conclusion that he’d been
seeing things when an arm flailed out of the water before being swallowed again
by the waves. He pulled on the lanyard around his wrist, ripping out the safety
key and shutting down the engine before diving after her.
The normally clear water was boiling with sand and seaweed,
dropping the visibility to a few feet. It was only by luck and sheer fate that
his hand found an arm. He hauled her weary body close to his and kicked off the
rocks. With a Herculean effort he broke the surface of the water and managed to
push Sara’s body onto the seat of the Wave Runner, relieved when she pulled
herself to sitting position.
Another wave crashed over them, tossing the Wave Runner,
jamming him between the ledge and the bucking craft. Knife-edged rocks sliced
across his thigh as the heavy craft slammed into his chest, stealing his
breath.
Ignoring the pain, Derek shoved the Wave Runner away. He got
one hand on the steering column and used the power of the next wave to pull
himself onto the small craft, maneuvering himself into a sitting position in
front of Sara.
But they were far from safe. Two more waves crashed over
them, nearly capsizing the small craft, slamming it into the rocks before he
could shove the tethered key in place and get the Wave Runner started.
Sara’s nails bit into his stomach, but her embrace was
pitifully weak. He wrapped an arm around her forearms in a vise grip and hit
the throttle. Relief flooded through him when the Wave Runner pushed through
the next wave without swamping the engine.
He worked to control the erratic Wave Runner with one hand
while keeping both him and Sara upright on the seat. Normally having a woman
naked, leaning against his back would have had Derek’s heart racing with
anticipation, but the cold press of her body had only adrenaline and icy fear
pumping through his blood.
He had no idea if hypothermia was an issue in the tropics,
and if she succumbed, how the hell to deal with it. His medical experience was
limited to sub aftercare, not life-saving measures. Broken bones he’d deal
with, but internal injuries from being battered against the rocks would mean a
dangerous trip through the storm back to the main lodge.
With the rain pelting his face and the ocean boiling in a
tumultuous white foam, slamming the watercraft from all directions, it seemed
his only choice was to bring Sara ashore. He’d deal with whatever trauma had
happened when he had her safe.
Another large swell hammered the side, ripping at their
legs, threatening to tear them from the Wave Runner. As if cursing its loss,
the storm sent a bolt of lightning streaking from the clouds, an answering clap
of thunder bellowing in frustration. Visibility was next to nothing, and it was
only quick reflexes that kept Derek from smashing into the overturned kayak
bouncing in the waves.
He didn’t even want to contemplate what would have happened
if she’d been farther from shore in the little boat when the storm hit.
Gunning the engine, he held on tight and ran the craft up on
the beach. In one fluid motion, he hit the kill switch, jumped off and scooped
Sara into his arms.
Blood covered her legs and torso. Jesus.
He ran the hundred yards to the intimate bungalow, grateful
he’d scoped it out before heading into the storm. The lush foliage protected
the little hut from the worst of the rain and the howling wind. Still, he heard
the angry storm lashing at the windows and pounding on the roof as he kicked
open the door. The hut held little more than a plush bed and a hot tub. It had
obviously been meant for a love nest and not the emergency triage shelter he
needed.
“Derek, I’m fine. I’m not hurt.” Sara’s raspy voice was
weak, but he was happy to hear it.
He set her gingerly on the ceramic tiles surrounding the tub
and knelt in front of her. Her skin was cold and clammy as he checked her legs
and back. “There’s blood everywhere. I need to find where you’re cut. Does
Learning to Kill: Stories