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  Final Hours

  Love in Time Book One

  Cate Dean

  Copyright, 2014

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.

  Cover design by Jes Richardson.

  Sign up for Cate’s list: http://catedeanwrites.com/join-my-list to learn about new releases.

  One man’s death will change the future.

  Only two people can save him – if they have the courage to trust each other.

  Elizabeth Barritt fought hard for the life she has, finally putting the ugly memories of a childhood trapped in the foster care system behind her. She has the chance to move forward, to reach out for a new, exciting future, surrounded by the art that is her passion. All she has to do is take the first step.

  Enter Jackson Kane, who bursts into her life, literally out of thin air. He is a time traveler, on the hunt for a rogue agent. Colliding with Elizabeth is not on his agenda, as much as she intrigues him.

  When Kane is injured protecting Elizabeth from that agent, she makes a decision that will change her life, in ways she can’t even begin to grasp. She takes him home.

  Once he is healed enough to travel, Kane goes after the agent, chasing him back to war-torn London. But his journey back takes a sideways turn, forcing Elizabeth to make another choice. She follows him into the past, to help him stop one man from changing their future.

  Together, they learn to trust. What they don’t expect is the connection between them - a connection so strong they can’t fight it, even as they try. Because how can it work, when their lives are centuries apart?

  A Note From Cate

  Though I do dive into actual events, this is a work of fiction. I have been as historically accurate as I can be, when the research is available. If I do take liberties, it is to keep the story as a story, and not the dry history book you didn’t read in high school.

  One

  Elizabeth Barritt spent her last night in London walking along the Thames, pretending her life was this perfect.

  Pretending she wouldn’t go back to her dead end art gallery job in two days. That she wouldn’t have to herd students through rooms of mediocre paintings and sculptures, try to keep their attention when they couldn’t care less. That she wouldn’t—

  Stop torturing yourself, Beth.

  She knew if she spent two weeks in London as an intern at one of the most renowned art galleries in the world it would spoil her. By the time she realized just how much, it was far too late.

  With a sigh, she climbed the steps to the beautiful railing that lined this part of South Bank, and leaned against it to study the view along the river. Her fingers automatically moved to the gold heart locket at her throat, her thumb tracing the engraved flowers.

  How she wished she had her pocket sketchpad with her, so she could capture the river, the city skyline, the beauty of all of it, one last time.

  From here she could see the glory of Tower Bridge, the ancient bulk of the Tower of London crouching on its left. St Paul’s stood directly across the Thames, its dome white and ethereal against the evening sky. Multicolored lights from the buildings that hugged the river danced over its surface.

  It was all so—magical. And she’d had so little magical in her life, the thought of letting it go was physically painful.

  To make it worse, they offered her a position. A permanent position, one that would allow her to live here, work here, surrounded by some of the most incredible art in the world.

  She said no.

  And she still wanted to beat her head against the nearest wall for her kneejerk reaction.

  “Okay—enough. I can always come back, when I’m ready.” She shook herself out of the depression before it dragged her down, pushed off the railing and took a deep breath. “I will come back.”

  “All the world’s a stage, darling girl.” Elizabeth spun toward the voice. An older, really good looking man dressed in black leaned against the stone post of the water gate that led up to the Globe Theatre. Because she stood directly under an ornate lamp post, she knew he could see the blush that flamed her cheeks. “Find the part you want to play on it, and never settle for less than a standing ovation.”

  He executed an elegant bow, winked at her and disappeared into the shadows.

  She hugged herself, and smiled as she tucked away the moment, another souvenir of her time here. She had met so many people like him; friendly, wickedly funny people who lifted her out of her unhappy life, and showed her what she could be. Who she could be.

  For the first time since her parents died and left her alone, a shy and withdrawn ten year old, she felt like she belonged. Elizabeth did not want to let that go.

  She could take steps—small steps, at the beginning. As long as each one led to the life she now knew she wanted, she could be patient.

  A cold breeze tugged at her waist length blonde hair, reminded her of her surroundings. She huddled deeper in her suede jacket, and headed for the charming, paved street that led to her hotel. The thinning post-show crowds prompted her to check her watch.

  “It can’t be that late.” The clock bells at St. Paul’s chimed the hour, confirmed what her watch told her. She walked faster, her well-worn black boots tapping on the uneven pavers. “Daydreaming again.”

  She tried not to berate herself for losing track of time, or that she had to get up early for her flight, that she hadn’t even packed yet, that if she didn’t get her act together she would screw up her entire schedule and miss her plane—

  Panic shot through her, and she fought to control it even as her pace increased. By the time she passed the entrance to the Globe lobby she was running.

  Before her perfect evening ended in a full-on panic attack, she went through the steps she worked out with her former therapist. Three easy steps to calm herself.

  “Step one: slow down,” she whispered. Just saying it out loud moved her closer to her objective.

  Elizabeth reached out for the brick wall of the building and slid her hand along the surface. The sting of it on her skin gave her a focus outside herself. It was the anchor she needed to get out of her head.

  “Step two.”

  She was breathless when she rounded the corner of the building, but less frantic. She stumbled past a short staircase and grabbed the black metal fence beyond it. Both hands clutched the narrow bars like a lifeline.

  It had been more than a year since she lost control like that—long enough that she finally gave up the expensive visits as an indulgence she didn’t need anymore.

  Nothing like taking two giant steps back.

  Her heartbeat evened out as the panic adrenaline faded. In the aftermath, she used to curl up in a ball and cry until she exhausted herself. Step three helped break that. Now she took slow, deep breaths, rubbed her thumb over the warm surface of the gold heart locket until she felt calm. Or something that resembled calm.

  “Okay,” she whispered. She took in another cleansing breath and pushed off the fence. “You’re going to be okay.”

  Grateful there hadn’t been any witnesses to her freak out, Elizabeth sagged against the brick building, wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans.

  A sharp snap whirled her around. She jumped as a black circle appeared in front of her, the air around it rippling—right before a man burst through it, out of nowhere.

  Literally.

  “Bloody hell—” He spit out the curse before he slammed into her with bone jarring force.

  He caught her around the waist and turned
mid collision, so he hit the wall instead of Elizabeth. She still managed to lose her footing and smack her chin into his chest.

  “Ouch—”

  “Are you all right?” Warm, calloused fingers cupped her throbbing chin, tilted it until she looked into a pair of clear grey eyes.

  His arm trapped her waist, plastering Elizabeth against his chest. The panic she thought she had under control roared through her. With a fresh surge of adrenaline she yanked free and stumbled backward. She forgot about the staircase until her heel jammed into the corner of it.

  He caught her again, set her on her feet and backed off. Like he knew she was on the edge. No one had ever cared before, outside her therapist.

  “You are safe, now. I’ll not touch you again.”

  She fought to control her breathing, terrified that her lightheaded gasping would have her passing out in front of a stranger. That it would leave her helpless—

  Stop. Focus. Breathe.

  “Step one,” she whispered.

  “You are safe,” he said again, his deep voice gentle. “I am sorry I frightened you. It was not my intention. Tell me how to help.”

  She shook her head, one hand clutching the locket. It was tangible, outside herself, an anchor. “Step two.”

  “What is step three?”

  Instead of increasing her panic, his question had the opposite effect.

  She looked at him, her heartbeat slowing. Her erratic breath evened out, until she could talk without wheezing. “Not crying like a baby.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “Then the first two steps seem to be working.”

  “It was you.” She blurted out the words before her mind could tell her to shut up.

  “I’d say that impressive recovery was all you.”

  Oh, she liked him. She couldn’t help herself; that dry humor just sucked her in every time. But her admiration didn’t make her stupid. “You came out of a hole—in the air.”

  He ran one hand through his hair. “You were not supposed to be here.”

  “Right.” She backed away. Her hands still trembled from the adrenaline overload that always came with her attacks. “You’re not going to explain exactly where you came from, are you?”

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you now. You’ve already seen—”

  “Too much? This isn’t one of those ‘you saw too much so I must kill you now’ scenarios, is it?”

  His shout of laughter startled her.

  “Sorry. No—we have no policy in place for killing accidental witnesses. You’re my first.”

  “I’m so—proud?”

  He laughed again, obviously amused by her. “Can I ask your name?”

  Don’t tell him— “I’m Elizabeth.”

  “Allow me to return the introduction. Jackson Kane, at your service.”

  He bowed, light from the single street lamp flashing off the silver stud in his left ear. Elizabeth fought not to smile at the archaic, utter charm. She lost the battle when he lifted his head and winked at her. He had a face that could have been on money—classic, aristocratic, the angular lines blurred by what looked like a couple days growth of beard.

  Her overactive imagination could see him, striding over a moody moor, that thick brown hair blowing around his face, greatcoat streaming behind him like a cloak, all Gothic and mysterious as he headed for the woman he loved, the only woman to put a smile on his noble face—

  “Elizabeth.”

  Her heart jumped and she crashed back into the moment. “Sorry.” Her second blush of the night spread across her face when she met his amused eyes. “I—” She cut herself off, embarrassed enough without him knowing what she’d been picturing. “I was admiring your face—” She clapped one hand over her mouth, to stop herself from saying anything else.

  “Then we are mutually admiring. That blush becomes you.”

  His smile eased her mortification. It reached all the way to his eyes, and sent a thrill through her, right down to her toes. Oh, no. She was in worse trouble than she thought. She was attracted to him.

  “I—” She didn’t want him to think she was a love starved idiot. “I work in an art gallery at home, so I tend to look at things from an artist’s perspective. Your face makes me wish I could draw well enough to do you justice.” No—that didn’t sound love starved at all.

  His smile widened. “Flattery accepted.”

  This had turned out to be the strangest, most exhilarating conversation of her life. With a man she shouldn’t even be talking to. But he didn’t set off the warning signs she always relied on, warnings that had been her survival strategy for too many years.

  Oh, no—he set off a whole other kind of alarm. One that told her to run in the other direction before she formed any kind of attachment.

  She decided to take her own advice. Even if it was too little, too late.

  “I have to go.”

  “Elizabeth.” He started to reach for her, lowered his hand. “I want to make certain you’re all right.”

  “I really have to go.” She kept her gaze on him as she backed away, expecting him to stop her. Part of her wanted him to; the stupid part that shot heat through her every time he smiled. She ignored herself and spun toward the street as soon as she was out of grabbing range.

  A familiar snap halted her.

  This time she saw it. A flash of light, just before the black circle shimmered out of nothing and the air began to shift—

  She retreated, wanting to put distance between herself and whoever appeared this time.

  “Elizabeth!” Kane’s desperate shout whirled her around. He sprinted toward her, pointing a sleek silver pistol. “Get down!”

  The circle disappeared, right before a second snap and flash bit the air between them, blocking Kane. A figure dressed in black stepped out of the rippling circle and grabbed her arm. Elizabeth froze as she recognized him.

  “Hello, darling girl.”

  He was the man from the steps of the Globe.

  Before she could free herself he yanked her forward, turning her at the last second to trap her against his chest.

  “Let her go, Guy. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “Ah, but she has seen me now, hasn’t she? A chance meeting is easily forgotten, but to watch me appear out of the portal—that I cannot let pass.”

  “It is no longer your call to make. I’m here to take you home, to answer for the dead you left in your wake.”

  Elizabeth stilled, staring at Kane. The mystery man she thought so charming, standing on the steps like a character out of Shakespeare, was a murderer.

  “I am sorry for that, Kane. If they hadn’t tried to stop me—never mind.” The touch of humility that edged his voice disappeared. “I was going to steal up behind you and knock you senseless before sending you off to some primitive past as a diversion. But when I saw you had such lovely company, my plan changed.”

  “You will not involve her.” The threat in Kane’s deep voice scorched her. “I will see you dead first.”

  “Have we come down to this, my friend? Exchanging insults and threats of death?” Guy tightened his grip on Elizabeth’s waist and took a step back. She waited for the panic to incapacitate her. Instead, anger welled up, and a need to help the man who had been so kind to her. “I promise you, I will leave her in a safe time, and send you her location.” Her heart jumped at his casual mention of time travel. “All I ask in return is your word that you won’t follow after me.”

  Elizabeth studied Kane, watched the struggle on his face. As he opened his mouth, she already knew the answer.

  “No.” He raised the sleek, silver pistol. At least, it looked like a pistol. The low hum coming from it told her it did much more than fire bullets. “Let her go.”

  Guy chuckled, like Kane had told him a joke. Elizabeth let out a gasp when the cold, sharp edge of a knife pressed into her jaw.

  “At a stalemate now, are we? You always did enjoy a good chess match, Kane. What will your next move be? Will you
sacrifice the pawn to take the knight?”

  Kane didn’t even blink at the veiled threat. “Elizabeth.” She met his eyes, saw anguish flash in the grey depths. “I need you to trust.”

  Before she could do more than blink Kane shifted his pistol and fired.

  A laser thin blast burst out and burned across Guy’s right arm. He cursed, his right hand falling away from Elizabeth’s throat, taking the knife with it.

  She stomped on his foot with the heel of her boot and jerked out of his grip, running toward Kane.

  “Get down!”

  His warning had her hitting the ground—just before Guy’s knife sliced through the air. The blade sank to the hilt in Kane’s right shoulder. He staggered, dropped to one knee.

  “Elizabeth.” His raw voice squeezed her heart. “Get—behind me.”

  She crawled toward him. His weapon never wavered, pointed at Guy’s chest. When she got beside him, she saw how badly his right arm shook. The effort to keep his weapon aimed on Guy had sweat sliding down his face.

  “Kane—”

  “Behind me.” She obeyed, crawled around him. Then she looked back at Guy. He clutched his arm, studying her with obvious surprise. She didn’t blame him; she’d surprised herself more than once in the last few minutes. “Give yourself up.”

  “It seems, my friend, that this time I have the slight advantage. I will take it.”

  “Guy, don’t—” Guy touched the device strapped to his right wrist and stepped back into the black hole that appeared behind him. Gold light wrapped around him, and he disappeared. “Damn it.”

  Kane lowered the pistol, and Elizabeth waited for him to collapse. He swayed, away from her; she lurched forward and caught him before his injured shoulder hit the hard ground. She rested his head on her thigh, gently brushed hair off his forehead, and finally noticed the three long, narrow scars on his right cheek. Old scars.

  “Kane?” Blood spread over his olive green coat, the knife hilt trembling with every harsh breath. His face was shock white, the scars on his cheek prominent, even under the dark scruff. He kept his eyes closed tight, against what must have been incredible pain. “Talk to me, please.”