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Maybe This Time

Maybe This Time

Ratings: (0)|Views: 110 |Likes:
“[Vicki Hinze’s] ingenious concept of time and time-travel will captivate readers who crave the unusual, intelligent, and fresh approach to an old idea. [Hinze] brings a refreshing, clever and intriguing concepts to readers and then adds three enthralling romances to craft an unforgettable reading experience.”
– RT BookClub
They’ve lost each other time and again.
Now is their last chance.
A lonely eternity awaits New Orleans computer analyst Kevan Buchanan and businesswoman Alyssa Cameron unless they can overcome the problems that kept them apart in their past lives.
Surrounded by darkness, he stood alone. A slight wind ruffled his hair and breezed lazily across his skin. On the horizon, light flickered and gnarled fingers of mist swirled together, thickening to fog and descending on him.
The fog parted, revealing the bumpy stone path. He walked down to its end. When the fog merged into a solid wall in front of him, he stopped and waited, feeling hollow, empty, and alone–emotions he wouldn’t have recognized before Alyssa came into his life. He’d loved her. He still loved her. He always would.
An uneasy shiver crept up his spine. A funeral had just been held here. He’d never before envisioned a funeral . . .
Concentrating, his vision of it grew more focused, more clear. It was Alyssa’s.
Vicki Hinze is the award-winning author of 30 novels, 4 nonfiction books and hundreds of articles, published in as many as sixty-three countries. She is recognized by Who’s Who in the World as an author and as an educator. For more information, please visit her website at www.vickihinze.com.
“[Vicki Hinze’s] ingenious concept of time and time-travel will captivate readers who crave the unusual, intelligent, and fresh approach to an old idea. [Hinze] brings a refreshing, clever and intriguing concepts to readers and then adds three enthralling romances to craft an unforgettable reading experience.”
– RT BookClub
They’ve lost each other time and again.
Now is their last chance.
A lonely eternity awaits New Orleans computer analyst Kevan Buchanan and businesswoman Alyssa Cameron unless they can overcome the problems that kept them apart in their past lives.
Surrounded by darkness, he stood alone. A slight wind ruffled his hair and breezed lazily across his skin. On the horizon, light flickered and gnarled fingers of mist swirled together, thickening to fog and descending on him.
The fog parted, revealing the bumpy stone path. He walked down to its end. When the fog merged into a solid wall in front of him, he stopped and waited, feeling hollow, empty, and alone–emotions he wouldn’t have recognized before Alyssa came into his life. He’d loved her. He still loved her. He always would.
An uneasy shiver crept up his spine. A funeral had just been held here. He’d never before envisioned a funeral . . .
Concentrating, his vision of it grew more focused, more clear. It was Alyssa’s.
Vicki Hinze is the award-winning author of 30 novels, 4 nonfiction books and hundreds of articles, published in as many as sixty-three countries. She is recognized by Who’s Who in the World as an author and as an educator. For more information, please visit her website at www.vickihinze.com.

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Published by: BelleBooks Publishing House on Mar 04, 2013
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved

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11/06/2013

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Prologue
Contemporary New Orleans 
 THE AMULET at his neck vibrated.Kevan Buchannan vacillated, turned off his computer, then stared at its blank screen. Muted soundsdrifted in through his office window; a blues band belting out jazz, people laughing and dancing in the
French Quarter street below. Though tempted to kick back and relax, he couldn’t. Soon he’d be ―gifted‖
 with yet another glimpse of the future, a gift natural to him . . . frightening to others.But not to Alyssa. A dull pain lodged in his c
hest. Had it really only been three days since they’d argued over her
refusal to marry him? It seemed forever.
He stared at his desk lamp’s distorted reflection in the computer screen. They’d been good together.
Better than good. How could he understand he
r reasoning? How could any man? She wouldn’t make alousy wife. And she wasn’t just his lover. She was also his love. His
. . . love. The woman was driving him insane. Again the amulet vibrated at the hollow of his throat. After months of waiting and wondering whenthe next vision would come, when he would again image the Elder, it was finally time.Kevan closeted his thoughts until his pulse leveled, until the tick of his office clock grew to a steady thump inside his head. Then he opened his mind to the vision. The ticking sound faded. The vision started.Surrounded by darkness, he stood alone. A slight wind ruffled his hair and breezed lazily across hisskin. On the horizon, light flickered and gnarled fingers of mist swirled together, thickening to fog anddescending on him. As a boy, how many times had he imagined a giant face behind him, mouth puckered, cheekshollowed, sucking at the fog until it engulfed him? When the familiar cool mist gathered on his skin, he lifted his face to it. Maybe here he would findpeace
 – 
if there was any. The fog parted, revealing the bumpy stone path. He walked down to its end. When the fog mergedinto a solid wall in front of him, he stopped and waited, feeling hollow, empty, and alone
 – 
emotions he
 wouldn’t have recognized before Alyssa came into his life. He’d loved her. He still loved her. He always
 would. A low hum sounded. The fog retreated to the horizon then weakened to misty trails thatdisappeared.Cold rain soaked his jacket. Kevan squinted, helping his eyes to adjust. Pale moonlight streakedthrough a lattice fence, casting weak shadows on the ground. Beyond the fence, tombs blackened withmold and cracked by age stretched up toward the sky like unwelcoming sentries.Hesitant, he followed the weed-ridden path and entered the crumbling cemetery, then followed thescent of roses to a freshly dug grave. An uneasy shiver crept up his spine. A funeral had just been held
here. He’d never before envisioned a funeral
. . .Concentrating, his vision of it grew more focused, more clear.
It was Alyssa’s funeral.
 Holding a black umbrella, Kevan stood alone beside her rain-swept grave, staring at the gaping black hole, at the lone spray of thorny white roses stripped naked of leaves. Heavy raindrops pelted hisumbrella and pinged off her silver coffin, now suddenly inside the hole.Sensing movement, he looked left. Two men in black, hooded coats appeared near a sagging gate,their chins dipped low, obscuring their faces. Mocking the rain, a twisted oak limb stretching out over
 
their heads ignited and burned. The fire sizzled. Crackled and hissed. Its bright flames licked at the bark,
the leaves, and glinted on something shiny in the men’s hands. What were they carrying?
 
 Treading to Alyssa’s grave, they made sucking sounds with their
shoes in the mud. They carried
shovels. ―Good evening,‖ Kevan said. Golden shovels.
  They moved past him without a word or a glance. Why were they ignoring him? Othersencountered in his visions conversed openly. And why were they hiding their faces? The
men stabbed their tools into the mound of wet dirt, then dumped mud onto Alyssa’s coffin. The clods splattered, then thunked hollowly. And with each clump that fell, the pain searing Kevan’s
chest intensified. His breathing shallowed. His pulse thrummed. H
e tried to look away and couldn’t.
 Adrenaline, terror, regret, gushed through his veins.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced himself to accept the inevitable. He couldn’t stop the groundfrom swallowing her, but he couldn’t watch it. Dear God, he couldn’t
. . . watch. The steady rain grew to a thunderous downpour. His tears, his anger at her leaving him, knotted inhis throat. He lifted his collar against the icy chill seeping into his bones, and blinked, allowing himself no other release of the pain clawing holes in his stomach. He had to hold on to the pain. It was all he
had left now. She didn’t love him. Why didn’t she love him?
 Lightning flashed, setting blaze to mighty oaks, to vines smothering the tombs, to rocks thatlogically could not burn, conjuring visions that flickered through his mind like snapshots. Alyssa, angry and spattered with mud, clinging to him even as she cursed him. Alyssa, bold and defiant, glaring downat him from the back of a white mare, a pre-tartan Scottish plaid draped across her shoulder. Alyssa,proud and challenging, standing at the altar of a candlelit church, dressed in an eighteenth-century 
 wedding gown and about to marry an English lord she didn’t love. And then Alyssa–just as he’d seen herthree days ago, when she’d refu
sed to marry him. Beautiful, sitting in her sterile office, absorbed by theonly thing capable of absorbing her: a computer.
 The storm raged to a tempest. ―Leave!‖ A male stranger screamed inside Kevan’s mind. ―Run!Hurry!‖
  A violent wind whipped up. Howling through the trees, it carried a portentous warning and
plastered Kevan’s eyelids shut. Panic seized his stomach and, furious because he’d yielded to panic, he
clenched his jaw, shielded his eyes, and forced them to open. Immediately irritated by flying debris, they began to tear and ache.
―You must leave!‖ The stranger insisted.
  An image of Kevan running down the stone path flooded his mind. Deep in his soul, he sensedeternal danger. Black and bleak and lethal. He fought the urge to heed the warning and escape before it
 was too late. But Alyssa was here. ―No! I can’t! I won’t leave her like this!‖
  The wind whistled a high-pitched shriek. Cringing, Kevan dropped the umbrella and cupped hishands over his ears to block out the sound. Rain drove into him, stinging his arms, his legs, his back.Lightning lashed at the sky; deadly streaks that ripped through the darkness, slammed into the ground,then exploded in flaming balls of fire. Heat scorched his skin. His eyes stung, his throat felt raw, and the warnin
g voice inside his head grew deafeningly loud. Kevan bellowed. ―I’m not leaving her!‖
 
Pain stabbed through his chest. He bent double and sank to his knees in the mud. ―Do what you will!‖ he rasped out. ―I’m not going without her!‖
  An ominous whisper pierce
d the roaring wind. ―Affix time.‖
  The pain stopped as abruptly as it had started. The rain gentled to a fine mist. Gasping, drained and
 weak, Kevan tried to make sense of this. Affix time. Was the moment of Alyssa’s death the key to this
 vision?He mentally collected his energy, focused, then studied the image of himself beside her grave. Nogray streaked his black hair, no new lines creased the skin at his eyes. The suit was one he wore often
 – 
theone he wore now 
 – 
and his were the only footsteps near her grave-site.Her death would come soon.Fear slithered through his pores. The visions always had been like a jigsaw puzzle; never this simple

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