Page 27

“My boat. It’s small, but it will take us to the yacht.”

Um, a yacht?

She’d never been on anything bigger than a rowboat before, much less a freaking yacht.

She opened her mouth to ask more questions, only to have it filled with nasty, briny water. It took all she had not to throw up everything she’d already swallowed, but she couldn’t hold back the coughs.

“Keep your mouth closed, little girl. You’re going to make yourself sick,” Boone shouted. “We’ll talk on the boat.”

She pressed her lips together and went back to trying not to think about all the creatures swimming in the water with them.

Once they got to his boat, Boone lifted her over the side of what amounted to an inflatable dinghy not much bigger than the innertubes they used at the local waterparks. Was this thing big enough not to flood or capsize? They were in a pretty big ocean.

If she hadn’t been freezing and completely exhausted, she would have flipped over the other side and taken her chances swimming to the yacht. As it was, she lay on the floor of the life raft and watched him push himself out of the water and climb aboard. She scratched at the floor, trying to grab hold of something, anything, as the Zodiac tipped and swayed from the new weight he added.

She hated boats. Hated. Them.

Once, as a young teenager, she’d gone out in a tiny boat on Sunset Lake with two guys. They thought it was hilarious how scared she became when they rocked the small boat so violently it almost tipped over. She was frantic by the time they agreed to take her back to shore. She’d never been in a boat since, until now.

Boone’s boat had low sides and wasn’t very wide. The shivers now wracking her body had nothing to do with the cold. She’d only thought she might throw up in the water. She tried taking shallow breaths and staring at the bottom of the boat—the itsy bitsy, teeny tiny, lightweight boat that would carry her away from the shore and any hopes of survival.

What had she let him talk her into? She’d already jumped out a second-story window. Then she’d jumped off a freakin cliff, swam–well, been dragged through–God only knew what infested waters. But this? This just might be her breaking point.

She flinched when Boone stepped next to her and pulled her up to a seated position.

Wrapping a mylar blanket around her, he said, “Keep this pulled tight around you while I untether the boat and get us underway.” He tilted her face up to look at him and must have seen something was wrong. Dropping onto one knee beside her, he asked, “You okay, Bluebell? I know it’s cold, but it’s only about fifteen minutes to the rendezvous point. Once we get there, I’ll get you in a hot shower and find you something warm to eat.”

She just stared at him, unsure of how she was supposed to react. How was one supposed to look when being ferried out to certain death? Whatever it was, she did it wrong because he dropped his other knee. Kneeling in front of her, he cupped her face in his hands.

She tried to be strong, doing her best to make her expression blank. After everything she’d been through the past year, this should be a piece of cake. Her fear was irrational. People rode in these kinds of boats all the time, and nothing bad happened to them.

But rational had nothing to do with feelings. Her panting breath began to hitch. It was as if an invisible hand was squeezing her throat, cutting off her air. She tried to breathe, but it wasn’t working.

“Tildi, look at me,” Boone said. Like a magnet, his deep calm voice drew her attention. “Tell me five things you see in the boat.”

What? What good was that supposed to do? It was silly. But he was her Daddy, for now, so she scanned the area around her.

“Rope. Um, shiny tinfoil blanket. O-o-oar. Um, life jacket, and… and you.”

He smiled and nodded. “Good girl, those were good answers. Now, four things you hear.”

She focused for a moment, then said, “Waves, my heart beating, birds.” She could only hear three things. Why could she only hear three? Then she remembered the sound that calmed her better than anything else in the world.

Leaning forward, she pressed her ear to his chest, right above his heart. His skin was chilled from the water. What if she couldn’t hear over the wind? She stilled and listened.

There it was.

The thumping cadence of his heartbeat was the same as it had been before—strong and steady, unaffected and unchanging. She pulled back, returning her gaze to his. Smiling, she said, “Your heart beating.”

She didn’t recognize the expression on his face until he named it. “That’s good, babygirl. I’m proud of you.”

Everything in her world slid back into place. He was proud of her. No one had ever said those words to her before, not once until him. He’d told her twice now in less than twenty-four hours.

She’d graduated from the local college with her associate degree a week before she started twelfth grade in high school, having started taking college courses when she was fourteen. No one had been proud of her then. The General had told her that her GPA could have been higher. She’d dual enrolled in all her academic courses throughout her senior year, overstacking her course load, and no one said a word.

She graduated valedictorian of her class and was offered full scholarships to several Ivy League universities. Nothing. President of all the right clubs. Nada. Captain of the softball and volleyball teams. Silence. They hadn’t even come to her games.

“Eyes to me, little one.” Boone recaptured her attention, but this time, she saw him with new eyes.