Stranded With Her Ex

by Jill Sorenson

  To the average passerby, it looked solid. And yet, the barest touch would topple it again.

  While he was down there, he inspected the muddy earth, running his hands over its wet, pebbled surface. There were many small rocks, as always. Loosened by the rain, they made the path even more dangerous.

  Sean stood, shaking his head. The post could have splintered when Daniela hit the railing. There was no clean cut in the wood, no definitive evidence of foul play. But together with the boating incident, it was an odd coincidence.

  Sean and Jason made their way down the path in grave silence.

  “I’m going to call the Coast Guard,” Jason said when they arrived at the base of the hill. “Is your cell phone working?”

  He took it out of his pocket and turned on the screen. No bars. “I never get service in weather like this.”

  “Me, either. I’ll call from inside.”

  “They won’t send anyone tonight,” Sean predicted.

  “No. Maybe tomorrow, weather permitting.”

  Sean contemplated the howling wind and hammering rain, and doubted it.

  “I’ll sleep downstairs,” Jason added. “Nobody’s getting through the front door on my watch.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea. But what if the threat was already inside?

  Sean had to consider the possibility that one of his colleagues was responsible. Now that he’d calmed down, he couldn’t believe Taryn was a coldhearted murderess. Elizabeth seemed prickly, not psychotic. And Brent was just a starving artist. If he wanted to collect shark attack footage, he’d have better odds with a daring group of divers.

  “I’ll talk to Elizabeth tonight,” Jason said, his expression stark. “Tomorrow, we can take turns snooping around. Check the rooms.”

  Sean nodded. At this point, he didn’t trust anyone—not even Jason. The only person he felt comfortable with was Daniela, and he wasn’t going to leave her side until she was safe and secure, back on the mainland.

  Chapter 13

  Daniela stayed in the bath until the water cooled. Although she was exhausted, her mind refused to relax.

  For months after the accident, she’d refused Sean’s touch. She hadn’t been with anyone since the divorce, either. She hadn’t felt like it.

  In the past year, her needs had changed. Ironically, she’d missed Sean. She’d been somewhat inexperienced when they’d met, but not so innocent that she hadn’t realized they were dynamite in bed together.

  Their chemistry had been electric from the start.

  She’d wanted to sleep with him on the first date. He’d kissed her at the doorstep, very sweetly, and she’d been tempted to invite him in. The second date, she had. Her roommate had come home early that night and almost caught them in a compromising position on the couch. Again, he’d left her wanting more.

  On the third date, they’d barely made it through dinner. She couldn’t eat a bite. He’d just stared at her. She’d brought him home afterward, and they hadn’t bothered with coffee or a nightcap. She’d taken him straight to her bedroom.

  They’d been insatiable, and not just in the physical sense. He couldn’t get enough of her, intellectually. Sean wasn’t a big talker, but he was a great listener. He shared a little and she shared a lot. They’d connected on so many levels.

  Over the years, the passion between them hadn’t cooled, but it had transformed into something deeper and more intimate.

  Their relationship also had its ups and downs, like any other. She wasn’t crazy about the time he spent abroad. He didn’t get along with her mother—at all. And Sean could be annoyingly taciturn when they argued. In response, she felt overemotional and shrill.

  Her main complaint was that he didn’t communicate with her. More often, he showed his feelings in a physical way. If he had a bad day, or a tough conversation with his father or even a week of poor surfing weather, he tended to internalize his frustration. Instead of talking about his struggles with her, he took what he needed from her in bed.

  As faults went, it wasn’t the worst one a man could have.

  Sexual intimacy had been a strong component in their marriage. Too strong, perhaps. When she was no longer able to provide him that release, they’d faltered. She hadn’t allowed him to touch her. He’d wanted to make everything better with sex. They’d never found a common ground.

  They still hadn’t. She wasn’t foolish enough to think the emotional connection they’d made over the wounded seal pup had righted every wrong between them. Although his touch hadn’t healed her broken heart, it had triggered the same earth-shattering sexual response she’d felt when they first kissed.

  She wasn’t over Sean, and she wasn’t over their divorce. But she was definitely over the period of mourning that prevented her from feeling desire.

  Her body was still humming from their encounter.

  And he’d barely touched her. One kiss, a couple of quick strokes. God! She hadn’t had sex in more than two years. She didn’t want a whisper of a caress, or a few gentle strums from his fingertips.

  She wanted his weight pressing her down. His hands gripping her hips. His hungry mouth all over her body.

  She wanted every inch of him, filling her up, all night long.

  Smothering a groan, she drained the tub and rose from the bath, her legs trembling. The stubbly towel on her pebbled skin felt like foreplay. She wrapped it around her wet hair and put on Sean’s sweatpants and T-shirt, shivering.

  There was a light rap of knuckles on the door. His knock. “Dani?”

  She opened the door, arranging her features into a cool expression. What she really wanted to do was jump on him.

  He kept his eyes trained on her face. “Jason’s sleeping downstairs tonight. I thought you should stay in my room.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with him there. “How did the railing look?” she asked, following him into the hallway.

  “Suspicious. Jason called the Coast Guard.”

  In his room, she sat down on the bunk where they’d just gotten each other off. He shut the door and locked it. Her mind should have been on the ordeal they faced, and the near-drowning she’d just experienced. It wasn’t.

  She hugged her arms around herself. “What’s it like here during a storm?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Duration, amount of precipitation, wind speed, wave height.”

  She sighed, accustomed to this type of answer from him. His view of the world relied heavily on surfer science. “Is it scary?”

  “Yes, it’s scary. And the charter boats stop bringing supplies. If the weather isn’t too bad tomorrow, you can go back to San Francisco.”

  “I don’t want to go back,” she said.

  His gaze cruised over her, lingering on her cheek. “I want you to be safe.”

  She touched her face, feeling self-conscious. There was a nasty scrape from the jagged rocks she’d been clinging to. It was noticeable, but nothing compared to the muscle strain and emotional trauma.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, frustrated by his attempts to get rid of her. She couldn’t leave without finding some kind of closure on their relationship. She knew he was scared, too—scared of taking another chance on her.

  “I have every right to be worried.”

  Her spine stiffened. “No. You have no rights where I’m concerned. We’re divorced. Remember?”

  He made a harsh sound. “Yeah, I remember. How could I forget? The day you signed the papers I went out with Rob and got falling-down drunk. He picked up these two lonely girls, one for each of us. Instead of sleeping with her, I spent the night with my head in the toilet. I don’t know what turned my stomach more—the alcohol I’d consumed, or the idea of having sex with a stranger in some pathetic attempt to forget you.”

  The world closed in around them, bringing this moment into sharp focus. Suddenly, she was short of breath. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the one who wanted to split up. Not me.”


  “Then why did you file the papers?”

  “Because I said I would. Because you didn’t call. Because I thought—” He broke off, cursing. “I thought you wouldn’t sign them. Stupid, right? I’d convinced myself that you would come running back to me, saying you couldn’t live without me. That you’d made a mistake. That you—still loved me.”

  The remaining air rushed out of her chest. His words hurt so much, she almost couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t blame him for hating her. She hated herself, for what she’d put them through. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling like a broken record. “If it’s any consolation, the decision wasn’t easy for me, either. I thought I was doing what was best. I thought you wanted me to let you go.”

  He avoided her eyes. “You should get some rest.”

  While she was in the bath, he’d moved her stuff into his room. Her sleeping bag was on the lower bunk. She slipped inside it.

  The air had grown cold.

  He flipped the switch, casting the room into darkness. She wasn’t surprised when he climbed into the top bunk. His reaction to the aftermath of their encounter, jerking away from her when she’d kissed his back, had spoken louder than words.

  With Sean, actions always did.

  Although she hadn’t expected him to curl up next to her, or wrap his arms around her, she still ached from emptiness. She needed him so much. Not just his body. His comfort, his love, his acceptance, his strength.

  And now she knew exactly how he’d felt, every time she’d pushed him away.

  Chapter 14

  The instant Sean awoke, he knew something was wrong. The room was pale with early morning light, and rain spattered the windowpane.

  Daniela was in the lower bunk, fast asleep.

  Then he heard Jason’s muffled voice in the hall, along with the sound of hurried footsteps and opening doors. Frowning, Sean climbed down from the top bunk and pulled on his discarded trousers. Dani stirred, murmuring his name in her sleep. He crossed the room in two strides, opening the door to look out.

  Jason was searching the other bedrooms, an anxious expression on his face. His hair stuck up on one side, and his pants were only half-buttoned. “Do you know where Elizabeth is?” he asked.

  Sean could see into Elizabeth’s room. Her bed looked rumpled, and empty. “No.”

  Jason moved on, ducking his head into Taryn’s room. She blinked at him groggily. “Wh-what do you want?”

  “I’m looking for Elizabeth.”

  She glanced around in confusion.

  Jason made a sound of frustration and continued down the hall, to Brent’s room. His door was closed, but unlocked. When Jason pushed it open, the edge of the door hit Brent’s legs, which were hanging over the end of the bed.

  Brent was so startled he got tangled up in his sleeping bag and fell off the other side. “What the hell?” he growled, lurching to his feet.

  “Have you seen Elizabeth?”

  “Not since last night.”

  “She’s missing,” Jason said.

  Daniela came up beside Sean, her face showing concern. Taryn appeared in the doorway across the hall. Brent stood next to Jason, silent. “Elizabeth is missing,” he repeated. “Am I speaking English?”

  “Well, she must be around here somewhere,” Sean said, scratching his jaw. “Did you check outside?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How did she get by you? I thought you were watching the front door.”

  Jason raked a hand through his hair, chagrined. “I fell asleep.”

  Sean walked down the hall, toward Elizabeth’s room. He was no longer concerned with protecting her privacy. The safety of the crew took precedence.

  Jason joined him, his expression grim. The room was small, and there wasn’t much to snoop through. The closet, her laptop, a single suitcase. He opened the closet first. Two oars rested inside, propped against the wall.

  Their eyes met.

  “Holy Christ,” Sean muttered, shocked to the core.

  They searched the rest of the room quickly, finding nothing else of interest.

  “Check her computer,” Taryn suggested. “Maybe the daily logs can give us a clue about her state of mind.”

  Sean wasn’t able to access her laptop without a password. On the top of Elizabeth’s desk, however, there was a flash drive. He took it downstairs to the office computer, searching its contents.

  Everyone gathered around the screen, curious.

  Before he opened the logs, he noticed that a video file with Brent’s name on it had recently been viewed. Sean pressed play. And encountered the most disturbing footage imaginable.

  A burly redheaded man was swimming in turquoise waters. He wore no protective gear, just a tie-dyed tank top, old swim trunks and a snorkel. The mask was pushed up on his forehead. His shoulders were covered with brown freckles and patches of paler skin, as if he frequently burned and peeled.

  Those details were peripheral to what was happening in the water. The guy was swimming with sharks. Not just any sharks, but some damned big ones. A group of ten-foot bulls darted around him aggressively, their tails stiff.

  Sean recognized the sign of an impending attack. The man in the video ignored the warning signals. He didn’t attempt to get out of the water, nor did he have the sense to stay still or be quiet. Laughing like a madman, he reached out to stroke the sharks’ tails.

  The viewer could tell that the footage was being filmed by a young man on the deck of a charter boat. Brent. His voice was that of an uncertain boy. He expressed concern over the man’s reckless behavior, and several other tourists murmured their disapproval.

  The actual attack was short and brutal.

  One of the sharks struck, tearing at the man’s legs. A bright burst of blood tainted the water. He hollered once and went white, going into shock almost immediately. Shrill cries rang out from the deck. Brent made a strange sound, like a whimper, but he held the camera steady.

  Sean couldn’t have said why the sharks didn’t continue to attack. After what seemed like an agonizingly long interval, a safety ring was tossed to the man in the water. He was able to grab it. Two other men pulled him onto the deck.

  His legs were severed from the knees down. The remaining flesh was hanging there like ragged clothes, in bloody, uneven tatters.

  The boy Brent finally lost his composure. He turned away from the gruesome sight and ran to the side of the boat, where he became violently ill.

  After the scene ended, Sean looked up, gauging the reactions of the rest of the crew. Daniela had her fist pressed to her mouth. Taryn was pale and silent. Jason flew across the room, going straight for Brent.

  “She watched that,” he said, slamming him into the living room wall. “How could you let her see that?”

  Brent pushed him backward, holding his ground. “I didn’t give it to her. She must have hacked into my files.”

  Jason grabbed him by the front of the shirt. “Why would you keep that on your laptop?”

  Brent made a face. “I was trying to edit it a few weeks ago. Elizabeth’s mother asked for a copy of the footage after he died. I thought I might be able to do some clever tricks to make it look less graphic.”

  Jason’s hold loosened. There was no way to make that footage less graphic. But he couldn’t fault Brent for trying. “I’m going to check the outbuildings,” he said in a far-off voice. “If I don’t find her in the next few minutes, we’ll organize a search.”

  “Good idea,” Sean said. “Taryn, why don’t you get some coffee going? The rest of us will put our gear on.”

  She nodded smartly, and they all dispersed, ready to work as a team.

  While Jason went out into the pounding rain, Sean followed Daniela back to his room, hoping that a search and rescue effort wouldn’t be necessary. Shaken, he sat down in the chair and laced up his boots, trying not to watch her change clothes.

  It was a lost cause. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of pale skin and black lace. She pulled
on a pair of cargo pants and a thermal shirt before he could see more, but no amount of fabric could disguise her curves.

  Her gaze met his, and he couldn’t look away. Last night, he’d poured his heart out to her. Yesterday, she’d seen him cry. Today, he should have felt like a sentimental fool. He didn’t. But the ease with which he was falling in love with her again—or perhaps just realizing he’d never fallen out of love—scared the hell out of him.

  As soon as this was finished, and they were safe in San Francisco, he was going to have a serious talk with her. Not the fumbling, half-assed attempt at communication he usually managed, but a real conversation.

  He wanted her back.

  When she finished dressing, they went downstairs together, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the taut silence.

  Jason came in from the rain a few moments later, shivering like a wet dog. He was breathing hard, from either panic or exertion, and his eyes were anxious.

  Sean felt sorry for him. He’d been there, in that exact state of mind, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

  Grabbing the polyurethane-sealed map from the back counter, Jason placed it on the table. “I didn’t see any footprints, but it’s raining pretty hard out there. Not much visibility from the tower, either. And there’s no sign of her in the outbuildings.”

  “We should go to the bird blind first,” Taryn recommended, taking a sip of coffee. “I bet she’s there.”

  Jason nodded. “Why don’t you and Brent head out that way? If she isn’t at the blind, you can check the north side.” He made a path on the map with his fingertip. “We found the skinned seal there.”

  Brent studied the general area and murmured his assent.

  Jason tapped a point on the other side of the island. “As long as Daniela’s up to it, you two can hit the sea lion blind and Dead Man’s Beach.”

  Beside him, Daniela shivered. She was probably thinking about the lady in white, her pale limbs washed ashore. “Of course,” she said. “I’m fine.”