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greatcoat in his locker, along with the
blue wool scarf Mac gave him last Christmas, and headed back into the lab. His
shoulder ached as he pulled the coat on and wrapped the scarf around his neck.
He decided to ignore it.
    Elizabeth stood near the console, hugging her waist. Despite
every promise, he would have to leave her here alone. Desert her. His mind
shied away from the fact that he was most likely another name on a long list of
people who had done the same. But there was nothing for it; he had a narrow
window to find Guy, and he had to take it.
    Mac diverted his attention, waved him over to enter his ID
number on the smaller console. He strode over, more than happy to avoid the
crowd that surrounded the main console.
    “Guy’s headed back to his original coordinates in 1940,” Mac
said, pointing to his screen. “London, May 14. You have about five minutes
until the all clear.”
    “What does he want with that time?”
    “It was the start of the war, you know.”
    Kane raised an eyebrow, glanced down at the uniform he wore.
“I am well aware. But the key players are in Europe. Why would he keep going
back to London?”
    “Churchill is in London, and he’s the new Prime Minister.”
Elizabeth’s soft voice startled him. She stood at the end of the console, gaze
on the main screen. “Winston Churchill is one of the big reasons Britain isn’t
under German rule.” Her eyes widened in surprise when she discovered both him
and Mac staring at her. That charming blush colored her cheeks. “What? I’m a
history buff.”
    It was Mac’s turn to look surprised. “Elizabeth
Barritt—you’re Elizabeth Barritt.”
    “Right. We were introduced, if I remember correctly—”
    “No.” He started furiously tapping on his screen. “You’re the Elizabeth Barritt.” With a wide smile, he leaned back and pointed at the result.
    A biography popped up, with a photo of an older Elizabeth.
Kane stared at it, then at the real woman next to him. The Elizabeth in the
photo looked plain, tired, resigned, her face so thin all the viewer saw were
cheekbones, and the big black glasses that hid her beautiful eyes.
    Kane shifted his attention to the list of books under her
bio. A long list of books.
    “Oh, my God,” she whispered, backing away from the console.
Kane snapped out one hand and caught her before she could run. “I look so
angry. How did I end up that angry? How did I—that can’t be me, I don’t even
write. I’m a guide in a second rate gallery—”
    “Elizabeth.” Kane pulled her in, wrapped his arm around her
waist when he felt her shiver against him. “Read the titles. These are books on
art and history. Somehow, you combined the two. And from what your bio says,
did quite well with them.”
    “Please take it down. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to
look at her—”
    “Mac.” He nodded, deleting the information. Kane slid his
hand up her back, all too aware of the curve of her hip, her narrow waist. God
help him, she felt so good. He cradled the back of her neck, gently kneaded the
tensed muscles. “Look at me, Beth.”
    When she obeyed, the pain in her eyes drove straight through
him. He shoved aside the need to simply hold her until that pain disappeared.
    “I don’t want to be that person,” she whispered. Tears
filled her eyes, but didn’t fall. He guessed she had learned a long time ago to
keep from shedding them. “I came to London so I would move away from becoming
her.”
    “That is just one possible future for you, Beth. Mac
shouldn’t have shown it to you,” he sent a narrow-eyed glare at the Texan, who
shrugged his shoulders. “But now you know, and when you return to your own
time, you can make decisions based on that knowledge. Decisions that will erase
her, recreate her.”
    He tucked blonde hair behind her ear. It was like silk under
his fingers, and he wanted to bury his face in the thick, golden strands,
surround himself with her scent, her warmth—
    He dropped his