Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(175)

“Which Rover?” Fletcher asked.

“Some guy named Miller.”

Frank Miller. Cynda groaned. Of course. The guy was so stupid he made a mud puddle look like a Mensa candidate.

“Wasn’t he an old boyfriend?” Mr. Spider chided from her shoulder.

Not for very long. Lesson learned.

“You covered up Miller’s bungle?” Fletcher asked.

Davies nodded. “Copeland still had a use for him, so we didn’t pull his license.”

Bait to keep me distracted. If she hadn’t been so disgusted with old Frank, it might have worked.

Fletcher’s face was less crimson now. “What have you done to retrieve these crazies?”

“We sent out a couple sub-contractors. They didn’t return.”

That wasn’t surprising. If any of the other Null Mems had Satyr’s cunning, it was a suicide run to go up against these guys.

“We’ll take care of them,” Klein said.

Cynda’s eyes met Hopkins. He’d be right in the firing line, one of the first into the time stream.

Sorry guy.



Fletcher leaned back in her chair. “Here’s how it’s going to work, Mr. Davies. You’re going to tell us about each of these transfers—names, dates, all of it. You understand?”

“The previous government is responsible for this. They dropped this mess in my lap,” Davies complained, his forehead damp with sweat now.

“Don’t give me the victim routine,” Fletcher snapped. “You could have raised a stink and stopped this disaster, but you didn’t. You played along and it got you the chairmanship.”

“I am not responsible!” Davies bellowed. “I had nothing to do with what happened to Stone or anyone else in 1888, and I shouldn’t pay the penalty.”

“Someone must,” Theo said evenly.

Cynda picked up the knife, weighing it in her hand. As she anticipated, all eyes swung in her direction. “You hired Copeland and he was your responsibility. While you were trying to save your own butt, you became a party to murder, kidnapping, torture...the whole works. You’re not walking on this one, Davies. We won’t let you. Someone has to pay the piper and it has to be you.”

“Why not Copeland? He did all this! Why isn’t he here?”

Klein started to chuckle. It was an odd sound, like a cat with a rusty purr. “Copeland’s dead. He didn’t survive the transfer from 1888. You’re the one holding the bag.”

Davies’ anger collapsed. He motioned to his lawyer and they whispered back and forth earnestly. After some heated discussion, Randolph sighed.

“Mr. Davies will cooperate,” he announced, “as long as he is given immunity to future prosecution.”

“To hell with that!” Theo roared, pounding the table with his fist. Everyone jumped at his raw fury, including Cynda. “He’s got as much blood on his hands as Copeland or any of the others.”

“You’ll not get the information any other way,” the lawyer replied.

Theo’s face hardened. She knew that look. A samurai adopts it right before he lops off your head. “Then if we grant him immunity, he’s sent Off-Grid. Permanently.”



For a moment, she thought Davies was having a heart attack.

“Good God, that’s a…a death sentence,” the man sputtered. “You know what it’s like out there.”

“Yes, I do,” Theo replied coldly.

“We’ll fight this,” the lawyer replied. “You can’t force him to do this.”

“You might be surprised,” Klein replied. He gestured to Hopkins. “Get him out of here. We’ll talk details later.”

As Davies and his lawyer departed, Cynda spied three black-suited Guv agents in the hallway. The guys from 1888. She shot one of them a wink, and his mouth twitched up in a grin. They quickly formed a cordon around the prisoner. She could just imagine what the AdminBot would think of that.

The second after the door closed, Cynda shut down the interface and repacked her Gladstone, eager for a shower and a nap. The adrenalin rush was ebbing faster than she’d expected.

“Who Null Mem’d you?” Klein asked.

She shrugged. “Not everything is clear about that.” Because I don’t want it to be.

Klein shot her a dubious look. “What about this Drogo guy in 1888?”

“I’d worry about the others first.”

“Why are you protecting him?” the agent asked.

“Consider it my compensation for this whole fiasco. There are worse monsters to hunt.”

“You’re not going to tell us, are you?” he said.

“Nothing to tell. The bad guys didn’t win this round. That’s all that matters.”

“But what about the next time?” Fletcher asked, meeting her gaze.

Cynda rose, Gladstone in hand. “Then it’ll be another madman’s dance.”





Chapter 27




Saturday night, and the Time Pod was packed. They’d commandeered a table, ordered some beer and pizza. Her former boss seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Far too much,” Mr. Spider observed. “He’s like a kid out on his first date.”