Silver Storm: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 2 Read Online Free PDF

open at the bottom, resting on a small line. It matched the new Mark on his neck exactly. Same size. Same place…
    “It’s called a Shen. It’s what they use to Mark us when we are Taken and sent through time, and to Mark those chosen to help us. My name is Sarah St. Pierre. You were chosen to help me, Timothy Daniel Tucker. The Archiver Marked you.”
    “That’s impossible.” Tim shook his head, waiting for the next insane lie to fall from her lips. It wasn’t the Mark that he called a lie. It was there, in his flesh. How and why he had no idea. No, it was her name that threw him for a loop. A name that made her a liar. Sarah St. Pierre was a name he knew, a name everyone who lived along any beach on Lake Michigan knew, a name a dozen different conspiracy theorists and cold case enthusiasts had romanticized over for a couple of decades or longer.
    “Afraid not.”
    “How tall are you?”
    “Six foot.”
    “What do you do for a living?”
    “I used to be an Olympic athlete. Before I was a Timewalker, I played professional beach volleyball and windsurfed in competitions. Why?”
    Tim crossed his arms over his chest and studied her for several minutes. She didn’t squirm, blink, or bat an eyelash at him. Her hazel-green eyes, eyes that had won the hearts and souls of thousands of volleyball fans from the covers of sports magazines, stared straight into his. She appeared to utterly and completely believe what she was saying to him. She was tall. She had an athlete’s body. She looked so very familiar. Still. “It’s impossible.”
    “Why do you keep saying that?”
    “Sweetheart, I don’t know what kind of mind game you are trying to pull, but Sarah St. Pierre is an urban legend. She disappeared more than twenty-five years ago. Working theory on her disappearance is that she was hit by lightning while windsurfing. Body never found. She’s dead.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Tim raced upstairs to his old high school bedroom, rifling through a complete collection of Sports Illustrated magazines in the trunk at the foot of his bed. His mother had never bothered to change his bedroom, and now that they were gone, he couldn’t bring himself to change anything in her elegant and highly decorated domain, which meant the entire upper floors. But, on the good side, he knew exactly where to go to find the special summer issue. He remembered the date because his grandmother had lived in the town of Grand Haven the day of the freak storm. She’d even been interviewed by a national news station because her home lined the beach where Sarah St. Pierre’s windsurfing board and sail had washed ashore…when he was in grade school.
    He grabbed the magazine and ran back down the stairs. Then stopped in his tracks, frozen. There she was, on the cover.
    Glancing from the magazine to the woman sitting on his couch and back, he walked up to her and held the photograph next to her face.
    “What the f…” Perfect match, right down to the freckle at the corner of her left eye and the tiny scar centered under her perfectly pink lower lip. The quintessential all-American girl next door. Sunshine in a bottle.
    She attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Told you so.” She stood, and he couldn’t help but notice that for once he faced an incredibly sexy woman whose lips were a scant few inches from his own. He wouldn’t have to bend himself into a pretzel to kiss her.
    Squeezing his hands into fists to resist the temptation of placing them on her warm, soft shoulders, he stared at her, a million questions rolling around inside his head. His mouth froze, incapable, for once, of asking any of them. Three days. Save Chicago. Missing woman arrives naked via lightning storm twenty-seven years after her mysterious disappearance. Archiver. Shen. Scientist. Freaky Mark on his neck.
    Shit. The fact that he was considering the possibility that any of this were true proved that he’d