Adam

by Irish Winters

  He staggered to the nose of the plane, wiping the sweat out of his eyes and trying hard to differentiate between what was real and what wasn’t. Rounding the seaward side, he stood there panting and trying to catch a breath, the water up to his knees. Despite the bright tropical sun overhead, darkness pressed upon him. He shook it off. Now wasn’t the time to fail.

  “Shannon!” he called, his heart in his throat.

  A small movement near the belly of the craft caught his eye. There she was, clinging to what looked like the mangled aft cargo door, her mouth barely above water. The tiny movement he’d seen was her fingers lifting off the door to signal him. Thrashing through the debris-filled waves, he shoved all the things that had once been inside the plane out of his way as he hurried.

  “Adam. It’s really you. I was scared. I thought that…” she paused, sputter and sucked in a quick breath before the next wave washed over her face, “I thought I was going to drown.”

  The ocean was deeper on this side of the plane. Circling her with his left arm, he attempted to lift her against him. “I’ve got you now. Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Ow. Don’t pull.” She winced, stretching her arm over the smooth, flat door, her fingertips searching for a better grip. “I’m kinda stuck. Can’t hold on much longer. Can’t get away, either. Is everyone else okay?”

  “We’re still looking for Donavan,” Adam muttered. He ran his hands down her body, feeling for whatever had her trapped. His fingers tangled in cargo netting wrapped around her legs, the kind he’d seen draped aft when he’d inspected the drones prior to take-off. From the hip of her right leg and downward, she was caught. The netting had no give. Something beneath the plane held it fast.

  “Izza and Connor are okay, though?” she asked.

  Adam nodded. Shannon didn’t need to know any specifics just yet. He ducked underwater and dove to the bottom, hoping to see what needed to be done. No such luck. Too much foam and flotsam clouded the view.

  Rising back to the surface, he sucked in another gulp of air and returned below the waves. His chest burned with the strain of the shallow dive on his tender ribs, but he’d seen enough. Working his hands and fingers alongside her thigh and knee, he freed all of her except one foot. The netting had wrapped itself around her ankle and held her tight, her leg stretched taut by the rising tide.

  Damn. He needed air and he needed more time. Topside again, he found himself clinging to the cargo door beside her, more tired and weary than he’d ever been. She was really stuck. Cords of shuddering pain wrapped wickedly around his chest, limiting what little air he could suck in. Even if he could dive again, he couldn’t break the nylon without a sharp tool.

  “How are you holding up?” He gasped, wiping the spray out of his eyes. “Still with me?”

  Shannon nodded, but fear shadowed her face. Yeah. She was scared, and he was scared for her. She blinked the saltwater spray out of her eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me. I’m not leaving. I’ll get you out of here,” he promised, reaching his hand to smooth the sodden hair out of her eyes. Not only was she stuck, but every swell of the ocean also splashed saltwater over her face and into her already bloodshot eyes. She wouldn’t need to sink in order to drown. The ocean would do it for her.

  “I’m really stuck, huh?” she said, the light in those pretty eyes dark even as she tried to act brave.

  “Yeah. You are, but...” He looked around for some piece of wreckage sharp enough to cut the nylon. “I won’t let you drown, Shannon. I’ll be right back.”

  With a desperate lurch, she let go of the door and clutched his wrist, her fingernails digging into his skin for dear life. “Don’t. Please don’t... go.”

  “Hey.” He covered her hand with his, wanting to instill hope where there was damned little to offer. “I need something to cut the net off your foot.”

  She stared, her eyes bleak. This girl didn’t believe him. He hoped she wasn’t right in that conclusion. His ribs were on fire. Breathing had become an extremely difficult mechanical effort. Suck air in. Push air out. Pray to be able to do it again. She might be right, but he’d never tell her that.

  “Shannon.” He brushed another handful of wet hair out of her face and pressed his forehead to hers. “Trust me. I’m coming back, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  She let go of him, her cheek flat against the only thing that kept her afloat and blinking with those big sad eyes as the ocean splashed another drowning wave over her. Coughing it out of her mouth and lungs, she looked gray and utterly without hope.

  Damn it. The only way to convince her that he meant what he said was to act, so Adam turned his back to her and swam for his life, intent on finding the first sharp thing he could. He staggered to shore, holding his right arm tight around his ribs to control the pain while he searched. Some of this debris had to be small enough and sharp enough. At last, he grabbed a shiny piece of jagged metal. It would do.

  He’d turned back to the water when he spied the tip of a black handle sticking up from the sand. He looked twice. Could it be? A Night Stalker Bowie? Crouching to one knee, he pulled it up and looked down the beach with different eyes. Where the hell was Ramsey?

  Since the confrontation before takeoff, Adam hadn’t thought twice about the ornery bastard, much less that he too might need rescue. It made no sense that he’d be there. No one in his right mind would’ve remained in the cargo hold during the flight. Between the high altitude, freezing temperatures, and hypoxia, Ramsey had to have known he’d never survive without specialized equipment.

  Sabotage.

  Adam stopped that train of thought dead in its tracks. He now had two missing passengers to find, one he actually cared about. But his strength wouldn’t last much longer. He headed back into the waves. Shannon came first. Then Donavan. Maybe Ramsey. Or not.

  He heard them before he saw her. Small, sad whimpers. When he rounded the nose of the plane, she had her face pressed into her arm. Shannon was crying. She hadn’t believed.

  “Hey.” He went straight to her, angry she had so little faith in him.

  She lifted her sad face. “You’re back?”

  The question stabbed him. He must not have inspired much confidence. “Told you I’d be back,” he growled. “Damn, woman. Don’t you trust me?”

  He gave her no time to answer. The tide had come in fast. Sucking in as much air as his screaming lungs would allow, he ducked underwater, and felt down her leg for the netting wrapped around her calf and foot. Pushing one hand between the fabric of her pants and the nylon, he sliced the netting. Resurfacing, he boosted her higher onto the cargo door while he caught his breath. Goddamn, that hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

  She clung desperately, gasping for air. “Th-thanks.”

  “Put your arm around my neck. Easy now. Hold on tight.” He circled her waist, tugging her into his side. She slammed into his ribs, clutching his neck and holding on like he’d told her to. But damn! Pain sucked the breath out of him. It took a moment to shake it off. He gritted his teeth, sure they’d splinter under the force of his clenched jaw.

  Focus, Torrey. Just focus.

  Shoving away from the wreck, he took her into the waves with him. The weight of her body warmed as much as it hurt. He wanted to shove away from her, too. Every pressure stabbed. Every touch jolted. Deep in his chest, the ends of what had to be broken ribs grated against each other. At least he hadn’t coughed up any blood. Yet.

  Staggering through the littered surf, they tumbled onto the beach. It took all his willpower to conceal his pain when he fell to his knees and rolled to his back. Damn, inspiring confidence took a helluva lot out of a guy. With her trembling face pressed against his chest, he kissed the top of her wet head, focusing on the pleasant feel of her instead of how difficult it was to breathe. She smelled of aviation fuel and ocean, but she was alive.

  The chore still ahead seemed insanely huge for a guy running on empty.
Three safe. Two to go.

  “You’re hurt.” The instant she touched his cheek, he closed his eyes, wishing she hadn’t done that. A woman’s touch meant so many different things, and all of them good, but he wasn’t ready for it. Not skin to skin. Not sweet. Not yet.

  He pulled away. “No, I’m not. Let’s get you with the others.”

  She didn’t argue, but he saw the hurt in her eyes. Shannon knew a lie when she heard one. She didn’t press the issue.

  He headed toward the palm trees. “Connor and Izza are over here. Maybe you guys can help each other set up camp while I—”

  “Where are you going?” She limped along beside him, her bare feet bruised and scraped from fighting the cargo net. One of her shirtsleeves was ripped away but hanging by a thread, her left arm swollen midpoint between elbow and wrist. Possibly broken. Thankfully not a compound break.

  “Still looking for Donavan. Ramsey too.”

  “Ramsey? He’s... he’s here with us?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  A man would have to be an idiot not to notice how she stepped in closer to him. Shannon Reagan was scared of Ramsey and Adam wanted to know why. She hadn’t seemed scared of him before takeoff. But that mystery had to wait. He held up the knife he’d found. “Yeah. He’s here. Somewhere. Either that or his knife made the trip without him.”

  She didn’t say more, and by then they’d arrived at the gathering place beneath the palm trees, so Adam let the puzzle of Ramsey and his knife go. Tired beyond tired, he eased Shannon into a sitting position alongside Izza and sank to the sand with her.

  “You look like crap,” Izza muttered. Connor lay sound asleep in her left arm, his body stretched alongside hers, his face pressed into the side of her neck.

  “How is he?” Adam chose not to acknowledge her astute observation of his ragged condition. They all looked like crap.

  “He’s got a good-sized hematoma on the back of his head. I can feel it.” She ran her fingers through her husband’s hair. “It’s right here.”

  “You shouldn’t have let him go to sleep. He might have a concussion”

  “Now how was I gonna stop him, huh?” she snapped, instantly angry. “It’s not like I had a choice. Besides, what if he’s...? What if he’s...?” Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  Adam heard the word she’d left unsaid. Dying. Izza was a tough cookie, but holding her husband while she was scared to death he might die was a damned hard thing to endure. Climbing to his knees, Adam crawled to Connor’s side, knowing full well the man displayed all the signs of shock and concussion. Death was a very real possibility. He shook Connor awake, needing to see into his friend’s eyes. “Hey, buddy.”

  Connor grunted. “What? Who? Aw, leave me alone, Adam.”

  “Just checking your hard head. How you feeling?”

  “Like crap.” He rolled back into Izza’s neck. “Let me be.”

  Adam ran a hand over his friend’s skull. At least Connor had answered as if he’d understood the question this time. Adam wanted to question him further, but he was spent. Besides, there wasn’t much to be done but keep a careful watch on him. Izza had already figured that out.

  Shannon stared anxiously out to sea. “Where are we?”

  Adam stood to leave, forcing the throbbing fire in his chest to back off. “Don’t know.”

  “Where are you going?” Shannon seemed so fearful, but then why not? She was one of few survivors.

  “I’ve still got to find Donavan and Ramsey. Need to bury a couple others. And we need fresh water or none of us will survive.”

  “Who died?”

  Adam stared at her. The answer seemed painfully obvious. The dead were the ones not present, the passengers still missing. It was easy to figure out, but he understood why she’d asked. She was just trying to get a grip on the awful turn of events and doing it as gradually as her brain would allow. Sometimes, knowledge helped a person deal with reality. Not today. Denial slowed the process.

  He turned toward the beach, too tired to come up with a polite answer. She’d have to figure it out for herself.

  “Check back here, Adam.” Izza pointed behind her palm tree. “I heard something running around in the bushes. Think I heard splashing, too. If we’ve got rats on this island with us, there might be fresh water.”

  Adam doubted he could be that lucky, but Izza was right. When he investigated the edge of the jungle, he located a green, algae-filled stream oozing through a sandy channel. It wasn’t deep enough to bathe in, but the water appeared clean. He knelt, ladling a handful to his lips. Sweet and clear, he sucked up another mouthful, thankful for Izza’s sharp ears. Greenery sheltered most of the stream. Small animal tracks lingered in the soft, wet ground just like Izza had said. Good. Dinner and water.

  His thirst quenched, he needed a way to transport the water to the other survivors. Wearily, he trudged back to the shore and found two plastic water bottles bobbing in the surf, both unopened, another plus. The more he walked, the more certain he was of at least one broken rib, maybe more. Breathing was tight, but he wasn’t bleeding. Not tasting blood, either. Both damned good signs, considering how awful he felt.

  He stood again at the palm tree where he’d deposited his fellow passengers. They now had water and a way to get more. Wiping the sweat off his face, he surveyed what was left of his team. Izza and Shannon were both injured. Connor, too. His shirt had been wrapped around Izza’s gash, and it would’ve made a difference if Connor had done that. But Adam doubted it. The guy was hurt bad.

  Shannon held one of the full water bottles up to him. Man, she looked like heck, her hair straggly, and one eye black and blue. Her pants were dirty but in one piece, her blouse in the same shape. She offered a small smile. “You should stay here and rest. Just for a minute.”

  Tired and fading fast, Adam couldn’t allow his own fatigue. He hadn’t found Donavan yet, but he paused. Her simple, thoughtful act was as sweet as the water in her hand. Sinking to his knees beside her, he landed on all fours. “Can’t stop yet. Donavan’s out there.”

  “I know. I’ll help you find him.” She held the bottle to his lips, and like a dog, he sucked the cool drink down. Parched, he couldn’t seem to get enough.

  Shannon placed a tender palm to his chin, wiping the dribbling water away. “You need to rest, Adam,” she said softly, “before you collapse. You’re hurt, too. I know you are.”

  She was right, but he shook his head out of sheer Navy SEAL bullheadedness. “Got to go. Donavan’s out there.”

  He meant to push away. Really, he did, but his arms failed to oblige. His elbows unlocked, and down he went, face first. Only this time, he landed on something soft and sweet and—Shannon.

  Chapter Nine

  She slept for hours. More like, she passed out along with Adam and everyone else.

  Like four scarecrows, the survivors seemed more comatose than alive, but Shannon knew different. When she awoke, Izza and Connor seemed to breathe in sync with each other, both regular and steady in their inhalations and exhalations. Connor had groaned once, and Izza muttered something into his hair. Shannon couldn’t translate the softly spoken endearment exactly, but she was fairly certain te amo, baby meant I love you, baby. Izza knew the way to her man’s heart even in her sleep. Connor had stilled, and that was the last she’d heard from the Mahers.

  Adam snored quietly, his body sprawled in the sand next to her, his head on her lap. It was a gentle sound on such an awful day, the breath of life in the middle of death and disaster. She’d run her fingers through his hair when he’d first fallen, as much to give him comfort as to take it. Her head hurt and her arm, too. It had to be broken, but the tactile sensation of his scalp beneath her fingertips brought a measure of peace. His hair was dirty, but his head was warm. This man had risked death to save her life. He’d come back for her, just like he’d said he would. And then she’d fallen asleep with her fingers nestled in the short hair of her exhausted savior.

  His sweaty head lay still as
a stone on her lap and as heavy as one, too. Now that she’d awakened, she needed to readjust her position, but didn’t. He needed rest more than she needed comfort, so she endured the ache in her lower back and contented herself by watching the ocean swell beyond their sanctuary. Birds fluttered in the palm fronds overhead, and those pesky animals Izza had mentioned made their little squeaky noises. The leaves rustling announced their passage to and fro. They were small. No heavy footsteps or growls met her ears, so Shannon wasn’t afraid. With Adam sound asleep and almost lying in her arms, she wasn’t afraid at all.

  She studied the drop-dead gorgeous man. He’d rolled to one side, facing her stomach. Even in sleep, he moaned deep in his throat, and she knew he had to be suffering. Nothing showed except for the cuts and abrasions most of them had on their faces and arms, but falling out of the sky had come at a cost. Adam wouldn’t have dropped to his knees like he had unless he was concealing an injury.

  With her fingers already on his head, she traced her thumb over his brows and down the side of his face to his clean-shaven jaw. Dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks at her touch. He sighed, so she did it again, offering a gentle caress not intended to wake him, only to comfort. After another deep sigh, he settled. Shannon was glad to have given something back to the man who’d saved her life. He seemed to like it.

  Guiltily, she continued her frank observation. There was more to Adam Torrey than she’d noticed before. His squared-off jaw culminated in a masculine chin that jutted forward even in repose. Sandy-brown hair trimmed his neckline, not the buzz cut of a military man, yet there was military in his posture and mannerisms. She’d already detected that dimension to him. He had that ultra-polite, yes ma’am, no sir, ingrained habit of most of the military personnel she’d met. Even as angry as he’d been during their initial meeting, he’d still been the perfect gentleman. Actually, he’d been more than that. She didn’t know many men who would’ve dared to come as close as he had to a woman heaving her guts up, just to hold her upright and keep her hair out of the line of fire.