Page 40 of Anchor

I ball my fists up and glare at him defiantly. “You didn’t leave me,” I spit back at him. “You’re the one who’s being stupid if you think I won’t let you commit suicide. Either you come with me or neither of us are getting off of this boat.”

“If you don’t go now, you won’t make it,” he growls.

I meet his gaze. “Then, I guess you’d better get started, huh?”

He holds my eyes for a few seconds longer, then he bites off a curse and spins around. While he’s working at the dash directing the ferry way out to sea, I take a quick search around the cabin. It’s in shambles, but there has to be something here we can use.

First, Gabe needs his own life vest. With his wounds, he’ll last even less time than I will. I find one in a drawer and set it on the table. Next, I need something to signal the rescue boats with. My heart is beating so fast I think I may faint, but I force myself to focus. After a few frantic seconds of searching, I find a flashlight on top of a set of filing cabinets.

When I turn back, I find Gabe locking the wheel with the forked back of a chair. He sees me standing behind him and he sighs.

“I was kind of hoping you’d come to your senses,” he says as he crosses the room, his limp growing more pronounced.

I hand him the vest but keep the flashlight. “Not a chance.” I glance at the clock on the dash and say. “We better get moving. We’ve got about five minutes left and I’d rather not be here for too much longer.”

Gabe finishes buckling his life vest and then he cups my cheek. It may be the shock of all the traumatic events of the day. I could reason it away as some sort of reverse Stockholm syndrome where I start to have feelings for my rescuer. But whatever the reason, when he tips my gaze up to his, time stops.

“I’m gonna crank up the speed, it won’t be much, but we need to put as much distance between us and this rig as possible. Once I do, we need to hightail it out of here, ‘kay?” I nod and he heaves a breath. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good.”

He turns and puts the throttle wide out. When he turns back, I take my place under his arm and help him to the stairs. Our progress down them is a slow, arduous process and I can feel each and every second pass with slow, aching precision.

Gabe’s face is tight with grim determination and by the time we reach the bottom, it’s also ghost white. Fear, not for the bomb, not for me, but for him, burns through me, revitalizing my resolve.

I ignore the screaming pain in my legs and the blackness encroaching on my vision. Through sheer strength of will, I shoulder Gabe down the long length of the first floor until we’re at the back railing where Jones threw himself overboard.

Pushing those thoughts from my mind, I carefully lean Gabe against the railing and undo the latch for the gate used to load and unload passengers. It squeals at it swings wildly out.

I turn to Gabe and give him a weak smile. “Are you ready?” I ask.

“Hell, no,” he says, but he holds his hand out anyway.

“You need to go first,” I say as I take it.

A shock of panic courses through me when he doesn’t even argue with me. He’s too tired to even talk back and that’s when I worry he may be worse off than I thought.

Gabe inches to the open gate and his shoulders lift as he inhales deeply. He gives me one long, searching look before he throws himself off of the edge.

I rush to the railing just in time to see him disappear beneath the water. Without giving myself time to think about it, I hurl myself down after him. A scream tears itself from my throat as I go down, down into the freezing cold depths of the water.

The impact knocks the breath out of me and the water tosses me in every direction. I open my eyes to the sting of the water, but it’s useless. I can’t see anything. The vest tugs me upward and I swim one-handed, the other weighed down by the bulky flashlight. I can only hope it’s waterproof as I surge to the top.

I gulp in air and seawater as waves knock me back and forth. Twisting around, I scan the surface for a sign of Gabe, but it’s hard to see anything. With my free hand, I pull myself in a random direction. Behind me, the boat speeds off into the darkness, a flame on top of the water.

“Gabe!” I choke on water and spit it out. “Gabe!”

Remembering the flashlight, I flick the switch and am filled with relief when it illuminates a swath in front of me.

“Gabe!”

I scan the light over the surface, but the darkness makes it pretty impossible to see much. He could be anywhere. Spinning around in every direction, waving the light frantically, I’m overcome with the fear. If he succumbed to his injuries and gone under while I was searching, I’ll never find him. Over the waves, I can hear the sound of a clock ticking down precious seconds.

My arms turn to cement from pulling myself through the waves and holding up the hefty flashlight, but I keep going. Finally, my light snags on a blob that doesn’t match the water around it.

“Gabe!” By now my voice is hoarse, but I keep screaming his name hoping it’ll rouse him. “Gabe!”

When I finally get to him, I nearly go under when I realize he’s floating face down in the water and he’s completely limp.

Gabriel