by Nancy Bush
She’d hurried to meet him, slipping a little on the wet concrete walk that led to the Sand Bar’s front door, her new boots kind of pinchy and uncomfortable, but they looked good.
Inside, she followed the dull path of carpet to the darkened main bar where, luckily, a pink neon beer sign in the shape of a crab helped her make out some forms.
“Belinda!” Rob called, standing up at a table at the back of the room.
She threaded her way carefully toward him, decrying her bumpity bump hips as they brushed the tables. When she neared he reached out and grabbed her arm, guiding her the last few steps to a black Naugahyde bench. He sat right down beside her, their thighs touching, then he turned on his phone and used it like a flashlight to show her her drink.
“It’s really dark in here,” she said apologetically.
“I kind of like it.” And his hand had slipped along her forearm, sending her nerve endings into high gear.
She honestly couldn’t remember all that much about the rest of the evening, except that he drove her home and kissed her lightly on the lips at the front door of her crappy apartment. She’d told him she was a teacher’s aide, and had said she was working on her degree; she remembered that much. And she did recall throwing herself into his arms and planting a sloppy kiss back at him.
Embarrassing!
But he’d laughed, squeezed her, and said that he would keep in touch.
She’d thought that would be it, but he was as good as his word, texting her from every city he visited. Two weeks after that first encounter he was back, and that time she’d let him into her bedroom. Actually, she’d practically dragged him in and he’d made love to her so sweetly, she’d fought back tears. Luckily, she hadn’t broken down and cried. How juvenile would that have been? At the door he’d kissed her hard enough to make her toes curl.
“When will you be back?” she’d asked, dying inside at the thought of not seeing him for a while. She would die without him. Just die.
“Next Saturday night. Take the last ferry out of Friday Harbor to Orcas Island,” he told her.
“The last ferry? I could come earlier,” she said eagerly.
“No. The last ferry. Go to the upper deck. I’ll have something special for you.”
So here she was, cruising along. The sun had sunk into the sea and there was a quiet somnolence to the humming engines and near-empty boat. She couldn’t concentrate on her book. She half expected something amazing to happen, like he might suddenly appear or something, but so far there’d been no surprises.
Bzzz. She jumped when she heard the text.
I see you, little bird.
She looked around wildly, eagerly. He was here! But where?
And then she spied him on the outside deck, peering through the window at her. He lifted a hand in greeting, his teeth a grin of white. Abandoning her book, she ran to the door, sliding it open and was greeted by a slap of cold sea air and a buffeting wind. When she rounded the corner he’d disappeared from where he’d looked at her through the window. “Where are you?” she called, but the wind had risen and it felt like her words were thrown back into her throat.
“Right here.”
He was behind her, grabbing her around the waist.
She laughed in delight and tried to turn to face him, but he wouldn’t have it. She realized he was humping her from behind.
“I want you, little bird. Right here. Right now.”
“Are you crazy?” She giggled. “Anybody could come up on us!”
“But they won’t. Come on.”
And then she was sprawled facedown on the deck and he was yanking down her jeans and pulling up her hips, jamming himself inside her, pumping hard and fast. It hurt like hell, and she couldn’t help the little yelp of pain, though she tried to stifle it. She acquiesced, her eyes sliding around in fear, hoping against hope no one would discover them.
She was relieved when it was over. “Good, huh,” he breathed in her ear, one hand gripping her breast almost painfully.
“Good,” she murmured, reaching for the jeans that were pooled around her ankles. She was in an ungainly position, on her hands and knees, when he suddenly swooped her to her feet, finally turning her to look at him.
“My pants,” she whispered, trying to grab at them with her right hand.
“You don’t need them where you’re going.”
“What?”
“Birds need to fly.”
And then he picked her up with furious strength and tossed her over the rail. She was so stunned, she didn’t cry out until the black water closed over her head. She gulped in water, flailing, dragged down by the jeans tangled at her ankles, unable to kick with any strength. By the time she could make a sound the ferry had churned away into the blackness, and the wind shrieked louder than her voice. She screamed and screamed but she was no match for the gales that tore across the surface of the water.
The last sight she had on this earth were the ferry lights, growing smaller and smaller, finally winking out.
Then the black water closed over her head.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2016 by Nancy Bush
Previously published in November 1994 in an unrevised edition under the title Tangled and the author Nancy Kelly.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3861-0
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3862-7
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3862-6