Kiss Across Chaos (Kiss Across Time #10) - Tracy Cooper-Posey Page 0,55

money suitable for both times. Setting up the Swiss bank account and depositing the watch in the lock box was the most complicated part of the arrangement. At least in 1920 they were still not using fingerprints or complicated identity papers.

And Jesse learned that she loved the swish of multiple crinolines. “It’s ridiculous,” she told Aran in Paris, as she spread the skirt of her dress—a ‘frock’, she had heard it called. “I’ve led men into battle, driven Hummers under fire from drone rockets, blown up buildings, and—”

“And saved everyone in greater London single-handedly,” Aran added, a twinkle in his eye as he took in her dull silk ensemble.

“I’m the least feminine woman I know,” Jesse finished. “But I feel all silly and delicate and lady-like in this.”

“You look it,” Aran replied. “Not the silly part. But the lady-like part is a lock.” He got up from the little wrought iron table where they had paused for coffee and a croissant and refastened the buttons on his double-breasted jacket. The jacket had enormous padded shoulders and very wide lapels.

Jesse got to her feet and paused as Aran held his elbow out for her. “They do that here and now?”

“I don’t give a damn if they do or not,” Aran said. “I want you on my arm.”

Jesse took his arm, trying to contain her smile to something elegant, instead of the goofy grin that wanted to form.

It was an extended day of jumping that ended up being the last pleasant day they would have for a while, because the shit had already hit the fan. They just didn’t know it yet.

Chapter Twelve

The first sound Jesse grew aware of as the living room of Aran’s cottage formed around them was the sound of her cellphone vibrating against the closed top of the piano, jiggling in a little dance across the ebony lacquer.

“Sorry,” Jesse said quickly, for Aran was fastidious about caring for the piano. “No one ever phones me,” she added and picked up the phone.

The caller hung up before she could connect.

“Not even my mother?” Aran asked, sounding merely curious, not peeved. He emptied his pockets upon the high mantelshelf above the hearth.

Jesse had to think to recall how she could check who had just phoned. While she was flipping through the screens, the phone vibrated and rang again.

The alert popped up over the top of her screen.

Incoming Call.

That was it. No number.

“Well, who is it?” Aran asked.

Jesse shook her head. “There’s no name. Not even a number.”

Aran moved closer. “Don’t answer it.”

Even before Jesse could begin to analyze the odd note in Aran’s voice, the phone stopped ringing again.

She looked up at him. “I don’t know who it is.”

“That’s the point of jigging your outgoing ID. No one knows who is calling until they answer the phone. They want you to pick up.”

“Phishing? Some sort of scam?”

“You won’t ever find out,” Aran said grimly. “Because you won’t answer the call. If they were legitimate, they’d have an ID you could read.”

Jesse relaxed when the phone didn’t ring again and grimaced. “It’s stupid how much it bothers me that I can’t see who it is. Modern tech, huh?” She went over to the shopping bag that held the brand-new vintage handbag. “I should put this in plastic and seal it.”

“Once you’ve got rid of the tags and the new car smell,” Aran added. “Tomorrow we can head over to Geneva and pick up the watch, too. Sell them both in one jump to New Y—”

The phone buzzed again, making Jesse start. She lifted it to check the screen, even though there wouldn’t be anything there to see.

Only, there was.

This time, there was a phone number and an ID.

“The Huffington Post?” she read aloud and looked at Aran, her gut clamping. “Why would HuffPo want to talk to me?”

Aran crossed his arms. “Let me see. Why would one of the biggest online news outlets want to speak to an author?” His face was sober, but humor glittered in his eyes.

“But I’m just a midlist indie…” she began.

The book. The book.

She wasn’t certain why the alternative history book leapt into her mind. No one knew who Jerry Hale was. She still turned on her heel and dashed into the kitchen and to her laptop and fired it up. She clicked over to check the book itself, just to see that it was there, that it wasn’t being shat all over by reviewers. Maybe something really horrible had happened to it and HuffPo wanted