Flirtinis with Flappers Read Online Free
Author: Marianne Mancusi
exact.
"Do you know this man?" asked Agent Fredricks in a tone that told me he already knew the answer and wasn't going to allow me the luxury of lying.
Grr. I gritted my teeth. Why was it that everything in my life seemed to revolve around Nick? Why couldn't the world let me forget him and move on with my life? Allow me to meet a nice, normal investment banker who wanted nothing more than to transplant me to the suburbs and impregnate me with towheaded, blue-eyed suburban babies?
I stared at the picture. At Nick's bright green eyes. At his endearingly cocky, Benedict Cumberbatch smirk. My heart squeezed, and I reached up to brush the renegade tear from the corner of my eye. Ugh. Why did it still have to hurt so much? Why did just looking at a picture of him serve to flood my heart with nearly unbearable pain? He'd moved on. He had a new life. Why couldn't I do the same?
Why was I still, deep down, so pathetically in love with this man? It didn't seem quite fair.
"Yeah, he's an anchor in LA," I muttered, turning my gaze back to the men. It was a bit unnerving to stare into four blank mirror-sunglassed faces, but I'd sooner stare longingly at the Crypt Keeper than look any more at that projected photo of Nick.
One of the men flipped through a legal pad filled with scrawled notes. "And your ex-boyfriend, right?" he asked.
I sighed. I'd been holding out the insane hope that they didn't know that little fact. But of course they did. They were the FBI. Also, there was that article in Star…
"Yes. We…dated."
"And you broke up because of…?"
I shifted in my seat. "These are awfully personal questions." The last thing I wanted to do was rehash what happened in Iraq. It was too horrible. And too humiliating.
Man in Black #2 nodded. "Our apologies if we're making you feel uncomfortable, Ms. Duncan. Maybe we should explain."
I nodded. "Good idea."
My eyes involuntarily wandered back to the projection, wishing the lump that had formed in my throat would go away. I stared at the photo, and it seemed to stare back at me.
What on earth kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, Nick?
"We have reason to believe that Nick Fitzgerald has joined an underground fringe group known as the 'Time Warriors,'" said Man in Black #1.
I raised an eyebrow. Uh, what? The Time Warriors? What kind of group was that? And what's with the tacky name? I couldn't imagine even Nick being that cheesy.
"The faction formed a few years ago," Man in Black #2 explained. "A group of rich white men, sick of the golf circuit, with nothing better to do. They bought a…machine of sorts off of the KGB back at the end of the Cold War."
"A machine?" I asked. He'd better not be talking about some nuclear bomb type thing. I mean, I knew Nick was a little wild, but I couldn't see him going all terrorist on me.
"An XR-2300, to be exact."
Oh, right. An XR-2300. Of course. That cleared everything up.
I cocked my head in question. "An XR—"
Man in Black #3 cleared his throat. "In layman's terms, Ms. Duncan, a time machine."
A what? A time machine? A freaking time machine?
I stared at him. I think my mouth even dropped open for a moment. Was he for real? This had to be some joke, right? I glanced around the room, looking for peepholes. One-way glass. Where was the candid camera? A time machine? Give me a break!
Annoyance gnawed at my insides. "Gentlemen, I don't know what little game you're playing here," I started, trying to keep my voice even. "But I don't appreciate being jerked around. I've got a story to get on the air and—"
"You're not being jerked around," Man in Black #2 interjected, rising from his seat. "The XR-2300 facilitates energy modulation through experimental quantum physics technology."
"What, do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?" I demanded, suddenly realizing my hands were shaking. I shoved them behind my back. "There's no such thing as a time machine."
Or was there? I mean, how did I really know there
"Do you know this man?" asked Agent Fredricks in a tone that told me he already knew the answer and wasn't going to allow me the luxury of lying.
Grr. I gritted my teeth. Why was it that everything in my life seemed to revolve around Nick? Why couldn't the world let me forget him and move on with my life? Allow me to meet a nice, normal investment banker who wanted nothing more than to transplant me to the suburbs and impregnate me with towheaded, blue-eyed suburban babies?
I stared at the picture. At Nick's bright green eyes. At his endearingly cocky, Benedict Cumberbatch smirk. My heart squeezed, and I reached up to brush the renegade tear from the corner of my eye. Ugh. Why did it still have to hurt so much? Why did just looking at a picture of him serve to flood my heart with nearly unbearable pain? He'd moved on. He had a new life. Why couldn't I do the same?
Why was I still, deep down, so pathetically in love with this man? It didn't seem quite fair.
"Yeah, he's an anchor in LA," I muttered, turning my gaze back to the men. It was a bit unnerving to stare into four blank mirror-sunglassed faces, but I'd sooner stare longingly at the Crypt Keeper than look any more at that projected photo of Nick.
One of the men flipped through a legal pad filled with scrawled notes. "And your ex-boyfriend, right?" he asked.
I sighed. I'd been holding out the insane hope that they didn't know that little fact. But of course they did. They were the FBI. Also, there was that article in Star…
"Yes. We…dated."
"And you broke up because of…?"
I shifted in my seat. "These are awfully personal questions." The last thing I wanted to do was rehash what happened in Iraq. It was too horrible. And too humiliating.
Man in Black #2 nodded. "Our apologies if we're making you feel uncomfortable, Ms. Duncan. Maybe we should explain."
I nodded. "Good idea."
My eyes involuntarily wandered back to the projection, wishing the lump that had formed in my throat would go away. I stared at the photo, and it seemed to stare back at me.
What on earth kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, Nick?
"We have reason to believe that Nick Fitzgerald has joined an underground fringe group known as the 'Time Warriors,'" said Man in Black #1.
I raised an eyebrow. Uh, what? The Time Warriors? What kind of group was that? And what's with the tacky name? I couldn't imagine even Nick being that cheesy.
"The faction formed a few years ago," Man in Black #2 explained. "A group of rich white men, sick of the golf circuit, with nothing better to do. They bought a…machine of sorts off of the KGB back at the end of the Cold War."
"A machine?" I asked. He'd better not be talking about some nuclear bomb type thing. I mean, I knew Nick was a little wild, but I couldn't see him going all terrorist on me.
"An XR-2300, to be exact."
Oh, right. An XR-2300. Of course. That cleared everything up.
I cocked my head in question. "An XR—"
Man in Black #3 cleared his throat. "In layman's terms, Ms. Duncan, a time machine."
A what? A time machine? A freaking time machine?
I stared at him. I think my mouth even dropped open for a moment. Was he for real? This had to be some joke, right? I glanced around the room, looking for peepholes. One-way glass. Where was the candid camera? A time machine? Give me a break!
Annoyance gnawed at my insides. "Gentlemen, I don't know what little game you're playing here," I started, trying to keep my voice even. "But I don't appreciate being jerked around. I've got a story to get on the air and—"
"You're not being jerked around," Man in Black #2 interjected, rising from his seat. "The XR-2300 facilitates energy modulation through experimental quantum physics technology."
"What, do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?" I demanded, suddenly realizing my hands were shaking. I shoved them behind my back. "There's no such thing as a time machine."
Or was there? I mean, how did I really know there
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