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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.
Chapter 5 (#u17e4ed98-8933-5939-b552-19f14a05f69c)
Logan woke up on the beach at dawn.
He had sand all over his face. Lukewarm surf tickled his feet. His mouth was dry, his head pounding. With a low groan, he rolled onto his back and wiped his eyes. A tiny crab scuttled away from his ankle. He was lucky it hadn’t crawled up the leg of his pants.
Cady was lying next to him on top of the deflated raft. It was flat from the impact with the rocky shore. She had her hands tucked under her cheek. The extra material from her dress covered her head like a red wedding veil. Her skirt was twisted around her upper thighs. Her feet were bare and pretty, with unpainted toes.
The crab that had been investigating him touched the heel of her foot. She let out a startled shriek, kicking it away. Then she sat upright and pulled the veil off her face. She looked a little worse for the wear. Still beautiful, because her features were lovely. But dehydrated, with chapped lips and bloodshot eyes. Her hair was a natural style, not straightened. Now it was a wild tangle of curls.
They’d been forced to swim around the island last night after getting slammed into the rocks. She was a strong swimmer, thank God. He couldn’t have saved the raft and her. They’d slogged through at least a mile of rough water before this cove appeared. As soon as their feet had hit the sand, they’d dropped.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice sounded like crushed gravel.
“Thirsty,” she said.
“We have to find water.”
She glanced at the high cliffs behind them. “Up there?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t move.”
He knew she didn’t mean it. She didn’t want to move, but she could do it. She only needed a bit of encouragement. He spotted some coconut trees along the edge of the beach, and a couple of fresh green fruits sitting on the sand. A mature coconut rolled in the surf. He went to retrieve both kinds. The green ones had more juice, so he used his knife to chop off the end and bore a hole. Then he gave it to her. She took an experimental sip.
“Oh my God,” she said, gulping more.
“Good?”
“So good.”
He’d learned about coconuts in his survival class, but he’d never actually had a fresh one. When she passed it back, he drank his share. The flavor was mild, like vitamin water with a hint of sweetness. Although he wanted to down it all, he restrained himself and let her have the rest. His reward was watching her expression of pleasure as she finished it. She upended the coconut to get the last drops. Juice dribbled down her chin and her smooth brown throat. He imagined putting his mouth there and licking the moisture away.
To distract himself, he took his phone apart again and set it on a leaf to dry. Then he went to work on the older coconut. First he removed the dry husk, which wasn’t easy. The nut inside was impenetrable. He couldn’t cut it with his knife.
“Let me,” Cady said.
He handed it to her, curious. She picked up his knife and chopped one of the empty green coconuts in half, so it worked like a bowl. Then she held the brown nut over the bowl and hit it with the spine of his knife. She whacked it five or six times before it cracked. Milky fluid spilled between her fingers and into the green bowl. Another strike split the nut into two halves. The fruit inside was white as snow and smelled like heaven.
“Nicely done,” he said.
She gave him one of the halves and kept working. Apparently there were multiple steps to this process. She had to break the nut into smaller pieces before the fruit could be pried out of the shell. There was also an outer skin to peel away. When she freed the first chunk, she offered it to him. He popped the fruit into his mouth and groaned. Extreme hunger was one hell of an appetizer, because it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. Pleasantly chewy with a mildly sweet, nutty flavor.
“Wow,” he said, eager for more.
She pried the rest of the fruit from the shell and used her teeth to remove the skin. They devoured every morsel. After the meat was gone, they shared the milk, which he didn’t love. It reminded him of warm goat milk, or camel milk. She laughed at the face he made.
The meal was labor-intensive—and ultimately unsatisfying. He needed more than half a coconut to fill his stomach. His main priority was finding fresh water. “We should get going.”
She followed his gaze up the cliffs. “Do you think this island is inhabited?”
He shrugged, evasive. There were thousands of islands like this in the South Pacific, and most of them were deserted, but why burst her bubble? “We won’t know until we hike to a higher vantage point. That’s next on my to-do list.”
She groaned, flopping onto her back. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too industrious?”
He didn’t answer, because he was distracted by her short skirt. Getting rehydrated had enlivened his senses. On the raft, his desire for her had been squelched by thirst, hunger and a mild concussion. Now it came roaring back. It urged him to stare at her bare legs and imagine himself between them.
Her dress was wrinkled and torn, with a rip from the hem to the top of her thigh. She had various scrapes and bruises from getting dashed against the rocks. She looked like a scream queen from a horror movie. The one who survived, gore-splattered, after battling the bad guys. She was shell-shocked, but still sexy.
He turned his gaze toward the ocean, frowning at his thoughts. Since when had he found bloody knees and torn fabric attractive? He’d gone off the deep end. Maybe the primitive setting had turned him into an animal. Or maybe it was just her. Their chemistry at the bar had been explosive. It was like a punch in the gut, every time their eyes met.
But they weren’t in the bar anymore. They were on an island in the middle of nowhere. Their relationship had changed the moment she’d been attacked. She’d been targeted because she was with him. She’d been taken from him. Now she was his responsibility. He couldn’t ogle her the way he had on the dance floor. He had a professional obligation to protect her, just as he would have protected Maya O’Brien. He had to act like a proper bodyguard.
She was an asset. Not some piece of ass.
He rose to his feet, determined not to fail her. They needed food, water and shelter ASAP. He doubted they’d find people, based on the size and structure of this island. He had to make a fire or they’d get eaten alive by bugs tonight. He wasn’t sure if they’d return to this cove, so he pulled the raft as far away from the shoreline as possible. Then he collected some fire-making materials. The dry husk threads from the coconut were ideal. He dipped some of the longer threads in the gas tank and rolled them up in a palm leaf.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“To help start a fire. Just in case.” He put his phone back together and offered her a hand. She winced as she stood up.
“Sore muscles?”
“Sore feet. From the rocks.”
He inspected the soles of her feet. She had several shallow cuts. He considered letting her stay on the beach, but that was against survival protocol, and carrying water back for her would be a hassle. What would she do if he got injured or delayed? He also wasn’t convinced the kidnappers had given up. Those men had a much better chance of pinpointing their location than the rescuers.
If there were rescuers. He wasn’t counting on that, either. They’d have no idea where to look. Only the pirates knew they’d stolen a raft. They knew this area, presumably. They could study the currents and wind conditions and estimate a landing zone. They might come back to tie up loose ends.
“I’ll make you some shoes,” he said.
She sat down in the shade again while he gathered several palm leaves. He folded them into squares and tied them to her feet with a narrow strip of the same material. The “shoes” wouldn’t be comfortable to walk in, but they’d protect her from further injury. He didn’t bother making a pair for himself. Even though he’d been off-duty for several weeks, his feet were tough and he preferred going bare.
The cliffs along the edge of the beach were slippery and steep, with no discernible path. He found the safest route and climbed behind Cady, giving her support and instructions when she needed it. She only lost her footing once, near the top. Although he was right there to catch her, his bad knee almost buckled under her weight. His heart pounded at the close call. A fall here would be disastrous. It would entail a swift death or prolonged suffering.
He’d seen a lot of dead bodies over the past six years. Most were men that had been killed by the enemy, or fought for the enemy. Women and children were harder to accept. There was a pregnant woman in Syria who would always haunt him.
He pushed the mental picture out of his mind, with some difficulty. He held on to Cady for an extra second to make sure she was steady. She glanced over her shoulder at him, letting out a ragged breath. Then they continued over the edge of the cliff. He didn’t relax until they were both on stable ground.
When they entered the rain forest, the lush vegetation became a fortress. He took the lead. It was slow going without a machete, but not impossible, and the leaves were pleasantly free of thorns. Unprotected vegetation indicated that there were no leaf-eating animals on the island. That usually meant no people.
She followed close behind him. He knew she was tired, because he was tired. His knee throbbed with every step and hunger gnawed at his belly. He had to stop to adjust his belt around his waist. He’d already lost weight. She watched with wary eyes, saying nothing. She had a dancer’s body, slender and compact. He liked her curves where they were. He needed to provide some sustenance before they both started wasting away.
If this island was deserted, they could be here awhile.
The day wore on, and finding water proved elusive. The rain forest was teeming with life, colorful birds and vibrant greenery. Everything was damp. It was humid as hell. He was soaked in sweat. But a convenient wellspring? Nah.
“I need a break,” Cady declared. “If I take another step, I’ll drop.”
He allowed a short rest, glancing around. He was impatient to reach the summit, wherever that was. He couldn’t see more than ten yards in any direction. While she sat with her back propped against a tree trunk, he noticed a liana vine hanging from the canopy above. Liana vines, like green coconuts, were a source of fresh water. He whacked it in half and let the end drip into his palm. The liquid ran clear, so he lifted it to his lips to taste. It was fine. He drank a few mouthfuls and passed the vine to her.
After two days at sea, they couldn’t get enough fresh water. He watched her throat work as she swallowed. When she returned the vine, he quenched his thirst in greedy gulps. They drank until there was nothing left.
Logan had been worried that they’d die of dehydration on the raft, despite his assurances to the contrary. He was still worried about it. He’d dismissed her idea to drink urine, but at one point he’d been tempted. Anything to get his mouth wet.
He lifted his gaze to the sun-dappled canopy overhead. He estimated it was early afternoon. They were burning daylight.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree trunk. He couldn’t expect her to hike through the jungle all day without proper shoes, on a mostly empty stomach, after last night’s grueling swim. She didn’t have his training, his muscle mass, or his stamina. It was a miracle she’d come this far.
Instead of badgering her, he let her rest. He spent the next few minutes exploring their immediate surroundings. The island was a haven for birds and flying insects. Mosquitos were a constant threat. Ferns and elephant plant grew wild.
He stumbled upon a tree with bumpy green fruits, similar to avocados. The branches were too high to reach, but he picked one off the ground and tucked it into his pants pocket. Then he examined the other trees in the area. He didn’t see any more fruit. A crow-sized bird kept flitting about overhead, squawking in distress. After a cursory glance upward, he noticed what appeared to be a bird’s nest in a crook between two branches.
He climbed the tree and hit the jackpot. Three eggs. He secured them in his shirt pocket before he descended. When he returned, Cady was on her feet. She was hopping around, swatting at her neck and shoulders.
Ants.
That was the problem with taking a break in the jungle: ants. He helped brush the insects off her bare back, hiding a smile.
She bent over to shake out her curls. “I can still feel them in my hair.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t look sorry,” she grumbled.
“Only because I found some eggs.” He took the green fruit out of his pocket. “And a tree full of these.”
She snatched it from him. “This is a breadfruit.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a chef,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve studied the local produce.”
“Can we eat it raw?”
“It’s not good raw. You cook it like a yam or a potato.”
“I’d eat a potato raw.”
She handed the breadfruit back to him, shrugging. It was rock hard with a thick skin. He needed to make a fire anyway. It was safer to boil the eggs, if they could. His mouth watered at the thought of a hot meal. Any kind of meal.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“I guess.”
They continued uphill. His injured knee slowed him down considerably, so she kept up with him pretty well. The foliage thinned out as they ascended, which made the hike easier. He increased the pace, sensing they were near the summit. Soon they broke through the canopy and he could see the island’s high point.
A quarter of a mile later, they were there. She sat on a flat rock at the peak, trying to catch her breath. He stood and took in the panoramic view.
It was majestic.
