by Amy Waeschle
Cassidy wobbled her way to the pontoon’s tip and wrapped her stinging hands around the cord, keeping her eyes on the spectacle unfolding ahead of them.
The helicopter and Coast Guard boat appeared to have cornered the yacht. In the air, the helicopter swarmed like an angry insect, its rotors dipping dangerously close to the boat’s tower. She heard a loudspeaker but could not make out the words.
The Zodiac surged over another swell, but Bruce angled their landing, minimizing the amount of seawater splashing into the boat.
“They’ve stopped!” Bruce said as they rose up the back of the next wave, giving them a higher vantage. Cassidy allowed a moment of hope. What would happen next? Would snipers drop onto the deck and hunt down the guards? How could they do that and keep Quinn safe?
Bruce slowed the Zodiac. “What are you doing?” she asked, looking back at him.
“This is where we have to stop,” he said, “it’s too—”
A sudden explosion cut through the night. Cassidy was blasted backwards. Airborne, she watched in shock as the Cassidy Lynn disappeared in a giant ball of fire.
Twenty-Nine
Bruce landed on top of her, shielding her from the bits of debris falling through the sky.
She struggled to free herself so she could see what couldn’t be true, but her kicks and wildly swinging arms did nothing to ease Bruce’s hold on her. The cloud of smoke and fire rose steadily into the air as she fought him, fought against the rushing, sweeping pain thundering toward her like an avalanche.
No. Not this.
Bruce was saying something to her but she heard only a distant buzzing. Her head felt light and empty, her muscles burning from her efforts. She realized that she was gasping for air.
“Cassidy!” Bruce barked.
Her limbs were fighting and straining, her mind went to thoughts of Quinn. She saw the two of them walking Ocean Beach while waves slipped up the sand. She saw them at the bakery, the steam from their coffee curling into the chilly morning air. She saw him in her garage in Eugene, helping her sort Pete’s things. She remembered how he had paddled out with her to spread Reeve’s ashes. In a sudden rush of pain, she remembered the warmth of his last hug.
With no Quinn there was no life.
A cold sensation seeped into her body and all color drained from her mind. She must have stopped fighting because Bruce pulled her to him in a tight embrace. She felt limp, as if her strength had permanently left her limbs. She heard a choking sound and realized that Bruce was crying.
Bits of exploded boat material rained down on them and dropped in the water. An angry humming filled her ears and she looked to find the source of the sound. The helicopter hovered over the site of the explosion, its bright searchlight fixed on the choppy water.
Cassidy surrendered to the blackness, falling down, down, down.
Nobody will ever keep you from me, sis.
More images flooded into her. Of Quinn heading out for a run, of the way he rolled up the sleeves of his crisp dress shirts, revealing the sandy blonde hairs on his forearms, of his eyes, so blue and pure, like the sea.
Never again would she see those eyes sparkle at something funny she had said, or scoff at her B.S., or brighten with joy.
A realization snapped to the surface of her thoughts: I won’t survive this.
The helicopter was still hovering, its searchlight sweeping back and forth. What were they still doing here? A surge of anger surged through her. Why couldn’t they leave her in peace?
A wave passed under them, rocking the boat sharply.
“Cassidy,” Bruce said, his face cracking with agony. “We have to get out of here.”
The rational part of her brain would have agreed if it had been functioning. But the idea of going anywhere, much less to a place where she would have to talk to people and do mundane things like ride in a car and cook breakfast and brush her teeth confused her. How could she do any of those things in a world without Quinn?
No, better to continue out to sea, carried by the swift, cold current. Maybe the FBI would find their boat. They’d say it was too bad, that the elements got the better of them.
She realized that she was no longer sobbing but was now shivering uncontrollably.
“I’m not even sure this motor is strong enough against these currents.”
She heard the concern in his voice but he might as well have been talking to the air.
Bruce stroked the side of her face, his swollen eyes anguished. “I’m so sorry, Cassidy.”
She blinked, his words finding no purchase in her heart.
He placed her gently in the bow of the boat. She watched him look over his shoulder at the cliffs to the south. The current had swept them well past the location of Preston Ford’s house, the lights from his neighborhood a distant twinkle. Had he orchestrated this, even in death?
Bruce swung the boat in a U-turn, giving Cassidy a full view of the boat’s smoking wreck, lit up by the helicopter’s bright searchlight.
“If I cut at an angle, I think I can get close to that Coast Guard ship.”
Cassidy started to cry again. What if they got close to the wreck and she saw Quinn’s body floating in the water? Or something worse?
Bruce angled the boat toward the wreck and the bright lights of the Coast Guard ship. The helicopter buzzed close to the water’s surface, kicking up a storm of sea spray, the noise from its rotors echoing off the opposite cliffs. As they got closer, she noticed a rope extending from the chopper’s open door.
“They must have dropped in a diver,” Bruce said, his gaze narrowing.
She imagined a man in a black wetsuit and long fins tugging Quinn’s lifeless body to the surface. Instantly, she leaned over the side of the boat as hot bile raced up her throat.
Bruce was next to her in an instant. Now that they were broadside to the waves, the boat tipped and jerked more violently.
“Stop, please!” Cassidy said. “I don’t want to get any closer! I can’t!”
The chopper’s whine increased. Cassidy saw a black lump being raised from the water.
A wave tipped their bow, knocking them both off balance. “Cassidy, we’re in trouble if we don’t get help. I’m calling the Coast Guard.”
The helicopter took off towards the city, leaving them with the sound of the waves slapping the sides of the boat.
She was aware of Bruce starting the engine but the words he shared via phone faded into the background.
If they had Quinn’s body, at least she could say goodbye. Tears burned her eyes as she imagined all the details she would now be in charge of: cancelling credit cards, selling his possessions, packing up his things, planning his funeral. Just like when Pete had left her.
I won’t survive this.
“What?” Bruce cried into his phone, startling her. “This is confirmed?”
Cassidy watched him as if through a fog.
His face burst with joy. “Cassidy!” he said, diving to his knees to grab her shoulders. “Quinn’s alive.”
She blinked at him, feeling as if she was looking at him through a long tunnel.
He squeezed her shoulders, his intense gaze boring into her. “They got an agent on board. They got Quinn out before the blast.”
Cassidy would only let go of her grip on the edge of oblivion if she was sure. “Are you positive?”
“What we just saw was him being pulled from the water.”
Cassidy tried to make sense of this, but there were too many loose thoughts spinning around in her mind. He was in the water? But it was so cold! Was he hurt?
“They’re taking him to the hospital.”
Finally, a pulse of relief shuddered through her. Quinn was alive.
Bruce started the engine, then spoke into the phone. “We’re on our way.”
Thirty
Cassidy woke to the sound of an alarm going off. With a start, she pushed herself upright, wincing at the resulting sting this caused in her bandaged hands. Without her glasses, eve
rything was blurry. White walls, a still figure on a hospital bed, the wide, reclining lounge chair she and Bruce had slept on. Outside the room, the alarm continued to blare followed by the shuffle of feet passing their door.
She reached across Bruce’s chest to a small side table and found her glasses.
“I just checked on him,” Bruce said as she slipped them on.
She settled back against his frame and pulled up the blanket. “Thank you for staying.”
His arm rested softly across her shoulder. “Like I could leave,” he said. “Though I’m sure Agent Harris is going to bust in here any minute and drag my ass away.”
Cassidy winced. “I’m sorry.” If not for Bruce by her side, she never would have been able to step through the hospital’s doors. All the memories of Pete’s time in ICU had come flooding back, triggered by the smell of starch and death and the sounds, and her terror.
“I’m not,” he said.
She turned so that she could see his eyes. “Are you going to get in trouble?”
“Definitely.”
Cassidy settled back into the warmth of his body as her stomach panged with guilt. “Do you think they’ll let Quinn go home today?”
“Now that his body temperature is stable and the CT showed no internal injuries, yeah, I would think so.”
Cassidy relaxed further. The quicker they could get out of here, the better.
“What’s a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here?” a voice groaned from across the room.
Cassidy threw back the blanket and hurried to Quinn’s side, grinning at his groggy expression. The bruise on his face had turned a dark shade of purple, but the way his blue eyes held hers made her heart hum.
Bruce joined her at Quinn’s bedside. “How are you feeling?”
Cassidy glanced at the monitor that showed his vital signs.
“Like crap,” Quinn said.
The reality of what they’d been through threatened to overthrow her relief, but she managed to hold onto it. The only thing that mattered was Quinn’s safety. She would deal with everything else later. Cassidy reached for Quinn’s hand, ignoring the tight burn when she squeezed. The night before, the E.R. had given her six stitches in her left palm and bandaged the rest of the cuts. The P.A. who had performed the procedure informed her that everything should heal beautifully—no tendon or ligament damage.
“But ready to get the hell out of here, that’s for sure,” he added with a half-grin.
The door swung open and Special Agent Harris entered, her expression that same mask of calm, but Cassidy saw the intensity behind her eyes.
“You,” she pointed at Bruce, “are coming with me. Now.” She grabbed the TV remote and aimed it at the TV hanging from the opposite wall. “This is a grade-A clusterfuck.”
A male newscaster spoke into the camera wearing a serious expression. Projected on the screen to his right was an image of Preston Ford dressed in a tuxedo and smiling, his pale eyes bright.
Special Agent Harris tapped the volume button until the newscaster’s voice blared into the room.
“Police have labeled his death suicide,” the newscaster said as the image switched to a view of the mansion from below, the gaping hole in the glass sunroom above it clearly visible.
“Wait, suicide?” Bruce said, eyeing Special Agent Harris. “I’m sure I got a shot in him as he fell. What about the guard I took down in the living room?”
“There was no dead guard by the time we got there. And Mr. Ford’s body was already gone, too.”
“I suppose the guard I hog tied in the garden was nowhere to be seen either?”
Special Agent Harris shook her head.
On the screen, the image had changed to show what looked like the entrance to the TV station, now lined with hundreds of flower bouquets. “We’ll be running a special episode this evening to commemorate Mr. Ford,” the newscaster continued.
“People are bringing him flowers?” Cassidy cried, remembering the way Preston Ford enjoyed watching her struggle and how he ruthlessly ordered his guard to hurt Quinn.
“Unbelievable,” Bruce muttered.
“An obvious cover up,” Special Agent Harris said. “The question is who?”
“I’ve got some ideas,” Bruce said.
Special Agent Harris cocked an eyebrow. “You better.”
She clicked off the television and returned the remote to the bedside table. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” she said to Quinn, her voice tinged with remorse. “I’m relieved you’re safe.”
Her gaze then zeroed in on Cassidy. “When I heard what you’d done,” she started. “Lying to us about Izzy Ford’s location, stealing evidence, engaging with a dangerous criminal…” She put her hands on her hips, her expression hardening. “You put everyone’s lives in danger. That you’re not all dead is a miracle.”
The air seemed to thicken in the resulting pause, then Special Agent Harris nodded at Bruce. “Let’s go.” She turned on her heel and pushed through the door.
Bruce padded in his bare feet to the bed and slipped on his sneakers, then returned to Quinn’s bedside. “See you later, buddy,” he said, giving him a fist bump. Then he pulled Cassidy into his arms. “After they talk to you today, I want to see you.”
He stepped back and took her face in his hands, then smiled, his brown eyes filling with warmth.
“Okay,” Cassidy said as tiny flutters whooshed to life in her core.
After he disappeared through the door, she noticed Quinn’s smirk.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing,” he replied, all innocence.
“When I was trying to find you,” she began. “I looked at your phone records. I noticed a pattern, a certain number you’ve been calling at night.” She played with the fringed edge of his blanket. “Can I meet her?”
Quinn’s eyes softened. “Promise you won’t get jealous?”
Her heartstrings twanged. “Is that what you think?”
He shrugged. “I was jealous of Pete. Sometimes.”
Cassidy reached for his hand. “I never knew that.”
“I didn’t tell you. You guys were so happy. And I loved him like a brother.” He shook his head. “It didn’t make sense.”
Cassidy knew it made perfect sense. They were both alone, and one of the things Jay had helped her realize was how her fear of abandonment made her act in ways that defied logic, like pushing people away. Quinn likely experienced similar fears. “I’d be lying if I wasn’t scared that some girl is going to sweep you off your feet and take you away from me.”
“You really think that?” he said, his eyes wide.
She shrugged. “You’re all I have, Q.” She fought back the sudden rise of emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Hey,” he said in a stern voice. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
Cassidy nodded, gathering her thoughts. She had wanted to say this for a while, but the opportunity had never presented itself. “Here’s the thing.” She leveled her gaze on him. “I don’t want you to worry about me. If you fall in love with someone, don’t hold back because of me, okay?”
He poked her gently in the stomach. “Only if you promise the same thing.”
Cassidy’s stomach lurched. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Cass.”
She went back to fiddling with the blanket’s edge. Of course, Quinn would notice something she’d been too blind to see. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“C’mon, it’s been almost two years.”
“What if it’s a mistake?” she asked, thinking of the ways Bruce could leave her—either because he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble, or because of his dangerous job.
“What if it is?” he replied.
She glanced up sharply. “I can’t go through something like that again.”
“You’re stronger than you know.”
“So, just throw caution to the wind?” she said, surprise
d at her angry tone. “And if he gets killed, I just soldier on?”
Quinn’s eyes filled with compassion. “You can’t shut yourself off forever, Cass. Bruce’s job is dangerous, yeah, but so is yours. So is driving. So is surfing. So is golfing.”
“Golfing?”
“Lightning on golf courses kills an average of forty-one people per year.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” she groaned. “It just…feels like a betrayal.”
“I know it’s hard. You loved Pete so much. And that will always live inside you. But Pete would want you to be happy, don’t you think?”
Cassidy tried to imagine Pete’s smiling face, but it came too close to breaking her again. “I guess.” She drew in a breath for courage. “I don’t know where to start.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Start with giving yourself permission to try.”
Cassidy sat at the small table in the interview room, waiting for what felt like the millionth time that day. Her brain had turned to noodles sometime after the tenth rendition of the story. Three separate agents had interviewed her—Special Agent Harris, and two others she had not seen before—all asking the same questions. She had no idea what she was waiting for now. For them to arrest her? For them to escort her to the sterile safe house so they could follow the last of their leads? To force her into Witness Protection after all?
She had given her answers as best she could. No, she had no idea if her father was involved with Preston Ford in his criminal activities. Yes, she lied about Izzy’s whereabouts. Yes, she knew she could go to jail for stealing evidence. Yes, she remembered stabbing Preston Ford in the leg. And yes, she stole a boat from the marina and attempted to pursue Quinn’s captors, in defiance of a federal agent’s orders, in full awareness of the danger and expense she had caused by exposing herself to San Francisco Bay’s dangerous currents and the largest groundswell of the summer in a boat the size of a jacuzzi.
But they had also promised her they would protect Quinn, and had failed.
She had not seen Bruce all day, though she sensed he was in the building, likely going through a similar grilling process though certainly worse. Over the last thirty-six hours, he had broken about a hundred rules. She remembered their conversation on Quinn’s patio. I love my job. What else would I do?