A Twist in Time

Chapter 19

The radio was blaring inside the Quik Stop, as always. The clerk waved as she came in. This was going to be embarrassing, but if Lucy was to spend even one more night with Galen, she was in need of some condoms. The fact that their time was running out made her feel positively ill inside.

“That storm on the north coast is going to miss the city. But you folks up in Mendocino will get yet another bout of rain and wind tonight . . . ,” the radio announced.

“Hey, how are you?” the clerk called.

“Uh, fine . . .” What was his name? “Wally.”

She went aisle by aisle finding nothing until she realized they probably kept condoms up by the register to prevent shoplifting. No doubt under lock and key. Great. She wasn’t even going to skate by without having to ask for them. Well, she was a big girl. She’d survive asking for condoms. If only she could suppress the blush that was all too inevitable.

“And now for some local news,” the announcer said. “Cable cars came to a standstill while forty arrests were being made at the protest in Union Square yesterday. . . .”

She marched to the counter. Yep. There they were in a plastic case with a lock right behind the clerk. Oh, dear. Pleasure Pack. Thintensity, Magnum. Skyn. Do they have to be named things only guys would ever say? She’d have to yell over the radio. “Uh, can . . . can I buy some condoms please?”

Wally gave her a smirk. “Guess he’s feeling better.”

She gave an embarrassed smile and felt the blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah. Newlyweds and all.”

“The City Supervisors voted to help make case for same-sex marriage in the Supreme Court by filing a brief as a friend of the court. . . .”

“Well, what’s your pleasure, so to speak? We got your flavored kinds. We got the special ribbed ones. And the ones that vibrate.” He lifted his brows and wiggled them.

Yuck. “Trojans will be fine.”

His hand hovered over several of the boxes labeled: Magnum. “Size?”

“Uh.” She swallowed. “Extralarge?”

“Lucky man,” Wally said wistfully, handing her a box. The door behind her must have opened. She heard the bell.

“The murder rate is climbing again in the city. . . .”

“Lucy?”

Oh, God. She knew that voice. Brad.

A thousand thoughts flashed through her brain. Fear predominated, though. Stupid. She was going to seek him out tomorrow anyway. He was just a little early.

“Brad.” She turned. It was Brad all right—pressed chinos, sage green IZOD golf shirt, Bruno Magli penny loafers with no socks, and all.

“Where have you been, Lucy?” he asked, his brow darkening.

“Oh, Brad, I have been so silly. I started thinking all sorts of things. That you . . . and Casey . . . well, never mind. I got over it. I was going to come and find you tomorrow.”

Brad’s gaze roved over her face, as though he couldn’t actually believe it was her. It fell on the packages of condoms in her hands. He flushed, and it wasn’t in embarrassment.

“You’re fucking him. Of course you’re fucking him, you little whore. You weren’t coming to give yourself up. More like you were figuring out more ways to screw him while you screwed my career.” He was so mad he was sputtering.

“Brad!” Confusion, then outrage washed over her. What right had he to talk to her like that?

He strode forward and gripped her by the arm. “I’ve got the machine. Now you’re going to give me the diamond and the book and then you’re coming with me.”

“Hey!” Wally shouted, coming out from behind the counter.

“Butt out, creep,” Brad hissed, and jerked Lucy to the door. The clerk hovered uncertainly.

Lucy struggled. “Get your hands off me!”

“And in other news, the body found this morning floating in the water near Pier Forty has been identified as Jake Lowell, owner of the apartment building at 1632 Filbert . . .”

Both Brad and Lucy froze. “. . . beaten to death, Mr. Lowell’s death is attributed to gang violence. The Chief of Police has vowed to stop the gangs from terrorizing . . .”

Lucy looked at Brad. “Jake?” She couldn’t breathe. “Jake?”

Guilt flashed across Brad’s face. He might not have done this. But he knew who did. So did she. Casey.

And that meant they’d killed Jake to get to her . . . and Jake had been right all along.

“Come on,” Brad said through gritted teeth, coming to himself. She tried to pull back, but he dragged her toward the door.

“Hey!” the clerk yelled. “I’ll . . . I’ll call the police.”

“Go ahead!” Brad yelled over his shoulder. “You’ll be up on charges of harboring a fugitive.”

“A fugitive!” Wally hustled back behind the counter. “Hey, I don’t know who she is.”

“Keep it that way.” Brad shoved out the door, dragging Lucy with him. Fear coiled in her belly. Why had she come up here alone? She staggered across the parking lot behind him, twisting to loosen his grip.

“You’re not taking me anywhere. I’ll give you the diamond. But then Galen and I—”

“Galen and you?” Brad turned, his face twisted into a mask of fury. “You two-timing . . . and to think I was about to ask you to marry me. . . .” He took her other arm above the elbow so tightly it would leave bruises and shook her. She’d never seen someone so angry. It was frightening on some elemental level. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think, as her teeth jarred and her head snapped. “You took my love, and you pissed on it.”

Brad loved her? “We . . . were friends,” she gasped. “I thought we were friends.”

“Like hell you did. You played me. You made me fall in love with you.” Somewhere she heard a dog barking. Brad paused for breath and raised his arm.

“Brad . . .” She tried to get a hand up to block the blow, but she was too late. The arm came down. At least he hit her openhanded. Her head snapped, her whole face stinging.

A presence loomed behind Brad. A big hand on his shoulder jerked him away. Lucy staggered back as Galen whipped Brad around. Galen. Relief swamped her. A look of stunned surprise flooded Brad’s face just before Galen’s fist connected to his cheekbone and he went sprawling on the pavement.

Vandal barked, deep in his chest, as he circled Brad.

Galen’s face didn’t show the same blind fury as Brad’s had, just grim determination. But Lucy’s relief vanished nonetheless. Galen’s blue eyes were hard as ice chips. He glanced to her to make sure she was okay, then bore down on Brad, who scooted away on his butt.

“Hey,” Brad said. “You can’t—”

Galen leaned down, grabbed Brad by the throat with one hand. His left hand joined his right and lifted Brad off his feet. “You harm my Lucy?” he growled.

Lucy saw his fingers tighten around Brad’s throat, digging into the flesh. Brad kicked ineffectually and started to gurgle, clawing at Galen’s fingers. Vandal pulled on one of Brad’s pant legs, growling. Lucy scrambled up from the asphalt. “Galen, Galen, you’ll kill him.”

“Ja,” Galen said through gritted teeth. “I acwell him.” He shook Brad, whose face was now turning violent red, shading into purple. Veins stood out on his forehead.

Lucy pulled at Galen’s shoulder. “You can’t.”

He shook her off. Obviously, he thought he could. At that moment a dark stain bloomed over the fly on Brad’s pressed chinos and the smell of urine flooded the air. A stream of it ran down his leg and pooled on the asphalt. Vandal leaped back and began his circling bark again. Brad’s tongue jutted out through his mouth. In another moment it would be too late.

“I’ll never forgive myself if you kill him,” Lucy said quietly.

That seemed to get through to Galen as her shouts had not. He grunted in disgust and tossed Brad to the pavement. Supporting himself on shaky arms, Brad heaved in a breath and then another. At least he wasn’t dead. His first breaths were followed immediately by heaves as the contents of his stomach spewed onto the asphalt.

Galen stood rooted to the earth, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Vandal, come,” Lucy said. The dog stopped barking to look her way; then, to Lucy’s surprise, he actually came to her side, panting.

“You are not enough for Lucy,” Galen growled at Brad, his own chest heaving. “You live by her mild-heartness only. You go now.”

Brad didn’t need encouragement. He scrambled to his feet and tottered to his car. He was going to have dandy finger-shaped bruises around his neck. “You were just a charity case,” he croaked, rubbing his throat as he leaned against the Jag. “Like a rescue dog. I took you on because I felt sorry for you when no other man would have you.”

Lucy hoped he didn’t have a gun in the car. She tried to pull Galen away, but he was still making like “pillar of Stonehenge.”

“You could have had everything,” Brad said in a hoarse half voice. A glimpse of sadness rushed up into his eyes. He looked as though he might have said more, but then a kind of hatred engulfed the wistful look. He shook his head in disgust and slammed the door. If he had a gun, he didn’t have the courage to use it. His swung the Jag round and squealed out of the parking lot onto the highway, causing another driver to slam on his brakes and give a long protesting honk.

Galen stared after the retreating car. “Hey, that was quite a show you put on.” The doughy clerk hurried over.

Great. He’d seen the whole thing. As a matter of fact, any cars passing on the highway would have gotten an eyeful, too. With her luck they’d be calling the highway patrol or something. “Old boyfriend,” she explained. Vandal looked at the clerk with interest but didn’t growl. Apparently the clerk’s aura didn’t scream “threat.”

“He said you were . . . uh . . . fugitives. Some diamond? Are you hiding out?”

Well, that was closer than she’d like him to get. She made her mouth rueful. “I guess he thought I should have returned the ring, even though he broke up with me.”

“Crazy.” The little man shook his head. “Bet you haven’t seen the last of him.”

“You’re probably right about that,” she muttered.

“Looks like your husband can handle it, though.” Wally’s eyes were wide with admiration. “Never seen anybody just . . . pick somebody up by the neck.”

Galen turned to her, ignoring the clerk entirely. “You are well, Lucy?” His eyes roved over her face. It felt swollen. She’d probably bruise, but it could have been way worse.

“I’m fine,” she said. Which was a total lie, since she’d started to shake.

Galen’s face softened. “We go now.” He picked up her bag that had fallen to the asphalt and put his arm around her. Wally returned reluctantly to his post, all the while casting longing glances out to the road, hoping for more excitement. Galen guided her back down the road, Vandal at their heels.

“You were r-right,” she stuttered. “He . . . he did lust after me. How did I not see it?”

“Because you did not lust after him.”

“He . . . he called me a whore.”

Galen probably didn’t know what that was. But he didn’t ask. “This Brad is andig. Think not on him.”

“Andy?” They had to use Latin to sort that one out. “Oh, jealous.” Galen spelled it for her. Andig. Somehow that seemed funny. Lucy got the giggles. Galen chuckled with her, a rumble in his chest, right up until she started to cry. Then he just stopped and held her.

“Shhhh,” he said, kissing her hair until her sobs turned to hiccups.

He didn’t know. She had to tell him. “We have to get out of here,” she said. “Brad will bring Casey.”

“Ja,” Galen said, his voice soothing. “We sail.”

“That isn’t the worst.” It seemed natural now to have to tilt her head so much to look up at him. “Jake’s dead, Galen. They killed him.” Her eyes welled with tears. “He died . . . for me. For us. They . . . they must have tortured him, but he didn’t tell them anything or Casey would already be here.” The words poured out, and she couldn’t stop them. “I don’t think Brad did it. But he knew. He knew about it. And he didn’t stop it. So he’s not who I thought he was. And he has no control over Casey. And Casey is exactly what Jake thought he was. Jake was right. He was right. And it cost him his life. We cost him his life.” Tears coursed down her face as the words dried up.

Galen’s mouth went grim. “Jake is in Valhalla now. He drinks and eats and fucks the Valkyrie.”

She gave a watery chuckle. “Hope that’s his idea of heaven.”

“How not?” Galen smiled. But she could see more sober thoughts flickering behind his eyes. “We go now.” He glanced to the sky, which was still blue as blue. The wind was rising, though. “It will storm tonight.”

“The radio said it would miss us.”

“It will not.” He sounded so sure she was taken aback.

“I don’t know if I can sail in weather,” she said. Her voice was smaller than she’d like.

His eyes crinkled. “Viking boat sails in all weathers when we are far from land. We will not let this Brad and Casey come to us.” He paused. “They have the machine, yes?”

“Yes. They got it back to the lab.” She looked up at him, realizing she’d been insensitive. What must he be feeling? His time was lost to him now. “I’m sorry you can’t go home.”

“No one awyrcs the machine now.” He said it thoughtfully.

“Not without the diamond.” Hmmmm. “Maybe they can get another one.” A thought occurred. It made her almost ill. “Maybe you can go home, Galen. It’s me Brad hates. I’ll give you the diamond. You wait here for them. They’ll fix the machine and send you back. I’ll . . . I’ll take the car and go.”

Would they send Galen home? Would they imprison him to “study” him? Would they kill him when they’d finished just to make sure no one knew about the machine? Was anyone safe around someone who could torture and kill Jake?

“We sail, Lucy.” Galen took her shoulders. “Together. Always together. That is right and true.”

She blinked. Uh . . . was what she’d just heard a kind of Viking commitment? All she could do was nod, because it did feel right and true and she didn’t know what else to do.

Galen took off toward the boat at a trot, holding her hand and pulling her beside him.

“Dog,” he called to Vandal, who had ranged off to the west of the road. Vandal came at a dead run.

Lucy raced around the boat, stowing everything that wasn’t already secured, while Galen changed into his Nikes and got out their weather jackets. They’d have to leave Vandal below until they were sure he had sea legs for the deck. Better safe than sorry. And hope he wasn’t seasick. Lucy got out the diamond and the gun and put them in her bag, which she stowed in the locker right by the hatch. She’d told Jake she’d never use a gun in this lifetime. But that was before someone had beaten him to death. Oh, God. What was she saying? She’d never have the courage to shoot anyone. She should have taught Galen to shoot. He was the ruthless Viking.

She wouldn’t have to shoot anybody. They were going off the map. She went to the chart locker and got out the sea charts, flipping through to the ones for the bay and the coast. Galen came up behind her. “Here.” She pointed. “We are here. Island. Island. Strong wind through the Golden Gate. That’s tough sailing.”

Galen studied the map. “Deop?” He pointed to the channel.

She nodded. “Deep. Strong current.”

“I understand. We call it stream. Boat cannot fight wind and stream, Lucy.”

“In your time you couldn’t sail against the wind. But this boat does. We call it tacking. The sails move at an angle to catch the wind. I will show you.”

She weighted down the maps and left them out for reference. Galen studied them a moment longer and nodded as though he was committing them to memory.

“First we get off the dock,” she said. She went up to the cockpit and got the engine started while Galen made sure Vandal was tied safely below decks. The dog wasn’t happy about it, but there was no time for dog-overboard exercises today.

Galen blinked once or twice at the motor’s noise but jumped off and untied the fenders and dock lines. “Bring those aboard,” she called, “and get them below.” She pointed. Galen followed orders like a seaman. No questions, no rebellious looks. One hurdle passed.

She glanced up to see the hard-looking tanned guy out on his boat, watching them rig up. If he was surprised at all their haste or that they were going out so late in the day, he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t, she guessed. He had a beer in his hand and was wearing shorts with his jacket. Real hard-ass. Just like Casey. She was sure they’d be meeting, as Casey returned in a couple of hours to “interview” everyone in sight. This guy wouldn’t be able to tell Casey much, except they’d sailed down the bay.

Galen came up from below. Lucy throttled up gently in reverse and they backed out of the slip. As she turned the wheel, the boat swung out into the bay.

The hard guy gave them a casual salute and, hesitating, she waved back. That was probably the biggest show of emotion he knew how to give.

Twilight was about an hour away. She swallowed. Was she up to this? She’d sailed at night only once, when she and her father had torn a sail and come in late. And she’d never sailed in weather in the dark. Let’s hope Galen is wrong about the storm, she thought. She turned the boat directly into the wind to keep them from moving, and cut the motor.

“Time for a quick course in sailing words while we rig her up.”

Galen was an even quicker study than she expected. He obviously knew lines and sails, and some words were the same: “mast” and “starboard,” for instance. The biggest problem was, of course that back in his day ships didn’t have advanced hull design and triangular sail configuration that allowed modern boats to tack or sail close-hauled. And they had no wheel. They used tillers. That meant she was going probably to have to captain this thing. If he would let her. She pulled the mainsail out of its bright blue canvass housing. Woad. He’d say it was dyed with woad.

They put the battens in, fastened the tack and the clew, attached the halyard. He hauled it up the mast. No sign of stiffness in his shoulder. Or he concealed it well. She pointed to the other winches used to haul and hold the sails in place when they were filled with wind and told him they were called grinders. She showed him how to grind and feed the line in at the same time. Galen got the idea immediately. In a racing boat there’d be a crew person for each of those tasks for each grinder, but he was going to have to do it all. She had him practice a couple of times. He had it down in no time. With those shoulders, he’d be a great grinder. If his strength lasted.

Was he up to this? “Are you well?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I am mighty.” He grinned. “Better than before.”

Well, she had to trust him. There wasn’t anyone else. She tossed him the outhaul line and pointed to the cleat on the side. He tied it off with several deft wraps and moved automatically up to the jib, asking questions about what things were for, how the sails worked. Jake had the jib rigged on a roller furler, so all they had to do was haul one line. He’d planned for fast getaways, never knowing they wouldn’t be his own. She wasn’t going to imagine what Jake looked like after being beaten to death and left in the water overnight. Too many episodes of CSI. Not fair, she wanted to scream.

She pushed down thoughts of Jake. He would have to wait for mourning.

She tried to explain to Galen about the points of sail and how tacking worked to let you sail into the wind. You always had to tack out of the Gate. A wind was rising from N-NW ahead of what might or might not be a storm. He listened, nodding, asking a question or two.

The feeling that this was just impossible was getting stronger. Two people sailing in weather through the treacherous currents of the Golden Gate with night coming on?

But there was no choice. No choice at all.

It was barely twenty minutes later when she put her hands on her hips and scanned their work for anything she’d missed. They’d made good time getting her rigged in view of the fact that one of them was inexperienced at modern sailboats. Both the mainsail and the jib were luffing, making a soft, ruffling sound as they flapped, head into the wind. Tiny storm sails were stacked where she and Galen could get at them in the cockpit next to the hatch below. Jake had, of course, outfitted the Camelot with foul-weather gear. Lucy stood at the wheel. Galen had accepted that without complaint. Points for him.

“Okay,” she said. “Back the jib.” She motioned to the forward sail and pointed to the left. He trimmed the sail with the line that would pull the jib over to the left. As the wind filled it, the muscles in his shoulders and arms bunched under his Henley shirt where he held the line. She turned the wheel. The bow moved to starboard on the port tack, out of the no-sail zone. Things must happen quickly now. “Trim the mainsail,” she called, and pointed right. He nodded, a smile lighting his face. He winched the mainsail just taut enough as the wind came full on the jib.

He was already on the move to the jib line when she called for him to trim it. He slacked the line that held it in the backed position, switched lines, winched it tight until it caught the wind in the new position. That was one perfectly trimmed sail, just off luffing to maximize the use of the wind. Guess he did know wind and water. The boat began to pick up momentum. She’d keep it on a wide reach for maximum speed. Damn Jake for keeping the boat up in this backwater. It was a long way down and around the point to the Gate. Full out, how fast could this size boat go? Maybe nine knots? And that only until they started having to tack against wind and current in the Gate. The Gate was tough in the best of times.

She wouldn’t think about that. Because they had to get out of here and they had many hours of sailing ahead of them. Just because they were on a boat didn’t mean they were safe. She wouldn’t win a chase with Coast Guard powerboats. She wouldn’t feel safe even after they were out in the open ocean.

But if they made it—if they escaped Casey’s clutches—then what? She wasn’t sailing across the open Pacific to Hawaii, probably not ever, but definitely not in March with Pacific storms still slamming Northern California. Mexico maybe, or South America, where they could keep close enough to land to assuage her nerves. Galen would get a chance to learn Spanish.

That didn’t feel right.

Of course it didn’t. Even though she had Galen, it was her responsibility to sail this thing out into open water in heavy weather. She knew better than anybody that she probably wasn’t up to that.

They were sailing south down what was technically called San Pablo Bay toward the narrows between Richmond and San Rafael that separated it from San Francisco Bay proper. They were practically on a run, with the wind filling their sails from just off their rear. Clouds rolled up over the hills behind her. She had Galen pull both the jib and the mainsail out almost like wings to catch that rising wind.

Galen was grinning like he’d just seen a Valkyrie as he looked up to survey his handiwork. “This boat is fast, Lucy. She sails sweet.”

Lucy just hoped it was fast enough.