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“An authorized trip to make someone money … that’s interesting,” Ben says dryly. Burke ignores him.

“First things first—all the paperwork. Robbins!” Dr. Cooper says, probably trying to head off another argument. He beckons to the tall, brunette woman who had opened the door for us. “You’ll have to sign contracts and all that.”

“Contracts?” I say, surprised.

“Yes, all that government red tape everyone complains about. It’s your basic stuff, spelling out what you’ll be doing for us, how you won’t divulge any classified information—which includes everything about this task force and mission—and won’t sue us if you get killed.” Dr. Cooper laughs as Agent Robbins comes forward with two thick folders of paperwork. The one time I would’ve liked a more comprehensive explanation, Dr. Cooper is too brief.

“Don’t we have to have security clearance or something to see classified information?” Ben asks, opening his folder as Robbins hands it to him. He flutters through some of the pages.

“You had to have security clearance before you even stepped foot on this plane,” Burke replies. “Thanks to your special cases and the exigent circumstances of needing you right now, the director was able to push some things through.”

“The director, as in…” I look up from my pile of papers.

“The director of the FBI.” Burke nods at me. “The possibilities of what Gibbons could be up to in the past, considering his skills and training, represent a possible threat to national security. I know we haven’t said it enough,” he says sarcastically, “but we take this time-traveling very seriously.”

“No joke…” I mutter, glancing over the first page of my contract.

Dr. Cooper pats me on the shoulder. “We’ve only got about six hours or so to give you two a rush Quantico training course, so try and hurry with those.” He chuckles as he leaves us.

“Adele Robbins, FBI,” Robbins introduces herself. “We’ve got all the places for you to sign marked.” She points to the bright orange sticky notes sticking out of the stack of papers. “And he wasn’t kidding when he said hurry through. Sign and move on.” She hands us both pens and leaves.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s back to rush us through the last signatures and collect our folders. “We need to get both of your measurements so we can have your wardrobe ready by the time we touch down,” she says, leading us toward the back of the plane. “Willis is a wonder. He started whipping out some things as soon as we heard Gibbons was in 1928, so he’ll want your measurements to finish it off.”

When she’s done with measurements, which are much quicker and far less invasive than the ones for my corset had been, Robbins gives me a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and some tennis shoes.

“You know my shoe size?” I ask, surprised.

“Once we knew what you could do, we worked up a file on you really quick.” Robbins shrugs. She waits outside the door of the changing room—a plain room with one wall of about four lockers on one side. When I’m done changing, she leads me back to the training area, where Burke’s waiting, also dressed in workout gear.

“Burke’s turn.” Robbins gives me a commiserating smile before heading toward Dr. Cooper and Ben, also just arriving in sweats, T-shirt, and tennis shoes.

“Great,” Ben mutters when he meets Burke’s stone-faced expression.

“For now, you’re getting off easy,” Burke says, rubbing his hands together. “Once this mission is over, you’ll have to complete a more rigorous training course to stay on the team.”

“I’m really looking forward to that,” Ben says, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

I get two breaks from my demanding round of hand-to-hand combat training and self-defense moves in the next six hours, once at the beginning when we’re cleared for takeoff and get into the air, and the next when Agent Robbins takes me back to the gun range—a gun range on an airplane!—and teaches me how to hold and shoot one.

“Blanks right now,” Robbins explains when she hands me the gun. “And we have some fancy chips or something in here—” She taps the end of the gun. “—that pinpoint on the target where you would have hit.”

It’s a good thing. One of the laser pinpoints shows I would have ricocheted a bullet into Robbins’s shoulder at one point.

When the pilot announces they’re starting their descent into JFK, Ben and I get to shower and change back into our street clothes before taking our seats at the front of the plane with Burke, Dr. Cooper, and Robbins. Once we land, Willis boards with our clothes.

“One set each,” he tells us as he hands them over. “Ben will have enough funds to get you more when you get there, and they’ll be more authentic. Less risk of changing too much if we send you with the least number of things from the future as we can.” The tall, thin man casts a scowl at the other three. “Plus, that’s the best I can do in ten hours.”

“Excellent work as usual, Willis.” Dr. Cooper pats him on the back, making Willis puff under his praise.

I change first in the changing/locker room, grinning over the gorgeous ensemble. It’s a replica of an authentic Chanel day outfit with a low-waisted dress that sports pleats in the left side of the skirt and a belt that hits low on my hips. Willis has also provided a coat of the same color in a silky velveteen, as well as a simple string of pearls and a hat that fits close to my head with its brim bent up on the right side. As far as my hair goes, I have to settle for scraping it into a low bun that looks woeful when matched with the pretty clothes.

Ben takes his turn and emerges a few minutes later in almost normal gray slacks and a matching suit coat. Willis points out that Ben will have to hike the slacks up higher on the waist than he likes, and they’re cuffed, showing a couple inches of his black socks. He spirals a fedora on his finger and winks at me. To think, I’m about to step into another one of my fantasies, this time better prepared and able to enjoy it—for the most part.

A woman who boarded the plane with Willis joins us in the small planning room of the plane. It’s next door to the changing room and one of the only walled rooms. It has a small, card-table-sized workspace with mounts for laptops to keep them steady when the plane’s in the air. The woman connects a laptop to one of them and opens it.

“Ben, Clara, this is Agent Gwen Porter,” Dr. Cooper introduces. “She’s in charge of the research division.”

Ben shakes this woman’s hand. “Ben Mitchell,” he introduces.