Daring Time (32 page)

Nice place to be trapped. He found himself wondering idly if there was enough time to take her back to Prairie Avenue, strip her bare and bury his nose in every inch of her smooth, fragrant skin. Maybe if he broke a few land speed records on the way home and wrangled a promise out of Hope that she'd get ready for the gala in twenty minutes flat he'd have time to—

"Mr. Joseph Sears. He lives just two houses down from us. I look forward to telling him of his family's towering contribution to the city someday."

His eyebrows had gone up at her casual melding of their time periods. She'd noticed his amusement and smiled.

"I thought you said I should try and think of my father as still being alive—accessible to me. If it were true of him, wouldn't it be true for everyone?"

Ryan had shrugged. "You love your father, Hope. You can picture him with the clarity that only intense emotion can bring. I'm assuming you don't feel the same way about Joseph Sears, but I may be wrong."

She'd lowered her eyes and blushed so intensely it'd surprised him. Did she really believe he thought she had a thing for Joseph Sears? She cleared her throat.

"Are you saying that was how you did it, Ryan?" she whispered. She looked up at him cautiously through thick lashes. "Is that how you traveled through time?"

Ryan's mouth gaped open stupidly. He grasped for something logical to say, but the elevator door opened and everyone inside crushed to get out.

It wasn't that he was trying to avoid answering her, he assured himself presently. It just seemed like one thing had led to another since they'd returned to the car and then Prairie Avenue.

And now Hope had disappeared into the bathroom for over an hour.

He knocked on the door.

"Hope? We need to get going. We're going to be late."

"Maybe you should go without me, Ryan."

"What are you talking about?" he shouted through the closed door. "You
begged
me to go." He tried to open the door but it was locked. "Open up, honey."

His brows furrowed in concern when nothing happened for several silent seconds.

"Hope? Are you all right?"

He heard the snick of the lock being released. The door opened slowly.

Ryan stared.

"Is it. .. bad?" she whispered.

"Bad?" Ryan muttered, poleaxed by the sight of her in the sleeveless, rose-colored gown.

The fabric over her breasts was pleated but fit very snugly. Silver beading just below her breasts further highlighted the most succulent decolletage Ryan had ever imagined.

Below the beading the fabric fell to her toes in a graceful, wispy cloud. Her long, curly hair fell around her shoulders in a sexy spill. She wore no necklace, but the flawless expanse of skin on her chest, neck and shoulders required no adornment. His mother must have loaned her the long, delicate silver filigreed earrings that glittered next to her midnight hair.

She looked ethereal. .. otherworldly.

"You're beautiful," he said as he met her anxious gaze. He wished his words hadn't sounded so lame, so inadequate. Ryan was used to seeing professional models wear his mother's designs. As a matter of fact, he thought he'd seen a blonde with legs that went up to her armpits model this very design at one of his mother's shows last year. But nothing could have prepared him for seeing Hope standing there in the same gown, looking so uncertain when she deserved tributes of poetry and song to her unsurpassable beauty.

She gave him a tremulous smile. "I feel naked."

"You look like something from a dream. And nobody at the gala is going to think anything other than that. But if that doesn't help any, think of your mother taking off her skirt to calm that panicked guy on the Ferris wheel." His eyebrows rose when her black eyes sparkled. "Surely you have as much courage as her."

That did it. She went to the sink and picked up the tiny silver beaded purse that matched her ensemble. She took a long, deep breath, mastering her anxiety.

"Well, it certainly is easier to do
that
without a corset," she admitted with a witch's smile.

Ryan noticed Hope's broad grin as they climbed up the white marble steps of the Field Museum.

"Guess you're not disappointed, even though it's not the Field Museum you remember from Jackson Park?"

"Oh, it's exactly what I'd hoped it would be when I heard Mrs. Potter Palmer coaxing Mr.

Burnham into building it several months ago at a dinner party given by the Glessners. He recaptured a bit of the magic of the White City and the Chicago World's Fair. I don't think you present-day Chicagoans have any idea what you owe Daniel Burnham for his elegant city plan," Hope said, referring to the renowned Chicago architect.

She stared up at the fantastic, white marble, neoclassical structure. Glowing lanterns had been set at the edge of every step. Hope felt as though she were attending a party at an enormous Grecian temple. Ryan didn't comment on her proclamation but merely gave a shake of his head, a restrained expression of amazement on his face.

Ryan opened the massive front door for Ramiro, Gail and herself. Hope drew near him and paused for a moment in the doorway.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you how nice you look in your tuxedo," she said when Ramiro and Gail passed out of hearing distance. Her gaze lowered over his bow tie and wide chest. She swallowed with difficulty, but the great lump in her throat didn't prevent her from speaking the truth. "You're the handsomest man I've ever seen."

"It's not fair to tease me while I'm working."

"I'm not teasing you!"

Ryan's crooked grin and laser-like stare caused a tingling sensation of excitement in her breasts and belly.

"You've got a lot to learn, honey. You think seduction is all about taking your clothes off in a bedroom, but you get me hard with just a glance. Never mind what you do to me with your kindness."

He leaned down and seized her lips in a quick, fierce kiss. Hope craned up for him, forgetting where they were or who might be watching them immediately when she registered the firm press of his molding lips and inhaled the clean, spicy scent of his cologne.

He kept his dark head lowered over her upturned face when he finally broke their kiss.

"I wasn't being kind, Ryan. It was the solemn truth."

He brushed a curl off her cheek. "I've asked Gail to look out for you at the party, and Ramiro will be there whenever he can be."

"Don't worry about me. I like Gail very much. Imagine—a career woman. I could talk to her about her work at the police station all night. I'll wager that's why police officers are so hardworking and dedicated in your time versus mine—because
women
are allowed to work alongside them. At any rate, you have important work to do. You know I have as much interest in you arresting Jim Donahue as anyone," she said, giving him a significant look. She'd been amazed to the point of muteness (a rare occurrence) when Ryan had told Ramiro and her this morning that Diamond Jack Fletcher lived in this time period—and was as corrupt and evil as ever.

"I do," he said quietly, his eyes wandering over her face intently. "But it would help me a great deal to know you weren't getting into any trouble. Stay away from Jim Donahue or anyone who looks like they're associated with him. Do you understand?"

"Of course! I'm more than happy to let you and Ramiro capture that woman-hating, white slaving, rotten-to-the-core, vicious, kidnapping scoundrel who—"

"Hope?"

"Yes?" she asked, a little flustered at being interrupted in the midst of her tirade.

"I don't want you wandering around this museum alone gawking at the exhibits or anything. I'll bring you here another time. Stay with Gail and Ramiro."

"I will. Ryan, please don't worry about me. I promise to stay away from Diamond Jack Fletcher. Or any of his future or past incarnations. Lord knows I wouldn't actually
choose
to be around that lout or any of his henchmen," she added under her breath.

"Nice to hear. I probably won't be able to speak with you again until after all this is over.

Ramiro will have to leave at some point as well, but you and Gail are going to catch a cab to my mother's place."

Hope nodded. "Be careful, Ryan."

He put out his arm for her. "I always am."

"Nice of you to show up, Daire," Crenshaw said pointedly when he met Ryan and Hope in the high-ceiling entryway.

Ryan thought it was best just to ignore Crenshaw's disgruntle-ment at his absence at the briefing yesterday and go ahead and introduce Hope.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crenshaw," Hope told him with her perfect elocution and a smile tailor-made to immediately melt even a hardened federal agent's tough hide.

"Where you'd find that girl? Fairyland?" Crenshaw asked after Gail suggested to Hope that they check their wraps at the coat station. They'd arrived early at the Field Museum in order to check out the lay of the land and to get wired up with their own invisible surveillance devices so that the task force could communicate amongst themselves.

Ramiro would remain on the first floor of the museum where the gala was taking place along with eight other members of the squad while Ryan would be stationed someplace covert where Donahue wouldn't notice his presence.

"You'd never believe me if I told you."

Crenshaw's wiry, graying blond eyebrows went up on his head. "You know, I just might believe you. You don't find women that look like that on every corner." He inhaled and got back to business in a split second. "Agent Pearson will take you back to the room we're using for tactical communications. A couple agents are fitting up Chirnovsky with the recording equipment as we speak. We have a van set up for mobile surveillance as well, just in case Donahue should leave the party with Chirnovsky before he says anything of importance. I'm not expecting that to happen, though. According to Chirnovsky, Donahue specifically asked him to meet here tonight along with Manny Gutierrez in order to discuss their plans. Gutierrez is making a rare visit to Chicago. He usually works exclusively in Mexico procuring men for cheap labor and women for the slavery ring."

"Yeah. I'm familiar with Gutierrez's work," Ryan said dryly. "I'd make extra certain that the mobile unit is ready to roll."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ryan shrugged. "I just have a hunch Donahue won't say anything substantial until he's at his nightclub—the Sweet Lash."

Ryan returned Crenshaw's steely-eyed stare.

"A hunch, huh? Well, your hunches have usually been bet-worthy in the past. I'll tell Agent Alvarez to be extra sure their unit is alert and ready to go, then. The last thing we need is for Donahue to slip through our fingers after all this planning. Our warrant for wiretapping expires at midnight, and I really don't want to have to go in front of a judge for another extension. Speaking of plans going awry, you make sure you keep out of Donahue's sights, you hear?"

Ryan nodded before he went to find Agent Pearson. He couldn't tell Crenshaw about the inforriiation he'd gleaned from traveling to a time period where another version of Jim Donahue lived. Besides, it was his intuition more than anything else that told him there was a good chance Donahue wouldn't say anything of significance in regard to his running of the white slavery operation until he was at the Sweet Lash. Old habits died hard—even if they were habits formulated over a century ago.

Agent Pearson showed him the location of the room they were using for tactical communications. Ryan was outfitted by one of the technicians with a Sonic neckloop that went under his shirt. The covert system contained both a microphone for talking and a transmitter. A tiny, nearly invisible wireless earpiece kept him connected on a common frequency with the entire squad while they were all in this general location. A remote control monitor that he slid into his pocket allowed him to push a button and be heard by the rest of the squad even if he spoke in a low voice.

An hour after they'd arrived Ryan stood on the second-floor balcony that completely surrounded the enormous central hall of the Field Museum and watched the luxurious charity event unfolding below him. Crenshaw had just informed him that Jim Donahue was five minutes away on Lake Shore Drive and Gutierrez wasn't far behind. Crenshaw was taking the opportunity of peace before the storm to dance with his wife.

A hundred or so small candlelit cocktail tables had been set amongst exhibits and the towering menace of a pouncing Sue, the most complete
Tyrannosaurus rex
skeleton known to exist. A sixteen-piece orchestra played a Frank Sinatra classic, while dozens of couples danced to the music, the women's colorful long dresses making a kaleidoscope of swaying color beneath him. People were lined up at the three bars that had been set up even though white-jacketed waiters were constantly working the room, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

He felt a little guilty when Ramiro escorted Gail out onto the dance floor and Hope remained at the table alone. One of the waiters approached her. She asked a question and took one of the hors d'oeuvres and a glass of champagne. She gifted the waiter with one of her luminous smiles and nodded her head in approval when she took a bite of the morsel.

After the waiter left—a little too hesitantly for Ryan's liking— Hope sipped her champagne and stared fixedly at Ramiro and Gail as they danced. He could almost sense her energetic mind working as she tried to memorize the dance movements. He scowled when a blond, tanned guy in his late thirties approached her but gave a sigh of relief when Hope smiled and shook her head.

He felt bad about her not being able to dance, but not so bad that he wanted some dude that looked like he spent all his free time on a tanning bed touching her silky skin.

He began to circle the long stretch of the balcony, checking out the faces in the crowd carefully. A few minutes later Crenshaw finished his dance and walked away from the crowd. He asked all the members of the squad to check in.

"All right. Look sharp," Crenshaw said a few seconds later. "Our guest of honor is pulling up to the entrance as we speak."