Windswept (7 page)

Spark. A sense of pride and purpose. Mia had helped him rediscover those things. And he didn’t even realize it until she was gone.

She motored on in the darkness, and when she spoke again, her voice was hushed. “I’m sorry about those guys. That accident.”

He sucked in a long breath. So she’d heard about it. Hell, all of the East Coast had heard about the freak accident that cost two of his squad their lives. A one-in-a-million combination of equipment failure, hellish currents, and an unlucky tangle with debris on the river bottom. No one could have foreseen it except some evil fate who’d chosen to concoct exactly that series of insurmountable obstacles in exactly that configuration.

He nodded. What else could he say?

Looked like he didn’t need to say anything, because he could practically see the gears moving in her mind.

Work has been a little…all-consuming lately. I’d rather talk about other stuff.

Maybe it made sense to her now, what he’d told her back then.

“Mia, I wasn’t trying to keep anything secret from you. I just… I just…” He couldn’t quite get it out.
I just had enough of the questions eight million New Yorkers kept asking. I had enough of the press. I had enough of my mind replaying their funerals, again and again. Seeing their widows, their kids, all dressed in black. The tears. I just—

“I get it,” she said, cutting off that runaway train. She nodded into the darkness. “I get it.”

There was more to say, lots more, and he knew he had to say it. Especially about what it had to do with that awful day when everything had gone wrong between them. About why his buddies had said what they did and why he didn’t stop them.

It was his moment to finally, finally explain all that, and he knew it.

But a single point of light was gaining on them from behind, and he stopped to point it out.

“Somebody’s passing. Can they see us?”

A cloud had passed in front of the moon, making the night darker still.

Mia glanced back and veered inshore, muttering something he couldn’t catch. They were passing a beachside disco now, and the music was loud. Really loud.

“I said, grab the flashlight,” she said, pointing to a pouch attached to the dinghy. “Shine it so they can see us.”

He twisted the head of the flashlight and aimed the beam at the speeding motorboat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just let them pass.” Mia detoured a little farther right. “Plenty of space.”

And there was, because they’d come to a section of the long, sprawling bay that was free of moorings. The area used for seaplane landings, if he remembered right.

The thing was, the motorboat detoured, too, and stayed right on their tail. His pulse ticked faster. What the hell?

“Hey!” Mia yelped, swerving left.

The motorboat swerved, too, bearing down on them fast. He could make out the aluminum bow, slicing through the water at a good twenty, maybe thirty knots. A hell of a lot faster than Mia’s dinghy, puttering along at about three.

“Shine the light! Shine the light!” she yelled, throttling up and turning more.

“I am shining the light!”

The motorboat curved, intently following their wake.

God, a thousand-volt spotlight would come in handy right now to blind that suicidal driver before he did some real damage.

Then it clicked. The operator of that motorboat wasn’t suicidal. More like homicidal. Ryan turned the light off.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, except to yell as the oncoming powerboat thundered closer. “Turn! Turn!”

Mia yanked the outboard handle so far over, he thought the dinghy would flip.

Nrrrr-zoom!
The powerboat roared past, inches away, slicing a curtain of water out of the sea and slapping it at them. Ryan ducked half a second too late to avoid getting drenched. When he looked up, spluttering, he barely made out two figures in the boat, motioning their way.

The motorboat sped ahead.

Mia threw it the finger and shouted. “Asshole!”

Apparently, she’d picked up a couple of bad habits in New York.

She’d barely gotten the dinghy back on course when the shadow of the motorboat lengthened, then shrank again. It wasn’t carrying legal running lights, but Ryan could see its outline in the pale starlight. Side view; front view. It was turning around.

“Shit, they’re coming back!” Mia yelled.

“Speed up!”

The outboard screamed in protest. “This is as fast as it goes!” She swerved toward the nearest cluster of boats, a good two hundred feet away.

“Faster!” he yelled, looking at the oncoming boat.

“Oh, God!” Mia leaned forward like a jockey urging on her mount.

“Turn! Turn!” he yelled.

She waited for what he was sure was a second too long before cutting aside, dodging the motorboat by the closest of margins. The dinghy surfed aside on the bow wave of the motorboat, its engine sputtering, nearly swamped.

Boom, boom, boom, boom,
went the thumping bass from the raging party on shore. The noise covered up the roar of the motorboat and the choking pant of Mia’s little outboard.

“Go! Go!”

Mia shot off again. One hundred feet to the closest boats, which seemed buttoned up for the night. Not a soul in sight to witness the crime.

The motorboat turned for another pass, and Ryan shook his head. He had no weapons, no defense. No way to keep Mia safe.

Think! Think!

Could he grab an oar and swing it? Throw it at the driver like a harpoon? Could he—

There was no time for any of that, though, because the motorboat was charging them again. Mia swung right, and in one blinding instant of that light bearing down on them, Ryan played it all out in his mind. The driver would anticipate this time and ram them, catching Mia’s side. She’d be hit and thrown into the water. Never mind drowning, she’d be killed by the impact.

Every muscle in his body coiled.

Mia screamed, looking back — no, up — at the looming motorboat. He launched himself at her, trying to get it exactly right. Reaching for her, angling his body so it would shelter hers. To knock her far enough back that she’d be thrown clear. To—

There was a deafening roar, a slamming sensation, and then everything went black.

All Mia saw was the piercing light of the oncoming motorboat. All she heard was the murderous roar of the engine. Then something hit her — hard — and she went flying. There was a crash and a splash and great wall of water and a heaving pressure on her chest and—

Jesus, hadn’t she had enough for one day?

Salt water flooded her nose and mouth. She flailed this way and that, seeking the surface, wherever it was. Swirling, swirling, and—

Air! She sucked in a lungful along with salt water and coughed so hard, it hurt. She paddled in no particular direction. The night was dark, the water darker still, and she couldn’t tell which points of light were boats and which were stars for all the hair in her face.

She dipped her head back to clear it away. The drone of an engine sounded from the left — the motorboat rushing back for another pass at the dinghy, which floated at an odd angle a few strokes away.

“Ryan!” she screamed, turning in a desperate circle.

No sign of anything but the motorboat, which veered away from the dinghy and headed straight at her.

She barely had time to gulp a breath of air and dive before it was upon her. She jackknifed her head down, stuck her butt up, and kick-kick-kicked downward for her life.

The engine throbbed and the propeller sliced past, practically shaving the wake off her feet. She’d had enough of deep water for one day, but it was her only way out. Down, as deep as she could, then a couple of strokes sideways to come up in a different place.

When her desperate lungs forced her to surface again, she spluttered and coughed but didn’t dare cry for Ryan again. Forcing herself to stay low, she breathed whatever air she could find a hair above the waterline. Where was the motorboat? Where was Ryan?

Vrrrrooom!

She spun around as the aluminum launch rushed by two boat-lengths away, ramming the dinghy. There was a dull scrape as the motorboat rode halfway up her poor inflatable, using sheer weight to drive it under.

Pffffsssssst!
The dinghy ruptured with a violent hiss of air.

“Ryan!” She splashed in a circle, kicking upward to see better. God, where was he?

Any second now, the motorboat would be back for another pass. She could already hear the engine throttle down as it headed into a turn.

“Ry—”

She spotted a limp, dark lump in the water. She stroked toward it and snatched the back of his shirt. Bundling the fabric in her fist, she flipped him onto his back.

“Ryan!” She shook him then glanced up. The motorboat was coming back, slower this time. One man leaned over the bow, scanning the water with a light.

She grabbed Ryan by the collar and started kicking sideways toward an anchored sailboat. A big catamaran, judging by the high profile. If she could get him there, they could hide between the twin hulls.

She kicked while stroking with one arm, keeping the other tight in Ryan’s shirt. He was quiet. Too quiet, too still. Knocked out? Injured? Worse?

Getting the most out of every stroke had never meant life-or-death before, and she threw everything into it. Kick, haul with her arm, kick again. Quietly, so the thugs in the boat wouldn’t notice. Something was drawing their attention to the right, giving her a sliver of hope.

She gasped for air and kicked harder as a second light joined the first in seeking their prey.

Harder!

The motorboat coasted to a near stop as the lights stabbed the water here and there. The catamaran was only a couple of strokes away, but one of the lights was arcing slowly her way, reaching over the water like the beam of a lighthouse. Closer. Closer.

Harder! Kick!

She ducked between the twin hulls of the catamaran and hauled Ryan in an inch ahead of the beam. She held her breath and held perfectly still.

The light swept onward, passing over them.

Male voices murmured, barely carrying over the noise of the disco. She peeked and watched their silhouettes continuing past.

She ducked behind the catamaran hull again and grabbed Ryan’s shoulders with both hands. Bent her head to his, listening for his breath.
Please, let there be a breath. Please, let there be—

The faintest puff of air whispered over her ear, and she nearly cried in relief.

“Ryan?” she whispered, stroking his cheek.

He looked just the way he’d looked all those mornings when she’d woken up ahead of him in New York. Serene. Innocent. Boyish, even. Like he was dreaming of something really nice and never wanted to wake up.

But this wasn’t a quiet morning in bed. This was nighttime in open water with a couple of thugs on a search-and-destroy mission, and she really, really needed him to wake up.

One of the men in the motorboat had to be the diver who’d attacked her that afternoon. The bomber. And now he was back to eliminate her, the witness. God, how had she gotten into this mess? Somehow, the men had figured out which diver she was, which wouldn’t have been too difficult, thanks to that pink and purple wetsuit of hers. They must have followed her to the police station and eventually shadowed her to the dinghy. It wouldn’t have been hard to follow a lone dinghy through the anchorage and strike when the time was just right.

She peeked again. It was impossible to identify either of the men in the motorboat, just as it had been impossible to identify the diver, but every nerve in her body said that had to be him.

One of the men muttered at the other, and they circled the area again. The dinghy was a useless lump held afloat by the last chamber of air that hadn’t been punctured. Her cousins were going to kill her when they heard about the dinghy. Her sister was going to kill her. Her—

She held the thought there, because none of that mattered if she didn’t get out of this mess alive.

The launch powered up and sped away, apparently satisfied with their night’s work, and Mia watched it go. One obstacle down. How many yet to overcome?

She’d just started maneuvering Ryan over to the swim platform on one of the catamaran’s twin sterns when he sputtered and jerked.

“Ryan!”

He mumbled and twisted his head left and right, looking past her as he floundered in the water. “Mia?”

She gave him a little shake. “Here. Right here. God, are you all right?”

“Are you all right?” he echoed, focusing on her face. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder like
she
was the one needing rescuing.

She went warm all over, seeing Ryan look at her like that. Like nothing mattered but her. Like he
needed
her to be all right.

“I’m good. All good. What about you? Wait, get over this way.”

She pulled him toward the swim platform and he gave in, going a little floppy again.

“Hold on to this,” she said, guiding his hand to the ladder submerged in the water. “Are you really okay?” She started patting him down one side of his body and up the other. Her fingers traced his ribs, then his shoulders, and then his head. When she touched his left arm, he winced a little then shook his head, clearing the water out of one ear.

“Are they gone?”

“Yeah.” She gulped, nodding in the direction the motorboat had gone. “They’re gone.”

He heaved a great breath. “Christ, Mia…”

She got caught between an inhale and an exhale, knowing just what he meant. “Yeah. God, that was…”

She gave up on words and wrapped her arms around him instead, squeezing him as close as she could. Not the easiest operation, what with the swim ladder in one hand, but nothing would stop her now. Nothing. For a minute, they breathed right into each other’s skin. A minute in which it didn’t matter that they were in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.

Then a tiny ripple of water splashed the catamaran, and it mattered again. When Ryan pulled away, part of her wailed inside.

“You want to know the bright side?” She forced herself to say, just to keep her cool.