"Any reporter who is overly concerned with personal safety is going to have a short and unsuccessful career."

"Any reporter who is not concerned with personal safety is in danger of having a short life," he retorted.

The realisation hit her like a crashing wave. There was more. This was bigger than she'd ever thought. More involved. More complex. Perhaps more dangerous.

At least, that was what Robert James wanted her to believe. She scrutinised his face. He'd been blessed with features that suggested inherent trustworthiness. He was kind of good looking - although his hair was too short to be fashionable which made him look older than he probably was.

"You still haven't said why you want to talk to me," Lois said. She took a bite from the sandwich, indicating she was going to listen and she expected him to talk.

He took a breath, and excitement shimmied up her spine. This was it. This was the moment her career really began. She was going to get the answers she sought.

Her Breakthrough Story started right here.


Part 11

The salmon and mayo sandwich was delicious, but it didn't taste as good as the pure anticipation that was sluicing through Lois. Her career was about to begin.

Her first big story.

Robert James studied her with his warm brown eyes. "I work for the government," he said. "As an agent."

A government agent? Those words exploded the anticipation into tingly sparkles up and down her spine. Not that she was necessarily buying it just because Robert James was saying it, Lois reminded herself.

"Someone is threatening my wife," Robert James continued. "That's why no one can see her. That's why it is imperative that no one knows she's here."

"So why tell me?"

"Because I had you checked out," he said as calmly as if that were something he did every day. "I had to make sure you weren't working for the person who wants her dead."

"What did you find out? About me?"

"Enough that I'm willing to believe your interest is purely as a reporter and that you hold no direct threat to my wife."

"*Direct* threat?"

"Should you reveal what you know ... should you write the story and try to get it printed, you would significantly compromise her safety."

"Is she really your wife?"

"Yes, she is."

"Isn't that a bit convenient?" Lois said, allowing her scepticism free rein. "You're a spy? She's a target?"

"She's a target because of what I do."

"So this is all your fault?"

Lois had meant her comment as a barb, but his reaction - a quick in-breath and a grimace as if she'd actually hurt him - came as a surprise. For the first time, she thought she saw a little crack in his composure, but instead of feeling triumphant, she felt kind of ... small. "No one is going to hurt her," he vowed. "No one."

His feelings for the woman shimmered like a tangible force - he was completely incapable of hiding them. "You really love her, don't you?" Lois asked in wonder.

"She's my wife."

"That doesn't mean you love her," Lois spat.

"Oh, yes it does," he breathed.

His declaration wedged sideways in her brain, causing a logjam that threatened to hobble her investigation. This man, this Robert James - whom she had thought capable of horrible deeds - was ... Well, she wasn't sure what he was.

She didn't want to believe him. She wanted to slice through his story until she found the dirt. Except something told her that no amount of slicing was going to prove anything other than he would willingly die - literally, if he had to - for the woman hidden in the bathroom.

And Lois had thought he was a potential killer.

Accepting she had gotten that wrong didn't mean her whole story would dissolve to nothing. She needed to keep digging.

Lois picked up another sandwich. They were good. "I'm sure it's not normal procedure to confide in a hotel maid," she said.

"You left me with little choice," he said. Lois glanced to his eyes, expecting to see annoyance, but was taken aback by the sprinkling of amusement she found there. "You needed to know that if you continue with your investigation, it's very possible that two people will get hurt."

*Two* people? Was that a warning? Or a thinly veiled threat? "Are you expecting I will simply scuttle away like a frightened little girl?" Lois said scornfully.

His face didn't change, but the mist of amusement escaped from his eyes and drifted through his expression. "I'm hoping you will believe me and realise that pursuing this story can only lead to difficulties."

"Difficulties for you?"

"And you. If certain people thought you had information ..."

*That* was definitely a threat. "Why did you say you wanted to see Paul?" Lois asked. "What does he have to do with this?"

Robert James tapped lightly on the table, almost as if the subject of Paul caused him alarm bells. "Paul is the editor of the college newspaper," he said carefully. "He would know a lot of people."

"Do you think the person threatening your wife is linked with the college?"

He didn't reply, but his non-answer was more illuminating than if he'd spoken.

"You think it's Paul, don't you?" Lois breathed. "You think he's the one who is threatening your wife? That's why you came to his office, isn't it?"

Again, his response wasn't immediate. "Ms Lane," he said. "I have information that, were I to share it with you, would seriously affect many things in your life."

That was his weak, roundabout way of trying to shift her suspicions to someone else. Specifically, Paul. Lois slammed the remains of her sandwich on the plate and glared at him. "Nothing you've said changes anything," she said. "You still have a sick woman imprisoned in your room. You still won't provide simple proof that she is -"

"I've explained -"

"You've explained nothing! You think that just because I'm young and female, you can spin any sort of fairy tale and I'll swallow it."

"No," he said earnestly. "I know you would never -"

"You don't know me," she screamed. "So stop pretending that you do."

He took a breath, calming both of them. "Lois ..." he said in a low voice. "Are you sure you can trust Paul Bender?"

"Of course I can trust him. He's a brilliant editor, and I'm very fortunate that he is so generous with his time and experience." There was no way she was going to admit that she loved him. Not to Robert James.

"You need to be careful choosing who you trust," he said.

Lois scowled. "I am careful. I don't trust men who think they are entitled to lie just because they're old and male." She sprang to her feet.

Robert James stood just as quickly, his hand raised as if he thought that would somehow coerce her into conforming to his wishes. "You don't look well," he said. "Sometimes, it seems as if the climb to the fifth floor is harder than it should be."

He was concerned about her health? Was this another facet of the strategy to manipulate her thoughts? "I'm recovering from a cold," Lois said. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Is that all it is? Have you noticed anything else? Have you been feeling particularly lethargic?"

His concern seemed genuine. And that was disconcerting. "I'm fine," Lois said icily. "It's just a cold. You know how it is."

He unfolded his arms and pushed his hands into his pockets. "Lois, I know you have no reason to trust me, but if you ever feel you're in a situation you can't handle -"

"I'm not a child," she fired at him. "And you're the last person I would want to help me."

He nodded, although the accompanying slump of his shoulders suggested her words had wounded him far more than they should have. "Be careful," he said.

Be careful of what? "Is that a spy tactic?" she sneered. "Trying to make me jump at shadows so I'll run to you? What happens then? I become your next victim? Is that how you get *clients*? You stalk young women? And scare them? And then they come to you -"

"I haven't stalked you."

"You seemed to know a lot about me."

He shuffled, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"I *will* find out what you're really doing here," Lois said. "I know too much to let this go."

"Be careful. Please, be careful."

He'd said it three times now. It should have been creepy. It *was* creepy. But ...

Lois couldn't completely shake the feeling that he actually cared about what happened to her. That he was genuinely worried for her safety.

What did he know? Did he have information he couldn't - or wouldn't - divulge to her? Was she really in danger?

Or was he just trying to scare her away?

Lois took a step back. "I will be taking everything I know to my editor," she informed him. "Including your ridiculous accusation. And the fact that you've kept a woman in your room and won't allow anyone to see her."

There was no hiding the consternation on his face. "Ms Lane, I -"

Lois stormed from the room and down the flight of stairs. How dare Robert James try to turn the glare of suspicion onto Paul?

Paul wasn't the one carrying around an unconscious woman.

Paul wasn't the one determined to keep the woman locked away.

Paul wasn't the one staying in a seedy hotel.

Lois stormed into room 307 and slammed the door.

Now what?

She hadn't managed to see the woman. She hadn't managed to prove if she were alive. She still had very few answers.

In fact, the one thing she'd achieved was to add more questions to the ever-growing pile.

Was Robert James telling the truth?

Or even a version of the truth?

Was his wife really in danger from someone else? Could Lois's investigation threaten her safety? Or was that just a story Robert James had concocted to explain the woman in his room?

He didn't seem callous and uncaring. But that probably meant nothing more than he was proficient at acting, Lois reminded herself firmly. If he'd done this before, he probably had a lot of experience.

But she didn't. And she had no notion of what she was going to do now.

+-+-+-+

Tony Green crept down a few stairs to the fifth floor and looked along the corridor. The door to room 518 closed quietly.

Lois Lane had been in there.

She was supposed to be two floors below, cleaning room 307.

Since she'd started working for him, she had been lazy and sluggish. She dragged her feet, looked uninterested, and took twice as long as he expected to complete the simplest tasks.

Now, he knew why.

She visited with the guests

For what purpose?

Tony could only think of one reason why a young woman would slip into a room with a guest and close the door.

If that *was* the reason, his hotel would very quickly gain the reputation of a sleazy abode, and no decent person would ever stay here.

Even if that wasn't the reason, it didn't change the fact that Lois Lane had been frittering away her time with guests - time Tony paid her to work.

He began to descend the flight of stairs. At the third floor he stopped. He crept to the door of room 307 and touched his ear against it. He could hear the sounds of hurried activity. He shoved open the door. "Ms Lane!"

She jumped at his voice. "Yes, Mr Green?" Guilt laced her expression.

"Why haven't you finished this room?"

"I had to leave it to deal with a guest."

*Dealing* with a guest? Was that how she termed it? Tony felt his upper lip lift with disgust. He took a couple of steps to the bathroom and inspected it. "You haven't even begun in here yet."

"I'm sorry, Mr Green."

"Finish this room. Then go to my office."

"But Mr -"

"I expect you in my office in less than ten minutes." Tony glared at her, fully expecting she would continue arguing. Lois Lane had been trouble from the moment he'd employed her. Argumentative. Distracted. Lazy. Slow. Mouthy. "Ten minutes," he repeated.

Tony walked out of the room and down the stairs. Now he had no doubts about what she had been doing in room 518.

He wasn't running a brothel for opportunistic girls of loose morals.

Before the hour was out, Lois Lane would have left his premises forever. Her behaviour had threatened his hotel.

His investment.

His lifelong dream to elevate himself to the status of a successful businessman.

But he had acted swiftly and decisively.

Tony Green was smiling as he entered his office.

The North-Western had been protected.

+-+-+-+

Clark shut the door, muting the echo of angry footsteps from the stairwell. He turned as his wife emerged from the bathroom.

"She hates me," he said disconsolately.

Lois took him into her arms, and her acceptance and love flooded through him in stark contrast to the suspicion and hostility he'd felt from the younger version of his wife. "It wasn't as bad as it sounded," she said.

Clark groaned. "She's going to tell Paul. She's convinced I'm lying. And she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Lois said as her hand ran lightly down his cheek. "She doesn't know you."

"If she remembers me, she'll hate Clark Kent."

Lois grinned. "She won't hate him. She won't know him - he'll be wearing glasses."

Her buoyancy began to soothe the build up of tension pulling through Clark's shoulders. "OK," he conceded, still sounding touchy, but knowing she would have discerned the lightening of his mood. "She'll hate Superman."

"That doesn't matter," Lois said with a smile. "You said that for the world to have Superman, Lois Lane has to be with Clark Kent. Nothing we've done has jeopardised that."

"We talked about Paul way too much," Clark said. "You'd warned me, but suddenly she was angry." He sighed. "I think she could detect that I don't like the guy."

Lois skimmed her fingers up his cheek and into his hair. "I think we won that round."

"We did?" Clark said dismally.

"We predicted what she was going to do and stepped in to prevent her from seeing me."

"Perhaps it would have been better if neither of us had been here."

"No," Lois said, as her hand skated with sumptuous slowness through his hair. "We couldn't risk going through the lobby in case Carol saw me. But if we'd gone via the balcony, and Lois checked with Carol, an empty room would have *really* incited her curiosity."

"If she goes to Paul, we could have two people investigating us."

"Or she could alert Tempus that we're here." Lois smiled. "But I'm not completely against the idea of confronting him and drawing the battle lines. We've slinked around for long enough."

As much as Clark would have liked to tackle the editor over his future treatment of Lois, it wasn't Paul who aroused the greatest suspicion in his mind. "I want to find Barry Russo," Clark said. "I don't like not knowing where he is."

"But we know where Lois is. She's safe while she's here in the hotel."

Clark glanced to the table. "She ate some of the sandwiches," he said.

Lois grinned. "I *told* you she wouldn't be able to resist smoked salmon."

He allowed her cheerfulness to tempt his smile from the depths of his gloom. "She didn't look quite so drawn," he said. "There was more colour in her cheeks." He carefully examined his wife's face. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I feel fine," Lois said. "You'd never know I was dead a day ago."

She smiled; Clark tightened his arms around her and let her presence stand in defiance of the spectre of his memories.

"If your theory is correct, we could use it for our advantage," Lois said.

"The theory that if she's feeling unwell, you will, too?"

"Yes. It could serve as a warning. If I suddenly start feeling sick or tired, it could be a clue that something is happening with Lois." Her face lit with a bewildering mix of laughter and horror. "Oh dear."

"Oh dear?" Clark asked, not sure if he should be worried.

"What if it works the other way, too?"

"So she feels anything you're feeling?"

Lois nodded as her giggles broke out. "She would have had a rather excruciating time last night - all hot and bothered, but the poor girl didn't have her Clark to give her what she needed."

Clark didn't know how to respond to that. "It probably just turned her thoughts to Paul Bender," he said darkly.

Lois smiled softly. "You really don't like him, do you?"

No, he didn't. "Do you think you'd like Lana Lang?" Clark challenged.

"Not at all. I've never found stupidity to be an attractive trait in anyone."

Clark let the tiniest quirk of his eyebrow do the talking for him.

Lois pealed with laughter. "Touché," she said.

"I wasn't calling young Lois stupid," he said quickly.

"Yes, you were," Lois shot back at him. "And I agree completely. Paul Bender. Urgh." She shuddered dramatically.

Clark brushed back her hair, still unable to touch her without marvelling at the life pulsing under her skin. "I am in awe of how well you're coping with this," he said. "It's a long way from the honeymoon we planned."

"We agreed the place wasn't important," she said. "That's why I gave our room to your parents."

"But neither of us was thinking 1985 was a possible destination."

"But we were both thinking we'd be together," she said. "And we are."

Clark kissed her, but even that wasn't enough to banish thoughts of Barry Russo from niggling through his mind. Where was he? What was he doing? What was his plan? Why had he disappeared this morning?

"Clark?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Tempus strikes ... sometime in the next few days ..."

Clark dragged his mind from Barry Russo and concentrated on his wife. "Yes?"

"We stop him ..."

"Definitely."

"But that's not enough. We can't just stop this attempt and leave. If we stop him from even making the attempt, the police won't be able to charge him. Even attempted murder might only get him a few years. Then, when he's released, he will come looking for me again."

"I've thought about that," Clark said. "If his attempt is going to get him a jail sentence, I think we should let the police take care of him."

"What if he only gets a few years?"

"As soon as we get back to 1993, we'll chase him up. Then Superman will deal with him."

"And if we stop him before he does anything illegal?"

"I figure we take him with us."

"Back to 1993?"

"Not necessarily. We'll give him to HG Wells. He can take Tempus to a time where he can do no further damage. And leave him there - without a time machine."

"I keep telling myself that everything will be all right," Lois said, "but I can't completely dismiss the idea that, for the rest of my life, Tempus could appear in any place or at any time."

"That's why we are going to find him and stop him," Clark said. "Permanently."

Lois looked at him in surprise. "You mean kill him?"

"No. But we have to ensure that he can't reappear in our lives. It's too dangerous ... for you ... for my parents. He could decide to go back to 1960 and kill them. Maybe Wells will have to destroy his time machine."

"Is he going to agree to that?"

"He'll have to if Superman incinerates it."

Lois broke into a chuckle. "I don't want to spend my life chasing a bad guy through time," she said.

"Exactly," Clark said. "So we stop Tempus. Here. Now. Permanently."

"First we have to identify him," Lois said.

"I'll draw Barry Russo," Clark said. "Do you have paper and a pencil in your bag?"

"You really think you can draw him accurately enough?"

"Yes."

"Is this another one of your special skills?"

"You seemed to like my special skills last night," Clark noted casually.

With a wide grin, Lois retrieved her bag, and they sat down at the table.

"I'll draw Barry Russo as he is now," Clark said as he took the notepad she offered him.

"And I'll tell you he is exactly as I remember him."

Clark shook his head in amused disagreement. "No," he said. "There will be differences. Being Lois Lane, you will notice them immediately. And we will have established the identity of Tempus."

"For that, you need to see Paul," Lois said. "And draw him."

"Wanna bet?"

"Yep. If I'm right, and Paul is Tempus, you owe me a home-cooked meal of my choice."

Clark nodded his acceptance of her terms. "And if I'm right about Barry being Tempus? What are you going to do for me?"

The look she shot him was pure seduction. "I'm sure I can think of something you'll enjoy," she drawled.

Clark cleared his throat and picked up the pencil. "I should draw," he said in a voice gone rusty.

Lois's soft laugh told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. Clark stared at the paper. He had to draw. They had to find Tempus.

But what he really wanted to do was take his wife to bed.

Because she was the sexiest woman in the world.

Any world. Any time. Any place.

+-+-+-+

Dr Samuel Lane strode towards his vehicle. He'd completed the home consultation with the patient whose call had prevented him from meeting Lois, and he was due at the hospital for rounds in thirty minutes.

According to the woman who had answered his call to the North-Western Hotel this morning, Lois worked there. When she'd flounced out of his home in a fit of rage, Sam had assumed she would go to Ellen. He hadn't even followed up to see if she were all right.

Surely, his daughter wouldn't choose to work at a place like the North-Western if she had any another option.

Did the silly girl even have somewhere to live?

As tempting as it was to leave her and hope that natural consequences would teach her a few much-needed lessons in life, Sam couldn't expel her from his mind.

He started the motor and pulled onto the road, turning in the direction of Suicide Slum.

+-+-+-+

Barry Russo hurried towards the North-Western Hotel, his mind buzzing. The paint contained lead. That wasn't hugely surprising, given the age and condition of the building, but it was pleasing to have solid scientific evidence to support his allegations.

He was going to confront the owner, who was probably the guy who had chased him away last night. Barry wasn't anticipating a cordial reception, and he expected it would only get worse once he explained why he was there, but it wouldn't be the first time he had risked the ire of others to speak in support of environmental issues.

But this was more than an environmental issue. This was Lois's health.

Even before Eddie's test, Barry had been sure she was suffering from lead poisoning.

It explained everything.

Her irritability. Her lack of appetite. Her lethargy. Her claim that the sandwich had tasted 'wrong'. Her need for such a large packet of pain pills.

If the condition of the front of the hotel was indicative of the rest of the building, it was likely that renovation was happening inside.

And Lois worked there.

It was obvious.

Barry couldn't believe he had taken so long to realise it.

He arrived at the door of the hotel and slipped quietly into the lobby, looking around for the angry man. Other than the receptionist behind the counter, the area was empty. "Hello," she said as she looked up. "Welcome to the North-Western Hotel. How may I help you?"

"I would like to see the owner, please."

"If you would like a room, I can check you in."

"No, I don't want a room," Barry said. "I would like to see the owner about a matter of utmost importance."

"Mr Green is a very busy man," the receptionist said crisply. "What is the nature of your business with him?"

"It's confidential."

"Mr Green doesn't see walk-ins unless -"

"I'm here about the renovation," Barry blurted out.

"This is no renovation," she said blankly.

"There has to be something," Barry said. "A room. A floor. Perhaps in the basement. Inside. Outside."

"If work was being carried out in this building, I would know," she declared stiffly.

Barry had been so sure. The paint outside was peeling from the wall, but it usually took more than that for people to be adversely affected. There had to be dust. Or direct contact.

Lois ... the paint ... the -

Then suddenly, he knew.

Barry took an empty Dr Pepper bottle from his knapsack. "Would you fill this for me, please?"

The receptionist eyed him suspiciously for a moment.

"Please?" he said. "I'm very thirsty."

She clicked her tongue against her teeth but she reached for his bottle. She went through a door behind the counter, and he heard the sound of running water. When she returned, she handed him his two-thirds-full bottle. "If you want to speak with Mr Green, you need to make an appointment," she said coolly.

"Thanks," Barry said. "Could I make an appointment for early in the week, please?"

The receptionist sighed as she picked up her pen and flicked through a few pages in the large book on the counter. "Friday," she said sharply. "Four o'clock."

"Friday?" Barry gasped. He couldn't allow Lois to continue being exposed to the lead for another week. "I need to see him before then."

"That's the earliest available," the receptionist said which a defiant lift of her chin.

"Could I see Ms Lane, please?" Barry asked desperately.

"No. She's working."

"Please! It's important."

The receptionist opened her mouth to reply, but whatever she had planned to say was curtailed by the sudden shrill of the phone. After a final dismissive look to Barry, she answered the call.

+-+-+-+

As Tony had waited in his office, his indignation had intensified with each passing moment.

How dare Lois Lane sully the fine name of his hotel? How dare she come onto his premises and flout herself like a common whore?

If this got out, his hotel would be doomed. Reputation influenced clientele. Clientele influenced reputation. His business would go into irretrievable freefall.

Tony shook his head as his resentment exploded to fury.

How dare she?

He'd hired her because she'd said she was desperate for work. She had seemed a bright young thing - smart in both mind and dress, well spoken, eager.

But within a week, he had been questioning his decision. Her output had been disappointing. Her appearance had deteriorated. Her manner had become surly. She moved as if she hadn't slept in days.

Now he knew why.

She had a side-business - using his hotel as the means to facilitate her sordid practices. Did the rest of the staff know? Were they laughing at him behind his back?

Tony leapt from his seat and stormed out of his office. Carol would tell him everything she knew. She was scared of him.

His simmering temper exploded when he saw the young vagrant from last night in his lobby. "You again!" Tony cried. "I told you not to come back."

The young man slowly faced him, as if deliberately refusing to respond to Tony's ire. "Are you the owner of this hotel?" he asked calmly.

Tony rose to his full height of five-foot-five and squared his shoulders. "Yes," he said with pride. "The North-Western Hotel is mine."

The young man stepped closer to Tony. "I need to talk to you about something very important," he said in a low, firm voice.

"I don't speak with hoodlums who walk through the door uninvited."

"I have conducted scientific research on the conditions of your hotel," the young man said. "If you refuse to talk to me, I will go directly to the Health Department. Then I will contact the EPA, and from there, the police."

The final word whipped across Tony's taut nerves. The police? Did this young upstart know about Lane's illicit activities? "You're fortunate you've chosen a quiet morning," he said. "Come this way."

Tony led the way to his office, his mind churning. Whatever the young man knew, *nothing* was going to be allowed to tarnish the reputation of the North-Western. Tony had bought it, saved it from demolition, and worked his fingers to the bone to make it a success. He would not allow this young scum to negate sixteen months of hard work.

Once they were both in the office, Tony shut the door. "What is your name?" he asked, trying to bury his anger enough to appear friendly and approachable.

"Barry Russo," the young man said. He put his water bottle in his knapsack and sat down on the chair Tony indicated. "How long has Ms Lane worked here?"

So it *was* about Lois Lane. No surprises there. Tony would fire her immediately. But that wouldn't necessarily silence the young vigilante whose resolute manner belied his youthfulness. "Only a few weeks," Tony said. "I'm Mr Green - the owner and manager of this hotel. I am sure we can come to a mutually satisfactory agreement regarding this unfortunate situation."

"Last night, I -"

"Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" Tony said. "How do you know Ms Lane?"

"We go to college together."

"Studying what?"

"Journalism."

Journalism. Comprehension infused panic through Tony's agitated mind. The young pup was chasing a story - a story that would expose Lois Lane for the slut that she was ... but would inevitably smear disgrace on the North-Western. "I knew nothing about this objectionable situation until earlier this morning," he said, quickly constructing his defence in his mind.

"You're aware of the problem?" Russo said, looking surprised.

Tony could already imagine the headline: North-Western Brothel. His business would be ruined unless he could convince Barry Russo that Lane had acted alone. Tony took a deep breath. He had to think quickly and speak compellingly if he were to save his hotel. "You need to understand the pressures of running a successful business," he said. "There is so much that requires your attention. No one man could be expected to be able to supervise every aspect of ..."