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She gave him a weary look. "Sit back down. It gets worse."
Killian stared at her. She sat on the bed, hunched over, her hands clasped in her lap. The ridiculous sweater hung off one shoulder, revealing a curl of pale skin. There was no trace of laughter in her bright eyes, no hint that she was toying with him. The look she gave him was pathetic and earnest.
Slowly he lowered himself back into the chair. "Go on."
"My name is Alaina Costanza." She held up a hand before he could interrupt. "I know you know that, but I wanted to start at the beginning. I'm Alaina, and I was born ... in 1958."
He stared at her, blank for a second. When he realized what she was saying, he started to laugh, but the sound died in his throat when he looked at her stricken face. "Jesus Christ, you expect me to believe that?"
She sighed quietly, a sorrow-filled sound that somehow touched his tired heart. "I don't expect anything. I'm just telling you my story." She attempted a smile. "It gets weirder, in fact."
"Go on."
"I've tried to sort through it, make some sense of it, 129
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but I can't. All I know is, two days ago I was sitting in front of my computer, writing this book, and now I'm here in 1896." She wet her lower lip, then bit it hard.
He shook his head, completely at a loss. He wanted to laugh and throw her out of his life, but something about the way she looked right now, the vulnerability and pain in her eyes, made him hesitate. He felt a spark of compassion for her, and it pissed him off. "Jesus, Lainie?"
She was on her feet and kneeled in front of him in a heartbeat. "Look at me, Killian. I'm wearing ratty old Levi's, a sweater that can't possibly be in style, a bra that won't be invented for one hundred years, and my ears are triple-pierced. How often do you meet women like me?"
Never. The answer came out of the blue, surprising him. He stiffened and drew back. The look in her eyes, so needy and vulnerable, set off a chain reaction of memories. He winced and gritted his teeth, forcibly looking away from her.
"Look at me, Killian. Please ..."
He didn't have the strength to ignore her, but sw
eet Christ, he wanted to. The soft, tremulous way she said please, as if he?he?could help her, sucked him into a cold, frightening darkness.
"Killian .. ."
He made a sharp sound, half desperate groan, half angry growl, and forced himself to look at her. For the first time, her bizarre clothing suggested something else, something impossible.
He rolled his eyes. Jesus, she was making him lose what little mind he had. He had to get some perspective here. "Viloula wears pants, and if you called her a man, she'd smack you one."
"And my hair?"
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"Your barber shouldn't have been given scissors, let alone been allowed to cut your hair, but it hardly means you're from the future. Hell, Arizona's hair looks like a rabbit's been gnawing at it?he isn't from 1994."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And my clothes?"
He shrugged. "Women disguise themselves as men in the West. It's safer sometimes."
She held up her hands and gave a weary sigh. "Okay, okay, I get your point. How can I prove it to you?"
He laughed, but it was a hollow, empty sound. "Tell me my future."
She gave him a disarmingly honest look. "How could I? I could tell you who the next president will be, what year we first send someone to the moon, anything?but how could you check it? Why would you believe it?"
"I wouldn't."
"If I'm not from the future, how did I get here? How do I know so much about you and your men?"
"You're a spy for Joe Martin. He sent you here to get evidence against me so that you could help him lock me up. Joe's been looking for a witness against me for years. Only he didn't count on me kidnapping you."
