"She's an English-speaking foreigner. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. McNamara, but the city is full of visitors at the moment. To stand out among some of the folks I've seen walking the streets the past few days, she'd have to be eight feet tall with rainbow-colored hair and the ability to fly before people looked twice at her."

"Good point." Reegan rose from his chair, stepped gracefully over the broken glass, and stalked to the window.

Saul gazed at his midnight visitor. "Does she have valid I.D. of any sort?"

"Like what?"

"Well, you said she wasn't a U.S. citizen, so...a passport?"

Reegan started to shake his head, then made a face. "I don't think this was a spur-of-the-moment thing for her. So yes, it's possible she has period-authentic identification."

"Period what?"

"It's possible she has ID, I said."

That wasn't what he'd said. Saul filed the lie away. "Anything you can tell me about her would help. What does she do for a living? You were with her right before she ran, right? Did she say or do anything out of the ordinary?"

"She doesn't work anymore. She used to sing."

"Professionally?"

"In bars." Reegan's gaze grew wistful. "She liked blues music. Ruth Brown especially."

"Is there anything else?" Saul prompted when Reegan didn't continue.

"I talked to her right before we left to watch the speech. She said she didn't get out much. Once in a blue moon."

Saul felt a tingle. A connection that was probably more hope than reality, but that was his business, wasn't it? He'd used to find this kind of thing a challenge. A pleasurable challenge. It said much about his long fall that the work he'd once loved held so little appeal these days.

"Mr. Kildare?" Reegan sank onto the narrow windowsill and curled over his knees. "This lady will be in real trouble if she doesn't get her medicine."

Then why run away over a petty squabble with her husband? Unless... Saul braced himself. "Is she your lover?"

Finally he'd caught the guy by surprise. Reegan straightened and gaped at him. "No."

The relief he felt was in no way emotionally healthy. Angry at himself, Saul barked, "No? You sure?"

"She's not my type." Reegan's eyes narrowed into slits. "I thought I'd already made that clear."

Saul tipped back in his chair, laughing. "All you made clear is that you're not picky about who sticks their tongue in your mouth." He smirked at the dangerous, flinty glare he got in return.

Reegan broke first, swiveling back to the window. "Guess I deserved that."

Saul frowned at the self-deprecating tone. He wasn't even positive he'd been meant to hear the quiet confession. He nudged a large wedge of glass with his shoe. "Okay. I'll take the case." If it turned out to be a mistake, it wouldn't be his first. "Let's discuss my fees."

Reegan grimaced. "Hope cash is okay."

Saul extracted a small notebook from his desk drawer. "That'll work." Flipping to the middle, he scrawled Reegan's name at the top of the page. "I have no official fee schedule. Things are rarely that neat and tidy. I require a two-thousand-dollar retainer."

Reegan snorted. "To start with, right?"

Okay, if that was the way they were going to play it, Saul was game. "That depends. Did you want me on this 24/7 or nine to five?"

Reegan reached for his wallet and started counting out hundred dollar bills.

Saul made sure he looked everywhere but at the cash. "I'll keep you abreast of my movements in as timely a manner as possible. What's your cell phone number?" He waited, pen hovering over the notebook. Silence answered back.

Saul clicked the button on the ballpoint a few times. "Mr. McNamara, your cell phone number?"

"I think..."

Oh, Christ. Saul knew that tone. Dreading what he knew was coming, he lifted his gaze in time to catch Reegan cross his arms and purse his lips. "I think I should come with you. That way if you have any questions, I'm right there to answer them."

"True," Saul answered. "Or I could just call you if I have a question."

"I like my idea better." Then the bastard smiled.

Saul flipped his notebook shut, listening with half an ear to the stomp of boots and peals of laughter in the hallway. His neighbors returning from McAfee's speech. He raised his voice to speak over the noise. "I don't take clients to work with me. Sorry."

Tapping his finger to his lips, Reegan peered behind the bookcase next to the window, then reached into the narrow space to emerge with a cobweb-covered broom. As though it were perfectly normal-perfectly acceptable-he started herding up the glass. "I understand."

Strangely hypnotized by the sight of Reegan working the broom, Saul blew out a relieved breath.

"However, in this case, you'll have to make an exception."

Unbelievable. Two grand on the table, and he was going to have to refuse the case on the grounds that his client was crazy. "I don't make exceptions," Saul said, enunciating each syllable. Unless the exception was giving his closeted partner a blowjob in a back alley. Saul wouldn't be mentioning that breech of common sense.

He listened to the tinkle of broken glass scraping across the floor and waited for Reegan's answering volley. This battle wasn't over, and if the man negotiated as well as he kissed, Saul might have already lost. He grew warm remembering the strength Reegan kept simmering below his polite surface.

Reegan grabbed the dustpan that was also wedged behind the bookcase. Stepping over the growing pile of glass and damp dust bunnies, he handed it to Saul. "I'll offer a three-thousand-dollar bonus if we start looking tonight."

Saul squeezed the copper handle hard but kept his voice even. "Three thousand dollars." He couldn't sound too greedy. Or worse, too needy. Three grand would certainly help his sad financial situation. Five would stretch further, and Reegan looked desperate enough to pay it. Torn, a bit sick that he was considering asking for more, Saul sank into a crouch and held the dustpan in front of the pile of broken glass. "You're pretty desperate to find her."

"Yes. I don't want her dying on my watch."

Rather than ask for an explanation of that, Saul dumped the shards into the bin under his desk. He didn't want this lady dying on his watch either. He'd seen in her in the flesh. She wasn't some stranger he could delegate to paper and ink, a two-dimensional person who couldn't be scared or hurt. Or killed. He straightened with a sigh. "Fine. We'll start tonight."

"Right now?"

The last traces of vodka, swept into parallel streaks by the broom, were already evaporating. Saul gave the stains one last look before nodding. "Right now."

Chapter Five.

"This is your car?" Reegan asked. Saul had led him down the street and around the corner, pointing to a dented and scratched Range Rover parked in a paved nook that might have been an alley. Once. Now it was closed off on one end, and a plastic playhouse and a red tricycle sat at the base of the chain link fence that sectioned the area off from the adjoining block. A floodlight mounted high on the brick edifice illuminated several cars hugging one side of the building, parked back to front.

Saul gave the Rover a critical once-over. "Yeah."

"I love it."

Of course it sounded strange. Reegan realized that as soon as he said it, but he'd just have to play it off now. Saul hit the button on his keychain, and Regan squirmed between the wall and the car, squeezing into the passenger seat. The interior was stuffed with fascinating objects. He poked into the glove compartments and consoles. Examined old foam cups, some still half full of cold coffee. Pushed buttons on the dashboard navigation system until it beeped its displeasure. Despite the insanity of his situation, he was still a historian. Faced with trappings of a different time period, it was hard to keep his hands to himself. He didn't own a car. His father had known how to drive, and Reegan vaguely remembered long trips down lonely roads, when the old man had given in to the urge to abandon the city for a day. Other than those times, Reegan had only ever ridden in vehicles that navigated themselves.

Digging between the seats unearthed an antique MP3 device and a set of grimy ear buds. "Music!" Delighted, he shook the player in Saul's face. "What kind do you like?"

Saul pried the MP3 from Reegan's fingers and tossed it in the backseat, then eased the Rover expertly out of the alley and onto the empty street.

Reegan eyed him for a minute, searching for signs of honest irritation, then resumed his explorations. The compartments on the door were a treasure trove, and eventually Reegan's search turned up an empty gun magazine. He held it up to the dash lights for a better look.

"Hey." Saul made a swipe for it. "Keep your hands off my shit."

It took Reegan a moment to realize what he was holding. As soon as he did, he dropped it as though it were on fire. Saul snatched it before it hit the console.

"Sorry. I can't help it. I love antiques." Reegan eyed the magazine still clutched in Saul's fist. "But I know more about furniture than guns."

"Antiques?" The overhead streetlights washed everything to a dull amber, but illuminated the inside of the car enough so that Reegan could see Saul's expression. His wide eyes matched his incredulous tone. "This is a thirteen-round magazine for a Glock 23. Last I checked, you couldn't buy one at the corner flea market."

Reegan cursed inwardly. "No, of course not."

After that, he kept his hands to himself and his mouth shut, but he couldn't keep his eyes off Saul. Not only was the man easy on the eyes, but their attraction had been instant and powerful. Shame it walked a dangerous line of impropriety. With so many lies stacking up between them, all on Reegan's side-or so he assumed-their mutual sexual connection might be the most honest thing they shared at the moment. Too bad they couldn't capitalize on it.

Watching Saul slam the car into gear and pull into traffic shouldn't have been a turn-on. His brooding expression and show of anger shouldn't have driven Reegan to distraction, but they did. D'arco's threats were far-off dangers at the moment. Nebulous and intangible. It all spelled trouble for sure. Maxie would laugh his ass off if Reegan's dick got him killed. It was exactly the kind of poetic justice the guy adored.

Reegan hadn't lied. He despised guns, and it was the idea he'd most likely be seeing more in the near future that finally wrestled his libido into submission. For now. If the opportunity arose, he knew he'd finish what they'd started. Screw all that propaganda he spouted to the tourists about nothing in the past being real. He'd recited it so much over the years he'd begun to believe it himself, but nothing could be further from the truth. The way Saul had felt in his arms was as real as it got.

He cleared his throat and turned his attention from Saul to the passing scenery, which was equally distracting, but not in the uncomfortably-tight-pants sort of way. Although he had suffered more than the occasional hard-on while jaunting. The thrill of living and breathing the past could be one long, vigorous session of foreplay, at least for him, which might explain the root of his addiction to time travel.

But this night with Saul was completely off-script. He was getting to see unexplored parts of the city. Hear them. Smell them. These were the parts of a place tourists from the future had little interest in, where the daily living took place. Like Reegan's childhood res district, it wasn't spectacular to look at unless you were a student of social interaction. If you were, it was gold at the end of the rainbow. The world changed, but Reegan had learned long ago that people mostly stayed the same. Human nature was a fixed element, more refined in some circumstances, less in others.

Saul had taken enough turns for Reegan to lose his bearings. He studied the nav system, smiling at the name printed across the top of the device. An old Garmin, one of the first. A tiny toy car drove along the screen, following the green grid lines of D.C.'s streets. Absolutely adorable. It even spoke with a British accent. Maxie would pay a pretty penny for an old piece of tech like this, especially one in such prime condition. "Why are we headed southwest?"

Saul propped an elbow on the door, driving one-handed. He slouched in his seat with the easy grace of a panther, and Reegan had little trouble imagining what he'd look like when he sprang at his prey. Uttering a ragged groan, he pressed his hands against his face. His physical response to Saul was out of hand. Did the guy bathe in pheromones? The synthetic ones could turn a eunuch into a rutting dog, but Reegan couldn't remember when they'd hit the streets. The decade after this one, maybe. And what reason would Saul have to use them anyway? No, Reegan was going to have to chalk this one up to sexual chemistry. The natural kind.

"You okay?" Saul glanced at him before taking a sharp turn onto a broader avenue. Traffic was heavy. Spectators leaving the rally.

No, not okay. Not in the slightest. And the list of reasons stretched a mile. "Where are we going?"

Saul didn't take his eyes off the road, but he shifted in his seat. The leather jacket he'd donned before leaving the office creaked loudly. "I'm going to check some of the smaller motels that don't require ID. Start with those closest to where we saw her last, and work outward from there."

"Are there many?"

Saul shrugged one shoulder. "Enough. You won't find them in the AAA handbook, but they're there. Most are pay by the hour."

"You know this from personal experience?" That didn't sit well. Reegan crushed the feeling that rose up. It resembled jealousy, and no way was that healthy.

"I know a lot of them from back when I was on the police force."

Maxie had mentioned that part of Saul's past. "Why made you leave and branch out into private investigations?"

"Sorry. I don't air my dirty laundry until the second date."

Nothing good, apparently. "Sorry to pry."

Saul turned off the main drag onto a quieter side street. He didn't acknowledge Reegan's apology. "I'm putting a couple of hours in tonight, but that's all. After 3:00 a.m., being out and visible does more harm than good, especially in my line of work. If your lady hasn't bolted from the city, she'll be holed up in a hotel somewhere."

Reegan clenched his teeth. Every second counted, but they had to balance that with practicality. "You're the professional."

That earned him a sharp, humorless laugh. "That's right. I am."

Conversation after that was confined to concise questions from Saul and the elusive answers Reegan gave in return. Was she wealthy? Resourceful? Intelligent? Why would she take off without her medicine?

Reegan answered as best he could without giving away the truth about himself and Silvia, studying how Saul reacted to each response. A slight clench of his jaw. The way his hands fisted onto the steering wheel. These were obvious clues that Saul didn't appreciate Reegan's evasiveness. Putting a wall of lies between them would lead to trouble, but there wasn't much Reegan could do about it.

"Why can't you tell me why she needs the medication?"

"I don't want to violate her privacy."

"Since you've told me it's a matter of life and death, that doesn't really fly with me."

"I'm sorry."

And on it went, until thankfully Saul swung the Rover to the side of the street and parallel parked into a space that Reegan could've sworn a bicycle wouldn't have fit into. Just another skill Reegan had never had to learn but that he perversely missed at the moment. Saul's expert handling of the vehicle made Reegan feel less than capable, and he needed no help feeling incompetent at the moment. His mood soured even further.

He didn't inquire about the neighborhood. He didn't have to. He knew it well, but in his time, it was quieter. Less respectable and more dangerous. Reegan turned in a circle, taking in the tight press of bars, convenience stores and dark storefronts. Even at 1:00 a.m. the street was busy. Alive. A tangle of color and sound and smells that simply didn't exist in many places in his time.

It was quieter in the future. Entertainment wasn't advertised. People kept to themselves more, the fallout from a society tethered to a virtual world. Isolation could be complete in some cases. Reegan had written an article once on the rise of cyberschooling. The idea that children would be gathered together in one physical location to learn reading, writing and arithmetic boggled the minds of most, yet it had been done that way for a millennium before technology changed it.

Change wasn't always good.

Silvia had understood that, clinging to the quiet and smoky atmosphere of the Tabby Kitten with both hands while she sang to the sad tones of a piano. Reegan could almost hear her husky voice now, crooning about jealousy and lost love. The memory brought a smile to his face.

Maxie was right. Reegan's adolescent subconscious controlled more of his decision-making paradigm than was strictly healthy. Hopefully his burst of nostalgia didn't get him killed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to drive the memories away.

Saul eyed him as he came around the front of the SUV. "Maybe you should leave the hat."

Leave his hat? Just the suggestion had Reegan clutching it protectively. "Why?"

"It stands out."

That was the point. Then again, this wasn't his typical jaunt. "Not sure I should be taking fashion advice from you, but okay." Reegan tossed it onto the seat of the Rover and closed the door.

"I'm not trying to win a modeling contract here." Saul zipped his jacket, and Reegan once more admired the fit of the brown leather over blue jeans. Saul took off down the sidewalk, pace even and unhurried, and Reegan followed, trying to keep his fascination with his surroundings in check.

He opted for conversation instead, since Saul could easily be just as fascinating a subject. "You know the city pretty well."