15

THE OCEAN FOUGHT IAN with every wave, threatening to flip him, unseat him, or drive him back into the shoal. But he kept low, pressing the Jet Ski into the deep purple shadows of the horizon.

He should have shortened the rope—Ian caught on to that when he hit the first wave, glanced back, and watched the crest splash down over the raft. He’d winced, shouted an apology, but with the roar of the motor, Sierra couldn’t hear him.

He’d glanced back a little while later, saw Sierra wave, and managed to wave back. But he nearly upset the ski and turned back to the fight.

Fighting the waves and the current used up more gas than he’d anticipated, but he refused to give up, kept plowing his way out to sea. He only caught glimpses of the orange raft as the darkness deepened, as he towed them out farther.

They finally broke free of the rim of cascading waves, escaping out into the swells of the open ocean. He turned back, squinting into the darkness. “We did it!”

Wait. He turned the ski around, motored back to the raft, a fist seizing his gut, tightening, squeezing out his breath.

Dex lay in the raft, his body slumped in a tray of seawater, his eyes closed. Alone.

“Dex!” Ian pulled up alongside the raft, leaned over, and grabbed Dex’s shirt. Hauled him back into a sitting position. “Dex, wake up!”

Dex groaned, frowned, but didn’t rouse.

“Dex, where’s Sierra?”

Ian couldn’t breathe as he stood up, scanned the waves. They were nearly a mile from shore now; the island was a dark hump in the twilight.

No.

“Sierra!”

Ian untied the tow rope from the raft. “I’ll be right back!”

Dex didn’t move, and Ian gunned the ski back toward the island, riding the surf in. “Sierra!” But of course she wouldn’t hear him over the motor. His eyes stung, his chest burned.

Please!

He neared the surf, slowed the ski, and stared into the dark harbor.

Please, Sierra, be on shore. But he saw no hint of movement.

What if she’d been raked over the coral, lay in a pool of blood . . .

“Sierra!” His voice broke, and he put his hand over his mouth to seal in the cry that wanted to emerge.

He should have looked back.

No, he should have listened to her. She didn’t want to leave the island—he’d heard it in her voice. But he’d had to bully her into leaving. Had to tell her—promise her—that he’d get them off this island, together.

His stomach clenched, and he leaned over the side, retching, his gut emptying into the surf. Nothing much to throw up, but his stomach still writhed. A sweat slicked up his skin, despite the chill in the night. He moaned, caught his breath, and ran his hand under his chin. “Sierra!”

The surf roared in answer.

The red fuel light dinged on, and he glanced at it.

Closed his eyes.

Choose faith.

Yeah, right.

He wanted to hurl again as he turned the ski around. The sun just barely lipped the horizon.

Worse, he’d lost sight of the raft in the waves. If he lost Dex in the water too . . .

Ian gunned it back to where he thought he’d left the raft, and in the last wink of the sun, he spotted Dex fifty feet north, caught in the current.

By the time Ian caught up to the raft, he let himself openly sob. He visibly shook as he reached for the rope, tied it onto the back of the Jet Ski.

Sat on the ski, closed his eyes, and wanted to howl.

But the sooner he got help, the sooner he could get back to the island.

Oh, God . . .

He turned the ski around and searched in the darkness for ship lights. Nothing but the inky vastness of ocean.

What a fool he’d been to think he could actually get them out of this mess. He motored through the waves, toward what he hoped was the shipping lane, until the machine sputtered out, dead weight on the ocean. He hauled in the raft, hand over hand, then climbed in beside Dex.

Dex’s body shivered, and Ian pulled him into his arms, holding him against his warm skin. “Stay with me, buddy. Please don’t die.”

“It’s never a bad thing to have only God to turn to.”

Oh, Sierra.

But he closed his eyes. Heard his prayer over the thumping of his heart. Oh, God. Sierra needs you. Dex needs you. His breath hiccupped. I need you. Please forgive me for always thinking I have to be in charge. Save us. Save . . . me.

The surf splashed his face, mixing with the salt already there. He put his legs around Dex and held him tight. Then he leaned back and stared at the stars.

“You are our refuge, our portion in the land of the living. Listen to our cry, for we are in desperate need.”

Lost at sea.

Sierra refused to lose her mind. Refused to scream, to let the waves drown her, to give in to the terror that lurked at the edges of her mind.

Absolutely refused to consider what might be circling in the darkness below.

Sierra hung her hands onto the collar of her life jacket. She kicked, fighting to keep her head above the waves. They picked her up and flung her along the current, and the water burned her eyes.

There was nothing below her. Really. Still, she pulled up her legs, curled them to her body. She’d heard somewhere that the less splashing a body made, the less attraction it caused.

Sierra would become driftwood in the water if it kept the sharks away.

The sun had vanished, leaving behind the finest shimmer of dark red. The island had long dissolved into the milky darkness.

Poor Ian.

He would be devastated when he discovered she’d fallen out. Why had she let go of the raft? He’d specifically told her to hang on to the raft, to Dex. But she’d feared the raft capsizing and decided she knew best.

Always trying to fix things.

Except she never seemed to get it right, was always sorting through the debris of her good intentions. Like nearly getting Jess killed at the Banning ranger cabin. Or keeping Esme’s secret from Ian.

“Because you live in fear too, babe.”

Ian’s voice rose inside her, and she bit back a sob.

She refused to cry. Or let fear wrap its tentacles around her.

“You are the most important thing to me. And I will get you off this island.”

That much, at least, was true.

“I’m sorry, Ian. I should have listened to you.”

But somehow, speaking those words aloud released a sob from her throat.

No. She would not cry.

Choose faith.

She couldn’t seem to escape his voice, however. And then she was back with Ian, nestled in his arms on the island, listening to his confession.

“I might have prayed and asked God for help.”

Oh, Ian. She’d spent the past four years praying for his salvation, and God had answered. Crazily answered. And yeah, Ian hadn’t exactly dropped to his knees in repentance, but it was a start.

Hard for a man who had everything to realize he was actually broken and empty.

Until God reached in and stripped him of everything.

Stripped her of everything.

She drew in a breath, then closed her mouth over a wash of seawater.

Ian wasn’t the only one broken. Empty. Lonely.

Really lonely.

Overhead, the stars had begun to flutter awake. They sparkled on the ocean, and she let herself bob in the water.

It’s never a bad thing to have only God to turn to.

Her words, and now she reached for them. Remembered her prayer in the cave.

She closed her eyes. “You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living. Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need.”

Desperate need.

And not just lost at sea but still reaching out to ease the loneliness. The ache. In fact, if she were honest, she’d been achingly lonely since . . . well, long before she met Ian. In fact, maybe even before she’d met Rhett.

Maybe all the way back to when Jackson McTavish walked out the door. Maybe that’s why she’d clung to Rhett, to Ian, and now the PEAK team.

Maybe she’d been clinging to the wrong thing. The wrong people.

To the east, a brilliant moon arched over the darkness, bold and whole. Illuminating a trail across the water.

You are the most important thing to me.

She heard the voice, let it thrum through her. And it wasn’t Ian’s.

“Oh, God . . .” She began to tremble.

The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

An old Bible verse, perhaps, but now it flooded through her, warming her from the inside.

Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.

Yes. “Lord, I pray for Ian and Dex. Keep them safe, rescue them, and heal Ian’s broken spirit. Help him to choose faith.”

Water crested into her mouth, and she spit it out.

“I too choose faith, Father. I choose you.”

She leaned back in the water, watching the moon rise.

And that was when she heard it—a wash of waves upon shoreline. Not heavy thunder but a whisper, a hiss.

She searched the water, saw nothing.

Softness brushed her feet.

What?

She set her feet down, felt the scurry of sand beneath her steps.

Land.

A wave sent her to shore, and she fell, hands and knees upon sure ground, her chin in the water. But as she lifted her head, she could make out what seemed like a rise in the ocean.

A sandbar.

And not a small one, either, but something that rose like a great blue whale, a long strip of silvery sand glowing under the fingertips of the moonlight. Sea oats rustled in the breeze back from shore.

She crawled up the beach, out of the water. Found her feet. Hiked up the hill and stood there. The ocean surrounded her on all sides.

A mountain in the middle of the great black, dangerous sea.

Her legs folded under her, and she curled into the fetal position in the nest of grass. The stars winked above her, watching as the sea whispered against the shore.

And she heard again, You are the most important thing to me.

“Pete Brooks is the right guy for Jess Tagg . . . but he might not be right for Selene Taggert.”

No. Jess simply refused to believe that.

There was no better man than Pete Brooks, for any version of herself.

She stood at the rail, staring into the swath illuminated by the yacht’s front searchlight, the water eerie, dark, and chilly as they plowed through the waves.

The sea had settled with the onset of night. The moon hung bold and bright over the seascape, casting a brilliant trail across the waves. Pete stood against the port rail, directing another light out into the darkness. Ty and Shae worked the starboard light.

According to the captain, they’d traveled nearly fifty nautical miles—following the current that any survivors from the Montana Rose might be caught in. He’d charted a course by a string of uninhabited islands south of Alice Town they might have found refuge on, but agreed to search through the night along the corridor toward the Gulf Stream.

However, the captain had warned them that if survivors had been caught in the Gulf Stream, the twenty-mile-wide current that flowed north, they could very well be flushed out into the greater Atlantic.

Jess swallowed, refusing to let her mind go there.

Instead . . . “You owe it to yourself—and to them—to see if there is a life waiting for you back in New York.”

Why?

She liked her life in Montana. Liked the home she’d built with her own hands, literally. Liked working on the PEAK team. Liked the freedom of starting over, without the cameras and expectations.

Loved Pete Brooks.

“And please, please—come back to me.” The husky tremor in his voice had nearly made her weep. And when he’d kissed her, so impossibly sweet, tender, as if he might be saying good-bye—

No. She didn’t want Selene’s life. And yes, she’d loved Felipe, but he most certainly had moved on by now. Felipe St. Augustine wasn’t the type of man to be single for long.

She saw a splash just beyond the rim of light and put her binoculars to her eyes. But the water simply rippled out.

“Anything?” Ty had joined her on the deck.

“No.”

He came to the rail and stared out into the darkness. She studied him for a moment. She’d always considered Ty elegantly handsome, despite his Montana cowboy pedigree. She’d realized lately that his deep green eyes never missed a thing, and his loyalty went bone deep. She’d trusted him with her deepest secret for so long, she’d sort of taken him for granted.

Especially when she made him pretend to be her boyfriend for the better part of last year. She had considered, honestly, whether she could fall for Ty. Probably, but . . .

Well, he wasn’t Pete, and that made all the difference.

And once upon a time, Ty had roomed with Felipe at Wharton. Which meant . . . She drew in a breath. “Have you . . . have you kept in touch with Felipe?”

Ty stiffened, swallowed, glanced at her. “Oh. Um . . . yeah. We chat on Facebook every once in a while. And he’s on Instagram, so . . .” He glanced at her. “He doesn’t know. I never told him.”

“I know. I just . . . is he . . .” She shook her head, baffled at why this felt so hard suddenly. “Is he married?”

Ty shook his head.

“Dating?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes. But I don’t think he’s found anyone . . . else.”

Oh.

“I can admit it was a little tricky, listening to his broken heart after you left. Here you were, in Montana, reinventing yourself, and Felipe was trying to understand why you left him.”

“I didn’t leave—”

“You left, Jess.” Ty looked at her. “You walked out of his life without a word. Of course he was hurt.”

She recoiled. “I thought you were on my side.”

“There are no sides here. You were afraid and needed a safe place. He was angry and brokenhearted. I tried to simply be a friend to both of you.” He turned to her then. “But if you want my opinion, Felipe deserves at least a phone call, an explanation from you.”

She stared back out at the ocean. Nodded. “Pete seems to think I should go back to New York.”

“You do have unfinished business . . . Hey, what’s that?” He lifted his binoculars and pointed across the bow to the port side. “There’s something in the water there.”

She followed his gesture and saw it too. Something white—the moonlight glinted off it.

“It looks like a Jet Ski,” Ty said. “Maybe someone fell off.” He grabbed his walkie and relayed the information to the bridge.

Jess angled the light toward the object.

Yes, a Jet Ski. It bobbed unmanned in the water. “Pete! Do you see that?” Jess yelled.

From his position at the port rail, Pete turned his light to the spot.

The boat turned. Footsteps sounded on deck, and Shae came down the stairs. “Is it them?”

The ski came into clearer view. Although the hull appeared scuffed up, it seemed intact.

No one said anything for a moment, and the thought of some poor Jet Skier without his craft dug a hole through Jess. To be out here, on the vast, dark, perilous ocean, alone—

“Wait—look. There’s rope tied to the back! It’s towing something,” Ty said. He manned the spotlight and aimed out into the sea, scanning the surface.

There. Some thirty feet away, low in the water, nearly hidden, a raft riding the waves.

“I don’t see anyone in it,” Ty said.

“Please,” Shae whispered.

The yacht bumped up next to the ski. Pete came up holding a boat hook, leaned over the rail, latched onto the handle, and pulled it to the stern.

Jess watched through her binoculars as the raft drifted parallel to the yacht. “Pan the light over the raft!”

Please.

Ty angled the light against it, following it in the current.

Her heart sank. “It’s empty.”

No . . . wait.

An arm raised, as if trying to catch the light. “There’s someone there!”

Pete had maneuvered the Jet Ski to the back deck and was now pulling it aboard. “Ty, get back here and pull this rope in!”

Ty scrambled to the back, even as Jess manned the port light.

“Shae, do you see anything?” Jess asked.

Ty helped Pete wrangle the Jet Ski onto the deck. Then together they grabbed the tow rope and began to haul it in. The raft slipped over the waves into the pool of light.

Then the occupant sat up.

He had matted, dark hair, his gaunt face was scabbed, and he was wearing a solid growth of dark whiskers. He waved to the boat.

“Oh my . . . that’s Uncle Ian!” Shae said. “That’s Uncle Ian!”

Please, please let Sierra be with him.

Shae had started to sob. Jess turned, curled an arm around her. “It’ll be okay, Shae. Shh.”

In a second, however, Shae let her go and ran down to the deck. Jess held the light on the raft as Pete and Ty dragged it in. From where she stood, the raft looked about ready to sag into the depths.

It might not have lasted the night.

Ian was on his knees now, struggling with something at the bottom of the raft. A body. Ian lifted the form into his arms.

A fist hit her gut when she realized it belonged to a man.

Not Sierra.

Jess ran down to the deck, arriving just as Ty got his hand on the raft.

“Ian,” Pete said, his voice thick. “What happened to you?”

The man looked like he’d been gnawed on and spit out. A wicked sunburn had turned his face puffy, his nose blistered, his eyes fat. And he’d lost weight, probably water weight, but it made him appear bone lean, stripping him of his usual presence.

In worse shape than Ian, however, was the body he held in his arms.

“Get him up here,” Jess said as she pushed past Ty.

Ian managed to lay the man on the wall of the raft, and in a moment, Pete and Ty had lifted him and were carrying him on deck.

“His leg,” Pete said and immediately checked for a posterior tibial pulse.

Jess, however, checked his carotid artery, relief turning her weak when she found a steady thrum. “He’s alive.”

“His leg isn’t,” Pete said. “We need a med evac immediately.”

One of the bosuns had come down to the deck to help, and Pete directed him to call the Coast Guard.

Behind them, Ty was helping Ian aboard.

Clearly, Ian wasn’t okay. He crawled onto the deck, holding himself on all fours for a moment, trembling.

Ty crouched next to him. “Ian? Let’s get you some water.”

But Ian leaned forward, his face in his hands, and wept.

Jess just stared at him; his anguish ripped through her, turned her hollow. She glanced at Shae. The woman stood away, her hands over her mouth as if in horror.

In a second, however, she dropped to her knees next to Ian. Put her arms around him. “It’s okay, Uncle Ian. You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

Everyone stilled as Ian looked up, stared at her. He pushed up on one hand. The other reached out and touched her face. His breath caught.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Esme.”

He closed his mouth, swallowing hard.

And then a sound emanated from deep inside him, as if he’d been torn asunder. He pulled Esme to himself, clutching her, sobbing into her hair.

Jess shot a look at Pete, tears raking her eyes. He made a face and glanced at Jess.

For a second, his words rose, hung between them. “Jess, think about how Ian feels about his niece. Don’t you think your family misses you like that?”

“We have an evac coming in from Miami.” The bosun came down the stairs. “They’ll be here in an hour. The captain suggests setting a course back to Florida.”

“I hope this guy has an hour,” Pete said. “Let’s hook him up with some IVs and see if we can splint his leg a little better.”

Jess glanced at Ian. He’d let Shae go and now held her face in his hands, staring at her. Tears washed his battered face.

Shae just nodded, her hands on his wrists.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

Jess moved over to him. “Ian, let me take a look at your wounds. They look infected. You probably need to go on the chopper.”

Slowly, his gaze turned to Jess, then down to his chest. Then, “No—no, no—we have to turn around—” He pushed himself to his feet.

Ty caught him as he swayed. “Ian, you’re in bad shape—”

“No!” He pushed away from Ty, shook his head. Headed to the rail. “She’s still out there.”

“What are you saying, Ian?” Jess followed him to the rail.

“Sierra!” He grabbed Jess’s arm, squeezed, more life in his grip than she’d thought possible. “Sierra’s out there. In the ocean. She . . . she fell off the raft, and I couldn’t . . .” He pressed his hand over his eyes.

His legs gave out, and he landed on the deck. “I just left her. I just . . .” He let out a word and slammed his hand onto the deck. Looked up at Jess, desperation in his expression. “I was running out of gas, and Dex—Dex . . .”

He shook his head. “I should have gone back to the island. I promised her that we’d get off the island together, that we’d go home and—” He turned then, suddenly, his eyes wide on Esme.

Silence as his mouth opened. “Oh . . . she’s . . . she’ll never know that you’re back.” He pressed his hand over his mouth. “This was not how it was supposed to end . . .”

“Uncle Ian,” Shae started, but Jess held up her hand and crouched next to Ian.

“Shae, get a blanket. I think he’s going into shock. I need water, and Ty, get over here and raise his feet.” She turned to Ian. “Ian, I want you to lie down—”

He looked up at her. “No, I’m fine. Please, we have to find Sierra.” He grabbed her hand so hard she winced.

“Don’t worry. If she’s out there, we’ll find her.”

He caught her eyes, as if testing her words.

“C’mon, dude, lay down,” Ty said, coming up beside him.

He submitted to Ty’s urging, and Ty sat at his feet, put them on his lap. “Just breathe. When we find Sierra, she’ll be really hot if you died on our watch.”

Jess gave Ty a look, but he didn’t seem to be joking.

Maybe that was exactly what Ian needed. Reassurance. The belief that everything would be okay. That they’d find Sierra out there, in that vast dark ocean, and all go home.

Wow, she wanted to go home. And in that moment, not just to Montana.

She glanced at Shae, who had come to sit beside Ian. Jess wanted to see her mother, her brother, to apologize. To weep in their arms.

Yes, she wanted to go home.