Out of the Blue

by Kathryn Nolan

  I shook my head as Caleb came back into the room. He grabbed his sister by the shoulders and gently propelled her to a couch bed that I remembered as being seriously lumpy but now looked like paradise.

  “Dora said the paramedics said nothing broken, no water in the lungs, right?” Caleb asked.

  Serena nodded, crawling under the covers. I busied myself unpacking what Caleb had brought for us—three different kinds of over-the-counter painkillers. Heating pads. Ice. Epsom salts.

  “It was a bad one,” Serena was saying. “Prue said I was two minutes under.”

  Caleb whistled low beneath his breath. “I’m sorry, sis. That is a truly frightening amount of time to be under the water like that.” He twisted at the waist to look at me. “How are you feeling, Cope?”

  “Like a tank used me for target practice.”

  He gave me a half smile. “Sounds about right. Can I ask when the last time you went swimming in the ocean was?”

  I hesitated. “When I was fifteen.”

  He nodded, serious. “Then that was an extraordinary act of courage, buddy. Not a lot of people can swim through the waves at The Wedge.”

  “I didn’t really have a choice in the matter,” I said.

  There was full understanding in his expression. I would gladly paddle out into a tsunami if Serena was in trouble, and he got that. He’d do the same. And routinely did the same for absolute strangers who needed his help.

  I pulled out two Styrofoam containers that smelled like heaven and looked at Caleb for an explanation.

  “Oh, that’s California burritos from the Taco Surf Shack,” he said with a grin.

  I went still. “Did Dora mention this to you?”

  “Uh, no,” he said. “I just always think burritos are a solid choice after a casual brush with death.”

  I chuckled, thinking of my dad. “I tend to agree.”

  My phone buzzed a few times in my pocket.

  “I need to take a call outside,” I said.

  Serena peeked around Caleb’s shoulder, quizzical, but her brother’s presence made it impossible to say anything. I stepped onto the porch, trying to tap into the agent instincts basically embedded in my DNA at this point. But things were quiet, peaceful. Birds were singing, neighbors were mowing their lawns, the sun was shining.

  When I checked my phone, I had two missed calls from Marilyn.

  Shit.

  I didn’t return them, knowing I’d pay for it later, and dialed my best friend instead.

  Hi, you’ve reached Quentin Abernathy with the San Diego Times…

  Sometimes, when he had a strong lead on a story, he’d ignore calls for hours, surfacing later like a deep-sea diver when he was done.

  Or the beefy-and-scary dudes I saw in the SUV had gotten to him.

  But a text came through ten seconds later. Talking with a source. Will call, I promise.

  I let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling marginally better. I considered calling Falco, to keep an extra eye on the house, but then decided against it. I still couldn’t tell him the truth about Aerial, and once I revealed the wipeout story, he’d be suspicious immediately. I wouldn’t have risked my life so substantially for one of our regular clients. And I wasn’t ready to unburden myself of every secret just yet.

  Everything—from Quentin’s source to the escalating threats—gave me the feeling that things would be coming to a head soon. Hopefully in a good way. I just needed a little more time, a few more days, and then everyone at my job could know the truth.

  Besides, after what had transpired between me and Serena in the ocean, I was confident we’d protect each other, no matter what.

  I walked the perimeter of the house to put my fretful mind at ease. My muscles groaned with every step. I felt sluggish, and heavy exhaustion swarmed my nerves.

  Back inside, Caleb was organizing supplies on the counter and pouring two large glasses of water with ice. He nodded at the now sleeping form of his sister in the other room.

  “Already out cold,” he whispered. He pointed at the porch, and I followed him there, resting against the door for support.

  “It’s normal to feel like you want to sleep for a year,” he said, touching my arm. “It’s your body’s healing response to the fear and trauma and, honestly, the tremendous amount of physical exertion you both just went through. Let yourself rest, and you’ll start feeling a lot better.”

  I ran a hand through my hair and asked Caleb a question I was worried about. “Did I put Serena in greater risk? Swimming out there like that when there was already a rescue effort in place?”

  He shook his head. “Generally, we believe the less bodies there are in the water, the better. And certainly Good Samaritans, as noble as their intentions are, have complicated rescue efforts in the past. But you didn’t keep those skis from getting to Serena on time. That was the bad luck of a nasty set.”

  “But in the end, she had to save me,” I said. “I wouldn’t have been strong enough to survive that wave if she hadn’t talked me through it and held us beneath the water until we were safe.”

  He leaned against the banister and crossed his arms. “Would anything have stopped you from going in there? Because nothing would have stopped me if I had been in your position. You were acting on a human instinct as old as time. One that I know you and your family are deeply familiar with.”

  The empathy on his face just about did me in. Nothing would have stopped my dad either, nothing did stop my dad, and he paid the ultimate price for it. The person he’d rescued that day was a man named Victor, a bodysurfer who’d gotten dragged into the riptides. And while my father had been able to push Victor to shore, an undercurrent trapped him before his friends could help. He drowned.

  My father knew Victor from the small, dedicated group of people who happened to surf, swim, and bodysurf that section of the beach every morning. He knew that Victor’s girlfriend was pregnant and due to have their baby in a few months.

  Victor and Diana still sent us pictures of their daughter, now thirteen, who shares the name Cope with me.

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “I couldn’t have stopped even if I tried.”

  “Because you’ve got a good heart, Cope,” he said. “And that’s why I trust you with my sister. She doesn’t need anyone to protect her on those waves, as you now know.” His throat worked, making his voice hoarse. “But being on your own out there, facing that kind of wave, trust me. I’ve done it before, and the terror can freeze you in place if you’re not careful. I believe Serena saved your life. And I believe having you there saved hers.”

  He dropped his hat back on his head and began walking back to the car. “I’ll check on you both later. But try not to get into any trouble for at least a few hours? You two have had enough excitement for one day.”

  I managed a weak smile before hurrying back inside and locking the door. I barely made it through a routine check of locks and windows before I collapsed on the couch bed. Serena was curled on her side, hair obscuring her face, totally vulnerable.

  I will not let anything happen to you, Cope McDaniels. Do you trust me?

  I crawled under the covers, setting my phone right beside me. Then I pulled Serena against my chest and wrapped both arms around her, resting my nose in her hair. She let out a relaxed sigh and murmured something I couldn’t hear.

  “What’s that, sunshine?” I whispered.

  She snuggled closer. “I knew you would come for me. I just knew it.”

  37

  Serena

  When I finally woke up, it was in total disorientation.

  The only sounds I could hear were Cope’s steady breaths paired with his heartbeat. As tempted as I was to pull the covers back up and sleep for another three hours cuddled against his warm chest, I was concerned about the sounds my stomach was making. I was starving and dimly remembered that Caleb had brought over burritos and salty snacks and enough dessert to last us through the weekend.

  Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and
immediately regretted it. My chest felt like a horse had stomped on it and every muscle ached down to the ends of my toes. Breathing out slowly, I untangled my limbs from Cope’s heavy ones and crept across the floor in my bare feet.

  I flicked on a few low lights in the hallway and kitchen, not wanting to disturb Cope too much. I found the containers with our food and almost fainted dead away with hunger when I smelled it. Grabbing a skillet, I placed it quietly on the stove just as I heard the rhythmic buzzing of Cope’s phone. I’d stirred a few times to the sound during our nap but had fallen back to sleep before realizing what it was.

  As I washed my hands in the sink, I peered at my reflection in the kitchen window and winced at the pinch in my shoulders.

  A man moved across the yard, right in front of the window.

  My hands stopped. The soap clattered into the sink as the water ran.

  Another man appeared. Giant. Hulking. Both walking toward the back door that led right into the kitchen.

  I thought I’d known true fear today, peering up at the wave about to crash over our heads without mercy. The sight of those two men froze my tongue, halted my heart, hushed my breathing.

  “Cope,” I said, but it was only a whisper. It was like my throat stopped working. The door to my left was locked. I could see it was locked. There was a scraping sound, like a tool being used.

  The doorknob started to turn.

  I screamed Cope’s name as the men outside kicked open the door and were suddenly in my kitchen in my house. They wore face masks, dressed all in black, and the slightly bigger one had his hand over my mouth and my back against the wall in seconds.

  A sharp fear left a metallic taste in the back of my throat.

  “Shhh,” he said. “Do not fucking scream again, do you understand? This doesn’t need to be that hard. You know who sent us, and you know what they want. Give me those files or whatever that lady gave to you, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  Aerial.

  If we hadn’t experienced such a traumatic wipeout, we would probably have been with Quentin right now or looking for Catalina or anything that hadn’t made us sitting ducks for their escalating threats to finally reach us. Instead, Cope and I had fallen dead asleep in an unprotected house.

  The other guard stood menacingly to his left, like they expected me to cave in and give it up. To cave and let this company continue to lie about their sins because they had money and power.

  I refused to do that. Beneath the pulse of fear, I remembered I was a woman who defied gravity, a woman with saltwater in her veins and the tides in her heart. I’d stared down a thirty-foot wave today and survived.

  I snatched the skillet balanced on the stove and smacked the guy in the face. He yelled, grabbing his nose in pain, and let me go. I made a break for it, but the second guard grabbed me around the waist with hands the size of Frisbees. Cope had taught me a thing or two about self-defense when we were together. I pitched my elbow back into whatever body part was behind me while kicking my feet.

  My attacks were met with a wall of unmoving muscle. I screamed as he hauled me upright, wrapping a meaty arm across my chest to hold me still.

  Then two more things happened.

  The guard holding me removed a small knife from his pocket.

  And Cope appeared.

  He leaned against the half-wall separating the kitchen from the living room, his arms crossed over his chest. The expression on his face could only be described as lethal. He was nothing but thick muscle and corded power. Everything about his body radiated a perilous confidence.

  I knew his casual demeanor lulled people into a false sense of security, even as I knew those sharp eyes were busy calculating every move. Only I would have noticed the sweat on his brow and the tiny tremble in his fingers.

  His blue eyes met and held mine, like he knew I needed them to stay calm. I thought about being with him in the ocean, the way I harnessed his focus so we could live and not get swallowed up by panic. He trusted me to see us through the danger.

  I trusted him to do the same now.

  Cope arched an eyebrow and said, “What are you doing attacking my wife?”

  The guy I hit with the skillet stood back up, blood streaming from his nose. “Just give us the files so we can get out of here, okay? It’s not going to do you any good to fight them on this. Last time I checked, they always win.” He cracked his knuckles. “Is it somewhere in the house? Or on a laptop?”

  “This is kind of awkward,” Cope said. “But we don’t have any files. And I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You’ve also broken into our home.” He paused. “You can let go of her now, by the way.”

  The guy’s arm clamped down harder, but my husband’s measured gaze kept my panic at bay.

  Skillet Guy said, “Do you think we’re stupid?”

  “Yes, I do.” Cope said calmly.

  The guy holding me held the knife up—not against my body but close enough for me to see how sharp it was. “I don’t care if you think I’m stupid. I do care that we’ve been told to do whatever it takes to get the information back. Do I need to use her to do the convincing?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Cope warned.

  “Give us the drive, or I start using this knife,” the guy said.

  I could feel my terror, begging to be released. But Cope kept staring at me with more love than I thought possible to convey. And as the knife danced near my skin, he went totally still, the way apex predators do in the jungle before they pounce.

  “If you harm her in any way, I will make it my mission to turn your life into a shrieking hell of human misery,” he said. “How about that for an answer?”

  The other guy sighed like we were a giant pain in his ass. “I guess I’ll beat it out of you then.”

  The guy ran past me at full speed, and Cope side-stepped him like they were partnered on a waltz. Cope punched him so hard in the jaw he stumbled back, dazed. Snarling, he lashed out at Cope, who was studying him the way a cat studies an especially tasty mouse.

  The man holding me started to drag us farther back into the kitchen. “Maybe you can tell me where the info is while they’re distracted. How does that sound?”

  I went limp in his arms, scratched at his wrists, anything to slow down his progress. Cope landed a nasty hit in the other guy’s stomach, causing him to bend over, clutching his side.

  “I told you we don’t have jack shit,” Cope said. “And now I’m just fucking pissed off.” His next punch sent the guy sprawling to the floor. He kicked him in the ribs. “And I’m still going to turn your life into a shrieking hell of human misery.”

  The guy curled into a ball, coughing and wheezing. Then Cope turned around and stalked toward us. I realized how much he restrained his strength and skill around me. Because he wasn’t holding back now.

  The arm around my chest loosened—out of fear or shock, I’d never know. But I jammed my elbows back into the guy’s chest, catching him off guard, and dropped out of his hold just as Cope reached us. The guy made a scared, sloppy attempt at fighting back, but Cope had his knee in the man’s groin a second later. And then he did it again. Grabbing his shirt, Cope lifted him up and against the wall with a hand around his throat.

  “If you come near my wife again, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. You got it?” Cope said with a snarl.

  The guy managed a strained nod, gasping. Cope released him. Punched him across the face so forcefully I swore he spun before falling to the ground.

  Slowly, my husband turned to face me with a heaving chest and a fierceness in his gaze. If we hadn’t already been married, I would have eagerly agreed to do it on the spot.

  “Did they hurt you?” he asked hoarsely.

  “No, I’m fine,” I said. “Did they hurt you?”

  He shook his head, reaching for me just as a car came squealing down my driveway. When he wrapped his arms around me, I pressed my cheek to his chest. He held me there for a few comforting seconds as
we caught our breath.

  “You were incredible,” I said. “You saved me.”

  Cope’s lips landed on the top of my head, and he hugged me even tighter. “I’ll do just that every day of my life if it’s required of me.” I looked up, propped my chin on his chest. Saw him smile. “And consider it a thank you for saving my life, earlier.”

  We’d survived big waves and multiple attackers, so why hold back now? I pressed onto my tiptoes and kissed him. “I love you so much.”

  His eyes searched mine like I was a miracle in the flesh. “I love you so much too.”

  Footsteps crunched across my driveway, and Cope reluctantly released me. When he pulled open the front door, I was shocked to see Falco standing there, looking serious and determined.

  “Are you two okay?” he asked. He stormed into the kitchen and cursed when he saw our sprawled-out attackers.

  “We’re fine, and you have excellent timing,” Cope said. To me, he explained, “I called for backup as soon as I heard you scream.”

  I heard another car come speeding down our driveway. Terrified, I yanked open the curtains and sighed when I recognized the jeep.

  “Did you call Quentin too?”

  “No, I did not,” Cope murmured.

  He took a second to help Falco restrain Skillet Guy. My other agent flashed us a wary look.

  “When do you plan on filling me in on whatever’s going on?” he asked Cope.

  Cope winced. “As soon as I can. I promise. Thank you for coming. I would call for more backup while you stay at the property, since I’m not sure who else might come for Serena, and I won’t be here to help you.”

  Falco nodded, sitting back on his heels. “Fine by me. But you know that Marilyn—”

  “Is probably going to fire me, yeah,” Cope said grimly, although he didn’t seem that upset about this. “I’m taking Serena, and I’ll call you as soon as I can with the full story. You got this?”

  Falco shrugged next to the man wiggling on the ground with his hands tied. “Sure.”