Biding Time

by

Lyn Gardner

Copyright 2021 by Lyn Gardner - Smashwords Edition

Cover by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.

This book is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Dedication

To Julee—

There is no hard and fast rule for dedications. Usually, though,

authors use them to thank someone who’s affected their life. And

while I was writing this book over the past eighteen months, a song

that always reminded me of you, I kept hearing over and over again.

It came on various Alexa stations, whether they were country or pop,

and whenever I was driving, it always seemed to be playing on the

radio. I literally couldn’t get away from it…not that I wanted to.

Since I’m a person who believes in signs, I had to follow this one, and

I hope you don’t mind. Actually, I’m not even sure if you’ll ever find

out about this, and that’s okay, too. I just needed to put it out into the

universe and say some things I never had a chance to say.

Thank you for the laughs, smiles, and love. You, of all people, know

that when it comes to good and bad memories, my scales haven’t

always tipped in the right direction, and you’re the reason they’re

now balanced, for the good memories I have of you and us far outweigh

the bad. True, we didn’t work out, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think

about you. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish you well, and that doesn’t

mean that when I hear that song again, I won’t smile.

It’s impossible not to.

Lyn xxx

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Acknowledgments

Other Titles by Lyn Gardner

Prologue

A familiar hand on her shoulder roused her from sleep. It was as gentle as it was weighty, the years adding a bit more strength to her husband’s grip. She knew in an instant it was not yet time to fetch water from the stream, for the embers of the logs in the stone pit still glowed red. Then his breath, fouled from sleep, washed across her face. He whispered, and she stiffened, his words fading as her attention was drawn to the commotion outside. Thundering hooves pounding against the earth as steeds entered their tiny hamlet. Voices, gruff and demanding, rang out, and as orders were shouted, women began to scream.

Her thoughts were broken when he swept away the animal skins providing them warmth, and climbing over her, he slipped his feet into boots, worn and caked with dirt. They scrambled together, fastening clothes and donning cloaks to protect them from the winter winds. And as he reached for his axe, she reached for their children.

They whimpered as she awoke them from their dreams, and while they pleaded for more sleep, she did not listen. She needed to prepare them, and there wasn’t much time. She had heard the stories, and she knew…there wasn’t much time.

She tugged third-hand shoes onto their feet and draped every article of clothing fitting their tiny frames over them. Belts of rope held most in place, and grabbing the only other skirt she owned, she ripped it into strips, wrapping the shreds of wool around their heads and hands, adding as much protection as she could. They were so young, so innocent of the sheer evil lurking oh so close, but if they were to survive, they needed to know the truth…so she told them.

The two-year-old did not understand, her mother’s words too long and too complex for someone so young, but the eyes of her other two children widened in unison. The color slowly drained from their cherub cheeks, and even though she saw their chins quiver, she was single-minded. She was their mother, and they would do as she asked. They didn’t have a choice, and neither did she.

A rush of icy air tore through their hut as her husband rushed out the door. She knelt in front of her children and gathered them in her arms. She pulled them close, clutching them against her bosom as she breathed deeply their scent. It was a scent of perfection and a scent of innocence, and while vital seconds ticked by, her eyes became glassy. Would this be the last hug she ever gave them?

She took a ragged breath, and smiling through her agony, she kissed their faces, wiped away their tears, and led them outside. Her breath steamed in the air as she herded her children to the far side of the building, the familiar smell of farm animals now secondary to that of horses and billowing smoke. Behind her, her husband called out for others to band together to fight, but how could they against beings like these?

She scooped up her youngest, ordering her to hold on tightly, and taking her other two children by the hand, she sprinted toward the forest. The moon was full, the golden glow from the heavens lighting her way as she dashed across the meadow. She was tall, her strides easily three times the length of her children’s, so they stumbled and groused, and while they begged her to slow down, she was relentless as she tugged them toward what she prayed would be their salvation.

The tree line was her goal, and when she reached it, she fell to her knees, listening as her children gasped for air. There was no time to hug or nurture, kiss or console, so she did the only thing she could. She told them to run. They weren’t to look back, and they weren’t to stop. They needed to hide, to go deep into the forest where the trees were towering, and the thicket was dense, and until the sun came up, until the dawn broke through the sky, they were not to return home.

She didn’t know what they would face in the morning or who would be left to care for them, but that wasn’t important. All that mattered was they would survive. With or without her, they would survive.

She watched as her children dissolved into the darkness. The sounds of her littlest’s sniffles fading as her offspring moved further into the forest, and then she rushed back to the village in search of her husband.

Some cruck houses were on fire now, cinders scattered in the commotion finding their way to thatched mattresses and straw-covered floors, and as animals fought to escape their fate, the air thickened with smoke. Like a fog, it surrounded her and amidst the gray and white, was red. Men, protecting their families with shovels and staffs, were strewn about like rag dolls, their eyes empty and their tunics soaked with blood.

She took a step, and then her breath caught in her throat. Six strides from their doorway, he lay dead on the ground. His axe was still gripped in his hand, and as she knew he would, he had gone down fighting. Around him were three of the invaders, their heads crudely removed by his hatchet, and she was proud. He had always protected them, provided for them the best way he knew how, and he had given his life so she could have time to save their children. Her eyes turned glassy.

Another tiny wood-framed home burst into flames, the flash of the fire lighting up the night, and in the brilliance, she saw a glint of metal, shiny and deadly, near the remains of one her husband had killed. With all her strength, she tugged the weapon out from under the headless corpse.

The broadsword was cumbersome. Its blade long and its steel thick, it was meant for those much stronger than she, or so she thought. The hilt was wrapped in strips of leather, giving her confidence it would never slip from her hands. She held it out, and as her arms trembled from the weight, she was transported back in time.

The middle child of five, she had grown up with four brothers, and after livestock was tended to and fields were plowed, planted, or cleared, she and her siblings were allowed to play in the woods. They’d scramble for broken branches and become knights with mighty swords. And in clearings, atop boulders and broken stumps, they’d playfully boast as one after another was defeated by the better, which eventually became her. Although she didn’t have her brothers’ muscles, she had inherited her father’s height. Many in the village referred to him as a giant, for he towered over all others, so unable to use that to their advantage, her brothers thrusted and parried wildly, believing frenzy would lead to victory. She, however, was patient…just as she would be now.

That childhood game had taught her the poise to persevere, and her duties as a wife had given her strength. Every morning, with a pole balanced across her shoulders, she would make four trips to the stream. The first three would fill the trough for their cow and goats, and the last would refill the clay jugs inside her home for her to use to prepare her family’s morning porridge and nightly stew.

She never thought those walks were anything but necessary, but as she stood tall and held the sword in her hands, she was prepared to call on every ounce of strength she had to at least defeat a few before they took her life. Death was inevitable, but like her husband, she would go down fighting.

The wind shifted and out of the smoke lumbered one of the beasts. Crooked teeth filled his sneer, and his cheeks were smeared with the blood of ones who had gone before her, and as he approached, a low growl rose in his throat.

She planted her feet wide as she raised the sword, and when he lunged, she swung. She believed there’d be resistance, some slowing of the blade as it sliced through his neck, but the steel was sharp and true. In an instant, his knees buckled, and she watched his head roll across the dirt in one direction as his body slumped in another. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and spinning toward it, she brought the sword high again, and another as rabid as the first found himself headless and dead a moment later. She turned again, only to retreat when the next was too close. She plunged the sword into his belly, and when he snickered, she pulled it out and took off his head.

Blood ran down the blade, coating her hand in a sticky warmth that was almost comforting, for it told her she had yet to die. Alerted by the sound of footsteps behind her, she whipped around and swung hard at yet another. Again, he met his maker, and she did not…but the next would be her demise.

As massive as a tree and almost as tall, even with her mightiest of swings, she knew she’d barely reach his biceps. With a grunt, she lifted her weapon above her head, preparing to split his skull like a melon if given the chance. Her body tensed as what she believed to be her last act in life, and then a voice bellowed through the fog.

In an instant, the towering giant stopped, and the cacophony of the chaos surrounding her ceased to be. The shrieks of women quieted to whimpers, and as the pleas of children for their parents turned to whispers, through the smoke came a man riding a ghostly white steed.

She held her head high as he approached, and when he slipped from his saddle and strutted toward her, she didn’t move an inch. A few inches taller than herself, she defiantly raised her eyes to meet his, oblivious that the blood of his men was dripping off her face. She gripped the sword’s hilt tighter, her knuckles growing whiter as each second passed. She had already accepted her own demise, so no fear lurked in her eyes as she glared at the man. She wanted him to see her strength before he took her life…and then he spoke.

His words were hushed, meant for only her ears, and she concentrated on them as they slipped from his lips. His voice was refined, and crisp and clear, it held the accent of the wealthy in its timbre. She was surprised. The ones she had beheaded were slovenly and stank of blood and sweat, yet this man, this monster, smelled of leather and cloves.

A wave of smoke washed over them, and she blinked away the sting as she considered what the man had said, but there was nothing to consider. She couldn’t best them all, and if his words were lies, what would it matter? Either way…sooner or later, she was going to die.

Chapter One

Chapter One

“I hope you know, if I didn’t hate to cook, you’d be doing this by yourself.”

It was a misty night, and Ruby Miller kept her head down as she climbed the nine steps leading to the brownstone entrance. “You say that every time you come over,” she said, struggling to hold all the cloth grocery bags in one hand as she unlocked the front door. “So, stop your bitching and get in here.”

Doreen Thomas followed her friend into the vestibule and waited while Ruby opened the next set of doors. “Do you need to check your mail?” Doreen said as she walked past the row of mail slots on the wall.

“No, I’ll do it later,” Ruby said, closing the second door behind them. “Come on. I’ll race you.”

Doreen flicked her gaze upward and, taking a deep breath, began following Ruby up the first of three flights of steps. “I will never in my life understand why you couldn’t find a place on the ground floor, or better yet, one that has an elevator.”

“And you also say that every time, too,” Ruby said, continuing her ascent. “You really need to get some new material.”

Ruby waited at the top of the first flight while Doreen slogged her way up the steps. “Are you going to make it?” she said with a laugh, seeing her friend’s reddened face.

“That depends,” Doreen said, sizing up the next set of seventeen steps. “You got beer in the fridge?”

“Always.”

“Then I’m going to make it,” Doreen said, motioning for Ruby to continue the climb. “Keep moving.”

As Ruby went up the steps, she heard a door open, and the old oak flooring above her head began creaking under the weight of someone moving down the hall. A few seconds later, a shadow fell over Ruby. She raised her eyes, smiling apologetically before hugging the wall so the person could pass. “Sorry,” she said, knowing full well they would not acknowledge her apology.

Old brownstone stairways were steep and narrow, and following Ruby’s lead, Doreen plastered herself against the wall. As the person passed, Doreen gave them a cursory glance, which promptly turned into an overt, wide-eyed gawk. Androgynous and stunning, the woman’s raven hair was styled in a spiky pixie cut. The ebony strands perfectly accented her warm beige skin, and lashes, dark and thick, framed her eyes. Her leather duster ended below her knees, and since she’d yet to fasten it, Doreen could see she was wearing a fitted suit and a shimmering blouse, all of which were almost as black as the woman’s hair.

“I thought you were hungry.”

Jolted out of her ogling, Doreen saw Ruby was now at the top of the second flight, and she trotted to catch up as fast as she could. “Why didn’t you tell me Trinity lived here?”

Ruby got the connection and giggled. “That’s not her name. Now, come on, or the ice cream’s going to melt.”

“Okay, but whatever her name is, please tell me you’ve had a piece of that because she definitely looks like she bats for your team,” Doreen said, keeping up with Ruby as she headed for the last flight. “Oh, wait. Is she the one you were telling me about? The one that works nights and won’t give you the time of day?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” Ruby said before she began the climb.

“Shit, when you said she worked nights, I pictured a high-priced hooker. She ain’t no hooker, that’s for sure.”

“I have no idea what she is, other than rude. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to make small talk, and she basically blows me off.”

Doreen looked over the railing, covertly watching as the woman descended the steps. “Maybe she’s a mortician. She is all dressed in black.”

Ruby chuckled under her breath. “Maybe she’s Johnny Cash reincarnated.”

“Nah, she’s not that butch, and she was wearing wingtips, not cowboy boots.” Doreen was about to follow Ruby up the stairs when a smile spread its way across her face. “Hey Ruby, I got it. Maybe she’s a vampire.”

Three steps from the fourth floor, Ruby abruptly stopped and spun around. “Will you please keep your voice down,” she said in a rushed whisper. “She’s going to hear you.”

Doreen peeked over the railing again and saw the woman opening the door of the building to leave. “Relax,” she said, looking back at Ruby. “She’s all the way downstairs. She didn’t hear a thing.”

***

A knowing grin graced Bennett Archer’s face as she closed the door behind her, and descending the front stoop, she raised her eyes to the evening sky. The sun had set two hours earlier, and while the moon wasn’t full, the streetlamps provided more than enough light. Bennett had made sure of that.

She returned her focus to the street. Winter was just around the corner, and it would bring frigid air, ice, and snow. For now, though, the cool of the evening was pleasant, so the sidewalks were still somewhat crowded. People weren’t yet running to and fro, cursing the arctic temperatures while scraping windshields or shoveling out cars plowed in by equipment, bulky and yellow. Instead, they meandered about, returning to their homes after a long day at work or exiting in search of food and drink, all the while mesmerized by their cell phones as if the tiny screens held the meaning of life.

Bennett set off down the street, a walk she’d taken hundreds of times over the past several years. She was familiar with every road and every house, and even those living behind bricked walls weren’t strangers. No formal introductions had ever been made, but she knew them nonetheless, so as she continued her walk, her eyes never stopped darting from one person to the other. That one belonged, and so did the next, and the group on the street corner was familiar as well. And then she noticed someone not familiar. Khaki trousers, a navy pea coat with an insignia on the breast, and a scarf, plaid and pressed, belonged to a young man stepping out of a cab. His haircut was trendy, and his cheeks, rosy and smooth, and by the way he was nervously looking all around, Bennett wondered why he hadn’t simply worn a placard announcing his intention.

With his head bowed, the youthful up-and-comer shuffled to the crosswalk. The light changed, and he scurried to the other side of the street while Bennett remained behind. She didn’t need to follow yet. He was on a mission, as was she. Occasionally casting half-glances in his direction, Bennett drifted along, biding her time. It didn’t take long.

The prep school delinquent ducked into an alley, and pulling up the hood on her coat, Bennett jogged across the road. She paused at the entrance to the murky pathway for only a few seconds before she slipped into the blackness. Alleys were plentiful in the area. Some were broad and used by landlords to store their dumpsters and residents to park their cars, and while not well lit, the porch lights mounted near back entries cast enough light for people to see their way. This one, however, was cramped and inky. Barely wide enough for two to walk shoulder-to-shoulder, it was cluttered with empty bottles, rain-soaked boxes, and assorted discarded household items, and as Bennett stepped between the buildings, she stopped. The luminosity of the streetlights ended only a few feet into the alley, and the rest was pitch-dark save for one naked bulb twenty yards away hanging from one of the brick buildings.

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