Paradox Lost

By Libby Drew

Time-travel tour guide Reegan McNamara's jobtaking eager tourists to whenever they want to gois usually a breeze. A trip back to 2020 to watch a world-changing speech seems no different, until a woman runs away from his tour group before the jump home. Now her tycoon husband is demanding her safe returnor Reegan will lose more than just his job.

P.I. Saul Kildare's business is running on borrowed time. Due to a messy break with the police, he can't get a referral to save his life. When an enigmatic stranger bangs on his door one night and promises a windfall for a missing-person case, it seems too good to be true. But the two men have an immediate connection, and Saul can't pass up the chance to spend more time with Reegan, even if he's clearly hiding something.

Saul knows he shouldn't trust Reegan, and Reegan knows he can't get involved with Saul. But as their attraction evolves into feelings neither can deny, will they have the strength to take a leap of faithtogether?

84,000 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jan 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781426897832

Book preview

Chapter One

The two-way mirror separated them by a mere six inches.

Reegan watched the woman apply a layer of dusky mauve gloss, blot her lips on a wadded-up tissue, then bare her teeth like a horse while she hitched up her stockings one-handed. Her nails were perfectly rounded with a bright red poly-sheen, a two-hundred dollar manicure, though the tips looked gnawed. And nobody’s skin glowed like that unless they enjoyed weekly skin tox-cleanses. Those cost a pretty penny too. Double if a gal had a thing for moon-mud over the regular earthbound kind.

His gaze dropped to her feet. The ugly brown pumps looked brand new. Not a scuff to be seen. Too bad they were two sizes too big. She swam in the suit jacket, too, the sleeves brushing her knuckles. Some getup. She looked like a homeless Barbie doll. He’d seen better disguises on paparazzi-dodging celebrities. What’s with the rich blonde trying to look like a suburban housewife? he asked over his shoulder.

Maxie gnawed on the end of his Cuban cigar. Which rich blonde? He peered around Reegan in time to catch the woman reposition her left breast inside her push-up bra. He snapped his tobacco stained fingers. If that bitch has money, then I’m the President.

You are the president.

Of the country, smart-ass. Maxie returned to his masticated cigar and the stack of wrinkled applications on his desk. You’ve got fifteen tourists on this jaunt. And before you start complaining, remember you need to be kissing my ass for the next five hundred years if you want to keep this job.

I remember, Reegan said to the plate glass. The lady stared back, and even though she was only seeing her own reflection, the directness unnerved him. He took note of the dilated eyes and quivering chin. She looked scared. And very familiar. He peered closely at her face, waiting for his memory to cough up her name. He knew this woman from somewhere. The spell broke as she flipped back her full, ruffled sleeves and covered her eyes. Suddenly, she was a stranger. Just another tourist nervous about the jaunt. Her shoulders lifted on a sigh he couldn’t hear, and she tried smiling into the mirror, pink lips stretching back over perfect teeth. Reegan shook his head.

You listening? Maxie thumped a fist on the stack of paper. I’m not going over this twice.

Have you ever needed to go over anything twice with me before? Reegan turned away from the window when the woman did. She joined the other tourists waiting, and he collapsed into the rickety chair in front of Maxie’s desk.

Maxie’s watery eyes drifted over Reegan’s threadbare khaki pants and dusty boots. Can’t you dress like a professional for once?

A professional what?

That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Maxie stabbed the limp cigar in Reegan’s face, then dropped it in the shallow glass bowl next to his coffee mug. Sludgy black stains obscured most of the red letters, so that Blast in the Past Tours looked like baby gibberish. You’re out there representing this company, McNamara. These are classy people. They expect class, especially with the price they’re paying. Not a guide who looks like he’s taking them on an African safari.

It’s early twenty-first-century America. African safari isn’t a stretch. He jabbed a thumb toward the two-way mirror over his shoulder. Look at these people, Maxie. They could travel to any point in the past. There are a million other more interesting jaunts in the guidebook. Instead, they decide they need to see this? A presidential speech.

"Not just any presidential speech. The Jabalia Accord. A peace treaty that’s still in effect today. Crank McAfee’s got the highest approval ratings of any president before or since. People love him. Hell, he’s a hero."

Maxie wasn’t telling Reegan anything he didn’t know. Crank had been Reegan’s hero since learning about him in the third grade. And now, instead of being able to enjoy the jaunt, he’d be babysitting tourists. Damn them all. It’s a pathetic choice to spend funds on.

If it’s so pathetic, why’d you volunteer? Maxie’s beady eyes bore into his. This is good stuff. It sells tours. What’s your problem? You’re supposed to be the intellectual here. The one who turns his nose up at the adventure packages. Why are you hating on the pretentious snobs all of a sudden?

Denying it would mean enduring a lecture on personal gain versus the fiscal needs of the company. Maxie loved the speech. Reegan bet he recited it to his dogs.

Reegan didn’t hate the snobs. But when he’d submitted the proposal for this jaunt, he was thinking he’d get a half a dozen takers, leaving him with plenty of opportunity to soak up the experience for himself. Instead the website had been flooded by a wave of interested political history buffs. Maxie could talk about haters all day, but leaving Reegan to keep track of fifteen tourists in a crowd of almost two million took vindictiveness to a new level.

Blast in the Past Time Travel Tours was top dog in D.C. because Reegan and Maxie made a good team, despite their personal differences. Maxie was a master on the operations side. Reegan brought education and experience to the mix. He knew the city’s history. He’d been told he had a nice smile, a distinctive voice. Infusing a tour with unique details was his specialty.

His stint at Blast in the Past had turned him into a star, in time-loop travel circles anyway. Though the outfit’s success boiled down to something far more basic than celebrated Lead Guide and savvy CEO. Reegan played the whore and Maxie pimped him out. Like a Hollywood marriage, it had worked only so long.

Fifteen is too many to keep track of in a crowd the size we’re walking into, and you know it. Reegan twisted around, craning his neck for a view of the jaunt room. Can I put them on leashes?

I don’t care. Use handcuffs. Charm them with your witty jokes. Fuck anyone over the age of eighteen. Who gives a shit? Just bring them back happy. Maxie stood, hefting his stomach onto the desk in order to lean into Reegan’s space. And safe.

Reegan swallowed an animalistic urge to bite Maxie’s nose off his fleshy face. You got it, boss.

If I lose any more money, you’re finished. It doesn’t even have to be your fault. It could be the janitor’s fault. It could be my goddamn goldfish. Whatever. If our balance sheet takes another hit this year, you’ll be back to recording history lessons for the cyberschools. Talking about this shit instead of seeing it. Capiche?

Reegan eyed the fish circling the tank on Maxie’s desk. How could I forget? You remind me often enough.

The chair creaked as Maxie leaned back, linking his fingers behind his head. So I’m being a prick. Can you blame me?

No. One moment of inattention had cost them a half-year’s profit and a decade of friendship. That was what Reegan told himself, although the truth was more complex. He’d been slacking off. Not doing his job, and in this business that couldn’t happen. I can blame you for bringing it up ten times a day.

I don’t want another lawsuit because one of our trips ended up ruining someone’s life.

It’d been a Civil War jaunt. Supposedly safe. By the time Reegan had noticed the girl missing, the damage had been done. Even modern medical technology couldn’t completely erase the scarring caused by the shrapnel. Her screams haunted his dreams. Firing up the portal still brought on a bout of nausea, even a year later.

He’d refused to lead wartime jaunts after that. Historian, his degree said. Not soldier. Not hero. It might as well have said incompetent recreant. Which was why, in the great tradition of all cowards, he’d never taken public responsibility for the incident.

Maxie’s lawyers had insisted on that detail. Something about liability clauses. Reegan didn’t know anything about the law. He’d been hired to handle the people, at least in theory.

Grimacing, he scratched his stubbled cheeks. I’ll get them back safe. All fifteen.

Maxie scooped up his soggy cigar. Music to my ears.

* * *

Reegan stood outside the jaunt room, forehead pressed to the door. Losing his job might not kill him, but it would lead to thoughts of high places and long drops.

They made jokes around the place about the time-travel junkies. The ones who sold their possessions and themselves in order to finance trips into the past. Reegan was no better. He’d tasted—he’d feasted for nine years—and now he couldn’t go without. If it meant kissing Maxie’s shoes, or blowing him in the john, Reegan knew he’d do it. The thought didn’t crush his self-esteem in the slightest. The mighty really had fallen.

He pushed through the door into the jaunt room, wrinkling his nose at the stagnant air. Fifteen bodies tipped it from cozy to stifling. In contrast to the sleek, lily-white rooms most travel companies used, the jaunt rooms at Blast in the Past boasted faded Oriental rugs, real wood furniture polished to gleaming brightness, and several overstuffed black leather sofas. A wet bar complete with crystal decanters drew Reegan’s eye. It always paid to know which people in the group were going to puke after the jaunt. Four men stood around it now, each nursing tumblers of amber liquid.

Opposite, a group of women sat clustered on the sofas. Reegan ran a critical eye over their attire. Just about anything would do for early 21st century, but the newer synthetics—not yet invented in 2020—would be banned on this trip. He despised attending to these kinds of details, but Maxie watched him like a hawk. The last time he’d missed a banned substance on a pre-jaunt check, the bastard had docked his expedition pay by thirty percent.

The blonde from earlier hovered at the edge of the room, picking at the hem of her suit jacket and twisting invisible rings on her fingers. She rolled her shoulders and smoothed her skirt pleats. Much more fussing and she’d be doing the cha-cha. The mismatch of demeanor to clothing was even more obvious up close. The gal carried herself like a queen. Who did she think she was fooling with her thrift-store costume?

Reegan knew a disguise when he saw one, but usually people went the other way, pretending at a higher class when they’d taken a second mortgage on their postage-stamp suburban apartment in order to jaunt. Faking wealth was harder than it looked, and so, apparently, was making like you were one of the common folk.

Her eyes shifted around the room, landing on each person in turn. Assessing. Measuring. Reegan adjusted his first impression. Not nearly as dumb as she looked. The niggle of familiarity rushed back.

All right, everyone. Gather around. He stepped to the center of the room and the group closed in. The four men from the bar brought their booze. Reegan counted three couples, two older and one whose joined hands and youthful exuberance screamed honeymoon. The groom glared when Reegan cast a critical eye over the leggy bride. I’m going to go over some last-minute rules. You should have heard them all before, but indulge me. Number one, he said, catching the blonde’s eye. Stay with the group at all times. At all times. I can’t stress that enough. It may look like one big party, but the crowd will be full of thugs and thieves.

But— The bride raised her hand. Dr. McNamara, is it?

Yes.

Can I just ask why we have to wear these bracelets? She lifted her arm and her bio bracelet jangled. Its silver links clashed with the thick band of gold on her finger. If we’re not allowed to explore, what’s the point of wearing tracking devices?

Reegan met her husband’s smug smile. That’s in case you get murdered and dumped in the Potomac. I can track your body with the bracelet.

Uneasy mumbling spread through the crowd. An older woman raised her hand.

Reegan clenched his teeth. Yes, ma’am.

I thought this trip wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. My Marty and I signed up for a level-one jaunt. We don’t want any trouble.

Reegan could feel Maxie’s eyes boring into his back from behind the glass. He’d have activated audio by now. The man didn’t understand how to trust. "There won’t be any trouble. This is a level-one jaunt. The crowd will be thick and noisy, but the mood that evening was jubilant, not violent. It’ll be everything you hope for, I promise."

That settled the rumblings. He’d catch hell for the body-in-the-river comment, but if it kept the curious from wandering, it was worth a scowl or two from Maxie.

Conveniently, our termination point for 2020 is only a few blocks from the National Mall. We’ll be walking to the event. Again, please stay together. He held up his wrist, and his sleeve fell back to expose his own bio bracelet. "If you somehow get separated from the group, press the call button on your bracelet and stay put. I will come to you. If your own bracelet delivers a slight sting, please check in with me immediately."

One wide-eyed woman raised her hand. Does it hurt when you sting us?

Only if I want it to. He winked, dialing the charm to maximum. "No, ma’am. And I doubt I’ll have to do anything like that with such a fine group of folks.

We’ll be departing in ten minutes. If you’re renting one of our antique cameras for the trip, please make sure you know how to use it. You may not bring your own. With the exception of your bio bracelets, no modern tech is permitted through the portal.

The crowd broke up, and Reegan drifted from person to person, asking inane questions while he did a spot check of bio bracelets and attire. No kids on this trip, thank God. They gave him the sour sweats. He wound through the room, circling, and the blonde skittered ahead of him like a cornered mouse. He caught her between a replica roll-top desk and a potted palm. He’d been told his grin could charm babies. She went gray and started to tremble.

Hey. He reached for her arm, and she flinched against the wall, though her eyes flashed. Reegan frowned and pulled back. Are you worried about the jaunt? There’s no reason to be scared. I’ve done it hundreds of times. Maybe more. It’s very safe.

It’s not that. She straightened, collecting herself. Reegan waited for what exactly it was. Eventually she caught on he wasn’t going to leave her alone. I really need this vacation. That’s all. Will we be leaving soon?

Ten minutes. Like I said. Reegan removed his hand and shoved it in his pocket. What’s your name?

Silvia.

Reegan smiled. Silvia?

Panitierre. Silvia Panitierre.

Victor D’arco’s wife. Reegan blinked to cover his surprise. Vague, years-old memories brought to mind a very different looking Ms. Panitierre. She’d been Silvia Sunshine Panitierre back then. The main attraction at the piano bar just off campus on 35th Street. Fiery hair. Deep, raspy voice. And a devil-may-care attitude that had stuck with him longer than any of her physical attributes. He kept the recollection to himself. There wasn’t a chance in hell she remembered him. While most of his college buddies had been jockeying for a trip to her dressing room, he’d been three racks deep at the coat check, blowing the off-duty bouncer.

College felt like a century ago, Georgetown a wispy memory. But he’d known Silvia long before she’d started crooning at the Tabby Kitten. They went back, him and her, even if she didn’t remember.

Whatever her game, he’d play along for now. Reegan stuck out his hand. Nice to meet you, Silvia. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to put your mind at ease?

This time his smile worked. A bit of the ice melted from her eyes as they shook hands. You’re very kind. Thank you. I’m fine. I’m not used to all this excitement, I guess.

Don’t get out often enough?

She laughed, low and throaty like he remembered. Once in a blue moon, Dr. McNamara. I imagine that sounds naïve to someone as widely traveled as yourself.

Reegan played along. Not at all. We all experience life differently. Rich or poor. Singer or surgeon. We all know something the next person doesn’t. Secrets.

Some of us know too many.

The wistful words didn’t match the tense tone. They put him on edge. Reegan stepped back, breaking the intimate moment. Please let me know if you need anything. Enjoy your trip.

He’d be keeping a close eye on Ms. Panitierre, former blues bar singer and current wife of D.C. Councilman D’arco. What the hell was she doing here? Not that her surname would mean shit to anyone outside the Southeast districts, which was probably why she hadn’t hesitated to use it.

He’d thought the blond locks hadn’t suited her pale skin, green eyes and freckles. With that combo, people expected red hair, and Silvia—the Silvia he remembered—had it in spades.

Her skirt gapped at the waist, and the way her fingers fluttered over the fabric, then shied away reminded Reegan of how Maxie acted when he found a spider in his office. She’d tried to blend in with the masses, but hadn’t quite managed the transformation. You couldn’t shed class like a fur coat. It lingered.

Funny that she played the part so well, because Silvia hadn’t come from money. She’d grown up in the same res district Reegan had, just one of thousands of children living in cold, impersonal concrete block housing or, if they were lucky, reclaimed row houses, following the public cyberschool curriculum. Frankly it was a miracle any of them had gone anywhere. But here was Reegan, a doctor—not the kind that helps people, as his father liked to introduce him—and Silvia, a wealthy socialite.

One who didn’t want to be recognized and thought the chances slim in this company. Reegan wouldn’t burst her bubble. Unless she burst his and did something foolish. His gut didn’t like the odds. I’ll be calling everyone together soon. Do you have your bio bracelet on? She held her wrist up for his inspection, and his eyes zeroed in on a mottled bruise underneath. Good.

Herding cats would have been easier than rounding the group up and coaxing them through the door to the portal. He barely heard the gasps of surprise and unease anymore. First-time jaunters had similar reactions to the stark white emptiness of the portal room and the particle beam collider that powered it, but it was familiar territory for Reegan. This side of the equation never changed.

The other end, in the past, would be the surprise. Due to the very nature of time, physical destination points changed. The one they were using tonight was in a church that had been torn down in early 2021. Maxie had shown Reegan pictures and schematics. In 2020, the building was abandoned, so it was perfect for incoming jaunters, and the return trip should be a cakewalk too. All Reegan would need to do is get everyone back to the church safely, herd them into the sacristy and key the return sequence on his bio bracelet.

Time to go, folks!

Drinks were downed in a single gulp, purses and cameras collected, and clothing straightened. Reegan smiled through it all, mentally murdering Maxie a thousand times. When all fifteen were secure inside—that was a cozy experience—Reegan keyed their destination into the control panel near the door. The lights blinked out. Travelers did better at keeping their equilibrium when they couldn’t see the world dissolve around them.

Stay calm, he said when the nervous twittering began. A moment later, he felt the familiar sensation of lifting. It began slowly, no more disruptive than an elevator ride, before gravity disappeared altogether and his stomach shot into his throat. The scientists said it lasted a mere three seconds. Reegan personally thought none had ever bothered to experience it for themselves. Or had never subjected themselves to a portal full of tourists prone to motion sickness.

The sense of motion slowed, then ceased. The room came into focus, as though someone had sharpened the picture with a camera lens, and his tourists gave surprised gasps of pleasure at their new surroundings. Their arrival had kicked up a layer of dust. More than one person sneezed. In the nave beyond the sacristy, birds fluttered in the rafters.

In the end, only one man got sick. Not bad odds. How the return jaunt went depended on how much food and liquor people indulged in.

Reegan thumbed the button on his bracelet that activated tracking ability for his fifteen charges. Okay, we’re here. You’re standing inside the Church of St. Brendan. Built over two hundred years ago, it was recently deemed unsafe for the public. Not to worry, it’ll hold together long after we pass through it this evening. Please take note of the stained glass as we exit. Reegan led the group into the nave, pausing near the altar. He pointed upward. The windows were imported from Europe during the church’s construction. At one time, they were surrounded by delicate painted stonework, which has since been lost due to poor maintenance. The windows themselves illustrate over a hundred figures from the Bible.

Five minutes later, after a short tour of the church, they stepped through a small side door and into an overgrown garden. Through buildings and trees, the Washington Monument glowed in the purple dusky sunset. Ladies and Gentleman, Reegan said, smiling wide enough to crack his jaw. Welcome to the year 2020. The date is March 25th. He began walking toward the Mall, gesturing the group forward. Tonight, you’ll be witnessing President McAfee’s famous unveiling of the Jabalia Peace Accord. The treaty that he himself brokered and that has remained unbroken for over a century. Historians look to this very night, this very speech, as the dawn of enduring peace in that region.

* * *

He kept half an eye on Silvia the whole time. She stayed with the group of single women throughout the short walk to the Mall, smiling politely but not offering a single word of mindless chatter. The watery smile could have been badly disguised disgust. Silvia hadn’t had much patience for frivolities back in the day. None of them had. Habits like that didn’t disappear overnight. Most times, they didn’t disappear at all.

The National Mall was lit like a football field. Brighter than noon on a summer day, he heard one man say to his wife. Garish, Reegan thought, but for once, his group had taken his warnings to heart. It was poetry the way they navigated the mass of people, changing direction in one graceful dance move as the crowd ebbed and flowed like tidewater. It probably wasn’t politically correct to compare his jaunters to a herd of antelope, but hell, it fit. Maybe he’d get a chance to soak up Crank’s speech after all. The man’s bravery and selflessness in a crisis was legendary.

No doubt Reegan hadn’t been the only schoolboy to compare himself to the famous man, but he’d be one of the only ones seeing him in the flesh. It wasn’t an experience he planned to squander.

Reegan checked his bio bracelet and was pleased to see a small glowing 15 in the upper right-hand corner, as well as a cluster of yellow dots surrounding his red leader dot on the geo-grid. All tourists present and accounted for. From the corner of his eye, he watched Silvia hug herself and stare off across the city. She took no interest whatsoever in the giant screen in front of them that showcased the podium at the crest of the Washington Monument’s knoll.

Crank had stepped to the podium. From where Reegan’s group stood at the entrance to the Air and Space Museum, the flesh-and-blood man looked like an ant, lost in the shadow of the monument behind him.

But on the screen directly in front of Reegan, he was twenty feet of Technicolor ex-Marine, a veritable giant, dressed impeccably in a dark suit and blue striped tie. His wife, a beautiful brunette with an approval rating even higher than her husband, blew kisses to the crowd. When Crank smiled and waved, a roar of applause thundered down the two-mile strip that stretched between the Lincoln Memorial and the Capital Building. Reegan’s heart picked up.

The crowd had no idea of how this night would go down in history. How the man standing before them would shape the next century, and probably the century beyond. In a way, Reegan felt sorry for them, because that knowledge made the experience all the richer. Made every small detail ring with importance. The clear, star-filled sky. The jubilance and optimism in the air. The words of a man who had once been a boy like himself, but was now so much more.

For a fourth grade assignment, Reegan had been required to list three questions he wanted to ask a famous man. Reegan had chosen President McAfee. He didn’t remember his questions. Two decades had dulled the edge of that memory. But if the chance came to meet him, to shake his hand, Reegan would count it among the most important experiences of his life.

Crank McAfee was no coward. Reegan admired that most of all.

Good evening. Crank’s voice roared over the speakers. "Today marks the

Reviews for Paradox Lost

[kbranfield-837433 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

4.5 stars.

As a general rule, I do not read sci fi or futuristic stories but I just had to make an exception for Libby Drew's newest release. A big fan of both time travel novels and Ms. Drew, I eagerly devoured Paradox Lost. With plenty of action, a bit of mystery and an incredibly steamy romance, this futuristic adventure is sure to be a hit with readers of male/male fiction.

Reegan McNamara escorts a group of time travelers back in time a little over 100 years to 2020 for a historic presidential speech. He has a bit of history with one of his travelers, Silvia Panitierre, and something about her puts him on high alert. He keeps a close eye on her once they travel back in time yet she vanishes when he is momentarily distracted. With his job on the line and Silvia's angry and powerful husband waiting in the wings, Reegan enlists the aid of private investigator Saul Kildare to help him track down his wayward charge.

Reegan is a fabulous character and as someone who loves history, I was jealous of his ability to journey back in time :) On the surface, he seems to have an enviable life-he has a lucrative career he loves and the modern conveniences he takes for granted are simply ingenious! But Reegan's position at Blast in the Past Time Travel Tours is precarious and leaving Silvia behind is simply not an option.

Saul is also a great character and of the two, he is the most flawed. He has been in a downward spiral since the loss of his job on the police force. He is also crippled with guilt about the circumstances surrounding a personal loss and he is struggling to maintain his sobriety. Reegan's case is a welcome diversion for an unhappy anniversary and although skeptical, he is soon immersed in the missing persons case.

The case soon takes an ominous and perilous turn when Saul and Reegan discover that they are not the only ones hunting for Silvia. They are quickly enmeshed in pulse pounding and exciting chases as they outwit the nefarious thugs that are hot on their trail. They are also in a race against time to avoid the dangers that could befall both Reegan and Silvia due to their time travel.

In between following leads and evading foes, Saul and Reegan find time to explore their unexpected attraction. There is plenty of sexual tension between them and with little free time, their sexual encounters are brief but incredibly hot. Although their sex scenes are quick, they are highly sensual and exquisitely detailed.

I typically read historical time travel novels so it was quite fascinating to delve into the futuristic world created by Ms. Drew. The changes and inventions are realistic and easy to envision. The whole time travel concept is always intriguing and I appreciated the creativity that went into creating a believable explanation for traveling to different historical eras and places. I also liked that there could be negative consequences attributed to trips back to the past and into the future.

Paradox Lost is an all around terrific read with a marvelous cast of characters, an incredibly unique storyline and amazing creativity. I honestly had no idea how two men who live in completely different eras were going to find their happily ever after, but I should not have been concerned. The ending is absolutely perfect and all of the loose ends are neatly wrapped up. If you are not reading Libby Drew then you are missing out an unbelievably versatile and gifted author.