Page 12 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire (Billionaire Row #5)
Janet
“ I see something!”
Jonathan’s shout jolted me from where I’d been gathering shellfish at the edge of the tide, and weeks on the island had made me an expert at spotting the telltale signs of clams buried in the wet sand.
I straightened, shielding my eyes against the morning sun. “Where?”
He pointed toward the horizon. “There. Moving this way.”
At first, I saw nothing but the endless blue meeting the sky. Then I caught it—a dark speck against the water, gradually growing larger.
“Is it a boat?” My heart began to race.
“I think so.” Jonathan’s voice held a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. “Get the signal fire ready. I’ll grab the flares we salvaged.”
We sprang into action, our movements trained from the drills we’d run since spotting the plane. I piled green branches onto our signal fire, then struck the flint against steel to create a spark. The dry tinder caught immediately, and thick smoke billowed into the clear sky within minutes.
Jonathan returned with the emergency flares we’d retrieved from the yacht. “Not too soon,” he cautioned. “We need to make sure they’re looking this way.”
We watched, barely breathing, as the speck grew into a definite shape—a fishing boat, small but sturdy, heading on a course that would bring it within sight of our smoke.
“They must see it,” I said, anxiety making my voice higher than usual. “They have to.”
Jonathan’s hand squeezed mine tightly. “They will.”
But the boat continued on its path without changing direction. They hadn’t spotted us.
“Now,” Jonathan said, raising the flare gun.
The red streak shot high into the sky, bursting in a brilliant crimson cascade. We waited, our bodies tense.
The boat kept moving.
“No,” I whispered, disbelief turning to desperation. “No, no, no.”
Jonathan fired a second flare, his jaw set in determination. This time, the boat’s course shifted slightly, then more deliberately.
“They saw us!” I grabbed Jonathan’s arm. “They’re turning this way!”
The next thirty minutes were the longest of my life. We paced the beach, waving whenever the boat came clearly into view. Gradually, it grew from a small shape to a distinct vessel—an old fishing trawler with peeling blue paint.
When it was close enough for us to make out figures on deck, tears sprang to my eyes. After weeks of isolation, seeing other human beings seemed almost surreal.
“Hello!” A voice called through a megaphone. “We see you! Stay where you are!”
Jonathan let out a laugh that was half relief, half disbelief. He turned to me, his eyes bright with emotion. “We’re getting off this island.”
My stomach clenched with conflicting feelings—joy at rescue, fear of what came next. “Yeah.”
His expression softened as he read my thoughts. He pulled me close, his voice low in my ear. “This changes nothing between us. Remember that.”
I nodded as a smaller boat detached from the fishing vessel and headed toward shore. Two men rowed steadily, their faces curious as they approached.
“Ahoy!” the older man called, his weathered face creased in a friendly smile. “Looks like you folks could use a ride.”
Jonathan helped them beach the small boat. “You have no idea how glad we are to see you.”
“Shipwrecked?” The younger man asked, eyeing what remained of the yacht offshore.
“A storm hit us weeks ago,” Jonathan explained. “We lost contact with our crew.”
The men exchanged looks. “You might be the folks they’ve been searching for,” the older one said. “There was a mayday about a luxury yacht going down. The Coast Guard’s been looking.”
Hope surged through me. “Did they find survivors? Our crew?”
“I heard they picked up some folks in a life raft about a week after the storm. Don’t know details.” He gestured to the radio on their boat. “Captain can call it in when we return to the main vessel.”
We gathered what little we wanted to take—my knife roll, Jonathan’s salvaged satellite phone, and a few personal items we’d managed to save. Looking at our camp, the shelter we’d built, and the kitchen I’d created, I felt an unexpected pang of sadness.
“Seems silly to be attached to this place,” I said quietly to Jonathan as we prepared to leave. “After wanting to escape for so long.”
He understood immediately. “It’s not silly. This became our home.” His hand brushed mine. “But we’re taking the important parts with us.”
The journey to the fishing boat took only minutes, but it felt like crossing into another world. As we climbed aboard, the Captain—a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard—greeted us warmly.
“Orlando Martin,” he introduced himself. “Lucky we spotted your flare. We don’t usually come this far north.”
“Jonathan Black,” Jonathan replied, shaking his hand. “And this is Janet Banks. We can’t thank you enough.”
Recognition flashed across the Captain’s face. “Black? The pharmaceutical guy?” He let out a low whistle. “They’ve been looking for you, sir. Your company’s had search planes out for weeks.”
“We spotted a plane a few days ago,” I said. “It didn’t see us.”
“Let’s get you both some food and clean clothes,” Martin said. “Then we’ll radio your position. We should be able to get a helicopter out here by tomorrow.”
The crew provided us with too large but blissfully clean clothes and a hot meal that made my taste buds explode, considering the fish we’d eaten nonstop on the island.
“This is incredible,” I said to the ship’s cook, a friendly man named Eduardo. “The seasoning is perfect.”
He beamed at the compliment. “Just salt and pepper, Miss. Nothing fancy on this boat.”
“This is a five-star meal.”
While we ate, Captain Martin contacted the mainland. His expression was somber when he returned to the small kitchen where we sat.
“I got through to the Coast Guard,” he said. “They’ve confirmed your crew was picked up. Seven survivors in a life raft.”
Jonathan straightened. “Seven? We had eight crew members plus us.”
Martin nodded. “The Captain is still missing. They called off the official search last week.”
The joy of our rescue was instantly dimmed. Jonathan’s face hardened. “Called it off? Why?”
“Standard procedure after so much time, sir. Limited resources.”
Jonathan stood abruptly. “I need to use your radio.”
“Of course.”
I followed them to the bridge, where Jonathan made a series of calls—first to the Coast Guard, then to what I gathered was his company headquarters. His voice grew increasingly authoritative with each conversation, the island castaway transforming back into the powerful CEO right before my eyes.
“I don’t care what the protocol is,” he said firmly to someone on the other end. “I’m authorizing a private search effective immediately with full resources.” He glanced at me. “Yes, we’re both fine. We’ll need transport from these coordinates tomorrow.”
When he finally put down the radio, some of the tension had left his shoulders.
“My helicopter will meet us tomorrow morning,” he explained. “I’ve arranged for the search for Captain Reynolds to continue. My company will cover all the costs.”
The resolve in his voice reminded me of our first meeting—a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. But now, instead of finding it off-putting, I admired his tenacity.
“You don’t think he’s gone, do you?” I asked quietly when we were alone in the small cabin they’d given us for the night.
Jonathan sat on the edge of the narrow bunk. “I don’t know. But I’m not giving up on him without being absolutely certain.”
I sat beside him, our shoulders touching. “He’s lucky to have you fighting for him.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He ran a hand over his head. “If I’d listened to him about the storm, none of this would’ve happened.”
“You can’t change the past,” I reminded him. “But what you’re doing now matters.”
He turned to look at me, his eyes searching mine. “Will you stay with me? Through this search, I mean. I know you probably want to get back to your life, but?—”
“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll stay.”
Relief washed over his features. “Thank you.” He pulled me into an embrace that felt naturally domestic.
That night, we slept in a real bed for the first time in a month. Though the cabin was tiny and the mattress thin, it felt luxurious after our shelter of palm fronds and salvaged fabric.
As Jonathan’s breathing deepened into sleep beside me, I stared at the metal ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened. Tomorrow would bring us back to civilization and the real world with all its complications and inequalities.
Jonathan had insisted nothing would change between us, but I couldn’t silence the doubtful voice in my head. We had been equals on the island, dependent on each other for survival. Back in his world of corporate power and wealth, would that equality survive?
I turned to study his face in the dim light. Even in sleep, his features were strong, but I’d come to recognize a vulnerability. The month on the island had changed him, stripping away some of the arrogance and control that had defined him when we met.
It may have changed me, too. The chef who boarded his yacht had been defensive, determined to prove herself. The woman lying beside him now had proven more to herself than she’d ever imagined possible.
Whatever tomorrow brought, we would face it together. That much, at least, I could believe in.