than necessary.”

He snapped the suitcase shut and then pulled out his interface. “One minute is too long for me, Jacynda.”

“For me as well.” She pulled on a robe as she walked toward him. Once in his arms, she delivered a kiss that glazed his eyes.



It took all her resolve to step back. “Now off you go!” she said, waving her hand to shoo him away. “I have other paramours to consider, you know.”

An eyebrow arched. “You are too cheeky by half. We’ll have to work on that.”

She sobered. “Don’t let the bad guys win.”

“I won’t.” Then the transfer took him away from her.

The ache began instantly. The bond between them stretched taut.

I’ll be home soon. I promise.

She hadn’t been lying about the paramours. Well, Alastair and Keats weren’t exactly lovers, but she owed them a goodbye. They weren’t the only ones: so many bridges to burn. The official story was that she was returning home to New York. She’d need to visit Sephora and Sagamor, see how his lordship was doing. Then there was Davy and his mom, and dear Mr. Pratchett at the bookshop.

It was proving difficult, caught between the desire to go home and the sadness of leaving true friends behind.

As she prepared for her visit to the Wescombs, Cynda was about to jam the hat pin home when the maid arrived with a calling card.

“Do you wish to meet him downstairs?” the domestic asked.

“No, send him up.” Whatever had brought Chief Inspector Fisher to her doorstep wasn’t a topic they’d want to discuss in the dining room.

From the moment he stepped inside the door, Fisher was all business, which told her this wasn’t a social call. He looked older, more war weary than the last time they’d seen each other. After they’d sat on the couch, he jumped right into it.

“I owe you my most sincere gratitude for saving Jonathon’s life,” he told her. “I still cannot see how you were able to speak directly to His Royal Highness, or for that matter, convince Flaherty to come forward.”

“Sometimes you get lucky.”

He examined her closely. “No, I suspect it had little to do with luck.”



“How can I help you, Chief Inspector?”

“By being honest with me. I am about to retire, Miss Lassiter. I’ve had a long career, and though not every case I’ve encountered has been successfully concluded, this one has. At least, that’s the general consensus. I, on the other hand, have a lot of questions that have gone unanswered since the moment I first heard your name.”

Oh boy, here we go. “What kinds of questions?” she hedged.

“For a start, who you really are and who do you work for? Please, don’t bother with the Pinkerton’s hoax. I have a friend who recently retired from their service. He tells me that you have never worked for Pinkerton’s in any capacity. Neither has Mr. Anderson, nor Mr. Hopkins.”

“Checkmate,” her delusion called out. “He’s got you.”

She lounged back on the couch, pleased with this man’s astuteness. “What took you so long to work that out?”

“My friend has been quite ill and was unable to answer my enquiries for some time. I received his letter just this morning.” Fisher leaned forward. “So who are you, really? How could you possibly know the details of the Lord Mayor’s Day plot so intimately? Where do you go when you disappear from the city?”

If anyone deserved the truth, it was Fisher.

When she didn’t answer right away, he fluffed up. “Miss Lassiter, it’s about time I knew the real story.”

Cynda removed the interface from her pocket, setting it in her palm. As she began to wind it, she let him see the display. Both of his eyebrows raised in surprise as the dial lit up.

“You’re absolutely right, Chief Inspector. It’s about time.”

~??~??~??~



Thursday, 15 November, 1888

The Crystal Palace

“I’m glad Flaherty didn’t blow this all to pieces,” Keats remarked, gazing up at the roof of the massive cast iron and glass building. “It’s such a marvel. No matter how many times I come here, it still makes me feel so insignificant.”