Macayla dimly heard and felt the boat’s inboard motor purring. She hadn’t completely lost consciousness. But all she could do was lie sprawled between contour seats and gulp water splashing into her face by fresh rain. Another wave of murky storm clouds rushed by overhead. Her pajama tank and bottoms were soaked through.
It took a few more seconds to realize she wasn’t tied up or chained or anything. Nor was she dead. She opened her eyes.
Sara Henley was at the controls, one hand on the steering wheel, the other still clutching the gun. So much for disarming her opponent.
Macayla closed her eyes as the boat gained speed, the front of the hull rising out of the water as storm-tossed waves slapped underneath, jolting the boat in hard thuds that jarred her teeth. Was something broken or had she been wounded? She curled her hands into fists, then tried to move each leg just a little. Nothing seemed injured. Except her back. It hurt like everything. Something dug into her left shoulder but that wasn’t a problem. She was alive.
She lay there, trying to gather her strength and not choke on the rain that began falling harder and harder. The wind was rising again as the lightning gathered in intensity.
She’d have only one chance. One chance to bolt upright and launch herself at the woman behind the wheel. After that it was a matter of controlling the gun. Getting it out of her hand. Tossing it overboard. A lot of coordinated effort for a body she wasn’t sure could stay upright at the moment.
She sat up, eyes on the woman ahead of her. But Sara was no longer paying attention as the boat cut across open water. She was running the boat without lights. Not wanting to be seen. Dangerous for a boat running at minimum speed. Suicidal for everyone but an expert who knew the bay’s every secret.
A foghorn sounded very close as lights flared ahead of them, brilliant beams that raked the smaller boat they were in.
“Tampa Bay Marine Patrol. Ahoy!” The words blasted across the water. “Cut your engines. Repeat. Cut your engines.”
A second foghorn sounded, impossible to ignore. A big boat, a Coast Guard vessel this time, brought up its lights and appeared out of the gloom on their left.
“Help me. Help!” Macayla was certain she said the words. But they were ripped away by the wind. And then the sight of the rescue boat vanished as the boat she was in made a sudden lurch.
Under the glare of patrol boat lights, Macayla looked around to see the woman had spun the wheel to the right and was pushing the throttle to full power.
“No. No. Stop!” The boat continued at horrifying speed, plunging them again into darkness as the boat plowed black water and drenched them with incoming seas.
“Stop! You’ll kill us!”
Macayla grabbed at the handrails on the side of the boat as she slowly made her way toward the starboard side where Sara was at the controls. She could see Sara’s outline as she fought to keep the boat under control with both hands.
Both hands.
Macayla launched herself at the woman, using both her arms to form a band to trap Sara’s arms at her sides. She had no plan but to wrench her from the controls.
It happened so fast she never even knew what happened first. One second they were motoring through the darkness as the opposite shore drew steadily larger. The next they collided with something underneath the boat. It stopped the vessel so abruptly that Macayla’s grip was ripped loose as both she and Sara were tossed upward.
Once at summer camp she’d jumped off a water-ski ramp, soaring suddenly upward, too late to turn back. This felt like that. Except. She wasn’t wearing skis, or holding on to the towrope, and she wasn’t going to land gracefully.
* * *
Macayla was in the water. The waves were slapping at her cheeks like a dozen chilled hands. She must have blacked out for a few seconds after they hit something, a jetty. A buoy. A sandbar. But now she was fully alert in the darkness, with the wind keening in her ears and the salt water of the bay heaving in and around her.
She heard a cry. A woman’s voice, howling above the sounds of the storm.
Macayla squashed the impulse to answer back. Even in the darkness with the deadly push–pull of the rough water around her, she feared being found by Sara Henley.
She tossed her head, trying to hear the direction of the sound, but was dunked by a wave she could not see rushing in to break over her. She came up sputtering seawater. Her eyes stung from salt and sand stirred up from the bottom by the storm. In the distance she could see two boats with lights on high moving steadily her way. But she didn’t cry out for help. The fear was back, and stronger than ever.
Sara Henley was out here somewhere in the black water with her.
Don’t panic. Panic will drown you. She remembered the words from her first swim instructor. Tread water. Even dogs and cats can tread water.
No need to fear anything. The Coast Guard was on the way. She would be rescued as long as she stayed afloat.
That’s when she saw the lights of the marine vessels swing away. Oh god! They’d lost sight of their little boat.
She heard Sara cry out again, this time a little closer.
Mac felt her lungs fill to echo that cry but didn’t. Who would hear them in the storm? Did she dare answer?
Surely Sara, who must be in the water as she was, had lost her gun when the boat struck something and tossed them overboard. Even if she’d managed to hang on to the weapon, it would have to be waterlogged by now, and ineffective.
Macayla gulped a mouthful of salt water as a wave hit her, only to spit it out. She knew so little about guns. They didn’t mix with water. But how long before that was true? Maybe she should strike out on her own.
She swung her head right and left, looking for any sight of land that would give her a clue to her location. The only lights she could see between being dunked by whitecaps were at a distance. The shoreline. The patrol boats were running parallel to the shore, slowly moving farther away.
It’s okay. You’re okay. She’d been a strong swimmer all her life. She should be able to make it to shore. But this was different. Every muscle in her body ached. Just staying afloat in the choppy water was costing her precious energy. Distances were deceptive in the dark. She didn’t know if she could swim that far. Or if she had the strength to counter the current that seemed to be running beneath her at a crosscurrent with the shore.
Sara Henley cried out again, weaker this time. Maybe she was hurt.
The instinct to help rose up in Macayla, surprising her. It wasn’t goodness, or bravery, or any finer feeling. It was the basic gut-level response to someone in trouble. Even if that someone had planned to murder her.
Macayla ignored the impulse. And then felt something splashing in the water near her. Shark? Porpoise? Sara?
She reached out to push it away until her hand met the furry muscularity of a dog. Dog? It licked her face and she gasped in surprise, all but submerging.
As she came to the surface something bumped her shoulder and then banged into the back of her skull so hard she saw stars and bit her tongue.
She fought to stay afloat, hand on the mysterious dog’s collar, as something large prodded her again and again. She reached out to push it away and felt a hard heavy smoothness beneath her hands. Fiberglass. The boat. It lay dead in the water, its engines ripped by what it had hit.
She swore as it bounced away, only to rear up and nearly overtop her as it rode the waves pulsing on the storm winds. But she didn’t swim away. It dawned on her that she, and the dog paddling beside her, would be safer out of the water than in it.
She remembered seeing in the light of the patrol boats that this boat had a flat surface at the rear called a swim platform. That’s how they could board.
She floated alongside the behemoth in the dark, trying to get to the rear of the vessel. As she did so, she called to the dog in the water with her. “Here, boy. Heel. Good dog, heel.”
As fantastical as it seemed, saving the dog became her first priority. And that gave her extra determination.
Finally, she reached the rear of the boat. Grappling with the bar across the back, she managed to get one foot up on the rear platform. The moment she did, a wave sent the boat rising high and fast.
This must be what it’s like to ride a bull at the rodeo, she thought as she grimly held on. The next smack against the waves all but wrenched her arms from their sockets. But she wasn’t going back in the water. Not if she could help it. Inside the boat. That was the only safe place.
She heaved and pulled, cursing like a sailor until she had one leg and half her torso on the platform.
She lay there, aware that at any moment she could be tossed off. But her energy was gone.
She may have passed out, or maybe she just closed her eyes. But the next sensation was that of being licked by a dog.
The lick surprised her and she opened her eyes to find Jackeroo swimming alongside the platform as he scrambled to get on board. She grabbed him by the collar and helped him up.
Only then did she realize that she could see because light was again shining down on her, from another boat.
She heard a splash and then someone was hoisting himself up on the platform beside her. She focused her eyes after what seemed a long time. Oliver was there, sitting beside her in a Coast Guard vest, his Aussie smile at full wattage.
“If you wanted to swim, you could have used the pool.” He touched her face very gently, as if she might shatter. “You okay?”
Mac tried to nod but her neck no longer seemed to work. “Sara Henley. She’s out there.”
Oliver turned and shouted something she didn’t quite understand. But it didn’t matter. Jackeroo had climbed up on her, to share his heat and hers. And Oliver was there. It was going to be okay. Really, really okay.
* * *
Macayla opened her eyes to a ceiling that looked oddly familiar. For the past twenty-four hours, whenever she’d opened her eyes it was to the ceiling of a hospital room. She hadn’t wanted to stay but the emergency room doctor said she was exhausted, suffering from hypothermia, and had some bad scrapes from barnacles on her legs that would fester if not properly treated. And she’d swallowed far more salt water than was good for a person. So she stayed, and fretted about how to pay another enormous bill.
She sighed and turned her face to the window where a perfectly beautiful coastal day was happening on the other side of the glass. The storm had passed.
She knew from having been visited by the police and the Coast Guard that Sara Henley had been found, still in the boat. Though technically under arrest for kidnapping and murder, Sara was in worse shape than Macayla, having suffered several broken bones, and was currently in a room down the hall. She’d confessed to the police, so the charges would stick.
Macayla had corroborated what she could, giving the details of her kidnapping. And Sara’s admission of Nico Nadella’s death, though his body had not yet been discovered. She was allowed to speculate on a few things, like the Henleys’ attempts to frame her for dognapping to discredit her and have her put in jail. She was assured that when things were sorted out, those charges would be dropped, too.
Someone knocked on her door. Oliver poked his head through. “Are you decent? Please tell me the answer’s no.”
Macayla smiled. “Can I go home now?”
He came through the door holding a huge gift bag, which he set on the floor by the bed. “Yes. I took care of everything.”
“You.” She felt her peaceful moment evaporate under his snarky smile. She put a hand on his chest to prevent him from kissing her when he leaned in. She knew what he’d done.
“You can’t pay my bills.”
“Why not?” He leaned in harder, pressing the full weight of his upper body against her hand. She took her hand away. Touching him was dangerous, no matter the reason.
“What do you call a woman who takes money from a man?”
“Lucky?”
She swatted at him but missed because her reflexes were still slow and he was fast. He leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “You’re many things, Macayla, but a gold digger isn’t one of them. I can afford it. I’m happy to do it.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re wealthy, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t count, remember?”
This time she landed a fist on his ear.
“Ow. You’re violent. I had no idea.” He folded his fingers over hers, completely enveloping her hand in his.
“I only strike when you say really dumb things. You can so count. How rich are you?”
“Bill Gates wouldn’t consider me rich.”
“But I would. So, what else should I know about you?”
“I don’t own a home.” He leaned in and kissed her properly. “I do own three cars. And a motorcycle. Maybe two. Not sure anymore. I keep clothing on five continents because I hate packing. I work a lot. And I don’t call anyplace home.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“I know. So do you feel sorry for me? And let’s not forget Jackeroo. He jumped on that boat with the desire to save you.”
Though she’d heard the story of Oliver’s attempt to save her, she still couldn’t quite work out why his dog would leap aboard a strange boat. “He’s crazier than you. Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. Jack’s always liked the water. He probably thought you were going for a ride without him.”
They both knew that wasn’t true. Trying to save Jackeroo had probably given her the strength to save her own life. Still, if she went down that road, she’d start crying, and she’d been soggy enough to last a while.
She dredged up a smile for her gorgeous savior. “You brought the Coast Guard and Tampa Bay Marine Patrol. I suppose I do owe you both a debt.”
Oliver grinned. “Does that mean you’re offering me and my K-9 a space to call home? I have a brand-new memory foam mattress propped up in the hallway outside.”
“I only have one good closet.”
“Yeah, about that. Not enough, even for me. We’ll have to move.”
“I can’t—”
He put a finger on her lips. “We can afford what we want. We both work. We share the load. Okay?”
“What about Jackeroo?”
“He’s good as ever. Spent the night at the vet’s. I needed to be here with you.”
Macayla rolled her eyes. “You chose me over your partner?”
“Yes, well, he started it. Showing off his James Bond antics by leaping aboard. Girls love that shit. What’s a poor ordinary fella like me to do?” The dimple appeared in his beard. “I brought you a gift.”
He reached down into a big colorful bag that said GET WELL SOON on the side. He lifted out an animal.
It was a puppy. A silver Labrador puppy with a big blue bow around his neck.
“Oooh!” She reached for him with both hands and settled him on her tummy. “You shouldn’t have brought a dog to the hospital. It’s against the rules.”
“Still a stickler for rules!” He sounded disgusted. “I thought it was time you got back in the business of having your own pet. What’s a Pet Detective without one?”
“Silver Lab. They’re expensive. I hope he’s a rescue.”
“Will you always be bringing up money? Because a woman who worries about a man spending too much money on her is—kinda cute. And to answer your question, yes. He was pulled from a raid on a puppy mill and flown in by a rescue group I’ve worked with in the past. He has some issues but the vet says with proper care, he’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry I questioned you. It’s a wonderful gift.” She held the puppy up. “He’s a wonderful gift.”
Oliver glanced over at the door and then pulled back the covers and gathered her in his arms and set her on his lap, puppy and all. “I thought I’d lost you for a moment the other night. It felt like shit and I wanted to pull down the sky. Can you not do that again?”
“What?”
“Be brave and heroic. And wonderful?”
She didn’t get to answer because he kissed her and the puppy smushed between them took exception and struggled up to lick her on the chin.