Читать книгу Stranded With The Navy Seal - Susan Cliff - Страница 11
ОглавлениеOne of the best nights of her life turned into the worst.
The absolute worst.
She survived it, somehow. So did Logan. They waited in silence for the boat to double back for them, but it never did. Logan said the kidnappers must not have realized they were gone right away. He also said the raft would be difficult to spot in the dark, like a needle in a haystack. The ocean was immense, and frightening. The raft rose and fell with every swell, traveling on a swift current.
What followed them wasn’t a boat. It was the body of the man Logan had killed. He floated on the surface, facedown, his white T-shirt bobbing. It was almost as if the corpse was swimming after them. She watched in horror as his body jerked suddenly. He flailed back and forth, reanimated. Tail fins thrashed on the surface as sharks tore him apart. First one, then two, then a half dozen.
Cady threw up over the side of the raft.
When she leaned too far out, Logan grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. She wiped her mouth, shuddering.
The night dragged on, never ending. She was cold and miserable. Logan stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped his arms around her, but she didn’t stop shivering. Her mind replayed violent images. Black masks. Glinting knives. Sharks circling.
She couldn’t believe they were in this situation. She couldn’t believe they’d escaped. When Logan had entered the doorway, his face pale and his clothes wet, she’d screamed into her gag. She’d thought he was a ghost, for good reason. She’d seen him get knocked unconscious and thrown overboard. No normal person could survive that. He’d appeared out of nowhere and fought like a man possessed.
One minute, she’d been weeping silently, frozen with fear. The next, she was watching Jason Bourne attack his enemies.
She didn’t understand why she’d been targeted, or how Logan had arrived on the scene. The whole thing was surreal. And sinister. He’d incapacitated one of her captors and gutted another like a fish. She knew he was a Navy SEAL, trained to kill. She also knew he’d acted in self-defense, and he wasn’t a danger to her. Even so, her first reaction to his daring rescue wasn’t relief. It was terror.
The brutality of his actions, and the ease with which he’d executed them, still disturbed her. She hadn’t signed on for this. She wasn’t equipped for it. She was a chef on a cruise ship, sailing toward an uncertain future. She’d been in a slump, personally and professionally. Her idea of adventure was using new spices in a recipe. Leaving the bar with Logan was the wildest thing she’d ever done.
Now she was stranded on a raft in the middle of the ocean.
She shouldn’t have gone back to his cabin. She should have listened to her instincts, instead of her hormones. She couldn’t have predicted this outcome, of course, but she’d known what kind of man he was. He was an elite soldier. He had hero written all over him, along with heartbreaker and risk taker.
She’d only wanted a single night of excitement with a man whose gaze had warmed her from the inside out. Instead she got this stone-cold warrior who watched sharks feed on a corpse without flinching.
Her stomach lurched at the memory. She rolled over and dry-heaved quietly.
Logan kept his hand on her back like an anchor. His touch felt reassuring, despite the fraught circumstances. She didn’t want to be here, but she was glad she wasn’t alone. She was glad they were alive, and relatively unharmed. When her stomach settled, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. Little by little, her tremors subsided.
At dawn, he put on his damp clothes. She sat up and stared at the rising sun. Its reflection glinted across the ocean, illuminating their plight. There was no pirate boat on the horizon. There was nothing. No cruise ship, no commercial barges, no airplanes, no islands. No drinking water. It might as well have been the Sahara Desert.
Her gaze met his. His features were rough-hewn in the harsh daylight. There was a big lump on his temple, and dried blood clumped to his eyebrow.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She didn’t think she was, but she felt numb. She slowly took stock of her condition. Her mouth was still sore from the gag. She rubbed her wrists, which bore rope burns. Other than those minor discomforts, she was fine. “I’m okay.”
“Did you understand what they were saying?”
Cady spoke a smattering of French. She hadn’t caught every word. “They thought I was someone else.”
“Maya O’Brien.”
“The president’s daughter?”
“I was supposed to be guarding her.”
Now it made sense. The kidnappers had made a mistake. They weren’t targeting her. Cadence Crenshaw was nobody. Maya O’Brien was America’s daughter, rich and famous. “Were they terrorists?”
“I don’t know,” he said, frowning. “French Polynesia isn’t a hot spot for terrorism. Their motivations might have been financial.”
“When will they start looking for us?”
“The kidnappers?”
“The rescuers.”
He studied the clear blue sky above them. “Today, with any luck. They’ll know something is wrong when you don’t show up to work. Employees will see the signs of a struggle in the cabin next to mine. Then they’ll launch a search party with air support.”
“Do you think they’ll find us?”
“Yes.”
She hoped he was telling the truth. His expression revealed nothing, and she didn’t know him well enough to judge. Maybe he was honest to a fault. Maybe he was a strategic liar. Maybe that head injury had rattled his brain. He’d already said that the raft would be difficult to spot on the open sea.
“I thought you were dead,” she said in a hushed voice. She still couldn’t quite believe he was real.
“Nah,” he said. “I don’t die that easy.” His smile was wan, belying the boast.
“What did you do?”
“I swam.”
She gaped at him in wonder. Her head had been covered during the kidnapping, so she’d been disoriented. She’d assumed the men had pulled him out of the water for some reason, or he’d grabbed a tow rope. “You swam from the cruise ship?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“It wasn’t that far.”
Her next question was more important. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you risk your life like that? You hardly know me.”
His gaze darkened. “I know you well enough,” he said, squinting at the horizon. “Even if I didn’t, I’d have done the same thing. There was nothing else to do. Staying near the cruise ship wasn’t an option. My chances of getting rescued there were very low.”
She studied his battered face, trying to gauge his sincerity. He might have had no other choice, but he was also downplaying an incredible act of heroism. He’d swum after a motorized raft and overpowered two men—after sustaining a concussion. It was an amazing feat, almost superhuman. Most people couldn’t save themselves, let alone others. They froze in the face of danger. Cady had experienced this phenomenon firsthand as a child. She’d watched her grandfather die and been paralyzed, unable to help him.
It was the most traumatic moment of her life. Until now.
Logan removed his cell phone from his pocket. He took it apart, piece by piece, and set the components out to dry. It didn’t take long; the sun was brutal. Light reflected off the ocean, magnifying the effect. Within an hour, everything was bone dry, including her throat.
He had no service, of course. He couldn’t even send a text. He turned off the phone and tucked it away. “I’ll try again later.”
Cady stayed quiet. She doubted they’d drift into a better service area anytime soon. They were several days’ travel from Tahiti by cruise ship. She didn’t know of any other islands between here and there. She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Maybe they’d arrive on the shore of a private resort and sip fruity cocktails at noon.
She mixed a fantasy drink with her favorite ingredients. Crushed ice. Fresh fruit. Something really bougie, like a strawberry-basil bourbon spritzer.
Logan emptied his pockets to study the contents. In addition to his cell phone, he had a wallet with cash and credit cards. She had nothing but the dress on her back. Her purse had been lost in the melee. Her shoes had fallen off. So had his.
His next project was hot-wiring the engine. He used his knife to disable the ignition and open the casing. He spent the better part of the morning with his head down, cursing. It reminded her of her father doing auto repairs. He flinched when one of the live wires singed his fingertips. After some trial and error, he twisted two wires together and the engine turned over. He flashed her a victorious grin. Then he disconnected it, killing the motor.
Her spirits fell. “We’re not going anywhere?”
“I have to save fuel,” he said. “We can’t travel far on a gas tank this size.”
“Why did you hot-wire it?”
“Because being able to move a short distance will help us get rescued. If we see a ship in the distance, we can approach it. If a plane goes by, I can fire it up and do some circles to get their attention.”
She searched the horizon for signs of an airplane or a ship, with no luck. The glare of sunlight on the water burned her corneas, and constantly scanning the area exhausted her eye muscles. When she couldn’t continue, he took over. She curled up in a ball, her stomach roiling. She wondered how long it took to die from thirst. She didn’t ask Logan, because she was afraid the answer might be one day.
The afternoon sun was brutal. He removed his shirt and dipped it in the water. Then he wrapped the wet cloth around his head, turban-style. The hunting knife he’d taken from one of the kidnappers was tucked into his belt. He looked like a storybook pirate, with perfectly defined abs and a tantalizing strip of hair below his navel.
She remembered how his body had felt against hers on the dance floor, and how eager she’d been to touch him. Their brief, lust-drenched interlude didn’t seem real. She’d never experienced such a powerful rush of attraction before. Who meets someone at a bar and wants to tear their clothes off after ten minutes? In what alternate dimension do two mature, sober people fall into a sexual trance and make out in public? She might have been embarrassed if she wasn’t so worried about dying.
“You need protection from the sun,” he said, drawing his knife. He motioned for her to move closer.
“What are you doing?”
“Cutting off this extra fabric.”
She held still while he sliced through her tulle overskirt. The serrated blade was sharp, with a wicked point at the tip. She tried not to think about where else it had been. She couldn’t afford to throw up again.
When he was finished, she used the fabric like a veil, covering her head and shoulders. It was blisteringly hot. Her lips were dry. His were already cracked.
They didn’t speak, because it hurt to talk.
After what seemed like ten or twelve hours, clouds gathered in the sky. There was a sudden, intense downpour. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, desperate for moisture. The raindrops didn’t quench her thirst, but the cool water felt like heaven against her skin. When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her. She wondered if he was thinking about the kisses they’d shared. Was it a strange, distant memory for him, too? A moment of passion that had slipped between his fingers?
He pulled his gaze away, flushing. She doubted he felt any embarrassment or shame about his behavior. Men never did. Maybe he was just sunburned, or he couldn’t figure out why he’d been so enthralled with her. She probably looked like a bedraggled sea witch. Humidity wasn’t kind to her hair.
When puddles gathered on the bottom of the raft, they both drank their fill. With the sun behind the clouds, the temperature was pleasant. For a short time, she almost felt comfortable, and hopeful about getting rescued. Then the temperature dropped and darkness fell. They spent another night shivering, huddled for warmth.
In the dead of night, she was awoken by a bump against the side of the boat. She sprang upright, clutching Logan’s arm. He was alert beside her, his muscles tense. It was very dark. There was a sliver of moon, high in the sky.
The bump came again, on the opposite side. A fin skimmed the surface of the water.
Shark.
She let out a terrified scream.
He clamped his hand over her mouth, which only increased her panic. It reminded her of the kidnapping. She’d been silenced with a rough slap during the attack, and she still had a tender spot on her cheek. His fingertips pressed into it, adding to her discomfort. She pushed his hand away, incensed.
“Shh,” Logan warned. He studied the surface of the water intently. She crossed her arms over her chest, her throat tight. She supposed that screaming wasn’t helpful, but it was a normal reaction. There were freaking sharks circling!
“Can they puncture the raft?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
His answer chilled her to the bone. She scooted closer to him.
“They won’t do it as a strategy. But if they decide to take an exploratory bite...”
She gripped the crook of his arm. “What should we do?”
“Stay calm and quiet.”
Although she wasn’t calm by any stretch, she didn’t make a sound. Neither did he. After a few tense moments, his shoulders relaxed. The sharks didn’t bump the raft or flash fins again. Hopefully they’d lost interest.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. One of the kidnappers did.”
His eyes glinted in the dark. “He hit you?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“The one you killed.”
He nodded, as if the man had gotten what he deserved. “Go back to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
She curled up in the raft and closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep. She was cold and hungry and sick with fear. She’d applied for a job on a cruise ship because she’d wanted to get away from it all. Her longtime boyfriend had become enamored with another woman on reality TV. She’d watched every episode, just to torture herself. Their breakup had turned her entire life upside down. She’d left San Francisco and moved back home with her parents.
It was a low point, to say the least.
She’d needed an escape. Well, she got one. Now Andrew seemed like a blip of the radar, tiny and insignificant. She didn’t miss him.
She spent most of the night praying for day, and most of the next day praying for night. The heat was unbearable. The sun sucked the life out of her, beating down in relentless waves. There were no ships, no planes, no clouds, no rain.
Logan stripped down to his boxers and used his pants to shade different parts of his body. He gave her his shirt to wear. The fabric kept the sun off her back. She leaned over the side of the raft and trailed her fingers through the water. So much water. Clear, blue, deadly water. She made a cup with her hands.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
She splayed her fingers, letting the liquid fall out. She knew they couldn’t drink salt water. “Why can’t we swim?”
“With the sharks?”
“They only come at night.”
“Salt water robs moisture from your skin. You’ll dehydrate faster.”
“What about urine?”
“What about it?”
She’d watched him pee over the side of the raft this morning. “Should we...drink it?”
“Hell no.”
“Is it toxic?”
“Not as toxic as salt water, but it won’t help you rehydrate. It will just get your mouth wet and taste bad.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a SEAL. I’ve had extensive survival training.”
She dug her fingernails into her palms. “What if it doesn’t rain again?”
He took his pants off his head, scowling.
“What if we don’t see a plane, or a ship?”
“You want to drink pee, is that it?”
“No, that’s not it,” she said, raising her voice. “I’m just scared. I don’t want to die, okay? Maybe you can take all of this in stride and go thirty days without water and fly around the world like a superhero, but I can’t.”
He draped his pants across his broad shoulders. “We’re not going to die today, Cadence. Is that clear?”
“It’s Cady.”
“What?”
“No one calls me Cadence except my grandfather. And he’s dead now.”
His expression softened. “Was he a military man?”
“Army. Drill sergeant.”
He nodded his approval. “The most important element of survival isn’t strength or intelligence. It’s tenacity.”
She didn’t argue, because that sounded legit.
“People with quick minds and vivid imaginations can struggle in situations like this. Sometimes creative thinkers are their own worst enemies, believe it or not. It’s healthy to be afraid, but you can’t let your fear take over. What you need to do is focus on simple tasks. Keep your thoughts occupied.”
“How?”
“For now, you can be my lookout. If you put that extra fabric over your eyes, it will reduce the glare. Then you can scan the horizon and the sky in sections.”
She did what he suggested, for as long as she could. Even with the tulle shade, it was hard on her eyes, and there was nothing to see. While she kept watch, he used his knife to remove the lining from his wallet. He made something similar to a Zorro mask, with narrow eye slits, and tied it to his face with a piece of fabric from his pants pocket. Then he fooled around with the engine again. Birds circled overhead, waiting to feed.
On them.
When he told her to take a break, she tucked her body into a tiny bit of shade along the side of the raft and pulled his shirt over her head. The task had worked to blank her mind, but it had also exhausted her. Without food and water, she had no energy.
It didn’t rain that afternoon.
She slept.
The next thing she knew, it was full dark, and the raft pitched beneath her. Waves sprayed over the side and threatened to dump them into the sea. She bolted upright, sensing a large presence.
There was an island! That was the good news. The bad news was that it didn’t look hospitable. It looked like a giant cliff in the middle of the ocean. Instead of washing up on a breezy, white-sand beach, they were about to get dashed against some jagged rocks—and there was no way to avoid the impact.
Logan shouted over the din of the crashing waves. “Hold on!”
She gripped the rope on her side of the raft just in time. The raft flipped over, rolling in the breakwater like a surfboard after a spectacular wipeout. She didn’t let go of the rope, and that probably saved her. The raft buoyed upward. She broke the surface with it and managed to take a quick gasp of breath before the next wave hit. Then she was caught inside again, tumbling around in the giant saltwater washing machine.
She endured several more cycles of this before the real danger presented itself. There was an underwater fortress of razor-sharp rocks. The raft got shredded against it. So did her skin. Her legs scraped over a surface that felt like a cheese grater. She cried out in pain, struggling to swim. The raft was snagged on something. She had to let go of the rope, but she didn’t know if she could make it to the shore.
Luckily, Logan was right there. He grabbed her from behind and shoved his forearm under her chin, urging her into a reclined position. She didn’t fight him. With swift, sure strokes, he towed her to safety.
Well, relative safety. There was no safe space here, no easy escape from the wicked rocks and relentless waves. He deposited her at a granite outcropping near the base of the cliffs. She clung there, breathing hard.
Then he left her.
“I have to get the raft,” he shouted. As if the raft was the more useful item, between the two of them.
She managed to keep her head above water while she waited. It took him several tries to unsnag the raft. She looked around for a way to get out of the water. In the dark, she saw only pounding waves and vertical cliffs. They might have to circumnavigate the island in hopes of finding an access point.
But—at least they had hope. Out adrift, there was nothing. So she held on tight to the volcanic rock, grateful for its presence. Grateful for its gritty, porous surface. She’d been terrified that she’d never see land again, let alone touch it. She thought she’d never see anything but endless ocean and the inside of a raft.
As the waves kept rolling in, she rested her cheek against the rock and wept. Because they were here, and they were alive.
