Some Time Away (Lovers in Time Series, Book 3): Time Travel Romance Read online

  Some Time Away

  The Lovers in Time Series

  Book Three

  by

  Marilyn Campbell

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-947833-76-0

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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 © 2018 by 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

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Meet The Author

  Prologue

  In the beginning, The First personally conducted simple, random tests to determine if Earth's humans were developing within the parameters of The Human Experiment and whether or not it should continue or be terminated. As humans procreated, however, it became necessary to involve other observers.

  The First could never forget how, without strict guidelines, some of the observers used the human subjects for their own experiments, or worse, personal amusement. Earth was thrown into chaos with humans being given every benefit and challenge simultaneously. Without rules or consequences, it was impossible to fairly judge humanity. That era was followed by a period of humans being constantly controlled and manipulated like marionettes. Again, without freedom of choice, it was impossible to properly judge The Human Experiment.

  As a solution, a cosmic barrier was created to prevent undesirable entities from inter-dimensional passage into the Earthly realm. Then The First established The Council of Abstracts, consisting of the least self-centered beings of the initial group of observers, and placed them in control of The Human Experiment. They were instructed to set out basic behavioral guidelines for humans and the Abstracts observing them. Humans were to do no harm to one another or their host planet. Abstracts could occasionally whisper suggestions to humans but could not force them to act in any specific way. In special circumstances, as unanimously approved by The Council and The First, they were permitted to directly interact with certain humans for their mutual benefit.

  Robert Davenport had been such a human.

  Once the guidelines were agreed upon, The Council created a test through which humanity's development could be judged without disrupting the entire human population.

  Time would select a time and place for the test to occur. Justice would present a relevant case where a good person's life was ended prior to Fate's plan for that individual. Love would select a pair of humans who had proven themselves worthy of representing all humanity. Curiosity and Reason would present those humans with vague hints regarding the problem they were to address and resolve. Mother Nature, The Muses, Synchronicity and others were permitted to offer a limited number of small assists, and so on.

  Then the pair of humans would have to work together, using their combined skills and experience, to deduce precisely what their task was, determine how to survive in an unfamiliar situation and save the doomed human from his or her untimely termination, all while facing a deadline.

  Finally, a portal, controlled by The First, was established to enable the transport of the chosen pair to and from the relevant Earth time periods.

  Crystal Island was that portal.

  Chapter 1

  Have I been kidnapped?

  Maggie Harrison's thought was not completely unfounded. She had boarded The Davenport Spirit at two-thirty, exactly as instructed. The captain of the small yacht had handed her a mimosa and suggested she remain on deck in order to "catch the show," so she did.

  But now they'd been leisurely cruising away from Florida's Treasure Coast for at least fifteen minutes and, not only had she seen nothing show-worthy, she still couldn't see any sign of land. Instead, it looked like they were heading directly out into the Atlantic Ocean.

  She did her best not to panic but she'd heard enough weird rumors about Crystal Island and the Davenport Resort to make staying calm difficult. The entire island was said to be haunted by the ghosts of pirates, gangsters, murderers and their victims. Of course it was also famous for historical reasons, but knowing more than one U.S. President had stayed there in the last century didn't console her at the moment.

  If there had been another hotel guest or two on board, she might have been less concerned. But she was alone, completely at the mercy of a stranger who might have hijacked the vessel for criminal purposes. If that was the case, the joke would be on him, for she wasn't one of the rich and famous who frequented the exclusive island hotel. She owned nothing of value and had no family member who could afford to pay a ransom.

  She could only imagine one other scenario. The captain could be a human trafficker and she could soon be a commodity to be traded—She slammed a mental door on her runaway imagination.

  Why in the world did I accept such an unusual assignment?

  There were other temp jobs available with a lot fewer unknown factors. She sighed because she knew the answer to her question. She could never resist an opportunity to take some time away from her very ordinary life, especially to a place she'd never seen before, and for once, someone else would be paying her expenses.

  Plus, there was the matter of who the client was.

  Just as she began considering the odds of surviving a swim back to the pier if she jumped overboard, it happened. One second there was nothing ahead but ocean and sky. The next second a tropical paradise appeared on the horizon. She couldn't help but wonder if the vision were real or a mirage.

  As soon as she had learned where she was going, she'd bought a book about the resort island's intriguing history but barely had time to skim it. A sentence on the back cover noted that Crystal Island was considered the gem of the Davenport holdings, but from her spot on the yacht's deck, the hotel buildings were nearly hidden from view by lush vegetation. Seconds later, Maggie could see gl
ass-domed roofs of three towers that glittered in the sunlight as though covered with crystal shards.

  As they drew closer, she caught sight of a long wooden dock leading from the deep water, across an expanse of beach and into the jungle. On one side of the dock was a yacht at least three times the size of the one she was on. Not surprisingly, it was named The Davenport King. On the other side was a mid-sized yacht named The Davenport Queen.

  For the first time since leaving the pier, the captain spoke to her. "Beautiful, aren't they? The Davenport King is mainly used for large groups arriving from the mainland, but sometimes it's rented for social events or longer cruises. If you'd be interested in doing something like that, just talk to the concierge."

  She could have explained that her visit was for work rather than play but the captain was already occupied with securing his modest craft to a post. On the dock was a golf cart with a lime green canopy and a little trailer hooked onto its rear. Standing beside the cart was an elderly man wearing an orange and yellow Hawaiian-style shirt. It made for a very colorful greeting against the tropical background.

  "Welcome to the Davenport Resort," the man said with a happy smile. "My name is Aaron and it is my privilege to drive you to the hotel."

  Not knowing exactly what she would be needing or for how long, her luggage consisted of a three-piece set covered in an identifiable black and white paisley print. The large suitcase and tote bag contained a little of everything from her wardrobe and bathroom. The medium-sized case held her computer and various supplies needed to set up a mobile office. As soon as the captain put her belongings into the cart's trailer, she and her driver headed away from the yachts.

  "Are you vacationing or here on business?" Aaron asked as the dock changed to a wide, paved pathway with flowering tropical plants each side.

  "Business," she replied. "I'm a... stenographer." She wasn't sure how confidential her assignment was supposed to be so she changed the subject. "How big is the island?"

  "About two miles square." He slowed the cart. "Over here to the right is a very pretty spot for a picnic. Just ask someone to direct you to the nature trails. And on the left, close to the sunset beach, are the individual beach bungalows. The resort is pretty spread out but at least you can't get lost." He laughed at his own joke and she made herself chuckle with him.

  Maggie thought she could hear a waterfall but she couldn't see past the giant elephant ear plants. A few seconds later they were passing through a small parking lot, half-filled with golf carts and multi-passenger trams. A sign stated that the golf course, tennis courts and clubhouse were straight ahead but they turned left before they reached any of those amenities.

  "Electric vehicles are the only kind permitted on the island," Aaron explained. "Just let the front desk know if you would like one for regular use. And here we are. On your left are Towers One and Two; Three is on the other side of the lobby."

  The instant they reached the main entrance to the hotel, an exceptionally striking young man greeted her by name, took charge of her luggage and directed her through two huge bamboo-covered doors. He was wearing a burgundy and green floral shirt that complemented his caramel-toned skin and dark red hair. A name tag identified him as Reynard, from Jamaica.

  Maggie felt like one of the hotel's wealthy guests instead of someone reporting for a temp job. Was this typical? Or was it because of the very special position she had been selected for?

  As Reynard led her through the lobby to the registration desk she looked up to see the enormous, glass-domed ceiling she'd seen pictured on the front cover of the book she'd bought. Between the sunlight streaming down and the continuation of the tropical theme in every direction, it seemed as though she were still outside... except for the air-conditioning. The front desk clerks were decked out in blue and cream flowered shirts and shifts but had the same welcoming expressions as the driver and bellman.

  "Maggie Harrison," she told the smiling female clerk. "I was told—"

  "Oh yes, Ms. Harrison. We've been expecting you. The Diamond Penthouse has been prepared for you and Mr. Nash according to his specifications." She asked to see Maggie's identification then handed an access card to Reynard.

  As Maggie followed her luggage away from the counter, she ordered the butterflies in her stomach to calm down. She'd had a lot of different jobs since signing on with the "It's Only Temporary" staffing agency. The owner, Tanya Sevrell, had always been very good about filling her in on important details, even more so after they became personal friends.

  Maggie knew she would be assisting bestselling horror novelist, Noah Nash, while he was staying at the Davenport to work on his new novel. Because his long-time assistant was having a baby, he had asked the hotel to find him a temp, for an undetermined number of weeks. She was to handle a variety of administrative tasks but also act as a personal concierge to do whatever he required and be flexible about the hours. Given the off-shore location, it made sense for her to stay at the hotel throughout the assignment. At no time, however, had Tanya mentioned she and Mr. Nash would be sharing accommodations. Only now did Maggie consider what a personal concierge might be asked to do for a celebrity.

  At the far edges of the vast lobby were a number of archways leading to different areas of the resort. Her escort pointed out the ones that would take her to the hotel's restaurants, the cocktail lounge, shops and fitness center, but she knew when the time came she would have to rely on the discreet directional signs provided.

  The archway they passed under led into a very long hallway. To the left were doors to the Emerald Dome and Sapphire restaurants, while on the right was the elevator to the Tower 3 guest rooms and a door to the administrative offices. A sign at the far end of the hall pointed toward the Royal Spa and Fitness Center, but rather than continue that way, Reynard stopped and pressed the up button for an elevator made to look like a tree house.

  "Dis be de only elevator dat accesses de Diamond Suites," Reynard explained in a distinctly Jamaican accent. "When de hotel construction began in 1922, dis was a separate building, purposefully set apart as housing for de Davenport family and deir personal guests." Once inside, he slipped the access card into a slot labeled "P", which appeared to be the fifth and final floor. A few seconds later the rear doors of the elevator opened into a small garden with a glass ceiling. Beyond that was another bamboo door which also required the access card.

  "Welcome to de Diamond Penthouse," Reynard announced as he motioned her forward.

  The melodic sound of his speech pattern made Maggie smile as she walked past her escort. However, a glint of interest in his gold-brown eyes had her quickly straightening her expression. But the sight of the high, glass-domed ceiling over a spacious great room brought the smile right back.

  "Dis be de Davenport's most requested accommodation," the bellman advised with obvious pride. "De founder, Robert Davenport, or his descendants resided in dis suite until 2012. If ya be interested in de history, dere be some more background in de hotel's information notebook on de desk."

  Maggie's gaze darted from one part of the great room to another, taking in the corner workstation, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with a variety of books broken up by an assortment of knickknacks, the comfortable sitting area with its Tommy Bahama-style sectional sofa and a very large, curved-screen television. On the opposite side of the room was a dining table with eight chairs and a fully-equipped kitchen. Compared to the lobby, the tropical décor was considerably subdued through the abundant use of whites and beiges.

  Reynard pointed at the closed double doors on the left. "Mr. Nash will be in de master, but I am sure ya will find your room most comfortable." He opened the single door on the right and again motioned for her to go before him.

  Her concerns about their sharing accommodations were immediately alleviated. The secondary bedroom and bath were larger than her entire apartment in West Palm Beach, and there was a lock on the door if she felt the need for it. "This is perfect. Thank you."

  R
eynard placed her large suitcase on the padded bench at the foot of the bed and set the medium case and tote next to the bathroom door. "May I call housekeeping to assist ya with unpacking?"

  "Oh, no, thank you," she replied with an appreciative smile.

  "Den dere is only one more t'ing I need to show ya." He led her back into the main room, walked over to a framed oil painting of white cockatoos and orange bird-of-paradise blooms and opened it like a door. "Dis be de control panel for de lights, air-conditioning and window shades." He demonstrated what each button and switch operated, saving the best for last.

  "De glass ceilings in here and de master each operate separately." With no small amount of dramatic flair, he made the glass change from letting in full sunlight to total blackout. "And if ya happen to be here during hurricane season, ya can be comfortable knowing dat de glass is shatterproof and de special construction of de domes allows dem to withstand winds up to several hundred miles per hour." He adjusted the glass to moderate shading and closed the hidden door. "I am sure ya can imagine how beautiful dis could be on a clear, starry night."

  Maggie thought she saw another twinkle in Reynard's golden eyes but her brain leapt right over suggestive to how much such a system must have cost.

  After assuring the bellman his assistance was not needed for anything further, Maggie tried to hand him a tip but he refused it.

  "Much appreciated," he said with a sincere expression, "but all of your expenses, including gratuities are to be put on Mr. Nash's bill. Whatever ya require while ya be a guest here, ya need simply sign for it."