Page 1 of After 5

Chapter 1

Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.” Lately, my life choices have mirrored my chocolate selections—full of god-awful molasses. Whoever thought chocolate-covered molasses would be a good thing to put in the box ought to be shot.

I’m Jennifer Cloud. I love chocolate, shoes, and a man who can make my toes curl. My current boyfriend, scratch that, EX-boyfriend, Caiyan—pronounced like the hot pepper and is analogous to his rockin’ hot body—dumped me and quit his job as my defender for the World Travel Federation. He went on to plot dastardly deeds with the Mafusos, an evil family of time travelers who make my skin crawl and keep me busy making sure the past stays the way it’s printed in my history books.

Normally, I wouldn’t be so upset about the dumping. He asked me for time to sort out some issue he had with the bad guys. I can respect his wish to get his ducks in a row before committing to me. I have a few ducks I need to tend as well.

I consider myself to be a female version of Clark Kent. During the day, I’m a mild-mannered chiropractic assistant working at my brother’s chiropractic office, and at night, under the light of the full moon, I report to the World Travel Federation, where I work as a time traveling transporter.

My defender travels to the past to prevent brigands from stealing, plundering, and wrecking the lives of those living in that time. Transporters are normally female, except for my good friend Ace. He’s a transporter like me.

We must wait on base until summoned by our defenders to pick up the trash, aka brigands, and bring them to justice. Hence the reason I want to work with my defender instead of waiting around like a good girl to do his bidding. For crying out loud, this is the twenty-first century.

Before the restriction, I helped my defender with the takedown. Okay, maybe I didn’t transform into a superhero to catch my mark, but somehow, I landed Superman results. My boss, Agent Jake McCoy, stamped me as lucky. He considered my skills to be less Superhero and more along the lines of Daphne from Scooby-Doo.

Jake is one of the ducks I need to tend. We had history. He was my best friend in high school, and later he showed me what the words friends with benefits meant. He left me to find his way in criminal justice, ended up working for the CIA and giving orders to the World Travel Federation, or WTF. The common acronym for the derogatory expression of disbelief is considered dual purpose for our top secret organization. And was the first word Jake uttered when he found out I inherited the gift of time travel. I didn’t know myself until I experienced an unexpected escapade to the past.

The WTF deemed it unsafe for transporters to travel with their defenders. Ace was fine with the change. He preferred to wait for his defender to summon him—but not at headquarters. It encroached on his play time, and he wanted the order to remain on base during the moon cycle lifted.

Ace’s defender, Brodie, preferred Ace stay as far away as possible, so he was in favor of the current rule.

I act as the lobbyist. Honestly, trying to make everyone happy caused my bottle-blond roots to darken early and the tension in my neck to limit my range of motion.

Jake offered me a test drive. I could go on a mission with my current defender, but if anything went awry, the restrictions would remain in place. In other words, if I wasn’t a good girl, the WTF prohibition of the transporters stayed, and I wouldn’t get the thrill of adventure I craved. If I was too awesome at my job, the transporters would be sent alongside the defenders, and Ace wouldn’t go shopping with me anymore.

The WTF headquarters is hidden at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Not a place I would call home, but its isolation and perpetual military guard offers maximum security to keep the travelers hidden from the outside world à la Hogwarts style. Only the top of the top levels of the government know we exist. The CIA manages us, and the military keeps us in line.

Catching the brigands is always the hard part. Jake recognized having a transporter to assist the defender is more efficient, even if the transporter may find herself in a few awkward situations. At least he was supporting my cause.

The fringe benefit to my job is being able to lateral travel when the moon cycle is phased out of the full moon. I can pop over to Milan during fashion week in the blink of an eye.

Currently, my situation involves traveling with my defender, a gorgeous blond god named Marco, and the reason I found my gift in the first place. He secretly delivered my key-which gives me the power to time travel-and my vessel to me after my sweet, great-aunt Elma Cloud died. My vessel is a rusty old outhouse with two seats, one for me and one for my passenger. On a busy day, I can make room for two passengers.

Traveling with Marco is difficult, particularly when it’s been months since I’ve had any sexy time. My cousin, Gertie, tells me I’ve been a royal pain in the ass. I’m trying to deal with the reason Caiyan ditched me, not hump the first guy who comes along—even if Marco and I have a sexual tension that sparks a fire from a distance equivalent to a football field.

Bringing me full circle to capture a brigand and figure out why my boyfriend, pardon, ex-boyfriend needed to join the bad guys and leave our relationship on the cooling rack.

I rubbed the back of my neck and surveyed the people around me. Dressed in basic pilgrim attire, the women covered their heads with a cap or bonnet and clothed their bodies from wrist to toe as they went about their daily chores. The men seemed to be lingering in the pubs.

Marco and I took a break from hunting our mark to find food. We searched for one of the few places offering a meal in the Puritan town of Salem, Massachusetts.

Our seer, a retired time traveler with the gift of second sight, can locate a traveler who has crossed the time portal. He informed us the Mafuso transporter jumped to this location. We were ordered to follow her.

Odd she jumped without a defender, but the Mafusos weren’t doing things like normal lately. A few months ago, Marco and I had followed the oldest of the time traveling Mafuso grandchildren, Mortas, to 1927. He attended game three of the World Series and the only thing stolen were bases by the Yankees. I was downright giddy to watch the all-star lineup known as “Murderer’s Row” which included the Sultan of Swat, Babe Ruth. He hit a home run in the bottom of the seventh and Marco was beside himself, cheering like a crazed fan. We both agreed, rooting for the legends in the original Yankee stadium was worth the risk.

Gian-Carlo Mafuso has three time traveling grandchildren I refer to as the three m’s. They consist of Mortas, Mahlia, his younger sister and their only transporter, and their youngest brother, Mitchell. Mahlia looks like Megan Fox and shoots a pistol like John Wayne. Mitchell’s been on the outs with the family ever since he screwed up a time travel and hasn’t seen much action.

Marco stopped outside Beadles Tavern. “I’m thirsty, let’s go inside and grab a drink.”

We had money left over from living on salted cod and goats’ milk for the last two days.

“Good morrow,” a sturdy woman greeted as we entered. The patrons were a mix of Puritans, farmers, and fishermen from the port. A few heads turned in our direction. We sat down at one of the tables.

The woman who greeted us came to our table and asked if we wanted a mug of ale. I pegged her to be late fifties, but in this time, people didn’t age well, if at all.

“Two,” Marco said.

“Let us see your coin.” Her reference of “us” had me glancing over my shoulder expecting to see her burley husband, or maybe a bouncer, behind me. When I figured out she meant only herself, I relaxed.

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