Out of Time (Lovers in Time Series, Book 1): Time Travel Romance Read online

  Out of Time

  Lovers in Time Series

  Book One

  by

  Marilyn Campbell

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-944-3

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2017 Marilyn Campbell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Meet the Author

  Acknowledgements

  This book was originally, and is once again, dedicated to Kathryn Falk, Carol Stacy and the entire staff of the Romantic Times Publishing Co. for their constant support of the romance genre and me personally.

  I also wish to express my appreciation to all the journalists who have been so helpful in promoting my career over the decades, most especially, Don Vaughan, who warmly welcomed me and my children into his circle of creative friends so long ago.

  A special thank you to Dan W. Crockett, a reader who just happened to be a physicist and electrical engineer, for jumping in when I needed to know how to build an electric chair from spare parts.

  Chapter 1

  Atlanta Federal Prison

  August 23, 1965

  "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been, um... Christ, I don't know how the hell long it's—"

  "Ahem."

  "Oh. Excuse me. Do I need to confess that now too or is it automatically covered under the circumstances?"

  The elderly priest raised his eyebrows a notch. "If you take the Lord's name in vain on a regular basis then I'd suggest you include it."

  Jack Templeton grimaced. A confession had sounded like a good idea when it was offered as part of his last requests but if he had to list every minor offense... His mouth curved into a grin as he wondered whether they'd delay his execution if the confession ran into overtime.

  "This is not a laughing matter, son. In less than ten hours, you'll be—"

  Jack held up a hand to cut him off. "I'm well aware of how un-funny this whole thing is, Father. But I've already gone through all the steps of grieving, including acceptance. Humor is all I have left. But I'll try to control myself. Okay, let's see. I've taken the Lord's name in vain. But I never meant Him any disrespect. It was just a bad habit."

  "I see. Go on."

  "I haven't gone to mass in about... I don't know, maybe twenty years, since I was fourteen or fifteen. It wasn't anything against the Church mind you, I just got busy." He mentally ran through a list of potential offenses. "I didn't always obey my parents when I was a teenager but they forgave me and I'm pretty sure I've made it up to them since then. I've never stolen anything... unless you count the time I borrowed that one homicide case file from the police station in Detroit. But I was positive the detective in charge was burying something really important and the article I wrote did end up leading to the arrest of the actual—"

  He realized he'd gone off track and moved on from the Commandments, which he couldn't fully remember, to the seven deadly sins. "I've, uh, overindulged... a little."

  "In what way?"

  "You need details, huh? Well, I mean I'm not an alcoholic or addict or anything but there were a few times... Well, maybe more than a few. It helps me relax, especially when I'm on the trail of a particularly, uh, complicated story."

  "I'm afraid it's a sin to abuse the body God gave you regardless of your reasoning. I believe you also overindulged in the area of, ahem, lust."

  Jack covered his grin with a cough. "If it's a sin to, ahem, lust outside the confines of marriage then yes, I'm guilty of that one but I don't think anyone would call it overindulging." He stopped and considered the number of women he'd had sex with. "Well, I suppose some people might, but every one of those women was more than willing. I never forced anyone."

  The priest's neck flushed a bit. "Actually, I was referring to the seventh commandment. Thou shalt not commit adultery."

  "Oh, that. Well, in my defense, Ginger O'Neill was the only married woman I ever... had relations with. And she didn't tell me she was married until the day she broke it off with me."

  "Yes, you said that during the trial, but it still amounts to adultery."

  "That doesn't seem fair but okay, I confess to adultery. But I cared for her more than any woman I'd ever met. I might have even married her, eventually, if she hadn't changed her mind and gone back to her husband."

  "I believe that brings us to the commandment that brought you to this point," the priest prodded.

  For a moment, Jack didn't know which one he was referring to then he got angry. "You mean, Thou shalt not kill, don't you? Well, I'm sorry but I can't confess to that one, Father. No matter what that jury of my so-called peers said, I did not kill Ginger."

  "But the evidence—"

  "Fuck the evidence!" Jack shouted and bolted off his bunk. "Whoever killed her framed me to take the fall." He turned his back on his confessor and gripped the bars of his cell until he regained his composure. "I may have committed a few sins in my life but none of them were mortal and I never lie. Well, almost never. Only if it's absolutely necessary. The hell with it." He turned and knelt down before the priest. "I swear to you, in the name of God, I did not kill her. Nor did I rape all those other women."

  The priest patted Jack's shoulder and looked somewhat sympathetic, so Jack moved back to his bunk and repeated what he'd told everyone else. He knew it wasn't necessary for this man to believe him in order to give him his blessing but Jack couldn't resist the opportunity to try one more time to convince someone, anyone, of his innocence.

  "I know I fit the description of the rapist but so do half the men in Atlanta—white male, about six feet tall, medium weight and build."

  The priest added the less common details. "The rapist was also reported to have dark brown hair, long enough to curl out from the
back of his ski mask and blue eyes."

  "Lots of men have blue eyes and wear longer hair these days. Maybe it was one of the Beatles."

  "At the risk of sounding biased, I feel obliged to mention that you were the one found bending over Mrs. O'Neill's body when the police arrived."

  Jack ran his hands through the thick waves of his shag-cut hair and heavily sighed with frustration. "I got a phone call. It sounded like Ginger. She was crying. Said her husband had beaten her and she wanted me to come get her." He closed his eyes at the memory. No matter how many times he repeated the story, it made him sick to his stomach. The end of his version of what had happened that night was barely audible. "The front door of her house was open. She was dead when I got there."

  "You don't have to convince me, son," the priest said in a more kindly manner then glanced heavenward. "He's the one who will be judging you now."

  Jack shook his head. "In a way, I'm almost anxious to go have a talk with Him. I mean, if He's as all-knowing as I was taught then He knows I'm innocent and He also knows who set me up. If He can't save me, at least He might be able to satisfy my curiosity." The confessor gave him a reprimanding look. "You don't understand, Father. It's bad enough to have been framed for murder and multiple rapes then railroaded through the justice system at the speed of light but not knowing who to curse at for it..."

  "Vengeance is mine, saieth the Lord."

  "Yeah, I know what The Book says, but I'd sell my soul to the devil to perform that vengeance myself."

  The priest's gasp of shock was punctuated by a momentary dimming of the prison lights. He grasped Jack's arm and shook it. "Take it back quickly, son, before it's too late. Beg God to forgive you for that slip of the tongue."

  Jack's response was prevented by the appearance of a prison guard.

  "Sorry for the interruption, Father but I wanted y'all to know there ain't no cause for alarm. They're just runnin' a few tests on the electrical system, you know, to make sure it can handle the extra 2,000 volts without shortin' out tomorrow mornin'. Wouldn't want to cause our guest any unusual sufferin'." He gave Jack a nasty smirk then reminded the priest, "Just give a yell when you're finished and I'll escort ya out."

  "Dickhead," Jack muttered as the guard walked away.

  "He's only doing his job, son," the priest stated with another reprimanding look.

  Jack snorted, vividly recalling the energetic beatings he'd received from that particular employee. "Look, I don't have anything else to confess so why don't you give me my penance or Last Rights or whatever and then you can go."

  The priest seemed somewhat agitated as he gave his final blessing and Jack figured he hadn't managed to convince the old guy of anything.

  Eventually, the priest gave Jack his penance. "Say twenty Our Fathers, twenty Hail Mary's and ten Apostle's Creeds... and pray the devil didn't hear what you said before."

  Jack wrinkled his brow in thought. "Oh, you mean about selling my soul. That was just a figure of speech. Although—"

  "No!" the priest exclaimed, rising quickly from his chair and stepping to the cell door. "Do not make matters worse by repeating such an evil offer."

  Jack thought the holy man was carrying his religious superstitions a bit too far but he nodded respectfully and changed the subject. "Father, I wonder if you could grant me a favor."

  "If it is in my power," he replied solemnly.

  Jack stood up. "Despite what that guard just said, everyone around here has gone out of their way to cause me as much suffering as possible. I don't trust them to make the execution swift and painless."

  "I don't see how I—"

  "You could be a witness. To make sure they do it the way they're supposed to. One electrode on my head, one on my calf. An initial charge of 2000 volts then lowered to 500 then twice more raised to 2000. The first jolt should knock me out and my organs should be thoroughly fried within three minutes, no more. I know I'm asking a lot of you but I don't know anyone else in a position to protect me from their sadism."

  "That's a very strong charge," the priest said doubtfully.

  "Would you like to see the bruises on my body from their humane treatment? I'd be glad to undress for you."

  "No, no, that's not necessary. I admit, I have... heard things."

  "Then you'll do it? Please?"

  The priest frowned but nodded his agreement.

  Jack half-smiled as he shook the man's hand. "Thank you. I almost hate to ask for anything else but, well, there is one other small part to the favor. As you know, they asked me if I had any last requests. The confession I got. For my last meal, I ordered a filet mignon, mashed potatoes, sweet carrots and a bottle of chianti. Nothing fancy. What I got was a bologna sandwich and a cup of warm water with red food coloring in it."

  "I'll speak to the warden—"

  "The meal wasn't important. The wine would have helped get me through the night but I'll manage somehow without it. No, it was the third request that I was hoping you could help with. You see, I'm kind of attached to my hair. I'd like to be buried with as much of it as possible. Besides, I figured my mother is going to want to view the body and it would be easier on her if I looked as normal as possible. So, I asked them to only shave off the small spot where the electrode goes on. Since you've agreed to witness the execution, I was hoping you'd also make sure they didn't shave my whole head."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  After the priest left, Jack tried to say the penance he'd been given but quickly discovered that he didn't remember all the words to the prayers. He reassured himself that it didn't really matter since God knew that none of the sins he'd committed were that heinous.

  With nothing else to concentrate on, he drifted back into the depression that had darkened the last six weeks. Since the night he found Ginger, beaten, raped and strangled, there had been times he'd almost succeeded in convincing himself that it was all a bad nightmare. Any moment he would wake up in his old apartment in Detroit and discover that he'd never moved to Atlanta a year ago. He'd still have his old job writing for the Detroit Daily News. He'd never meet Ginger O'Neill.

  But the nightmare was still running strong and though it would come to the grand finale tomorrow morning, he wouldn't be waking up in Detroit, Atlanta or anywhere else on this planet after that.

  What he had told the priest came back to him. Somehow it really wouldn't be quite so bad if he could direct his anger at a specific person, be able to curse his nemesis with his dying breath. As it stood, there were a number of people who might have been responsible, the least suspicious of which was the mysterious rapist who had broken into nine homes in the northeastern outskirts of Atlanta during the eight months prior to Ginger's murder. It had been suggested that there were more break-ins that had not been reported.

  In each case the victims were married women, home alone at the time he assaulted them, usually in the afternoon. Only twice had the rape occurred in the evening. All the women's descriptions of the man and his modus operandi were similar. He never spoke aloud. Although he threatened them with a large knife, he never actually used it on any of them. The only bruises he left on their bodies were on wrists and ankles, from being tied to beds or other furniture, or around their mouths from being gagged.

  From the interviews Jack had conducted with the victims for the newspaper, he had deduced that the rapist had actually been fairly gentle and perversely adoring once he had them secured and unable to object. Off the record, several women even admitted that he'd made a concerted effort to arouse them before entering their bodies. Every woman was left tied with the rapist's semen drying on her thighs. In all but one case, the victims' husbands were the ones to find them.

  As far as Jack was concerned, the man who brutally assaulted Ginger O'Neill could not have been the same man who had raped those other women. Unfortunately, no one on the jury saw it his way. Whether gentle or violent, a rapist was a rapist and Jack not only fit the general description but he was caught at the scene of the last
assault. He was guilty. Case closed.

  Sentence to be carried out at sunrise.

  His gloom was lifted a bit when the guard arrived with an open bottle of red wine.

  "From the priest," the man said with obvious annoyance and walked away.

  Jack could see that the guard had helped himself to a swallow or two but he didn't let that bother him. The delivery of the bottle itself gave him some hope. If the good Father could perform one miracle, there was a chance he'd be permitted to witness the execution as Jack had requested.

  Maybe he should have asked the holy man for something greater, like delaying the execution for a couple months so he could celebrate his thirty-fifth birthday. Never had he imagined his life would be so short. He toasted the air with the bottle and murmured, "Happy birthday to me." Jack plopped down on his bunk and took a long drink of wine. It was bitter stuff and not nearly enough to render him unconscious but it was better than nothing at all.

  Though he had told the priest it had been a figure of speech, he wouldn't be averse to making a deal with the devil himself if it could get him out of this mess.

  * * *

  "Gotcha, Jack Templeton. You're mine now."

  "Premature congratulations again, Jezebel?"

  The dark one's handmaiden snarled at the being of light. "Not this time, Gabriel. He offered loud and clear, twice, and I'm accepting. He's mine."

  "I disagree. Justifiable frustration caused him to use a figure of speech he did not mean literally."

  She huffed and a smoky cloud escaped her form. "You heard his confession—disobedience, lying, stealing, excessive use of alcohol, breaking a civil law of his—"

  "What law?"

  Jezebel smiled confidently. "The one about possession of a narcotic substance. I know for a fact that he has smoked marijuana."