A Moment in Time (8 page)

      
"Portrait?"
 
In her mind, Jackie pictured Lolita's smug smile, her mutant breasts, all that bare flesh...
 
"Oh, no.
 
You can't be serious."

      
"I'm dead serious, Miss Belle."
 
Rupert's expression had changed from furious to cocky.
 
"The beauty of it is, you won't need any clothes at all for that."

      
Jackie stared long and hard at Rupert, then shifted her gaze to Dottie and the ever-present trio of goons.
 
The polished bar, the unbroken furniture, no sign of a fire...

      
Evidence?

      
She had to know the truth.
 
"What...year is it?"
 
A roaring sound began in her head as she watched the flash of amusement in Rupert's eyes.
 
"Answer me.
 
Then..."

      
"Then what?"
 
The man had that used-car-salesman air about him–he obviously smelled a hot deal in the making.
 
"Well?"

      
Jackie held her breath for a moment, then said, "Then I'll pose for your damn portrait."
 

      
He nodded.
 
"The year, Miss Belle, is 1891."

Chapter 3

      
Stunned, Jackie allowed Dottie to lead her up the stairs that had been engulfed in flames last night.
 

      
No, not last night.

      
Her escort opened a door near the end of the hall and Jackie followed her inside.
 
"This can't be happening," she whispered, looking around the room.
 
Dark green flocked paper covered the walls, its intricate pattern broken only by two long narrow windows flanking an ornate dressing table.

      
"Rupert had this room fixed up special...just for you."
 
Disgust tinged Dottie's voice.
 
"Lord only knows why men can't appreciate what's right in front of them."

      
Numbness filled Jackie–identical to when she'd first realized Lolita's portrait was missing.
 
"This just can't be...."

      
"What's the matter?
 
Rupert said green was your favorite color.
 
Was that a lie, too?"
 
After an accusing glance at Jackie's bustline, Dottie flounced across the room to a tall wardrobe and threw open the doors.
 
"I suppose you'll have to wear somethin' after your bath."

      
Taking a bath sounded so...normal.
 
Jackie pressed her hand against her breastbone, feeling the solid thud of her heart and her erratic breathing.
 
She was alive–this was real.

      
No, I won't let it be real.

      
Shifting her gaze from Dottie to the open window, Jackie saw the curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze.
 
She brought her hand to her hair and pulled a strand forward to stare.
 
Still red.

      
A reality check, Clarke?

      
"I'm not dead."

      
Dottie snorted and dropped a red velvet robe on the bed beside Jackie.
 
"No, you ain't dead, but you might be if you don't figure out a way to give Rupert his money's worth outta this deal."

      
What color blind idiot had selected a red robe for a redhead?
 
Biting her lower lip, Jackie curbed the urge to snap at her reluctant hostess.
 
She closed her eyes and forced herself to recap last night's events.
 
Again.
 

      
Snow.
 
Lolita.
 
The fire...

      
"Did anything...strange happen here last night?"
 
Jackie looked up at Dottie, hoping against hope for a miracle–or at least some answers.

      
"Well, you must've come sometime last night or early this mornin'."
 
Dottie shrugged.
 
"That's strange enough, especially since I remember lockin' the door."

      
Jackie sighed, shoving her hair behind her ears where she couldn't see it.
 
"A storm, or maybe a...a fire?"

      
Dottie frowned and shook her head.
 
"Nah.
 
No fires I've heard about, and we ain't had rain or snow for weeks.
 
Now
that's
strange.
 
No storms at all, but I'd say we're overdue a good one."

      
Pressing her index fingers against both temples, Jackie closed her eyes again to think.
 
"Okay, so it's 1891."
 
There, she'd said it, but she still didn't believe it.
 
"What's the exact date?"

      
Dottie heaved an impatient sigh.
 
"May seventh."
 

      
"It can't be."
 
As Jackie opened her eyes, a wave of dizziness assaulted her with all the
savoir-faire
of the Denver Broncos' offensive line.
 
"Yesterday was June eleventh."

      
"No, today is the seventh of May, just like I said."
 
The woman looked up at the ceiling, then met Jackie's gaze with an unspoken and unmistakable challenge.
 
"Just because I don't talk as fine and pretty as you don't mean I can't tell what day it is.
 
You'd best not be forgettin' that either, Miss Loli–"

      
"I'm
not Lolita."
 
Jackie's voice rose with each syllable.
 
Somehow, she had to make these people understand, even if
she
didn't.
 
"My name is Jackie Clarke–not Lolita Belle.
 
Got it?"

      
"Sounds like a man's name."
 
A nasty smile twisted Dottie's face, and her whiskey-colored eyes glittered menacingly.
 
"You better watch yourself.
 
That handsome Cole Morrison ain't around to save you now."

      
"Save me from what?
 
Certain insanity?"
 
Jackie covered her face and drew a long, slow breath through the spaces between her fingers.
 
"I'm tired and I need to use the bathroom."

      
"You're really somethin'."
 
Disapproval came through loud and clear in Dottie's tone.
 
"Maybe
this
'll teach Rupert a lesson he won't soon forget."

      
Jackie held a hand to the top of her head as she stood.
 
The sudden change in elevation increased the pain in her skull to the atomic level.
 
Minimum.
 
"My kingdom for a couple of Ibuprofen."

      
"Ibu-what?"
 

      
"Never mind."
 
Why had she taken off her fanny pack?
 
Talk about stupid.
 
Jackie rubbed her temples again, but found little relief from the constant and increasing throb.
 
"Did you say something about a bath?
 
And where do you pee around here?"
 
Maybe a hot bath would kill the pain.

      
"Water closet's down the hall."
 
Dottie waved her hand in front of her face.
 
"I don't reckon you can wait 'til Saturday for a bath.
 
Do you?"

      
Jackie drew a deep breath and released it very slowly.
 
"Saturday?
 
I take a shower or bath every morning."

      
"Every
day?"
 

      
Jackie couldn't prevent the smug smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.
 
Mean old Dottie deserved every single inconvenience Jackie could create.
 
And then some.
 
"Yes, every single day."

      
"Don't your skin just curl up and
die
from all that water?"
 
Dottie shuddered with enough force to make her ample bosom put on quite a show.
 
"You'll probably get scales like a trout."

      
Jackie shrugged and prayed for her head to stop its ceaseless pounding.
 
Then a terrifying thought barged into her mind–one that might possibly explain the pain in her head.

      
She was in a coma.
 
I'm not crazy.
 
She had to wake up and maintain her sanity long enough to put Blade behind bars.
 
What happened after that was anybody's guess.

      
"That's it."
 

      
"What's what?
 
You really got scales?"
 

      
Jackie sighed and thought, maybe, her headache eased a little.
 
She frowned, trying to ignore Dottie's continued staring.
 
But what if she wasn't in a coma?
 
How could she be certain?

      
Simple.
 
She couldn't.
 
"Damn."

      
"Rupert don't cotton to his girls swearin'."
 

      
"I'm not one of Rupert's girls."
 
Jackie waved her hand in dismissal, trying to convince herself this was all part of her coma.

      
"We'll have to wait and see what he has to say about that."
 
Dottie turned and sashayed toward the door, her round backside swinging like Mae West at her finest.
 
"Zeb'll fetch your water."

      
"Wonder how clean it'll be by the time it gets here," Jackie muttered.

      
"What'd you say?"

      
"Nothing important."
 

      
Dottie opened the door, then paused.
 
"If I was you, I'd start prayin' real fast."
 
After a moment, she looked over her shoulder, a crooked grin twisting her painted lips.
 
"Either that, or ask that snake oil salesman on the edge of town if he's got somethin' that'll grow you a big bosom real fast."

      
Jackie summoned her fiercest gaze and directed it at Dottie.
 
"Yeah, and maybe he has something to cure jealousy, too.
 
Hmm?"

      
"Jealousy?"
 
Dottie's smile vanished and her nostrils flared.
 
"You might have Rupert fooled, honey, but I see right through you."