Free Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10) by Monique Martin Page A

looked at him in surprise and then glanced to the right. “Over there, I think.”
    Simon let go and headed toward the corner of the emergency entrance and the street. A yellow cab sat waiting at the curb, its driver leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette.
    “Santa Barbara!” Simon called out. “And fast.”
    “Simon!”
    He turned around to see Wells chasing after him.
    The driver frowned and shook his head. “Too far.”
    “Get in the damn car,” Simon said as he grabbed the man by the shirtfront.
    “Cross!”
    Wells pried him off the driver.
    “What the hell?” the man said, tugging his shirt back into place.
    “It’s all right,” Wells said. “Sorry.”
    Simon wrenched his arm out of Wells’ grasp. “Stay out of my way.”
    “Look, I know what you’re thinking.”
    “If you do, then you’ll damn well stay out of my way.”
    Wells looked at him with pity, and Simon wanted to put his fist through his face.
    “The watches don’t work,” Wells said. “The new Council leadership froze them all.”
    “I’ll make it work.”
    Wells looked ready to argue the point, to tell him it was madness, but Simon would not be swayed. He could save her. He would save her.  
    Finally, Wells nodded. “All right. My car’s over there.”
    Simon held out his hands for the keys, but Wells shook his head. “I’ll drive.”

    Simon took the stairs two at a time and raced toward their bedroom. He grabbed the mahogany box off the shelf and pulled out the watch. If only he had the damn key.  
    Knowing it was destined to fail, but trying anyway, he set the date and location, then pulled on the stem. For a split second, he hoped that somehow it would work, even without an eclipse, that somehow it would take him back to her. But there was no blue light. The world didn’t stop.  
    He glared down at it then clenched it in his fist and turned to leave. Wells stood in the doorway to the bedroom. “They might not help us, you know.”
    Simon didn’t care. He knew the Council leadership had changed. But none of that mattered. Whoever they were, he would make them see. “They will.”

    He forced his way past security and down into Council headquarters. More security was waiting for him when the elevator doors opened. His watch clutched tightly in his hand, Simon started for Travers’ office. Two very large men stood in his way.
    “I need to see Travers,” Simon said, managing, barely, to control his rage. “Now.”
    The two guards looked at each other. One stepped forward and Simon raised his hands ready to fight. Next to him, Wells did the same.
    “There’s no need for that.”
    A tall, balding man in his early fifties stepped out into the foyer behind the guards. His voice, his bearing, everything about him was British. Surely, Simon could make him understand.
    “It’s all right,” he told the two large men, who took a pace backward. He stepped toward Simon, buttoning the middle button of his pinstripe suit jacket as he did. He held out his hand to shake. “Mr. Cross, I’m George Hawkins.”
    “I need the watches turned back on. Where’s Travers?”
    Hawkins nodded toward one of the guards who set off, presumably to find Travers; then he held his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. “I understand you’re upset.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m the new director.”
    “The new …?” Simon should have paid more attention to what Wells had said, but it hardly mattered now. “Then you can turn them on.”
    Without an eclipse, Simon would have to use the Council’s chamber to leave, but he’d have the watch to return with. He started toward the hall that housed the chamber, but the remaining guard stepped into his path.  
    “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Hawkins said.
    Simon turned back and glared at him. “I don’t think you understand. My wife—”
    “Is dead.”
    The words, the flat way he said them, made them truer than they’d seemed before, and Simon flinched. Next to him,