Time Enough for Love (17 page)

True, she’d damn near had to throttle the story out of him. But he
had
told her. And he’d told her far, far more than Chuck ever would have. Chuck
would’ve finally revealed the cold facts surrounding his family’s tragedy. But to talk about his love for the little boy, to express his yearning to live as uncomplicated and carefree a life as Steven had … Chuck, with his well-practiced control, would never have shared that much of himself.

But Charles had.

She kissed him, loving the way his eyes lit with fire as she pressed herself down on top of him again, as he filled her so completely.

She loved him. Charles, Chuck, the grieving, lonely seven-year-old boy he had once been—she loved them all. Chuck was right all along—he and Charles
were
the same man.

And this moment, this short time they had, locked here together in this tiny closet, might be the only time she had left to share with him.

She didn’t care about the fact that at any moment Ken Goodwin or one of the other Wizard-9 agents might unlock the bolts and open the door. She didn’t care about anything.

Except for showing this man exactly how he made her feel.

He kissed her, lifting her up and lowering her down so that she was on her back. She knew just where to touch him, just what he liked, and she saw awareness and a certain vulnerability in his eyes.
This may have been his first time with her, but she had been with him before.

She gazed up at him as he set a rhythm that made her blood burn, looking again for that softness in his eyes, praying that for him this was not just a flare-up of lust between two near strangers.

He smiled down at her, an echo of Chuck’s tentative, crooked smile. But again, his eyes revealed far more than Chuck’s eyes ever would. There
was
more to this for him than sex—she could see it in his eyes.

She pulled his head down and kissed him, claiming his mouth as possessively as he claimed her body. She heard him groan, felt his body tense, and she knew he was as close to his release as she.

She clung to him, holding him tightly, pulling him even closer, wanting to feel as much of him against as much of her as she possibly could, wanting truly to become one.

And then, with an explosion of sensation, with a flare of pleasure so intense, all lines and boundaries between them vanished as they
did
become one. Maggie couldn’t tell where she ended and Charles began as they spun together, out of this dimension and into a place where time stood still. There was only the scorching ecstasy of shared release. The sweet joy of complete communion.

Then they sighed—he did. Or maybe she did. Or perhaps they both did. Together, separately, it didn’t matter—as slowly they drifted back to earth. Slowly, the sensation of his arms around her, of his weight on top of her, his hair tickling her nose broke through. Slowly, awareness returned. She could feel the carpet beneath her, see spiderwebs up in the corners of the closet ceiling.

Then Charles lifted his head, and she found herself gazing into his eyes. He looked at her searchingly, as if uncertain of her response to what they’d just done.

She smiled at him, running her fingers through the softness of his hair. “I sure am glad I didn’t drown today. I really would’ve hated to miss that.”

His face relaxed into a hot, quick smile. “I’m glad too. More than you can imagine.” He kissed her hard on the mouth. “You want to get out of here?”

Maggie froze. “You’re going to do it? You’re going to decide to give up your research?”

He pulled himself off of her, helping her up and handing her his shirt as he quickly found his own pants. He’d turned away, but not before Maggie saw the answer to her questions in his eyes.

No. He wasn’t going to quit. Maggie didn’t know whether to feel frustrated or relieved.

“You have the power to end this once and for
all,” she told him as she fumbled with the buttons on the shirt.

“I can’t do it,” he told her, his voice low. “All my life I’ve wanted to go back. To save him. I can’t just give it up. Not without trying to find another way.”

“You don’t think Chuck has tried to find another way?”

He glanced at her, his eyes apologetic. “I think that I can’t just quit before I have a chance to talk to him. What if together we can come up with a solution that neither of us would have thought of alone?”

“What if you do something to get yourself killed?” she countered.

“Ken Goodwin’s not going to risk—”

“Accidents can happen, Charlie. What if they go for me and this time
you
step in the way of the bullet?”

He tried to make light of it. “Then I guess there’ll be no Wells Project.”

Maggie wasn’t amused. “If you’re dead, Chuck will be dead too.”

Charles was quiet as he slipped his shoes back onto his feet. “Believe me, I’ll do my best to make sure both he and I survive,” he finally said.

“So how exactly do you plan to get us not only out of this closet but also off this ranch?” Maggie
asked. “I’m particularly curious as to how you intend to keep the Wizard-9 agents and their hired guns from shooting great big holes in me as we wave good-bye, driving … which car, Charles? We seem to have left ours back in the Data Tech parking lot.”

“We’ll take one of their cars.”

“Wait, don’t tell me. You’ll hot-wire it, right?”

“No, I’ll have them give me the keys. We’ll get out of here faster that way.” He picked up the rope from the closet floor—the two lengths of rope that had bound her hands and feet. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“Are you ready?” Maggie asked. She’d put her dress back on. It was cold and wet and she shivered slightly.

Charles nodded. With his help, she’d managed to tear the bottom few feet of fabric off the dress, shortening it so it didn’t go down much past her knees. That would help when it came time to run. “Remember, when they start opening the locks, step back behind me, and stay down.”

“But be ready to move fast,” she said, repeating his instructions. “And stay close to you at all times. I know.” She glanced around the tiny closet, down at the Wells Project report still lying on the rug. She
kicked it with her toe. “All this trouble over a bunch of equations.”

As Maggie looked back up at Charles, he saw through her bravado. Her eyes were so wide, her face so pale. “Charlie, if this doesn’t work—”

“I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

“I know that’s what you intend—”

“I
promise
.”

She kissed him. He could taste her fear. Or maybe it was his own. “I love you.”

Charles nodded, forcing a smile. He had no doubt in his mind that Chuck already knew that. “Come on, Maggie, let’s get this done.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.” Squaring her shoulders, she approached the door. Another deep breath, and then she was pounding on it. Pounding and shouting as if the world were coming to an end. “Help! Somebody help me please! Charles is trying to
hang
himself! He won’t let me near him, and I’m afraid he’s going to die!”

She kept it up, shouting and banging, pounding and shrieking until there it was, the sound of the bolts on the outside of the door being thrown.

As Charles braced himself Maggie scrambled toward the back of the closet. The door was pulled open, and one of the Wizard-9 agents—the hulking
man Charles had had his wrestling match with earlier that day—got a glimpse of him, rope tied around his neck, lashed so that it looked as if he were hanging from the closet pole.

It was true that he had to bend his knees and lift his feet off the ground, which had to look rather ridiculous. And it was also true that the pole wasn’t going to hold his weight for more than another few seconds. But a few seconds was all he needed as the Wizard-9 agent rushed forward to rescue him.

Charles released the rope as soon as the hulk was close enough to reach for him, and his sudden unexpected body weight was enough to take the man down. They collapsed together onto the closet floor and Charles had his hands on the man’s gun as he kneed him sharply in the groin—all before the other Wizard-9 agents standing in the doorway even realized what was happening.

The hulk was writhing as Charles scrambled to his feet, gun in hand. He could feel Maggie next to him, pressed against his back just as he’d told her. He pointed the gun at the other agents as everything around him seemed to switch into slow motion.

“Hands up!” he shouted, moving forward, pushing them back out of the closet. If they didn’t respond to the threat to themselves, he’d point the gun
at himself—see how quickly they’d react to the possibility of his ending the Wells Project before it began by way of his own untimely death.

He was banking on the fact that they wouldn’t call his bluff.

And then, from the other side of the house, came the unmistakable sound of gunfire. It was the rapid-fire sound of an automatic weapon, and from the way Maggie’s hands tightened on his arms, he knew she’d come to the same conclusion he had.

Chuck was here.

But was he on the giving or receiving end of those gunshots?

Before Charles could take so much as a step toward the door, an explosion rocked the foundation of the house. He realized as he looked out the windows that more time had gone by than he’d realized. It was evening. The sky was dark.

He motioned toward the Wizard-9 agents again with his gun. “Drop your weapons.”

But before anyone moved, the door to the room was kicked open, and there in the hallway stood … himself.

He was dressed all in black. Black jeans, black boots, black turtleneck shirt. His face was camouflaged with smears of grease and dirt, and he was holding the kind of assault weapon Boyd Rogers
used in his adventures as a Navy SEAL. He was holding it as if he knew how to use it, and use it well.

Charles stared for a fraction of a second into his own eyes. Into
Chuck
’s eyes. The man he would become in seven years. The man Maggie loved.

“Get down!” Chuck shouted, and Charles turned to see the two Wizard-9 agents hadn’t dropped their weapons when he’d told them to. And still in that same slow motion, he saw them turn and aim their guns at Chuck.

Charles pulled Maggie away, pushing her onto the floor behind a big double bed. He heard the sound of Chuck’s gun, heard Maggie scream, and he tried to cover her more completely with his body. There was the sound of shouting voices, more gunshots, then silence.

And then there was the sound of his own voice—Chuck’s voice—saying, “You better get moving. The east wing of the house is on fire. It’s dry as hell—it’s not going to be long before this whole place goes up.”

Charles pulled himself to his feet. And found himself gazing down at the earthly remains of three Wizard-9 agents.

He heard Maggie’s swift intake of air, and he
pulled her away from the sight. “Don’t look,” he told her, pushing her toward the door.

Chuck was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his gun cradled in his arms, as if the fact that he’d just snuffed out three lives meant nothing to him.

Maggie ran to him, and Charles felt a sharp flare of jealousy that he tried to stifle. She’d been nothing but honest with him. He’d known all along, even while they were making love, that Chuck owned her heart.

But he didn’t have to watch as Maggie threw herself into Chuck’s arms. He didn’t have to watch as she kissed him. Because she didn’t. Instead, she knelt beside him on the floor and turned to look up at Charles.

“Charlie, he’s been hit!”

Only then did Charles see the smear of blood on the white wall. Chuck’s blood.
His
blood.

“I should have remembered the man in the closet,” Chuck said through tightly clenched teeth. “But I didn’t, and he surprised me.”

“But I had his gun—”

“You had
one
of his guns.”

“It’s his right leg,” Maggie told him as he crouched beside her.

Chuck held out his gun to Charles. “Here. Take this and go with Maggie. Quickly.”

“W
E’RE NOT GOING
anywhere without you,” Maggie said fiercely. She turned to look at Charles. “How bad is it?”

Chuck answered. “It’s not bad, but I won’t be able to run. I don’t think I can even walk.”

“I’ll carry the gun, you carry him,” Maggie said to Charles.

“No, I’ll slow you down—”

“So?”

Chuck’s eyes blazed. “So I may have taken care of the others and destroyed the Runabout, but Goodwin got away. He could be anywhere. And I know for damn sure that he’s going to be aiming his gun at
you
, Maggie. You need to be able to move, and move
fast
.”

Chuck had “taken care of” the other Wizard-9 agents. That’s what he called shooting them full of bullets and draining the life from them. Maggie kept her back firmly turned to the sight of the three dead men sprawled on the other side of the room. How could he be so matter-of-fact, so emotionless about killing? How many times in the past had he been forced to kill? Or had he always been so callous and thick-skinned?

She risked a glance at Charles. His expression was grimly identical to Chuck’s. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe the thought of those three men never standing up and going home to their wives and children didn’t make him sick to his stomach, either.

“Maggie’s the only reason I’d risk building another Runabout,” Chuck said, his voice harsh. She looked up at him and she could see pain mixed in with the fiery intensity in his eyes. His wound may not have been “bad,” but it hurt him badly.

“And Ken Goodwin knows that,” he continued. “If you’re dead, Mags, I’d keep my theories of time travel alive.” He thrust his gun at Charles. “Come on, kid. I’m expendable. I’ll be gone anyway when you finally do the right thing and decide to leave
Data Tech. So take it and get Maggie the hell out of here.”

“You
did
know,” Maggie interrupted. “You knew all along that if I could convince Charles to give up his research, you’d just disappear, didn’t you? I can’t believe you would let yourself vanish without saying good-bye!”

“I did say good-bye,” he said quietly.