The Children Who Time Lost (30 page)

I wanted to wake you, but you were fast asleep. I didn’t have any money for a cab, so I borrowed your car. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience. I will return it as soon as I can. I didn’t get to see Rachel or Justine, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about seeing me, as I want it to be a surprise. Thanks again for your hospitality.

Rosemary

I left the note on the table and looked through the keys. I found a set of Volvo keys and took them. I wrapped one of Holly’s purple scarves around my head and left the house.

I shut the front door and looked left. A blue Volvo station wagon was four cars away. I looked farther up the street. There were no other Volvos in sight. I took quick steps toward it and pressed the alarm. The turn-signal lights flashed twice. I got in and fiddled with the buttons. Flying cars hadn’t arrived until the early 2030s, but the basic controls of cars from this time looked similar. I pumped my fist in the air when I figured out that it was an automatic. All I really had to do was put my foot on the gas and steer. I turned the key and drove off.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I
was showered and dressed by nine the next morning. My pinstripe suit was handsome on me. I looked like an executive. But the rest just wasn’t me. I had heavy eye shadow on and thick red lipstick that didn’t especially go with my hair. I grimaced at my reflection. I looked a bit like a hooker and nothing like I normally did. But then again, that was the point.

After a room-service breakfast of coffee, toast and poached eggs. I called Michael Galloway’s office at nine-thirty. The same woman answered and put me through to the more difficult one, probably his secretary.

“Michael Galloway’s office, Mandy speaking!”

I frowned. Last time it had taken almost half an hour to get a response. “Hi there. I arranged to see Mr. Galloway at ten-thirty, but I don’t think he’s booked me in. I just want to make sure he’ll be there.”

“Sure, ma’am. I can check that out for you. What’s your name, please?”

I glanced at the laptop again. The picture on the screen showed Michael with the governor of California and a young, attractive woman. Her name was Beatrice Clarke, the governor’s chief of staff. I saw the way she looked at Michael in a number of pictures of both of them together. There must have been something going on between them. I figured she would be someone who would not need an appointment to see Michael.

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry. My name’s Beatrice Clarke.”

“Oh, Miss Clarke,” the secretary said. “I didn’t recognize your voice. Yes, Mr. Galloway’s on his way in right now. He should be here around ten.”

I looked at the clock. I had twenty-five minutes to get there. “Okay, thanks.”

I arrived at Glixima Tower, on West Sixth Street, and gave the driver ten dollars. A host of people came in and out of the building, easily the tallest in L.A. Many walked by me, most with cell phones to their ears. I waited till a large group of people entered together and walked in with them. A few of the men in the group eyed me and let out wide smiles. I smiled back and kept walking. One of them dropped back to stand next to me.

“So, what department are you in?”

I gave him a huge
I’m not available
frown. “Marketing.”

He held his hand out and I shook it. He told me his name, but I didn’t care to listen. He continued boring me with the amount of money he made and how he would love to spend a fortune treating me to holidays and spa weekends.
Does this really work with women in 2013?

It went on in the same manner as the elevator went from floor to floor. Two smartly dressed women entered on the fifth floor and stood to my right. The man continued with his awful attempt to chat me up. I glanced in the women’s direction, expecting them to be grimacing at some of his pathetic lines, but they met my gaze with glares and whispered to each other as if sharing unsavory comments about me. I looked ahead and swallowed. People typically looked at me with sympathy in 2043, some even with awe, but this was very different. These women seemed to harbor genuine hatred for me. It felt strange and uncomfortable. The elevator stopped on the tenth floor and I stepped out, still confused by what had just happened.

I pushed the door to the lot open. It was exactly ten o’clock. I stood by the ramp and waited. A number of cars pulled up, but Michael didn’t get out of any. A stretch Mercedes with tinted windows arrived twenty minutes later. I backed into the wall and pretended to be on my cell. Then I crept behind it until it came to a stop.

The driver, a short stocky Hispanic man, got out and opened the back door. Michael got out in a dazzling gray suit. I only saw him sideways. His face was tanned and smooth. He grabbed his briefcase from the car and stood still as he continued to speak into his cell. He put the phone back into his pocket when the call ended and took a step toward the door.

I ran forward. “Mr. Galloway, Mr. Galloway.”

He turned slowly, like the models did in TV commercials. He stared at me for a moment and then smiled. My legs wobbled for a second. I felt like a junior in high school about to ask the senior quarterback to prom. I almost lifted my hand to wave like a crazy fan.

“Can I help you, miss?” His voice was deep and authoritative.

“Cynthia Rose.” I held my hand out.

He eyed it for a second before shaking it. Then he met my gaze, still waiting for me to answer his question. The words I wanted to say were lost to the fear of sounding ridiculous to one of the most powerful men in America.

“Ma’am,” his driver said, “are you all right?”

“Yes.” I straightened and reintroduced my serious face. Then I looked at Michael. “May we please talk in private?”

He frowned. “What’s this all about?”

“It won’t take more than five minutes.”

He appeared to consider my words and then shook his head. “No. If you want to see me, make an appointment with my secretary.” He walked toward the door again.

I ran in front of him. “It’s a matter of life and death. Please, just hear what I have to say, and if you don’t believe me, you’ll never see me again.”

I could sense his mind going in multiple directions. “No,” he said. “I can’t right now. But book an appointment and I’ll look out for it. Miss. Cynthia Rice, right?”

“Rose,” I said with anger. “Cynthia Rose.”

He held his hand up. “Apologies, Miss Rose. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He continued walking toward the door. I had to do something.

“I know you’re about to release a paper called
We Are Not Alone
.”

He stopped cold but didn’t turn around. I stood still and waited. Then he spun and stared at me with an unreadable expression. He looked curious and at the same time angry. “How do you know about that? No one but me knows about it. Who are you?”

I held my hand up. “Just five minutes and I’ll tell you everything.”

He glanced at his driver and nodded. The driver walked to the door that led into the building, turned around and stood still. Michael gestured toward the car. As I walked to it, the turn-signal lights flashed twice. He opened the back door for me. I got in and he joined me. Musk and vanilla filled my nose. The car was clean and well-looked-after.

He reached forward and opened a compartment behind the front seats. Then he grabbed a bottle of vodka. “Drink?”

I shook my head.

“Do you mind?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He half-filled a large glass and took a swig.

“It’s not even eleven in the morning.”

He smiled. “You don’t approve?”

I just stared at him.

“You’re wasting time, Miss. Rose. I assure you, my time is more precious than it might seem. Tell me how you knew I was writing that article.”

“My son was taken from me,” I said. “I need your help to get him back.”

He frowned at me for a moment. “I don’t understand.” He leaned forward. “If your son has been kidnapped, isn’t it the police you should be talking to?”

I sighed and scratched my back. “I don’t know how to say this.”

He stared at me.

“I’m from the future.” It just came out. I didn’t know what else to say. Getting to the point in a roundabout way would have taken too long. He didn’t look as shocked as I’d thought he would, but I did see confusion on his face.

“Is this a joke?”

“I swear to you, I’m from the year 2043. I came here because the people who took my son said they would be bringing him here to 2013.”

He laughed and pounded the seat with his fist. “What the hell is this?”

I looked at him without speaking.

He took another swig from his glass and looked out the window before turning to me. “Even if any of that were true, why would you come to me? I have no idea who you are, or your son.”

I continued staring at him without speaking. I had to make him believe I was serious.

He leaned forward, his face now hard. “What the hell is going on here? Who are you really?”

I told him who I was and about the infertility problem from my time, the Worldwide Lotto and everything that had happened to me after I went to the future to collect Dylan.

After squinting and pouring himself more vodka he sat in silence. I could see that much of what I had told him made sense. Many of his theories were probably in there somewhere.

“Wow,” he said. “I know there’s a … No. No way. None of this can be right.” He grimaced.

“You must believe me.”

“No, I don’t have to believe a word you say. It’s all too fantastic. Like something from a movie.”

“Please, I have nowhere else to go. You’re the reason I came back to L.A. The things that took my son are probably the same things you talk about in your article.”

He grunted and pounded the seat again. “Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you wasted your time. I can’t help you.” He opened the door and waved at his driver, who walked toward us. “Manuel will take you wherever you want to go, but I don’t want to see you again.” He got out of the car and I followed.

Manuel walked to the driver’s door, but I held my hand up. Both of them looked at me. “Listen to the news tomorrow. If you don’t believe me, how will you explain my knowing of the giant crater they’ll find in Nevada?”

He stared at me with a blank expression.

I shrugged. “You might not believe me, but you will after tomorrow. That I promise you.” I put my right foot inside the car.

“Wait.”

I stopped.

He held his cell phone out. “Is there a number where I can reach you?”

I eyed the phone for a moment and took it from him. After typing my cell number into it, I handed it back. I got back into the limo and he backed away. After Michael tapped on the roof twice, Manuel started the engine and drove away.

I wound the tinted window halfway down and inhaled the fresh air. The car had a large selection of alcohol—vodka, bourbon, gin, scotch.
My, he likes his drinks.
The car spun right and a cold draft slapped my face. I started to wind the window back up when I saw a man step out of a black sedan that had just parked on the road we’d turned onto. He had a sandy-colored suit on and thinning long blond hair, almost white. But my gaze shifted from him to another man who stood by the open door. He wore a black suit, and his long dark hair and menacing eyes were familiar. Lorenzo again. But who was the man in the sandy suit?

The limo stopped opposite them in traffic. I prayed Lorenzo wouldn’t be able to see through the tinted windows. I faced them again. The man in the sandy suit was speaking to a number of people who had gotten out of the car. They all listened attentively. He looked like a man of power. I pressed a silver button to lower the glass between Manuel and me.

“Is everything all right, Miss Rose?” he asked.

“Across the street—who’s that man in the sandy suit?”

“I think that’s Mayor Nicholson. Mayor of Barstow.”

I fell back in my seat. That was why the mayor had demanded that they release me in Barstow. He was working with Lorenzo. But how did they have so many people here already?

I looked back at the sedan. The mayor was now walking along the sidewalk, talking to the four men around him, all in black suits. Lorenzo walked a few steps behind, scanning the faces of everyone around him.
What’re you up to?
They headed toward Michael’s building and I swallowed. Whatever was going on had to do with me. But they wouldn’t kill him. It would be too high-profile. I wound the window back up and we started moving again.