Page 9 of After 5
I tried to figure out what to use to blindfold my unconscious brigand. Normally, women of this time didn’t wear panties, but I had persuaded my vessel to provide me with the type of breeches worn by men. What can I say, traipsing around in the seventeenth century without any underwear made me nervous.
I slipped off the pair of linen breeches and wrapped them over his head. If he woke up, at least he’d have trouble seeing through the fabric until Jake could provide a hood.
Chapter 2
My outhouse landed with a thunk. I sighed with relief at the familiar sound of wood on cement. Thankfully, the landing grid in the hangar of the WTF consisted of twelve by twelve concrete squares embedded with special wiring and neodymium magnets to attract our vessels to the correct spot. The advanced technology prevented me from plopping down in the middle of Camp Delta and causing a national security alert.
The door to my vessel was yanked open. I blinked rapidly as the bright fluorescent lights from the hangar beamed in through the open door.
Jake stood front and center dressed in his normal WTF work uniform of black suit, white dress shirt, and black tie. Two WTF employees lurked behind him, also clad in black suits. The three of them—all sporting short-cropped hair, muscle, and alpha male attitude—looked like the next act in Magic Mike.
Marco joined Jake, and the foursome stared up at me. How did he always beat me back to base?
A wide smile broke out on Marco’s face.
Jake’s shoulders shook as he bit into his bottom lip, trying to contain the laughter he held inside.
The men in black smiled, something I had never seen them do. I glanced over at Toches, then did a double take. The outhouse had changed me back into present day clothes. My Yumi Kim floral summer sundress and Jimmy Choo espadrille cork wedges I’d bought at Nordstrom Rack for seventy percent off were back in place, along with my VS red lacy thong currently strapped across my passenger’s forehead. One eye was covered with the lace and blocked nothing.
Jake stepped up on the platform and moved to stand on the threshold of my outhouse. He slit the door, blocking the view of headquarters with his body, and called for a hood.
Marco’s laughter bellowed from the outer sanctions of the hangar.
“They were much bigger in 1692.” I shrugged.
“What the Sam Hill happened to you two?” Jake’s amusement was replaced with the intense tone of a stern CIA agent. “The rest of your team has returned.”
“Toecheese happened,” I said. Toches groaned at the mention of his name but remained obliviously unconscious.
A smile returned to Jake’s lips at the mention of my nickname for Toches. “Go on.”
“We found him in a tavern, and next thing you know he’s running for his life with fifty angry folks behind him carrying pitchforks. It was right off the pages of Frankenstein. I understand why the monster felt the need to flee.”
“Did he steal something?”
“No.”
Jake hesitated. “Kill someone?”
“No.”
“Why did you capture him?”
“We didn’t exactly capture him. He was hit by a rock, fell, and hit his head on another rock, which knocked him out, so we saved him.”
Jake huffed. “The general isn’t going to like this.”
“If we left him in Salem, another dead witch would be added to the history books.”
“Any other infractions?”
“Not created by me,” I said, mentally thanking Toches. I made it through an entire mission without changing history. If something went askew, it wasn’t my doing.
Jake raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrogate me any further. Knowing Jake, he was saving the good stuff for later. He reached across me and pulled my thong off the brigand’s head. “I liked this one. It was my favorite.”
I jerked it out of his grasp. From his demeanor, I presumed something had him fired up, and it wasn’t that Marco and I came back with a brigand. There was more to his agitated tone.
“Damn, that’s some goose egg.” Jake motioned toward the bright red bump swelling above Toches’s left eyebrow. “He’ll have a humdinger of a headache when he wakes up.”
