Chapter One Stalking a time traveler is hard work, even if you are one. Especially when said traveler totally has you made. “Can we talk?” I screamed as I dodged behind a column to avoid a spray of bullets. The woman hunting me through the cellar slung her flashlight beam in my direction. “Sure,” she said amiably. “Hold still for a second.” Yeah, right. My name is Cassie Palmer and a lot of people think I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box. My strawberry blond hair, which usually resembles Shirley Temple’s in a windstorm, is part of the reason. My blue eyes, slightly pudgy cheeks and tip-tilted nose might be another, except that most men’s gazes never make it up that far. But dumb blonde or not, even I wasn’t buying that one. My own weapon—a new 9 mm Beretta—was crowding the waistband of my jeans and poking me insistently in the hipbone. I ignored it. Years from now, the woman with the gun would leave a little message that would save my life. I kind of wanted her to be around to write it. Not to mention that shooting people is a good way to ensure that they don’t want to talk to you, and we really needed to have a chat. “When did the Guild start employing women?” she demanded, getting warmer. I stayed