A Dolphin's Gift (19 page)

The muscles in
the man's jaw tightened. "You're right, I won't shoot you." He
glanced at the fo'c'sle then slowly turned the revolver in that direction.
"But we don't need anyone in there to run this boat, so you'd better be
damned quick about it."

Seeing the
cold, lethal look in the man's eyes, Will had the queasy feeling the man could
easily dispense with human life, even a child's, and would if it suited his
needs. He also realized every possible means of escape was closed. With rough
seas ahead, there would be little likelihood of the man dozing, which meant no
chance of disarming him. They were also heading into a gale, which would
require all his strength and concentration to maneuver the
Isadora
to safety. And he was conscious of his own weariness from
lack of sleep, and knew his strength and reflexes were diminished. And Nellie's
son was a hostage, a very disposable one at that.

He looked at
the closed door of the fo'c'sle and the key in the brass latch, and broke into
a profuse sweat. Nellie's whole life was behind that door. And his whole life
was Nellie. The revelation had not been a gradual awakening, but the sudden
realization that he had, for the first time in his life, allowed himself to
become inextricably bound to another human being. His life no longer mattered.
Only Nellie's life and the safety of her son held meaning.

A combing swell
caught the side of the boat, lurching the
Isadora
violently and burying the deck under water. Hanging on to whatever he could to
steady himself as the boat rolled, Will rushed around tightening portholes then
scrambled back up the ladder to the wheelhouse.

"I'll take
over now," he said to Nellie. A giant swell struck with a jarring blow.
The impact rolled the boat, hurling them across the bridge and pinning them
against the wall. When the boat righted again and rose over the shoulder of a
wave, Will pressed a switch on the engine control panel to activate the bilge
pump.

"I have to
check on Mike," Nellie said.

As she started
for the ladder, Will caught her by the arm, and said, "He might get thrown
around some, but he's better off behind the locked door to the fo’c’sle."

Nellie knew
exactly what Will was saying. She'd seen the detached look on the gunman's face
and the indifference in his eyes when he'd indirectly threatened Mike. But she
also knew she had to see her son. "I've still got to go down and reassure
him we'll be okay," she said, without giving Will a chance to protest, she
climbed down the ladder and approached the gunman. "Please, let me check
on my son," she said.

The gunman eyed
her for a few moments then motioned for her to step closer. Tentatively she
walked over to stand in front of him. "You can go in," he said,
"but first I want to check you out." Positioning the gun at her ribs,
he passed his hands over her, moving down her legs and up her thighs as she
stood frozen, jaws clenched. She drew in a sharp breath, feeling her skin crawl
as he pressed his broad palm to each breast in his search for weapons. A feral
gleam came into his eyes, as he said, "I’ll get back to you later."

Nellie knew his
wasn’t an idle threat. He intended to have her, at some point along the way.
The thought of his hands on her was like imagining an unearthly slime oozing
over her. Swallowing hard to moisten her dry throat, she asked, "May I see
my son now?"

"You've
got about two minutes," the man said. He turned the key, opening the door.

Nellie darted
inside and heard the door closed and locked behind her.

"Mom!"
Mike cried.

Nellie grabbed
Mike in a fierce hug. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah,"
Mike said, wiggling out of her arms. "Captain Nate's been telling me
stories."

Nellie sat on
the edge of Mike's berth. "I'm so thankful you're here, Captain
Nate," she said, bracing herself against the rocking boat.

Nate shrugged.
"I'm sorry things worked out like this, Cornelia. Your uncle will be
distressed you and your boy are involved. That was never been part of the
plan."

"I don't
understand," Nellie said. "How can Uncle Vern be alive?"

"He wasn't
in the car," Nate replied. "If you recall, they never found the body."

"Why is he
hiding?"

"It's a
long story," Nate said. "We can’t talk about it here."

"But... he
is okay?" Nellie asked. "You've seen him recently?"

"I'm still
with your uncle, Missy," Nate replied. "And yes, he's fine for
now."

Mike nudged
Nellie. "Is that man out there going to kill Uncle Vern?"

"Heaven's
no!" Nellie quickly replied, not wanting to let on how dire their
predicament was. "He just wants to talk to him."

Sharp knocks
rattled the door. Nellie kissed Mike. "I've got to go, honey," she
said, "so you try and sleep. And don't worry. Will knows how to get the
Isadora
through a storm, and Uncle Vern
will be fine. But you must be very quiet and not anger the man outside the
door. Promise me that." When Mike didn’t respond, Nellie said, "Mike,
promise me you won't aggravate the man in any way. He's a very bad man, and he
has a gun."

Mike drew in a
long sigh and said in a resigned tone, "I promise."

"Good boy,"
Nellie kissed him and tucked him in bed.

"Look,"
Nate said, "you stay here with the boy and I'll help on the bridge."

Nellie had
little hope that the gunman would allow the exchange, but it was worth a try.
"Okay, but I'd better be the one to suggest it." She knocked lightly,
and after a few moments, she heard the key turning in the lock. She stepped
into the salon and faced the man. "Can I stay with my son and let the
other man help on the bridge?" she asked.

The man began
drumming his fingers restlessly against his thigh. "No," he replied.
"As long as you're separated from the kid you won't try anything." He
turned the key in the lock and motioned with the gun towards the bridge, saying
nothing more.

Taking a last
look at the door to the fo'c'sle, Nellie turned and ascended the ladder to the
bridge, gripping the handrails tightly to keep from falling. She made her way
over to Will. Standing beside him, she saw how tired he looked and wondered how
much longer he could hold out. He'd had less than two hours sleep in the last
twenty-four hours.

"How are
you doing?" she asked.

"Fine."
Will peered down at the radar screen, his brows drawn.

"Is there
a problem?" Nellie asked.

"Other
than we're heading into a storm, no."

Nellie glanced
at the radar and saw that it was clear. "We must be the only boat crossing
the strait," she said.

"At least
we're the only ones within radar range," Will replied, "so the boats
I saw earlier must have turned back. But we still have to watch the radar for
boats. They can get lost between swells and appear in an instant. Is everything
okay below?" he asked, hands gripping the wheel as he attempted to hold a
steady course against the constant rolling and bucking of the boat.

"For now,
yes," Nellie replied, while bracing her legs and holding onto the chart
table. "But we've got to come up with some kind of a plan."

Will stood at
the helm, hands locked on the wheel, attention divided between the instruments
and the darkness beyond the windows. "Right now we're heading into a hell
of a gale," he said, "so our only plan is to get through it."
Another combing wave hit the boat broadside, cresting over the deck with a
deafening roar. Will glanced at the barometer. The pressure continued to
plummet.

"What can
I do?" Nellie asked
,
flinching as spume crashed
against the windows.

"Nothing,"
Will replied.

As the wind
caught the boat full force, waves roared and hissed and the surface of the sea
was rabid with spume. Will no longer held hope that the winds would abate; the
winds had been rising steadily, building to forty knots, and he were resigned
to riding out the gale. Waves peaked sharper and more unevenly, pitching the
bow and exposing the boat broadside to the powerful breaking crests of the
swells.

"Hold on
tight," Will yelled. He steered in a diagonal, throwing the boat from
trough to trough and sending waves washing over the deck with brutal force.

Nellie braced
herself against the instrument panel and cried over the roar of waves crashing
against the hull, "
How long do you
think it's going to last?"

"A couple hours... maybe longer,"
Will shouted back.
"Even if the gale
passes, we still won't be out of rough seas until we enter the sound."

The direction
of the wind shifted dramatically, pushing against the swells it had created. As
the confused seas grew steadily more violent, waves climbed one on top of
another until one spilled like an avalanche, sending the
Isadora
reeling sideways, the receding backwash moving the boat
away to be battered by the next one. Pitting his skill against the waves while
fighting the wheel, Will tried to anticipate what was coming, each wave
demanding total concentration, and every ounce of strength to handle the boat.
Waves grew sharper, tipping the
Isadora
precariously as it rolled one moment in the deepest trough between mountains of
breaking water, then rode high on the crest before pitching headlong down a
seemingly vertical incline.

The rest of the
pitch-black night was like a jumbled nightmare of turbulent seas with steep
breaking waves, and gusts of wind sweeping them in semicircles first one way
then the other, and wind swooping down to viciously tear at the
Isadora
. The gunman remained below for
most of the crossing, periodically venturing up to the
bridge,
pistol in hand, to remind them he was still very much in command. By dawn, the
barometer was rising again and they no longer heard the lashing of rain on the
windows or felt the steep breakers cresting over the deck. Will's hands were
numb from gripping the wheel chair, his muscles ached from constant pitching,
and he was exhausted an drained from lack of sleep, but she felt a closeness
with Nellie, an almost spiritual bond with her, that together they'd battled
the storm and won.

Morning light
gradually brought the forested shores of British Columbia into view, along with
the blinking orb of the Windham Point lighthouse. Soon they'd be in the
sheltered waters of Strathmore Sound, and in less than two hours they'd be at
their destination—Ocean Bay and Vernon Sinclair. He turned and saw Nellie
watching him.

Reaching out,
he pulled her to him and curved his arm around her. Holding her against him, he
maneuvered the
Isadora
toward the
mouth of the inlet, and as Nellie stood within the security of his arm, he
realized, with a grave sense of foreboding, that although they'd battled the
gale and won, their greatest danger still lay ahead.

***

Will stared in
disbelief at the vacant homes, stores and buildings lining the streets of Ocean
Bay as the
Isadora
cruised along the
shore. He'd expected to find a thriving community. Instead, boards covered
windows and doors, streets were deserted, and silhouetted against a backdrop of
water cascading over a high dam at the end of Strathmore Sound was what he
assumed had once been a pulp mill.

"It looks
abandoned," Nellie said. "I wonder what happened here?"

"I don't
know," Will replied, "but it explains why I couldn't get a signal.
The radio transmitting tower's dead." He pointed to a cluster of houses on
a bluff adjacent to the dam, and said, "It looks like those might be
occupied." Studying the homes, he wondered if one of them housed Sinclair.
He tightened his arm around Nellie, realizing how little time they had to carry
out the plan they'd hastily formulated—the diversion, the fire, the axe. But
Mike and the old man knew nothing about it, and there would be no chance to
explain it to them.

"There's
got to be another way," Nellie said, in a hushed voice.

"There
isn't." Will reversed the engines as the
Isadora
glided alongside a dock. "Just remember, when the time
comes, you and Mike run like hell and never look back. Hide in one of the empty
buildings until I come calling for you." Until now, he'd counted on Nellie
and Mike finding refuge with the police or fire department, but it appeared the
town had neither.

"If
something happens to you—" Nellie's eyes met his "—I love you,
Will."

Will gave her a
reassuring squeeze, the gesture masking the uncertainty he felt. Their plan was
undeveloped, unrehearsed. But it was all they had. Before cutting the engines,
he held Nellie. "Okay, this is it," he whispered against the top of
her head.

"I'm so
scared," Nellie said, clutching him to her. "So many things can go
wrong."

Will closed his
eyes, drawing in the familiar fragrance of Nellie's hair, absorbing the warmth
of her body. "Go. Now. I'll be right behind you—"

"Like hell
you will!" The gunman's voice came from behind.

Will released
Nellie. Angling his body in front of her as he looked at the pistol in the
man's hand, he said, "Leave her here with her son. You don't need
her."

"That's
where you're wrong," the gunman said. "As long as I have her, I'll
get what I want from Sinclair." He hitched up his trousers. "And when
I'm finished with Sinclair—" his lips curved in a sinister smile— "I
have plans for her."

"You son-of-a-bitch!"
Will
cried, adrenaline pumping through his body.

Raising his
knee, he knocked the pistol from the man's hand and scrambled after it, but his
grappling fingers spun it haphazardly out of reach. The man lunged for the gun,
pinning Will beneath him as his hand found the handgrip. Nellie reached for the
man's wrist, but before she could grab it, the man cracked Will across the side
of the head with the gun stock, the blow sending Will reeling backwards through
the portal and plunging into darkness....