The 7th Tarot Card

by Valerie Clay

  I wrestled and twisted my hands around behind me, trying with all my might to loosen the tape as we clipped along across the water. One thing in my favor was the jostling and bouncing of the boat which masked the movement of my hands and arms. At last I had a small bit of success, when the tape loosened just enough for me to move my hands under my jacket and do what I had to do. I felt for the Taser, got a solid grip of it in my right hand and pulled it out from under my waistband. The captain’s chair was to the right of me, so I had to transfer the Taser to my left hand, grasping it gingerly so I wouldn’t inadvertently set it off. Using my left hand was going to make it even tougher to get a decent aim, but it was all I had.

  Unaware of my actions, the maniac in the captain’s seat had his eyes on the boat traffic up ahead of us, mentally plotting his next move, no doubt. It was now or never, I decided. Terror churned in my stomach as I tried to stand up, but before I could rise high enough, Bill saw me and angrily struck out, hitting me viciously in the mouth. The surprising violence and stinging blow of it sent me reeling back into my seat, dazed and in shock.

  “Sit down and stay there,” he roared at me. “You get up again, I’m going to hurt you bad.”

  Dizziness fogged my brain and I could taste blood in my mouth from his blow. I leaned my head back against the seat, closed my eyes, and prayed. I couldn’t control the fear and desolation surging through me, but I could focus. I needed to use my head and be patient—no more sudden acts of desperation. Wait for the right moment, and then make my move.

  The minutes ticked by as we traversed the lake, drawing nearer to the Montlake Cut and Lake Union. Bill looked around and behind us from time to time, confirming that our getaway was still clean. I sat next to him in angry silence, staring straight ahead, ignoring him. Hatred and resolve had now replaced my fear. When he did another routine check behind us, I paid no attention to him, until I realized that something had changed. He throttled back, slowing the boat down a little, then twisted around in his chair, removed his sunglasses and frowned. I turned and followed his line of sight. Way off in the distance, a lone Sea-Doo was heading in our direction and appeared to be moving swiftly. Hope surged within me. Could it be the FBI, or just a random jet skier out for a ride?

  Bill grabbed the duffle bag and extracted a set of binoculars, then stood up to get a better view. He focused on the Sea-Doo, then lowered the binoculars, rubbed his eyes, and raised and squinted through them again as I held my breath. He swore loudly.

  “What? What is it?” I screamed, offering a silent prayer.

  He turned to me, his face contorted in fury, and slammed his fist into the side of my seat. “It’s your boyfriend,” he spat out.

  My breath caught in my throat. Judah! He must have hotwired someone’s Sea-Doo. God bless his felonious little heart.

  Bill returned to the captain’s chair and rammed the throttle up to full power. In response, the boat lurched dramatically; the nose angling upward slammed me back into my seat. The lake had become choppy from a breeze that had evolved into fairly strong winds, and we hit the waves with brute force. Cold water sprayed up in our faces and wind buffeted the boat as we made a run for it across the restless, shifting surface of the lake. I bounced uncontrollably in my seat, trying with all my might not to accidentally discharge the Taser.

  Even though Bill madly pushed the sport boat to its maximum speed, we were no match for the powerful Sea-Doo steadily gaining on us. As Judah moved closer still, a second watercraft speeding behind him came into view. A police boat! When Bill saw the police, he became erratic and unbalanced. Pounding and wrenching the wheel, swerving the boat crazily back and forth, he let out a long, primal wail, like a wounded animal. It occurred to me there was a good chance we could capsize and I choked with fear. I was bound to the boat. If we turned over . . .

  Frantically kicking my legs, I tried to loosen the ropes but they held tightly, digging into my ankles. Over and over, I begged Bill to stop, but in his hysteria he was deaf to my pleas.

  Then abruptly, inexplicably, he calmed down and turned to me. The look in his eyes was empty and dead, as if his soul had left his body. He got out of his seat and held onto it for support as the boat, still surging forward at full throttle, pitched and swayed over the waves. Unemotionally, he picked up his duffle bag and calmly pulled out a hand gun. He regarded me with an unnatural tranquility and caressed my cheek.

  “I’ve always loved you, Victoria,” he shouted over the penetrating whine of the engine, pushed to its limits. “Sure, I hated you too—tried to hate you—but my love for you is stronger.” His manner was disturbingly restrained, filled with a kind of quiet resolve. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but it seems I have no choice now. First he dies, then you, then me. It’s better this way. If I can’t have you in this life, no one can.”

  “No! Bill!” I screamed in horror, but he wasn’t listening. With silent resignation he waited patiently until Judah at last came into range, then moved carefully, taking measured steps to the back of the bouncing, pitching boat, balancing himself against the side. He cocked his gun.

  This was it—my one and only chance. It was time to make my move. But I knew that if I took my shot and missed, he would kill me instantly. As Bill lifted his gun and leveled it at Judah, I stood up behind him, twisted my body, and aimed at his upper back. I flipped the safety shield, said a prayer, then punched the trigger button. I felt the sharp vibration of the discharge in my hand.

  Two darts attached to fifteen feet of wire shot out of my Taser and traveled across the length of the boat. The first dart struck Bill in his upper right thigh and the other behind his left knee. He shook violently and I instinctively pushed the trigger again. More electricity charged through the wires. His gun fired erratically into the air as he convulsed, then he staggered sideways, hit the edge of the boat, and tumbled overboard.

  I stared after him in shock as he disappeared beneath the rough, churning water. Hypnotically, I watched the waves and the white, foaming wake of the boat, looking for some sign of him.

  The sound of Judah’s cries pulled me back to reality. He was yelling something that I couldn’t quite make out, waving his hands and pointing wildly. I turned around to the front of the boat and saw that I was on a collision course with a dock jutting out from the property of a vast lakefront estate. I tried desperately to kick free of the rope and reach the throttle, but it was no use. I was tied too securely and couldn’t get anywhere near the controls.

  “Judah,” I screamed back at him. “I can’t—I can’t reach it!” I twisted and struggled with all my might, but I was helpless. I looked back at him in despair. He was very close now and still gaining. I spun around to look back at the immense, looming dock and it was coming fast. I was going to crash into it in a matter of seconds. When I twisted back around to see Judah, he had surged even with the speeding, bounding boat. He moved in as close as possible then lunged off the Sea-Doo. His strong arms held him as he clung to the side of the boat, then swung his leg over and tumbled inside. Swiftly, he clambered up to the controls and spun the wheel hard, narrowly missing the dock and a two-masted sailboat that was moored there. The sharp turn caused the boat to careen perilously on its edge, sending a huge wave of water up onto the dock. I slid off the seat and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

  Once we were free and clear of the dock, Judah cut the engine and helped me up. Drifting quietly on the choppy water, I watched him in a daze, unable to speak as he unfastened the ropes around my legs. Then he turned me gently around in the seat and with the hunting knife he pulled from the open duffel bag, cut through the duct tape binding my wrists.

  “I don’t think you’re going to need this anymore,” Judah said as he pried my fingers loose from the Taser I’d been holding with a death grip. He set it down on the floor of the boat and said to me, “I wondered why he fell overboard.”

  I stared up at him impassively.

  “You’re a pretty good shot there, Annie Oakley.” He smi
led at me, but I was unable to move or speak, so he put his arms around me and held me close. I leaned my head against him and he whispered in my ear, “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.” —Les Brown, motivational speaker and best-selling author

  *******

  We drifted silently, Judah’s strong arms pulling me tightly against him, my head resting on his chest, until the police boat reached us. The FBI agents from the bar spoke briefly to us, but I scarcely paid attention to them. Through a fog I heard Judah agree to bring me back on the boat to the marina, while the police recovered the Sea-Doo and searched the lake for any signs of Bill’s body. Inside my own private bubble I shut out all reality and clung to Judah’s words, repeating them over and over again in my head like a mantra: It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.

  When he felt my shivering, Judah slipped off his jacket, wrapped it around my shoulders, then pulled me onto the captain’s seat next to him and started the motor. Slowly, very slowly, we traversed the lake together, the boat softly bobbing up and down over the dancing waves.

  “Thank you, Judah,” I said tearfully when I finally found my voice. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  “Shhh, you don’t need to repay me,” he said. We stopped the guy, that’s all that matters.”

  “But how did you find me?” I asked.

  He gave me a hard look. “I have a confession to make,” he began. “Don’t get mad, but I broke my promise to you. I just couldn’t let you go there alone, so I waited a while, then followed you. I found your car in the garage, but when I didn’t see you inside the bar I spoke to the agents. They told me you never showed, so they traced your cell phone. The last coordinates we had were in the middle of the lake, so I sort of borrowed a Sea-Doo and took off in that direction.”

  I looked across the white-capped lake at the colorful boats moored in the marina off in the distance. What was once a beautiful view and my source for calming and centering was now tarnished forever. “This lake will never be the same for me again,” I said numbly. “Not after today and these horrific memories.”

  He squeezed my shoulder and smiled at me. “Then, we’ll just have to make new memories.”

  I gazed up at him and tried to return his irresistible smile. Slowly, as I began to feel hope for the future, and safe again after so long, reality hit me.

  “Oh, no—I just remembered—he tossed my purse overboard. My car keys were inside.”

  “Don’t worry about your car,” Judah admonished. “You’re in no shape to drive anyway. We’ll leave it in the parking garage tonight. Tomorrow when you’re feeling better we’ll go get it.”

  “What about my condo and my new deadbolt lock? How am I going to get inside? All my keys are gone. Did you keep a spare key?” I asked hopefully.

  “No. But we can work around that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Being defeated is only a temporary condition; giving up is what makes it permanent.” —Marilyn vos Savant, magazine columnist, author, lecturer, and playwright

  *******

  When I heard the soft knock on my front door, my heart thumped with nervous anticipation. This was my first official date with Judah and, finally, tonight I was going to get some long-awaited answers. He had promised to tell me everything, and I planned on holding him to it. As prepared as I was with my list of questions, I reluctantly admitted to myself that I may not like the answers. My feelings for him could change after tonight, but still I had to know.

  El Gaucho, the posh steakhouse in Belltown, is where he’d originally intended to take me for dinner, but I wasn’t ready for a hustling, bustling restaurant just yet. A quiet, cozy dinner at home sounded much more appealing to me tonight.

  I surveyed the room with satisfaction. The fire in the fireplace had settled down nicely into a warm, sensual glow. All the candles were lit, the soulful sounds of Etta James were softly emanating from my stereo, and my best china, crystal, and sterling silverware adorned the table.

  Everything was perfect.

  After a quick last minute check in the mirror, I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my mint green cashmere sweater. Not wanting to be too suggestive, but still a little sexy, I re-buttoned the second one, revealing a hint of cleavage, then hurried to the door to greet this man, this wonderful, mysterious man who had infuriated me, thrilled me, and completely stolen my heart away.

  Opening the door like a nervous teenager on her first date, I unexpectedly felt butterflies gathering in my stomach. Please, Dear God in heaven, don’t let me giggle. A light rain had begun to fall, gently tapping on the roof, and as the soft night breeze swirled into the room I drew in a breath of fir trees and earth-scented air.

  “Hey, you,” I said leaning against the door with a shy smile. But, to my surprise, Judah didn’t return my smile. He just stood there with his hands at his side and looked at me, his expression withdrawn, detached.

  Something was off. Alarm bells began firing distantly in my brain. Not again, I thought. He can’t be backing off again. Not after everything that’s happened. I looked down to see a large black duffle bag sitting on the porch next to him. Across the top of it lay his leather jacket. “Is something wrong?” I asked, struggling to interpret the situation.

  “I’m sorry,” he said flatly, “I can’t have dinner with you tonight. I just came to say goodbye.” There was a quality in his speech, a cold finality that was stunningly aloof.

  “Goodbye!? What do you mean? Where are you going?” Inwardly, I cringed at the shrillness in my voice. It was a pathetic, desperate-sounding cry that escaped from my mouth before I could stop it.

  He stood motionless, watching me with cool eyes, showing no reaction to my emotional outburst, then spoke, “I’m leaving town tonight. Not sure how long I’ll be gone, or if I’ll ever be back.”

  Disbelief clouded my mind as I tried to grasp what he was saying. “I don’t understand. Did I do something to upset you?” Before he could respond, I launched myself through the doorway and out onto the porch to confront him.

  He looked away from me as he took a step backwards, then bent down to pick up his bag. “No, it’s nothing you did. It’s too complicated to explain. I just need to go.”

  This can’t be happening, I thought. “Wait! Wait a minute; you can’t just leave like this!” Aggravation was swiftly replacing my despair. “Please come in and talk to me. Help me understand what’s going on here. You can’t just walk out of my life without some kind of an explanation. At least I deserve that much.”

  The intensity in my appeal seemed to make him waver, so I reached out my hand to him and he took it. He left his bag and jacket on the porch, a subtle sign to me that he was only going to stay a moment, and we came inside. I grabbed the open bottle of merlot and two crystal wine glasses from the dining table and carried them into the living room with us. He took a seat on the sofa and I sat down next to him.

  I wanted to let him speak first, so I held my tongue, but he remained stubbornly uncommunicative. Filling the silence, I poured the wine and handed a glass to him then settled back into the couch and waited.

  I sipped the merlot, trying with every fiber of my being to appear calm and collected, giving him time to gather his thoughts. On the outside, I was patient and reserved. On the inside I was a teeming mass of volcanic lava ready to blow sky high. He’s very good at playing the waiting game. Me, not so much. Before I picked up the wine bottle and smashed it over his head, I had to say something. “Please tell me what’s changed. Is it your family? Is someone ill? Was there a death?”

  He took a sip of his wine and, torturously, made me wait longer still. I somehow endured his long-lasting silence, not moving, not understanding until, finally, mercifully, he spoke.

  “I don’t have a family.” He didn’t look at me; he stared straight ahead. His posture was rigid.

 
; A little prodding seemed necessary, so I proceeded cautiously. “Did you ever have a family?”

  “Yes. Once. A long time ago.”

  I assumed he would elaborate, but instead he remained silent, so I asked, “What happened? Can you talk about it?”

  At long last, he turned and looked at me. “My dad died when I was ten.”

  “I’m so sorry. What happened to him?”

  “He joined the IDF.”

  “He joined the what?”

  Judah looked away again and let out a sigh. “Israel Defense Forces. Like the US Army. Claimed he wanted to protect us.”

  “Oh, so you’re from Israel.”

  “Yes, Tel Aviv.”

  “And your father—he died a hero, serving your country?”

  He shot me a stony glance. “You could say that. I didn’t feel like he was much of a hero at the time. It felt like he abandoned us to protect us. How ironic is that?”

  I bit my lip. “What about your mother?”

  “My mother?” He took a sip of wine, then began, “She had many good qualities, but strength wasn’t one of them. Dad handled the finances and just about everything else. He made all the decisions and she was more than happy to let him. She relied on him too much. After we lost him she was basically incapable of dealing with anything. In her grief, she shut me out. Shut everyone out. She wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, but she sure could put the alcohol away. The only way I could deal with it was to close off my emotions, become dead inside. Then eventually I just got angry, got into trouble, started lots of fights.”

  “That’s completely understandable.”

  He took another sip of his wine, lost in his thoughts for a moment, before he continued.

  “Mom just gave up, wouldn’t stop drinking, didn’t care about anything anymore, not even her own child, so my grandparents took me in. They tried their best, I have to give them credit, but they were too old and I was too far gone. The last straw for them was when I stole a car at gunpoint. They had a fair amount of influence in the community, and fixed the situation for me, but then shipped me off to a kibbutz to grow up. Can’t blame them. They weren’t equipped to handle an angry young punk. Not a good situation.”