HIGH TIDE (18 page)

“Follow me.” It was a husky command.

Panic and the effects of his gentle kiss had her heart pounding so hard, she thought surely it would wake the unconscious man below. White fingers clenched around the balustrade as she watched Nick climb over and snake his way down as far as possible. With his fingers wrapped around the bottom rail, he gave her one last sober look and then let go.

The splash seemed deafening to her as
she snapped to see if the crew of the
Merryweather
had reconvened and was about to pounce.  But, all she heard were Nick’s words of encouragement from below.  

A phantom
voice calling from a dark void.

A seafaring deity lulling her towards doom.

CHAPTER TEN

Briana hoisted a leg over the rail and sat straddling it. She pulled back her shoulders and took
a moment to drag in a gulp of air. With her eyes trained on the polished wood beneath her hands, she clambered over and inched down to hang by a death grip. All she could manage was a simple prayer to her Mother before she closed her eyes and let go.

The cold was a shock. Gasping, her mouth filled with brackish liquid. Clawing to the surface, Briana choked and tried to swallow the sound rather than
reveal herself to the enemy.

Kick, Little Orchid.

A hand gripped under her armpit. She fought against it.

“Easy, it’s me.”

The calm voice made her focus in this black vacuum. As she bobbed in the water, there were brief flashes of light in the distance, and the solid white hull of the
Merryweather
before her. Each time her head dipped beneath the surface, she was tortured by obscurity—a strobe-effect of deadly proportions.

“Kick, Briana.”

Convulsing underwater, Briana’s legs twitched and began to pump. Her hands reached for something to latch onto, but flailed uselessly under the surface.

“Listen to me.” The whisper was nearby when she surfaced. “You’re not going to drown
. You’re doing fine. Just keep kicking and use your arms like this.”

She turned towards the sound and located Nick’s silhouette slicing through the water, one arm making contact with hers at every arc. It was a stabilizing touch to let her know he was there. Instinctively, she mimicked the motion, drawing on innate lessons taught from childhood, an innocent time before
Paka
.

After a few awkward strokes, she discovered that she was barely relying on his touch. She swam on impulse and ignored the gentle swells, careful not to look beyond them for a glimpse of her father’s tawny hair, or listen for her mother’s tender voice.

“A little further, Bree. We don’t want to come in too close.”

Blindly she followed, concentrating only on the next stroke, the next kick.
Don’t think
.  

Eventually, her feet scraped the bottom.

Nick stood beside her, and from the angle of his head, she could feel him watching her. In her periphery she saw apprehension stiffen his shoulders, which gleamed beneath the moonlight. Ignoring the image, she plowed forward, sensing the glow of the sand only yards away. With a groan she collapsed onto it, and were it not for the stoic source of strength that stood beside her, she would have surrendered to the tears tucked behind her eyes.

***

Nick saw Briana crumble and rushed towards her. At the last second he drew up, realizing by her stance that it was not what she wanted from him.

On her knees,
with her head down and gentle convulsions racking her slim spine, he felt her pain as if it were his own. Witnessing that vulnerability, he yearned to hold her. What he also sensed was an alarming kinship. A wall surrounded Briana Holt—a barricade he was all too familiar with. Neither of them wanted to reveal vulnerability to the outside world. And yet, if there were ever a moment that they would simultaneously yield, the weakness would either prove their demise—or their resurrection.

“Briana,” he whispered.

Her head lifted, but the vacant gaze remained on the ghostly silhouette of a palm that twitched a hula in the breeze.

“You did good.”

With great effort Briana rose. Dusting the caked-up sand off her knees, she untied Nick’s shirt from around her arm. The gash was an afterthought now. Executing a slow pivot she scanned the luminous ocean.

Black.

She was mildly surprised to see exactly how far they had swam. For the life of her, she barely recalled a second of it.  Instead, she remembered an overwhelming determination to make progress...to reach her objective...the shore. This focus did not allow for the determined claws of water to hold her back. It did not allow the wicked whisper of the surf to summon her to its depths.

The iridescent lights of the
Merryweather
bobbed in the distance, but she pivoted away from them and saw King Kam highway only a short climb away.  It hugged the coast for a good span of the island and it was a welcome sight right now.  Without deliberation, she marched up the embankment of sand and grass, determined to get away.

***

For a moment Nick chose not to follow. For a moment he felt saddened that Briana did not allow him into her bleak realm—but this was a pointless emotion. She hardly knew him, and from what little he had shared with her, she had no reason to rely on him for support.

Glancing down at the bloodied shirt Briana had silently relinquished,
he slung it over his shoulder and started up after her.   

In a miraculous bout of fate, the last Circle Island bus was running late and came to a stop before them as they sat side-by-side
, on a bus stop bench. Nick ignored the driver’s scornful look as he extended four sodden bills, and stepped aside to allow Briana access to one of many empty seats. With a tug, the vehicle shuddered into motion.

Sliding into a seat beside her, he stretched his legs beneath the bench in front of them. Next to him, Briana remained unresponsive. He wanted to touch her, but she was so stiff he was afraid the contact might
make her shatter. Without her being aware, he studied her tense profile.

Damp hair clung to high cheekbones, the healthy glow of sun an afterthought on her pallid face. She sat straight, her hands clutched together on her lap, her gaze fixed on the window. With the lights on inside
he could see her reflection. Feeling helpless, Nick tipped his head back against the vinyl seat and stared at the advertisements lined up beneath the ceiling.

It was the trembling that roused him. The faint quivers against his arm that brought him alert. It had to be near midnight, but the air conditioning was at full blast, and even he felt cold. Briana’s chills seemed more deeply embedded, however. He reached an arm around her shoulder and drew her towards him, and though she remained rigid, she didn’t resist his embrace.

“Two more stops and then we’ll have to walk a bit,” he whispered against her hair. “Can you make it?”

“Of course I can.” Her indignant response startled him. “I’m not as fragile as you’d like to make me out to be.”

Nick smiled, but he knew she did not see. Her head was tucked beneath his chin. “Fragile is not the word to describe you,” he murmured.

The crown of damp hair rose and he was looking into glittery blue eyes. At length, the tension around those eyes relaxed and she managed a soft smile. “What, then?”

“Intriguing.  Exasperating. Endearing—”

“Contradicting?”

“Mmmm, in so many ways.”

Nick yanked on the cord, prompting the STOP REQUESTED sign that flashed a dull red glow.

The scent of exhaust filled the air as the bus wrenched to a halt and Briana stiffly climbed down the steps. They paused at the side of the road watching the red taillights disappear around the bend.

“My driveway is only a quarter mile down the road.” Nick was going to reach for her hand, but she tucked it against her waist, wrapping her arms about her.

Tripped up by that isolated gesture, he nodded and occupied himself by acting out the ritualistic torch-lighting ceremony, and jogging up the lanai steps to draw open the French door.

***

Briana lingered outside beneath the tiki torches. Clawing the damp hair away from her eyes, her lower lip began to quiver. She bit down to capture it.

“Come inside,” he ordered.

Too weary to argue, she recognized that it was not physical fatigue. It was born from a battered and drained psyche. She relied on the rail for support, each step seeming to exhaust her more than the last.

What
is this? This is not me.

She
felt beaten and she hated it. To her vast relief, when her eyes met those of the man standing two steps above, she saw no pity, but rather a tacit understanding.

Nick.

Until this point she had tried not to think about him. When she did, the waves were far more tumultuous than any hurricane could produce. The ripple of desire and fear were such a constant that her only defense was to ignore him.

But
there he stood in the shadows, a brooding man with the foresight to let her battle her ghosts alone.

Gratitude kept
her from protesting when he angled her towards his bedroom. With a nod, he encouraged her to undress and offered discretion by stooping into the dresser to yank out a dry shirt for her to wear.

With the University of Hawaii t-shirt dangling behind him, Nick managed throatily, “Before you put this on will you let me look at that cut?”

In a voice that was equally hoarse, she replied, “The ocean took care of it. My father always said,
saltwater is the best cure for a wound
.”

Briana glanced down at the two-inch long abrasion and felt it might leave a scar, but it would not bleed again. She reached for the t-shirt and hoisted it over her head.

Although he had turned away, she realized that there was one fleeting second when his eyes lingered and caressed her flesh. It caused a flutter in her stomach. She yanked the shirt down where it clung to her thighs and then cleared her throat so that he could pivot back.

“Nick, what are we g
oing to do? We have to call the police.”

“To
morrow.”  His voice was hoarse. “Tomorrow is only a few hours away. In the morning, I will call the police and I will go out there with Keo. For tonight, just try to sleep this off.”

“Don’t go back out there.” Panic inched into h
er throat.

“Bree, they are probably long gone. They were on the move when we jumped ship. It’s all going to get reported, but I bet they have
already left state waters.”

“I hope so.”

“Look, the shower’s through there,” he nodded, “It’ll make you feel better, and we can talk about the rest of this in the morning.”

Th
e notion of a shower sounded so wonderful, she nearly swooned.  

She wanted a shower.

She wanted to sleep.

She wanted to forget.

But the sight of Nick ate at something raw in her chest. She felt so vulnerable before him, and at the same time, safer than she had ever been in her life.

“
You
need one,” she ordered softly.

In the air-conditioned bus, Nick had restored his bloodied shirt,
although now it was unbuttoned, giving her a glimpse of the rugged band of muscles that built a ladder up his stomach. His jeans were saturated, but he looked totally at ease standing there wet before her.

At ease.
And so damn sexy
.

She wanted more than a shower, sleep, and ignorance.
She wanted him.

“There’s a shower outside, I’ll use that. Go ahead.” He angled his head towards the bathroom door. “And when you’re through, climb under those covers. You need rest, Briana.”

“But—”

With a wry slant on his lips, he took a
step, and reached out to cup her face, the tender stroke of his thumb stealing her breath. Outside, the palm leaves rustled. It almost sounded like a crackling fire.

Inside, something also burned
.

Nick’s eyes smoldered. “Just do it, Briana. We’ll figure out what to do about the
Merryweather
in the morning.”

The mere mention of the ship doused the heat. Clutching her hands about her arms, Briana turned away.

  ***

The steam of the shower seeped in. It rinsed away the ache and
eased some of the fear. Briana tipped her head into the cascade of water and felt the vise of terror abate. The plummet into the black ocean now seemed like a surreal dream.

Beneath this indulgent spray, she grew lethargic. Her arm might as well have been cast in cement as she lifted it to turn off the faucet. Bare feet met cold tiles when she exited the stall and wrapped a white terry towel about her.

In the misted mirror, her reflection made her flinch. What Nick must think when he looked at her?
A head case
.