Page 47 of Tide and Seek (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #8)

The ledge was just above my head now. I reached up, got both hands over the edge, and pulled with everything I had left.

But I was too weak. I had no gas left in the tank.

For a horrible moment, I thought I wouldn’t make it, which meant Max wouldn’t make it.

But then Max was pushing from below, grunting and groaning.

I clawed at the ledge, swearing and straining, and by some miracle, I suddenly sprawled onto the relatively flat surface, gasping like a fish out of water.

Max hauled himself up beside me a moment later, and we lay there for a few seconds, both shaking with exhaustion. Below us, waves continued to crash against the rocks, sending spray up to where we huddled.

“We need to keep moving,” Max said, forcing himself to sit up. “Can you stand?”

I tried and nearly fell, my legs refusing to cooperate properly. Max caught me, his arm around my waist again.

“Lean on me. We’re going around to the back where it slopes down to the beach.”

We stumbled across the rocky ledge, slowly making our way toward the section that would lead down to the sand. In the distance, I could hear sirens cutting through the sound of the waves—multiple vehicles, getting closer. Max must have called for help before coming after me.

When we reached the spot where the formation sloped more gently, Max helped me down, half-carrying me over the uneven stone. Red and blue lights were now visible on the access road above the beach, fire trucks and ambulances pulling in.

Then, finally, we were on sand. Real sand, far enough from the water that the waves couldn’t reach us. We collapsed together, Max’s arms still around me, both of us trembling with cold and shock and the aftermath of adrenaline.

“You’re safe,” Max said, his voice breaking. “You’re okay, Royce.”

“Max,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. I’d never felt more helpless than the last six hours of my life.

If Max hadn’t been such a strong swimmer, and so damned determined to save my ass, I’d be dead right now.

Another ten minutes down in that cave would have been the end of me.

I’d run out of fight, so Max had done the fighting for me.

“I found you. I can’t believe I found you.” He kissed the side of my head, his breath hot against my chilled skin, his arms tightening. “Jesus Christ. You’re alive.”

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness as firefighters and paramedics scrambled toward us, their voices calling out instructions to each other. I was still in shock that I was out of that cave. On solid ground again. All because of Max and his unwillingness to back down to the sea.

A paramedic dropped to her knees beside me, two fingers pressing against my neck. “Carotid pulse, weak but present,” she called out. She tipped my head back, checked my airway, then snapped open a small suction device before discarding it. “Airway clear. Let’s get him on O?.”

I groaned, feeling like a ragdoll as I watched her through bleary eyes.

A mask slid over my face, cold plastic against colder skin. “Patient’s responsive but altered,” she said, flashing a penlight in my eyes. “Pupils equal, pinpoint. Keep that O? flowing. Watch his breathing. Sir, can you tell me your name?”

I winced at the bright light in my eyes.

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” she asked again, her voice calm and professional.

“Royce,” I managed, my voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Good. I’m Sarah. We’re going to take care of you.” She was already wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my arm while her partner appeared on my other side with an armload of thermal blankets. “BP’s low, respirations shallow. Get those blankets on him now.”

The second paramedic began layering silver emergency blankets over me, tucking them around my shivering body. The crinkly material felt impossibly thin, but I could already feel it trapping what little body heat I had left.

“Have you taken any drugs tonight, sir?” she asked.

“He was injected with fentanyl,” Max was saying from somewhere nearby, his voice hoarse and urgent. “He’s been in that cave for at least five hours, possibly hypothermic.”

“How much fentanyl?” Sarah interrupted, pulling out an IV kit.

“I don’t know the exact dose,” Max said. “Enough to keep him incapacitated for a long time.”

Sarah’s eyes flicked to her partner. “Respiratory rate?”

“Twelve per minute,” he called back, counting as he watched my chest rise and fall.

“Okay, his pupils are pinpoint but reactive,” Sarah said, making her assessment.

“He’s conscious and breathing on his own.

We’ll monitor closely, but I’m holding off on Narcan for now.

” She was already prepping an IV line. “This is going to pinch,” she told me, finding a vein in my arm.

I barely felt it. “We’re getting fluids in you and we’ll have you transported in just a minute. ”

More flashlights, more voices, the organized chaos of an emergency response team doing what they did best. I caught sight of Ethan standing further up the beach near the trucks, a sheriff’s deputy beside him. His face was white with shock, hands behind his back. Handcuffed.

“Sir, I need you to step back so we can assess him,” the second paramedic was saying to Max.

“No,” Max said, his voice hoarse. He held my hand in a vise-like grip, his eyes pinned on me. “I’m not leaving him.”

“But sir—”

“I’ll stay out of your way, but I’m not going anywhere.” Max’s face was hard. “We can argue about it some more, or you can do your job.”

“Be nice, Max,” I mumbled.

“No.” His voice wobbled alarmingly. “I don’t feel like being nice right now.”

I might have laughed if I’d had the energy.

Sighing, the first paramedic nodded at her partner to back off. “Okay, just do try to stay out of our way, please.”

The darkness that had been threatening at the edges of my vision was rushing in again, overwhelming everything.

But I felt safe now because Max was with me.

His strong, warm hand wrapped around mine, comforting me in a way nothing else could.

By all rights I should have been dead. Would have been except Max had come for me.

He’d bullheadedly refused to leave me even if it might have cost him his life.

So finally, at long last, I let everything go. I let the darkness take me, knowing Max would probably follow me through the gates of hell if he had to, just to pull me back out again.

****

Awareness returned in fragments. A monotonous beep in the distance. The bite of chemicals in the air. I tried to open my eyes but my eyelids felt fused. When I finally managed it, fluorescent lights assaulted my vision and I had to blink several times before the room came into focus.

White ceiling tiles. Pale green walls. An IV pole beside the bed with a bag of clear fluid dripping steadily into the line taped to my left arm.

A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around my right bicep, connected to a monitor that explained the beeping.

The numbers on the screen meant nothing to my still-foggy brain, but they were apparently acceptable because no alarms were going off.

I turned my head, slowly, because even that small movement made the room tilt, and saw Max slumped in a chair beside my bed.

He looked rough. His clothes were wrinkled, his usually immaculate hair standing up in messy tufts.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and there was a bandage wrapped around his left hand.

But he was there, just like I’d known he’d be. The sight of him made my eyes tear up.

“Max,” I croaked, my throat raw and painful.

His head snapped up, his blue eyes going wide. “Royce.” He was out of the chair and at my bedside in an instant, his unbandaged hand reaching for mine. “Oh thank God. How do you feel?”

“Like I died,” I managed, which made him scowl. “Too soon?”

“That’s not funny,” he chided gently, his thumb trailing my jaw. “That was way too close. At least save those jokes for once you’re out of the hospital.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” I shivered, remembering how little hope I’d had toward the end.

Down the hallway, a voice over the intercom called for a doctor to report to the nurse’s station. A cart rattled past my door, probably someone delivering breakfast trays. Normal hospital sounds that meant I was alive, safe, out of that goddamn cave.

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked.

“You’ve been out for about twelve hours,” Max said, his voice hoarse. “They admitted you for observation. Possible aspiration pneumonia, hypothermia, and the fentanyl. The doctors wanted to make sure your lungs are clear and there aren’t any complications from the drug.”

“You hurt your hand?” I nodded toward the bandage.

He glanced down like he’d forgotten about it. “It’s nothing serious, just cuts that needed cleaning and bandaging.” He sighed. “I could have done a better job myself. The nurse who did it was so obviously new, she was almost hyperventilating.”

I smiled. “I’m sure she did her best.”

He shrugged, looking unconvinced.

His stubborn expression brought back the memory of him coming into that dark, horrible cave after me. He’d put himself in danger just to save me. My chest squeezed as I remembered his strength in the water, his refusal to let go even when the current tried to tear us apart.

“Thank you for saving my life, Max,” I said quietly.

His jaw tightened and he leaned closer, his eyes almost feverishly blue. “You’d have done the same for me.”

“Absolutely.” I cupped his face and we smiled at each other.

He kissed me tenderly and then said softly, “That was probably the one time I had better skills for the situation than you. Thank goodness my hobby is swimming and not cross-stitching.”

I laughed and then winced as my sore ribs protested. “Ouch. Try not to be funny right now.”

“I’ll try. But you know how naturally hilarious I am.”

There was a soft knock on the door and Detective Hartley stepped into the room, looking apologetic. “Sheriff Callum, I’m sorry to intrude.”