Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(173)

As she headed down the hall past wide-eyed bystanders, she began to hum Rule Britannia just for spite. As she’d anticipated, there was the whir of the bot’s wheels as it hurried to catch up with her, spewing warnings nonstop now.

“Halt! Unauthorized intrusion. Return to the lobby immediately!” it chirped.

Cynda turned on a heel and glared at it. Her brother had trashed a couple of these things. How hard could it be?

It skidded to a halt. “Return to—”

“Oh, bugger off,” she said, taking a step toward it. Sensing the threat, the bot flew into reverse, nearly mowing down some poor fellow behind it. A red light began to whirl on the top of the thing. It was summoning Security.

Cynda laughed all the way to the room.

To her glee, her entrance was an eye-opener. She was in full Victorian garb, toting a Gladstone bag, and equipped with enough attitude to power a grav-rail station. After 1888 this was nothing. In fact, it was fun.

She slid into the empty chair next to Theo.

“Hello there,” she said.

“Welcome home, Jacynda. I’ve missed you.”

Bet you have. She clunked the Gladstone on the floor.

“Lassiter,” Senior Agent Klein said. “Quite an entrance. As usual.”

“Give it a bit. The front desk bot is pretty annoyed. It summoned Security.”

“Is it still in one piece?” Theo asked in amusement.

“For now.” He sought out her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. She returned it. She’d missed him so much.

Mindful of their audience, Cynda slid her eyes toward the head of the table. “Chairman Fletcher,” she greeted with a nod of respect.

“Lassiter,” Fletcher acknowledged. “Don’t remember your name being on the roster, but I’ll add you to the agenda.” She tapped on the holo-keyboard in front of her. “I’ll cancel the security bots while I’m at it.” A few more taps and then she looked up. “I think you know almost everyone else, except for Mr. Randolph.”



Cynda catalogued those around the table. Besides Theo and Klein, there were Johns Hopkins, Ex-Chairman Davies and the aforementioned Mr. Randolph. Probably Davies’ legal mouthpiece.

“Hi, Hopkins,” she called down the table. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” he replied, sending her a grin. “You?”

“Never been better.”

“Your timing’s good,” Fletcher remarked. “Mr. Davies is explaining to us what happened in 1888.”

Cynda leaned back in her chair. “Can’t wait to hear this.”

She gave him two minutes. She counted it out in her head. She could do that now that 1888 was right again. And in those two minutes, he’d avoided responsibility with every single word.

“We were solely concerned with returning Defoe to our time. He was out of control,” Davies said, leveling his eyes at Cynda. “Much like Miss Lassiter.”

“That was the only reason you had your people in ’88?” Fletcher challenged.

“Yes.”

He’d stepped right in it.

Cynda synced up her interface to the terminal embedded in the tabletop, waiting for the digital record to advance to the precise moment before Copeland appeared in Mitre Square. Davies watched her like she’d just pulled a knife at an ice cream parlor.

Not a bad idea.

She dug out the blade and placed it in front of her.

“What is that?” Fletcher asked, peering at it curiously.

“Amputation knife. They think Jack the Ripper used one like this.”

“Wicked,” Fletcher exclaimed, smiling.

“Sure is. Copeland brought it to our meeting in Mitre Square.”

“My God,” Theo murmured. He’d known of her injuries, but not what had inflicted them.

“Copeland?” Davies repeated, as if it was the first time he’d heard the name.



Cynda played along. “The former military jock. He was Hopkins’ partner.”

“We have a number of sub-contractors at TPB,” Davies replied dismissively.

“This one’s special. Copeland was involved in the death of Chris Stone.”

“I sincerely doubt that. Stone committed suicide.”

“No, his death was an accident, but the torture he endured was deliberate.”

“Speculation,” Davies shot back.

“Not anymore. Copeland was paired up with Dalton Mimes. I watched them drop Chris’ body in the Thames the night he died.”

“Given your psychiatric history, Miss Lassiter, it might be argued your testimony is of dubious value,” the lawyer spoke up.

The ants didn’t even raise their collective eyebrows. “I’m not the one on the hook here,” she replied, smiling.

“None of this has anything to do with me,” Davies protested.

“Let’s start with bribery, for one,” Klein weighed in. To his credit, he wasn’t gloating. “You paid off an employee at Time Immersion Corporation to ensure Stone’s body wouldn’t be returned home.”

“Which meant you knew my nephew was dead before Miss Lassiter found him,” Theo pointed out.

Davies frowned. “All right, I wanted him left there. It would only complicate things. But I had nothing to do with that so-called plot in 1888.”