A Murder in Time(134)

“Rose is dead because of me.”

“No. You cannot blame yourself.”

“Yes, I damn well can! I’m the reason the killer turned his attention to the castle! If I hadn’t been here to tell you that you had a f*cking serial killer on your hands, you’d have thought Lydia had tripped and drowned while bathing!”

He regarded her steadily, disturbed by the profanity and her pain. “Do you think we are so stupid that we would not have recognized that Lydia Benoit had been strangled? That we would not have known we were dealing with murder?”

The rage left her as suddenly as it had taken hold. She slumped against the stones. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Is crime detection so much more sophisticated in America?”

She couldn’t stop herself. She began to laugh helplessly. “My America, yes. In my world, yes!”

“You forget, Miss Donovan, I’ve been to America—”

“No. No, you haven’t.” She suddenly knew what she was going to do. What she had to do. She was going to take a chance, a leap of faith, her courage helped along by the bottle of brandy. “My America is the world’s superpower.”

“America may have won the war, but your country is hardly that powerful—”

“Superpower—one word. It refers to global dominance.” Her hand trembled as she splashed more brandy into the glass. “The term was coined around World War Two.”

“World War Two?”

“In the 1940s.”

“I . . . see.”

“I can’t seem to remember the exact date. And I have an excellent memory.”

“Why don’t you give me the brandy?” He reached over to extract the brandy bottle, but she yanked it away, hugging it close to her chest. He sighed. “Miss Donovan . . . Kendra, the brandy has addled your wits.”

“No, it hasn’t. In my world, the United States of America is a superpower.” She tossed back the contents of her glass and ignored the little voice in her head that was yelling, Shut up! “This . . . all of this . . .” She waved the empty glass around. “It’s not my world, Alec.”

“I see.”

“Ha!” She leaned back and wagged her finger at him. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe me!”

“Believe you about what? You are not making any sense.”

“You’re not listening.” She shifted and nearly toppled over. Alec caught her, but she barely noticed. She leaned against him. “This is not my world.”

“You are talking as though you are from another planet.”

She frowned, considering that. “I’m from this planet, but not this time. Do you understand?”

“I understand that you have drunk half a bottle of brandy.”

“I’m being serious! Alec . . . I’m different.”

“I cannot dispute that.” He reached again for the bottle of brandy, and this time she relinquished it.

“Dammit, Alec. Have you listened to what I’m saying?”

“Yes. You are saying that you are from the future, the 1940s.”

That made her laugh again. “Oh God, no. That was way before I was born.” Her laughter faded when she caught his gaze. “I can’t prove anything I’ve told you. I don’t have any device from the future to show you, no time travel machine. I only have my knowledge . . . and it might not be wise to share too much of that with you.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Because it could change the future. Look, you can send Sam Kelly all around England, and he’s not going to find my name on any ship manifests or in any place of employment. Ever. Don’t you see? I don’t exist in this time.”

“You may have used another name. Or Kendra Donovan may not be your real name.”

“Why do you have to be so damned logical? I know how insane this sounds, but I’m telling you the truth. I went into the secret passage in the twenty-first century, and when . . . when I came out, I was here.”

He stared at her uneasily. “This is inconceivable.”

“It takes a little getting used to.”

“Let’s say I believe you. How did it happen?”

“I don’t know. It was outside of my control.” She shivered as the memory came flooding back to her, the suffocating darkness, the terrifying sensation of being ripped apart and then knit back together. “My best guess is that it was some sort of vortex or wormhole.”

“A wormhole?” He sounded skeptical.

“Basically a shortcut between dimensions or through space and time—if space and time folded in on itself.” She sighed. “It’s complicated. At first I thought it was a random event. Horrible and strange, but still random.” She stared unseeingly out into the darkness, talking softly, almost to herself. “But then Lydia’s body was found.”

“What does that have to do with . . . your tale?”

She roused herself, looking at him. “Because I knew Lydia had been murdered, and her murderer was a serial killer. And in my time line, that’s my job. I hunt serial killers.”

“You hunt killers?”

“Serial killers. Otherwise known as stranger killings. I’m a special agent in the FBI. I study this type of killer, determining his patterns and predict what he might do next.”