by Edie Claire
“You sure can,” he said proudly. “This view’s as good for storm watching as any of the pricier resorts.” He reached under the counter and produced her key, which he delivered with his usual check-in spiel. She took the key from his hand with a nod, but appeared to be only half-listening. Her gaze remained locked on the window, her expression pensive. “So, what brings you to Tofino?” he finished pleasantly, attempting to break her trance.
She turned back to him, her manner all business again. “Do you know where I can rent a car?” she asked, ignoring his question. “Not a regular place — I mean something local, and super cheap. I don’t care if it’s a wreck as long as it runs.”
“I… might,” Jason said uncertainly. In fact, he did. He had an extra car himself. But he wanted to know a little more about her first. “If you give me until tomorrow, I can ask around.”
“Okay.” Her blue eyes surveyed him critically, as if every word from his mouth was suspect.
If he were not in fact half-lying, he could be offended. But he didn’t offend easily. He smiled at her instead. “So, I’m guessing you’re a storm watcher?”
The pupils within her blue eyes widened, as if she were surprised by the question. Then she averted her gaze and stepped away from the counter, back toward the entrance. Only then did he notice her luggage, and the reason she was soaking wet in the first place. She did have a rain jacket — she’d just chosen to wrap it around her suitcase instead of herself. “I’m here to see the ocean,” she surprised him by answering as she tugged her suitcase toward the door to the common room. “It will be a first for me.”
“First time seeing the Pacific?” he asked gaily, excited on her behalf.
“Any ocean,” she replied, turning her back to him.
“Any ocean?” Jason repeated with amazement. “Like, ever? Really?”
But he was doomed to wonder. Before she could reply — assuming she even would have — the outside door swung open wide, admitting a very tall man wearing a comparatively expert-looking waterproof jacket, backpack, and boots. Laney threw the newcomer only a passing glance, then disappeared through the doorway without another word.
Jason stifled his disappointment as he turned to his other guest. “Hey there,” he greeted. “I hope you’re not looking for a room tonight, because we’re all—” He stopped himself. He’d never met the man before, but he’d seen a picture or two. The visitor was in his early thirties, with ginger hair and a friendly, mischievous sort of smile. “Ben Parker?” Jason guessed.
The man’s smile widened. “Afraid so!” he replied, extending his hand. The men exchanged a fist bump, followed by a hearty shake. “And you must be Jason. Great to meet you finally.”
“Likewise,” Jason agreed. He and Ben had been conversing by email for well over a year now, after having been put in touch by a combination of mutual friends and family. Ben had been trying to decide whether to pursue his doctorate in oceanography at the University of Victoria or elsewhere, and since Jason had graduated with a bachelor’s from the relevant department, he’d been able to supply an insider’s scoop. Through the process they’d discovered much in common, and once Ben’s decision was made they’d hatched plans for him to come up and surf sometime. Today’s visit had been expected… just not today.
“I know I’m early,” Ben apologized. “Don’t worry about putting me up tonight. Sorry — impulse thing. Haley wanted to spend a few extra days with her sister and the kids in Newport Beach, and I had to get back to school. But Victoria’s deadly boring without her.”
Jason chuckled. He’d never met anyone who talked more frequently and glowingly about his wife, with the exception of his brother Thane, of course. But at least Thane was a newlywed. Ben and Haley had been married for years already! How they kept from getting deadly bored with each other, he had no idea.
“I wasn’t putting you up here at the lodge anyway,” Jason explained. “You can crash at my place. Makes it easier to get an early start. Assuming the storm’s blown over by then…”
The men fell into an enthusiastic discussion of weather and waves as Jason shut down his laptop and prepared to lock up the office. The rain abated as they talked, but the wind had kicked up another notch.
Jason finished what he needed to do and was about to suggest they leave when he noticed an unexpected look of concern on Ben’s face. “What?” Jason asked, following the other man’s gaze out the window. “Nobody’s trying to surf in this mess, are they?”
Ben shook his head. “No,” he said in a low voice, pointing not at the surfing beach, but toward the jumble of boulders at the nearby point. “It’s that woman. Look. She’s making me nervous. She looks like she’s thinking about climbing up on those rocks.”
Jason located the figure in question and sucked in a breath. He knew that crimson-colored raincoat. He’d seen it not ten minutes ago. “That’s Laney.”
“Does she know what she’s doing? I mean—”
“Hell, no. She just told me she’s never been to the ocean before!”
Their eyes met with shared alarm. When they looked back out, the distant figure was placing two hands and a sneaker up the side of a boulder.
Both men uttered expletives and lunged for the door. They collided shoulder to shoulder in the process, after which Jason took the lead, heading outside and around the building, then sprinting down the slope and onto the sand. “Laney!” he yelled. “Laney Miller! STOP!”
But his cries were useless against the howling wind, which stole the words from his mouth and tumbled them off over his shoulders. His waving arms were equally useless, since she was looking the opposite direction. By the time the men reached the base of the rocky outcropping, she was already on top of the large boulder closest to the water, standing with her face to the open ocean. From where they stood on the sand, she could neither see nor hear them.
Jason turned to Ben, gesturing in case his words were lost, even at this close distance. “I’ll go up,” he shouted. “You stay underneath.”
Ben nodded, and the two exchanged another look — this one of sheer determination. What Laney didn’t understand was that bracing oneself against the wind, particularly on wet rock, was one thing. Doing so while perched at the edge of an angry Pacific was another. She obviously had no knowledge of waves — how dramatically they could change in size and reach, coming from nowhere to pound heights that were previously untouched. Accidental drownings were more common in places like Hawaii, where the waves could get truly immense, but even in British Columbia, unsuspecting rock climbers were regularly swept to their deaths. The spot where Laney stood now might not appear dangerous, but even a modestly above-average wave could knock her off her feet. And with any slip, her body would strike the jagged rocks below even before she plunged into the frigid whitewater.
Jason scrambled up the side of the rocky outcropping, uncertain of his best plan of attack. He needed to reach her as quickly as possible, but he also had to avoid startling her, and the latter would be difficult when the only way he could approach her was from behind. He could see Ben moving into the surf below, wading out as far as he could to try and place himself in her peripheral vision. If Laney would turn her head even a fraction, he might succeed. But the woman remained standing still as a statue, looking not at the roiling surf below but up — facing straight into the wind, staring at the clouds overhead.
Jason had no time to ponder what in hell might be wrong with her. He chose his footing carefully and picked his way across the boulders in order to approach her from the far side. That way, if he did startle her, she would at least tend to fall toward where Ben — who had given up on catching her attention — should by now be waiting below.
He skirted the black rocks behind and around her exposed perch. Then he began inching forward over the large boulder itself, careful to place his feet in grooves and crags where he had some hope of maintaining traction in a wave. Eventually, he made his way far enough out to see the side of her face.
&nb
sp; Laney’s wet blond hair blew back in the wind, exposing high cheek bones flared with color and a small, pert nose. Wrapped in the oversized crimson raincoat, at first glance she again gave the impression of a vulnerable, defenseless child. But when he made out the grim expression on her face and the intensity of her gaze, he was struck with an unexpected sense of awe.
She was not appreciating the power of nature as an ordinary storm-watching tourist might. She was not reveling in it, worshipping it, or seeking inspiration from it. Nor — he was certain now — was she surrendering to it, as would someone who was suicidal. No, this small, inconsequential woman was freakin’ daring it. She was standing alone on a rock at the edge of the most powerful, most deadly ocean on earth, staring into an infinite wind that could at any moment crush her like a bug, and her overriding attitude toward the storm she faced appeared to be… well, for lack of a better description… Eff You.
With an effort, he snapped himself back into action. “Laney!” he shouted, having little confidence that she could hear him, even now, when he stood mere feet away.
As expected, his voice dissolved into the wind, buffered by the constant crashing of the surf, and she made no response. Jason cast another glance out over the ocean and tensed. A taller than usual wave set was closing in. He double-checked his footing, then waved an arm as far out to her side as he could reach. “Laney!”
On the third sweep of his arm, her head swung round. Thankfully, her feet didn’t follow. Her bold eyes fixed on him with a clear look of surprise, mingled with an appropriate degree of alarm. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Jason was reading her lips as much as he could hear her. He stretched one foot out onto a more vulnerable position on the rock and extended his arms. The taller waves would strike any second. If he moved any closer to where she stood now, they would both be toppled. “It’s not safe!” he called, gesturing urgently for her to move toward him. “Come this way!”
The emotions on her face were easy to read — at least for him, since reading women was a skill he took some pride in. She was thinking that his sudden, unsolicited appearance here in her private space was an intrusion, and she resented it. She was perfectly fine, she thought, and didn’t need his assistance. In assuming that she did, he was acting like every other patronizing, patriarchal, overbearing, egotistical, yada, yada, yada...
“There’s no time!” he begged. “Come on!”
She looked over her shoulder. She must have registered the height of the wave currently bearing down on them, because when she turned back around, her face was ashen. This time, she did slide her feet, and as Jason feared, the wet rock was unforgiving. She might have regained her balance in time if she had reached out for him, but to his dismay, she opted to go it alone, throwing her arms out to her sides as ballast. Whether it would have worked or not they would never know, because in the next instant the wave broke and swept over the surface of the boulder, striking her lower legs with a blast of chilly seawater.
Forced to step back to hold his own position, Jason felt frustratingly helpless as he watched her footing become unmoored. But as he’d hoped, the wave swept her toward him involuntarily, and he was able to grasp one flailing wrist just as her body flipped horizontally and slipped beneath the foam. Her arm went disturbingly limp, and as the wave began to recede it tugged her unresisting form away from him again and out toward the edge of the boulder. Jason held on fast, swinging her weight in an arc to keep her from slipping over. As the wash that held her aloft began to stream away he quickly reeled her in, fighting to keep her head out of the water. At last, her whole body was within his control.
A barely audible voice shouted something to Jason from out of sight, and he looked over the edge of the boulder to see Ben standing in waist-high water, poised with his arms up, ready for a handoff. How the man managed to be standing there when three seconds ago he would have been underwater, Jason didn’t know and didn’t ask. He merely gripped Laney’s still-limp form by the armpits and lowered her down.
“Got her!” Ben announced. Settling Laney over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he immediately began moving up the beach, only to be struck from behind by the next crashing wave. Fortunately, the second peak lacked the height of its predecessor, and Ben kept his feet easily and continued to move. Jason lost sight of them as he picked his way back over the boulders, but when he reached the sand he could see that Ben was well up the hill already.
Jason broke into a run and joined them just as Ben laid Laney down flat on the floor of the lobby and bent over her, running through a quick CPR check. “Her pulse is good,” he proclaimed. Then, after a tense second or two, “And she’s breathing.”
Both men exhaled heavily. Jason grabbed his cell phone off the counter, then sank down on the floor. “I think she hit her head,” he said miserably.
As he dialed 911, Ben gently put a hand to her wet blond hair and felt around to the back of her skull. When he pulled his hand back, his fingers were laced with blood.
Jason’s heart sank in his chest. “We need an ambulance,” he answered the dispatcher. “And quick.”
Chapter 2
Cleveland County, Oklahoma, Seven Months Ago
Laney couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she looked out over the barbed wire fence at the stagnant pond. It was surrounded by pasture on three sides and a county road on the fourth, and she could see nothing in the vicinity besides fence posts, a few scraggly trees, and six cows resting languidly in the shade of the latter. She shook her head in amusement. It wasn’t funny, really. It would cost somebody significant money. But she still couldn’t keep herself from smiling.
She walked back to the truck and checked for a cell signal. She was in luck. She found the number and dialed. “Hey, Dr. Jarvis,” she greeted. “It’s Laney. I think I found it.”
“Awesome!” the older female voice on the other end of the line replied. “What kind of shape is it in?”
Laney cleared her throat. “I’m guessing not great, since it’s submerged in about six feet of water. And, uh… cow manure.”
There was a pause, followed by a random sampling of that uniquely colorful vocabulary for which the venerated professor was famous. “Are you serious?” she finished finally. “Where?”
“Pretty much right where we expected, based on the coordinates,” Laney replied. “They’re pointing to a cow pond. I can’t be sure, because I can’t see to the bottom of it. But I know I’m in the right spot, and if it was lying anywhere else around here, I would see it.”
Dr. Jarvis swore again. “Well, take some pictures of the area and come on back, then. We’ll just have to manage with the others for a while. I still can’t believe it took off like that — damn things are supposed to be more stable. That’s what they’re made for!”
Laney surveyed the central Oklahoma landscape, which extended in every direction as flat as a pancake with no other visible bodies of water. “Sheer bad luck, I guess,” she commiserated. The weather pods were designed to withstand storms, but not to swim.
She looked at the trees under which the cows were lying and noted the recent wind damage. Some leaves still remained in the center of the trees, but the outer areas had been stripped bare and many distal limbs had been snapped off altogether. She wondered that any tree managed to survive to maturity in this area. Nearby Norman, Oklahoma was home to the National Weather Center — and the University of Oklahoma School of Meteorology — for a reason. It sat squarely in the middle of one of the most active zones of tornado activity in the world.
“At least that pod was one of the old ones,” Laney continued, trying to soothe her mentor. “This wasn’t its first direct hit from an EF4.” Not that EF3s couldn’t do enough damage, she thought absently, the tornado that tipped her mother’s trailer never far from her mind. In the nearly twenty-five years since that fateful spring day, she had personally witnessed a dozen or more tornados and studied accounts of countless others that were far worse. Still, despi
te her best efforts at objectivity, the Peck tornado of 1994 would always play an outsized role in her psyche. At least she no longer suffered its emotional effects, those having been neatly suffocated by the weight of dispassionate scientific analysis required by her profession.
Dr. Jarvis made a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. “Yeah, the base was already cracked. I noticed that when we set it out. God only knows how that happened.”
Laney, who knew exactly how it had happened, squelched a smirk. The weather pods were designed to measure wind velocity, air pressure, and temperature under the most severe of conditions. But tumbling off the back of a moving pickup irresponsibly loaded by a team of hungover first-year grad students could cause a crack in just about anything. The guilty students had dutifully reported the event to their supervisor. But even he wasn’t brave enough to pass that info on to Jarvis.
“I suspect we may find the base somewhere else, eventually,” Laney suggested. “But the business end has had it.”
Jarvis swore a little more, then released her — reportedly favorite — doctoral candidate to her duties. Laney snapped some pictures of the area as requested, then climbed back into the university’s truck. She had just dropped her phone onto the empty passenger seat when it rang with a “yoo-hoo,” the ringtone she’d assigned her mother.
“Hey, Mom,” she greeted, picking up. “I’m out in the field right now — signal’s touch and go. What’s up?”
“This isn’t your mother,” a gravelly voice proclaimed. “I have her phone.”
A unpleasant feeling rose up in Laney’s middle. Her great-grandmother couldn’t operate a smartphone. She had a hard enough time with a wireless portable. “Gran? Is something wrong?”
“Yes, honey,” the voice answered with a croak. “Your mom’s dying.”