“Unless she was going to steal a time machine.” Casey’s voice was flat. It was the same taunt Brad had been hearing for four months. “Then she might have prepared very carefully. And taken cash.” Brad could see in the working muscles of his jaw that Casey was remembering how they’d scraped together their change and given it to her, how they hadn’t even searched her bag. Casey didn’t like being made a fool of.
“Can’t have it both ways, Casey. She can’t be a cool, calculating Mata Hari and a stupid bitch who leaves her business cards all over the hospital.” Brad didn’t mind taking his anger out on Casey. Either way, Lucy had brought a man back with her. She hadn’t even called. So whether she was a traitor or a stupid bitch, she’d pissed all over the love Brad had given her so unselfishly. He didn’t like being made a fool of, either. The loss of his innocent, pure love for Lucy left a void that ached to be filled.
Casey flipped open his phone. “Get the Corps of Engineers down to San Francisco General. I want a full crew in here within the hour.” He motioned to a guy in a black suit and gray tie who stood at the stairwell. The guy had an earpiece. He trotted over. “Reports on the hour about the search for this little bitch and her knight in not-so-shining armor.” The ice in Casey’s voice used to scare Brad.
Now let it scare Lucy. “Go for it,” he muttered.
Lucy opened her eyes on darkness. Where was she? What time was it? The gentle rocking of the boat at the dock grounded her. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Had she slept so long? She pushed herself up, that horrible grogginess that daytime sleep always gave her making her head thick.
She’d better check on her Viking.
If she’d slept this long, he’d probably slept even longer. He was the one who’d lost blood and had surgery and should be in the hospital. If she had to wake him to eat she’d call his name from the doorway. Shaking him awake was dangerous. But when she entered the cabin, he was nowhere to be seen. The covers were crumpled at the foot of the bed, along with his boots and his discarded breeches. And his sling.
Panic surged up inside her along with wild thoughts. Had Colonel Casey taken Galen from under her sleeping nose? Was he trying to escape from her? She’d come straight through from the forward cabin. He wasn’t in the galley or the salon. She checked the head that opened on both his cabin and the passage. Nothing. A series of thuds sounded on the deck above.
She dashed up the ladder into the cold air of evening on the bay. An icy March wind had kicked up. She stood in the cockpit and surveyed the deck above. The outline of his naked form at the prow was just visible against the black of the water beyond. He teetered at the line railing, holding on to the shrouds with his good hand at the edge of the deck. His other hand was at his groin. A trickle hit the water. She sighed in relief. He snapped his head around.
“You should stay below,” she said in Latin, hugging her arms against herself. He must be freezing. Lights were on in one or two of the boats moored at the little docks. Across the bay, the lights of Vallejo and Richmond made a glow. Somewhere behind her she could just hear the faint sound of a truck up on the 37 over the creaking of the docks.
“You like linen clean. I like linen dry.”
“Sorry.” She should have showed him the head. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Fine fugitive she was. And now he’d probably fall overboard trying to relieve himself. But decency and her own embarrassment required that she hang back until he was finished.
His flow went on and on. He’d really had to go. At last he shook his penis and turned, wavering. Thank goodness she couldn’t see him well in this light. She climbed up out of the cockpit and took his good arm. It was trembling either with cold or with the effort it had taken to make it outside to pee. Or both. That should have been only a reminder that he was sick, but the feel of warm flesh and hard muscle had what was becoming a familiar effect on her.
“Down the ladder, big guy.” She felt so helpless as she watched him stagger down into the cockpit and then down once more below decks. No way to help him. She got down after him as fast as she could and squeezed ahead to flip the light switch. Too close. She was definitely too close to a really big, naked man. He made the boat seem small. And hot. She opened the door to the head and demonstrated how the lid opened with a foot pedal. What was the word for pee in Latin? “Do that here,” she said, and pointed.
He raised his brows. “Inside?”
She flushed the toilet to illustrate.
He started back as the water swirled around the basin and down into the holding tank. A small smile dawned and he nodded thoughtfully. “Es gd.”
“Now, to bed.” She gestured forward. She expected protest, but he was obviously exhausted by his foray up the ladder. He eased himself into the bed while she turned on the bedside light. In the golden glow, the fact that his wounds had seeped fluid into his bandages was obvious. That could not be good. She went to her shoulder bag on the table in the galley and pulled out the white paper bag of pharmacy supplies she’d meant to send back in time with him.
First things first. He hadn’t had any painkillers all day. How had he made it through? She would have been screaming. No wonder he’d been trembling. She poured a glass of water and grabbed the pharmacy bag and headed to the bedroom.
Could she do this? She was no nurse. But soiled bandages had to be bad. And how hard could it be to change bandages?
It would be harder if she had to stare at his impressive male equipment. She set the water down and resolutely pulled the covers up to his waist. There were lines around his eyes and between his brows. He might be a stoic, but the pain was taking its toll. She poured the contents of the bag onto the table. Pill bottles, bandages, surgical tape, some Betadine. She read the directions, then shook out two Vicodin and a Keflex. “Take these.” She held out the pills.
He looked suspicious.
“For pain.” That didn’t make him relax. “No sleep. But no pain.”
When he still looked rebellious, she decided on threats. “No pills, no food.”
His glower said he was thinking about the deal. Why she didn’t know. He had no choice. She was his lifeline in this time. And then she saw a strange expression cross his face. Shame. He was ashamed. Of what? He set his mouth in a grim line as he took the capsules and the proffered glass. He downed the pills and made a face. The Vicodin was bitter.
She wasn’t sure what was going on with him. Who knew what a Viking thought or felt? He seemed like a creature from another planet. At least he responded to threats.
“Okay. Got to keep those bandages clean and dry,” she muttered to herself. She sat beside him like he wasn’t staring at her and leaned over to work at the surgical tape that held the bandages in place. Her braid slid over her shoulder onto his belly. “Sorry,” she murmured as she pulled carefully at the upper tape. As it came away, it pulled at the skin. Was she pulling at the wound? She glanced up. His lips were set and grim. This wasn’t feeling great, obviously. Should she wait until the Vicodin took hold?
She sat back, unsure.
“D hit,” he said through his teeth. He was too distressed for Latin, but she understood.
She swallowed. “Okay.” She bent back over his shoulder and pulled at the tape. “I know this hurts,” she murmured, refusing to glance up at his face. “But all this oozing can’t be good. I’m afraid getting you to the car or the boat maybe opened something up. Or climbing up on deck instead of lying in a hospital bed where real doctors and nurses could take care of you.” So what if he couldn’t understand? She wasn’t talking to communicate but to keep her mind off the fact that she was totally inadequate to care for him. “But I’m all you’ve got, and Lord knows, I’m not much.” She peeled back the pad.