"I have to get my gear and take care of the uni. If I drive you to the house and come back, I'm doing something out of the ordinary and someone will notice. You can lie on the seat while I take care of business. Stay under the blanket and out of sight. The thing is, this is going to take a little time."
He tried not to look alarmed. He was already swimming in and out of reality. He wanted to be hidden away, to be out of the open, where he had a better chance of regrouping and surviving. "Why so long?"
"They'll hoist the nets off my boat, weigh them and put them in totes for the forklift to take them to the truck. It takes time, but most of the boats didn't go out so it doesn't look like there's a wait at all. I'll have to clean my boat as well. I can't take the chance of spines from the sea urchins on deck. I can bleach my gear at home."
It made sense, but all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep. He needed somewhere safe. He forced a nod.
"Are you absolutely certain you'll be fine? I can take you to a hospital . . ."
"No." He said it firmly. "I'd be dead inside an hom."
"So you're certain someone's looking for you?"
They'd tried to kill him, hadn't they? Otherwise, she wouldn't have had to drag him half-dead out of the sea. He shrugged and concentrated on getting into the truck without his head falling off or falling in a heap at her feet.
She helped him inside and handed him the blanket. He caught her hand, his thumb tracing circular patterns in the middle of her palm. "Tell me your name."
"Rikki. Rikki Sitmore." She flashed a small grin. "I have a last name."
He had the impulse to smile. There was something irresistible about her. He wanted to tell her he had multiple last names, but he refrained.
"I'll try to hurry, but it will take time."
"You said that."
Rikki made a face at him, rolled her eyes and slammed the door closed. There were reasons why she didn't go near people--they were all crazy. She'd pulled him out of the sea, and if she'd been thinking at all, she would have left him there. Now he was her responsibility. Shoving her sunglasses firmly onto her face to cover her usually direct stare, she climbed back aboard her boat. For some reason she could look straight at Lev, and strangely, the way she looked at him hadn't bothered him as it would most people.
Shrugging, she pushed off with her boat and swung around the other boats tied up to the dock to bring hers under the platform. The hoist was already in position and Ralph lowered the hooks for her to attach her nets to the scale.
"You came in early," he called to her. "I just got here."
She shrugged.
"No one else went out today," Ralph said, scribbling on paper and attaching the name of her boat to the white totes he filled with her urchins.
Rikki was relieved at that. She liked the other divers, and the thought of that monstrous wave running them over was frightening.
"Saw you had company. Something wrong?"
She stiffened but forced a casual shrug. "No," she muttered after a long awkward silence. The men were used to her sullen answers and rarely tried engaging with her.
She turned quickly away, leaving him to deal with the bins himself. Normally she helped, but she didn't want to chance him asking her any more questions. She drove her boat back to her berth and scrubbed it down meticulously as she always did, losing herself in the task while the water lapped at the Sea Gypsy, rocking her gently. She focused completely, not allowing anything into her mind but the sheer feeling of her boat, the sky and gulls surrounded by water. She loved the way the droplets of water glistened on the deck like diamonds, prisms of glittering colors, each unique and beautiful. Sometimes she got caught up in looking at them for long periods of time. She had to force her mind to stay focused on finishing as quickly as possible, and it took discipline not to disappear into the routine and flow as she usually did.
Each net was put away carefully, her hoses rolled in the way she had to roll them, a loose, precise circle that appealed to her. No one ever touched her equipment. They didn't put it away exactly as it was supposed to go, which was another reason she didn't have a tender on her boat. But how could she explain how uncomfortable it was to Blythe--people touching her things and meaning to do well, but only making her crazy by not putting things exactly where they should be. There was a right way, and no one seemed able to comprehend that.
She sighed and pushed her glasses on her nose. She'd stalled as long as she could. Her boat and equipment were as clean as she could get them. She had inspected her air compressor and the hoses, and now, if there wasn't a dead body on the seat of her truck--yuck--she would have to face the music and do something with him. Better the dead body. If none of her family was home, she'd be stuck with him, and she had absolutely no idea what to do with him because no one--no one--came into her house while she was in it.
Blythe was the only person she let in and she couldn't be inside while Blythe was. She pushed her thumbnail into her mouth and chewed on it, frowning as she made her way back to the truck. She stood outside for a moment, drawing in air, steeling herself to be in such close confines. He was in her truck. That was almost as bad as him being in her home. She was beginning to wish she'd never pulled him out of the water.
Biting her lip hard, she yanked open the door. Lev exploded out of the blanket, wrapping both hands around her neck and pinning her head to the seat. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Fury shook her before panic set in. His fingers were like steel pins, cutting off her airway. Her world began to go black and small stars burst in her brain. Just as suddenly, he let her go. She slipped to the ground, coughing, holding her throat, gasping desperately for air.
Her glasses had come off. When she could finally breathe, she glared up at him, her eyes meeting his. He looked more confused than ever--not remorseful, confused. And damn it all, she was the one with no social graces, and at least she knew enough to know that he should be feeling tons of remorse.
"Get the hell out of my truck," she snarled, reaching to snatch her dark glasses and shove them back on her face. She avoided rubbing at the marks she knew would be on her throat. It felt swollen and tight. He could have easily killed her. She recognized that he could have in seconds. The knowledge didn't make her any less angry.
"I'm sorry."
"Get. Out."
Instead of obeying, he moved back across the seat to give her room. She sat there in the dirt a moment, swearing under her breath.
"Everything okay?" Ralph called. He stood on the platform, frowning, hands on his hips.
Color swept over her face--she could feel it as she scrambled to her feet. Ralph squinted, trying to see into her truck. She glanced at Lev. He was hunched over, his face hidden, the blanket around him.
"Just slipped in the gravel," she called, and climbed into her truck. She started the engine without looking at Lev and lifted a hand toward Ralph before driving out of the parking lot. She counted to a hundred before she glanced at her silent passenger. "Are you insane? Because if you are, just say so. I'll drop you wherever you want to go and we're done."
"I said I was sorry. It was a reflex." He shivered continually beneath the blanket.
"A reflex. I see. Killing people is a reflex."
He looked at her then, his blue eyes piercing through her sunglasses. "I didn't kill you."
She snorted. "You tried."
"If I'd tried, you'd be dead."
"That's twice."
"I said I was sorry and I am. My head is pounding, and I can't seem to tell the difference between what is real and what I'm hallucinating."
"Then you're going to the hospital."
"No. You might as well kill me yourself."
Rikki sighed. "Don't tempt me." She stopped at the stop sign at the top of the hill and tapped out a rhythm on her steering wheel while she considered what to do. He was unstable, no question about it, and she was no nurse but ... She sighed again and turned right toward Sea Haven.
The farm was located just
off of Highway 1. The drive to the property was lined with trees of every kind, great towering giants. Even redwoods. She loved the redwoods, which were so majestic and regal. She thought of them as sentries guarding the way to the farm. The double gate was ornate. Lissa had made it, welding and twisting the iron into a work of art. All of them loved it. Once the gate was open, she drove in slowly, making certain it closed behind her. She focused completely on her surroundings, blocking out Lev while she entered the farm.
She knew every tree and shrub. She knew where everything was and if anything had been disturbed, and she always paid close attention to detail. Blythe warned her that she was paranoid, but before entering her home, Rikki always walked around it, circling to look for signs of someone nearby. Footprints. Crushed leaves. Gas cans. Kerosene. Anything flammable.
She drove to Blythe's home first. She was the first choice to rid Rikki of Lev. He needed someone strong, and Blythe was no-nonsense and would see right through him if he lied--she hoped. Mostly she just wanted to get rid of the man. She knew the minute she pulled up to the large house that Blythe hadn't returned.
"Damn it," she hissed aloud. "How long does it take to get married? Five minutes?"
"Do you want to get married?" he asked, confused.
"No. Let me think. I was going to find somebody who could take care of you. Blythe or Lexi are the best ones I would think, but . . ." She didn't want Lexi with this stranger. She was too young.
"I want to stay with you."
She flicked him a quick, angry look. "Well, you can't. No one comes in my house. I don't like it."
His teeth chattered. "Just for a little while, until I can figure out what's going on. I don't even know my own name for certain."
What choice did she have? She hadn't done a single thing right yet. But how was she going to manage having someone in her home? Her sanctuary? She didn't even know if it was dangerous, but she guessed it probably was. If she was starting fires, she was starting them in her sleep when she was under stress. Having this stranger in her home would definitely be stressful.
"I don't know what to do." For the first time, she was really beginning to be afraid. "Maybe I could just get you warm. You can wait for Blythe in my house."
"Who's Blythe?"
"My sister. Sort of. It's complicated."
She drove to her house, watching the drive, looking for tire tracks. "Stay here," she ordered as she parked her truck and jumped out. She hesitated with the door open. "If you lay one hand on me when I come back, you'd better make certain you kill me, because you won't live through it if you don't."
Lev watched her mouth compress into a line of warning. He thought she looked more like temptation than danger. She fascinated him. She hadn't screamed, not once. She hadn't reacted in any of the ways a woman alone with a killer should have acted. "Take off your glasses."
She stepped back. "Why?"
"I want to see your eyes."
"You really are crazy." She started to turn away from him.
"Rikki."
It was the first time he'd called her by name and her shoulders stiffened. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.
"I need to see your eyes. Your eyes . . . ground me."
Her tongue moistened her bottom lip. She frowned, but her hand went up to the frames, her fingers curling there for a heart-stopping moment while she decided whether or not to indulge him. He found his breath remained trapped in his lungs. She whipped off the glasses and he could breathe again. He found himself there, in the bottomless depths of her eyes. The very deepest sea had come alive and looked back at him. Found him. Saved him. Something broken in his head righted itself. He took a deep breath and nodded.
She pushed her glasses back on her nose and walked away from him. He didn't take his eyes from her as she searched the ground surrounding her house. She was looking for something, and she was meticulous about her inspection. She had a small porch on the front of her house, and like her boat and truck, it was immaculate. She crouched down and peered at the dirt near a hose. The hose was wound around a cylinder very neatly and there was obviously a lot of hose, but he couldn't detect a single kink it in it.
She disappeared around the corner of the house and he shoved the door open immediately, his heart contracting until it hurt. For a moment he was afraid of it stopping. It had hurt like that right before it had stopped. He remembered the moment vividly. He'd been drowning in her eyes, controlling the pain, so connected he was part of her, living and breathing, and then she'd looked down toward the murky depths, breaking the contact. At once the pain had struck, violent and brutal--his chest tightened until he thought he might explode, and then he was sinking into blackness. Emptiness. A void, cold and dark and merciless.
He didn't like losing sight of her, not when she was his salvation--and that made no sense to him. Nothing made sense. He tried a few cautious steps and had to grip the door. The ground tilted and his stomach lurched.
"What are you doing? Didn't I tell you to wait?"
Again he had that strange reaction to her waspish tone, and he wanted to smile. He couldn't shake his head because it might explode, and if he answered, he might vomit. He kept his teeth tight and reached blindly for her. She stepped up to him and took his weight. They both nearly toppled to the ground before he managed to steady himself, using her like a crutch. Her breath hissed out of her, and he hoped he hadn't hurt her. She wrapped her arm tight around his waist, muttering to herself as she walked him toward her door.
Again he had the impulse to laugh, which was insane when every step made him sicker. The ground rolled and little rockets exploded behind his eyes. She began to tremble and slow, as if she was reluctant, as they gained the porch.
"Maybe you should sit outside in the chair there and rest," she suggested.
"I have to lie down." He really did. And it was going to have to be soon.
He heard her grind her teeth. She propped him against her and unlocked her door, shoved it open and took him inside. He felt her shudder and attempted to ease his weight from her, but his legs turned to rubber. She kept him upright with surprising strength.
"A few more steps and you'll be in the bedroom. I'm going to lay you down and try to get your wet clothes off."
She sounded dispassionate, as if he wasn't a man at all. She didn't seem embarrassed by the thought of removing his clothes, but then she was a diver and he knew they often had to strip with other divers around them. He didn't mind that she wasn't embarrassed, but it vaguely bothered him that she didn't see him as a man. With his head pounding so hard and his chest so tight, he wasn't certain of anything, so he dismissed the notion as idiotic.
The moment he stretched out on the bed, he closed his eyes and let her work. She found his knife in one boot and his holdout gun in the other. There was another knife strapped to his leg. Another gun in his belt. A third one in a harness. Another knife and three small daggers in loops at his belt. She didn't say a word but her breathing changed. She inhaled several times quite sharply. That made him want to smile too. She found his throwing stars and the two throwing knives, but she missed the garrotes sewn into his clothing.
"What are you? Some kind of assassin?"
He didn't answer. She was tugging his clothing off of him, and he knew the instant she saw him as a man. Her hands stilled and she made a single sound, a low note he couldn't quite interpret. He opened his eyes and caught her looking, her eyes enormous and beautiful, the lashes fanning the sweep of her high cheekbone. She looked up at him and he felt a physical jolt.
She cleared her throat and tugged on his jeans. "Lift up."
It was more difficult than he thought it would be. His energy was gone and his body felt like lead. He couldn't control the continual shaking. She tossed aside his clothes and wrapped blankets around him, enclosing him in a warm cocoon. He found it interesting that she didn't say a word about the numerous scars on his body.
When she turned away, he caught her hand. He wa
ited until she looked back at him. "I need my weapons. Just in case."
"You won't shoot me. Or stab me. Or throw one of those thingies at me."
"No."
She snorted. "How would you know? You don't know what you're doing half the time."
"Still."
She sighed and began stacking weapons on the bed beside the pillow. "Fine. But I'll be royally pissed if you try to kill me again. It's getting old."
He frowned as he watched her pick up his clothes and the wet blanket she'd taken off her boat. She didn't have an ounce of self-preservation. He was a stranger. She had marks from his fingers on her neck. He'd put a knife to her throat. Still, she'd given him back his weapons and turned her back on him as if it were all of little consequence to her. She wasn't afraid of him, although he had a nagging feeling she was afraid of something--maybe not fear exactly, but she was worried or anxious.
He watched her through narrowed, half-closed eyes, keeping his breathing regulated so that she dismissed him to take his clothes to the laundry room. He heard her but couldn't see her as she started up the washing machine. Then she was back, meticulously wiping up her hardwood floor until it gleamed. She must have warmed some blankets because she stripped off his blanket and tucked two more around him, still muttering to herself under her breath.
He really was far gone and confused, because he was beginning to find that habit rather adorable. As long as he remained focused on her, he didn't think about pain or what the hell had happened to him. Or who wanted him dead. Or who he was supposed to kill. He didn't want her out of his sight. She moved with a quiet efficiency that reminded him of the way water flowed. She paid attention to detail, and he noticed that she inspected the windows in the room. Once she ran her finger along the ledge and muttered a little to herself.
She left the room and returned with a cup of water. He could see stream rising as she bent over him. "If you drink this, it will help warm you up. I've got to clean up the wound on your head. You're still bleeding and it's a mess." She slid her arm under him and helped to half lift him, enabling him to take a few small sips of the warm water before she laid him back down.
Water Bound Page 6