by Judi Lind
She stretched her slender arms out, curtsying again for the appreciative audience. Their applause was a solid wall of sound.
Suddenly a gush of warm water slapped Elisa’s face and poured down her body. Her deep brown eyes flew open, immediately focusing on her bare foot. The ugly red scars.
She looked around in bewilderment.
Where in the…What…Where was she?
The answer flooded her like the dark sea surrounding the boulder on which she was resting. She wasn’t onstage. The tide had come in, and was lapping against the rock beneath her.
Elisa stared around in horror. The sky had been blue when she fell asleep. Now it was black and ominous. The strap of her beach bag was tangled around her ankle, but the gusting winds had pitched the rest of her belongings into the angry sea. She saw her sandals drifting like flotsam ten feet away.
Another wave crashed against the rock and her fingers sought a tighter hold on the slippery surface. Although the seawater was warm, an icy chill crept over her flesh.
Realization hit her with a sharp, debilitating blow.
Dear God, she was going to be swept out to sea.
Chapter Two
Frozen with fear, Elisa barely felt the slap of water crashing higher and higher up the side of the boulder. How long had she slept? It had seemed like only moments.
Leaning on one elbow, she looked over the edge of the rock. There was no way to gauge the depth of the roiling water below. She lifted her gaze to the dune she’d climbed earlier. The sea had climbed more than halfway up the bank. Seven or eight feet. Was she a strong enough swimmer to reach that dune?
Or should she stay where she was and hope the tide receded soon?
A gust of wind almost lifted her off the rock, giving Elisa her answer. If she had any hope of survival, she’d have to move. Now!
Willing her wobbly legs to hold her up, she slowly rose to her feet, took a deep breath, and jumped off the boulder.
The ocean water was tepid, but tumbling and grabbing with a frenzy she’d never experienced. Within an instant, her entire body was sucked beneath the white-capped surface.
Choking saltwater filled her mouth, her nose. Coughing and retching, she treaded water while she cleared her lungs. Once she’d caught her breath, she dived beneath the surface and put every fiber of her strength into swimming toward the dune.
Two strokes. Three. The ocean was churning. Agitated. Gritty sand crept beneath her lashes. She clenched her eyelids tighter and fought against the angry sea.
Five strokes. Six. Her lungs burned, and her ankle throbbed.
Seven strokes. Ten. Elisa came to the surface for breath and assessed the distance to the dune. She’d advanced only a few feet.
A thunderous wave picked up her tired body and tossed her like a minnow against the rocks. She instinctively held out her forearm, shielding her head from injury. But the undertow pulled her away, only to dash her back against the stones a moment later.
Her head thumped against the boulder. Blackness swam before her eyes. The only sound was the roar of the ocean. She felt herself drifting from consciousness. She wasn’t going to make it. She was going to die without ever really having lived. Without having loved. A lonely dancer meeting a solitary death.
No! She wouldn’t give up. Gritting her teeth in determination, she reached out and levered herself away from the punishing rocks.
Swallowing a sob, she sucked in another life-sustaining breath and plunged under the water again. But her strength had deserted her. She was still too weak from the accident and the resultant surgery.
At that moment, something clamped around her injured ankle.
She screamed, drinking in another mouthful of salty water.
Kicking furiously, she tried to free herself from whatever was clutching her leg. Then something grabbed at her shoulder.
Her mind conjured visions of a sea monster, a giant octopus, gripping her with its huge tentacles. Then the creature moved its grasp to around her chest. Clutching. Summoning the remains of her fleeting strength, she tightened her arm at a right angle and lashed out. A small burst of satisfaction blossomed as her elbow made contact with something warm. And large.
THE MYSTERY LADY was kicking furiously, obviously trying to distance herself from the dangerous rock pile. He shouted at her to be still and let him tow her to safety, but if she heard him over the thundering surf, she gave no indication.
“Come on, now, take it easy.” He made a grab for her as she thrashed the water around them.
Her foot caught Storm on the thigh, sending a shock wave down his leg. Ow! What was this woman—a damned black belt in karate? He grappled with her frenzied leg, finally securing a firm hold on a slender ankle.
With his other arm, he reached up and clamped his hand on her shoulder. If she would just stop thrashing around, he’d have a better chance of getting them safely out of the cove.
But his touch set off some kind of primal fury. She fought like a sackful of wet alley cats. Her strong limbs were everywhere. Kicking. Pummeling. Her fist swung back, thumping him in the chest. Another kick, this time to his shin. Even though the blow was tempered by the water, it stung. It never occurred to him to try to calm her with words. Storm was too busy fighting the feisty hellion for his life.
Finally he inched behind her and slipped his arm around her slender waist. His hand glided over her wet, sleek flesh. She wriggled. Squirmed. Evaded his every attempt. Until his hand slid around her upper torso and, at last, his fingers found purchase.
He gasped and almost released his precarious hold. His hand was firmly clasping a small, perfectly shaped breast. An odd, hungry clawing in his loins reminded him of a time when his libido had still been alive—rampant.
A sharp elbow in his rib cage reminded him of his purpose pose. Reluctantly releasing his hold on her breast, he snaked a powerful forearm around her upper chest. He pulled her closer, until he could feel the silky texture of her skin against his.
Then, abruptly, she stopped fighting. A second later, she was floating, limp. Praying she hadn’t drowned in his arms, he angled her face out of the water and started towing the unconscious woman toward the shoreline. His strength was ebbing, and the shoreline looked miles away.
But now that he only had the Atlantic Ocean to contend with, Storm found the job relatively easy, and he reached safety in a few scant moments.
With a single deft movement, he plucked her from the sea’s grip and into his arms. She didn’t weigh much more than a foundling infant, he thought grimly. When he was in practice he’d treated a number of adolescents with eating disorders. Anorexia was a difficult enemy to defeat; this slender woman was so light, he couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t a victim of the disorder. Still, her muscle tone felt good. Extraordinary, in fact.
He shrugged. He wasn’t in private practice any longer. In fact, he hadn’t practiced in his chosen field of psychiatry in over two years. This woman’s possible fixation with her weight was no concern of his. Storm no longer felt it was his destiny to save every injured psyche he encountered. Not after he’d failed to save the most important person in his world.
Turning so that the wind was against his back, he easily carried her up the slope.
He laid her gently on the sand, and dropped to his knees beside her. With tender fingers, he tilted back her head in preparation for starting CPR. She moaned softly and turned away from his touch.
“It’s all right,” he murmured, brushing strands of ebony hair from her face. “You’re going to be just fine. Relax now.”
He held her hand loosely in his while taking her pulse. Weak, but steady.
She sighed and lay quiet, allowing Storm to resume his cursory examination. Clad only in an exquisite black-andgold bikini, she lay before him like a sumptuous offering from the sea. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to remember that this mermaid wasn’t meant for his pleasure. Whether he wanted the role or not, he was a physician, a healer, and right now this woman
needed his help.
Keeping a tight rein on his libido, he ran his fingertips over her head, her torso, as well as her arms and her incredibly long legs. Other than a nasty goose egg forming on her left temple, there were no other obvious signs of trauma. Although, judging by the surgical scar on her ankle, she’d been operated on within the past month or so.
The mystery lady stirred softly beneath his touch, a ragged sigh escaping her lips. He looked down, taking in her lovely face for the first time. Her dusky tan skin had tawny undertones, as if it had been brushed with gold dust. Her eyebrows were straight, fine—a perfect frame for large eyes fringed with incredibly thick lashes. But it was her mouth that drew him. Soft and delicate, like the rest of her, yet her bottom lip pouted with a bold lushness.
She coughed, distracting him from his renegade thoughts. Could she still have fluid on her lungs? Without a stethoscope, he only knew one way to find out. Feeling slightly awkward, he lowered his head to her chest and forced himself to concentrate on her vital signs.
He closed his eyes, listening, until he could disassociate himself from the sounds of nature’s fury. Finally he heard a steady ta-thump, ta-thump—the reassuring beat of her heart.
The woman wriggled softly beneath him, and he nestled his face closer against her bosom, in order to better hear the rhythmic aspirations of her lungs. Or at least that was what he assured himself. But the sweet firmness of her breast pressing against his cheek almost took his breath away.
He gritted his teeth, cursing the scant bikini top that only accentuated the alluring nearness of her flesh. He was a doctor, a professional, for crying out loud! Just because he was a little rusty, that was no excuse. Taking deep, calming breaths, Storm forced his thoroughly masculine urges aside long enough to concentrate on the rhythm of her breathing. Just as he made the determination that her lungs were clear and free of fluid, a sudden shriek from her brought him up to his knees with a start.
Realizing that she’d come to only to discover a stranger’s head nestled against her breast, he leaned back, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “I…I’m sorry,” he sputtered, trying to think of some way to explain.
“Just get away from me!” She sat up and walloped his chest with her small but mighty fists. The mystery lady sprang to her feet. “Ohh,” she moaned, clutching her head and swaying on her wobbly legs. “My head.”
“Here, let me help you—”
“No. I’m fine.” Yanking her arm from his grasp, she rubbed her temple, watching him with wary black eyes.
The rain was beating harder now. Storm knew he had to get them to shelter. From the rapid changes over the past couple of hours, he knew the hurricane must have picked up speed. He had to get back and board up his cabin before Jake touched land.
“Look, I’m sorry if I startled you, but I’m a doctor. Wanted to make sure you didn’t have any water in your lungs.” His green eyes widened earnestly.
Green eyes…A sudden memory flashed through her. When she was in the ocean, fighting for her life—what had she been fighting? Her mind conjured up a faint recollection of some kind of sea monster—a giant octopus—wrapping its tentacles around her throat.
Elisa’s look of wary confusion dissolved into sudden comprehension. This particular sea monster had stunning green eyes. “Ohh…You…you pulled me out of the water.” She chewed her lower lip and crossed her arms over her bikini top. “I don’t know what to say…except thank you.”
Somehow, the simple words were more eloquent, and more meaningful, than a flowery speech would have been. He looked away in embarrassment and shrugged. “We’ve got to get out of here. Bad storm’s headed right at us.”
Her gaze darted around the deserted beach. She nodded once and wordlessly turned on her heel and started marching toward the road, barely slowed by her slight limp.
He had to admire her spirit. For a little thing, she sure was a spitfire. “Wait!” he shouted when she stepped out of sight behind a stand of sea grass. Grabbing his discarded shirt and sneakers, Storm raced after her.
She’d made it as far as the parking lot when he caught up with her. “My Jeep’s over there.” He pointed.
The rain was coming down in torrents, and the wind direction had shifted. Despite the approaching danger, a rare grin teased his lips. The mystery lady wasn’t daunted in the slightest, either by the approaching hurricane or by her own near drowning.
But Storm knew that ignoring danger wouldn’t make it go away, and they were facing great peril if they didn’t get off the beach.
She was so slightly built, he worried that a strong gust would actually pick her up and hurl her through space. For every step she took forward, the wind knocked her sideways a half step. But she showed no sign of giving up. Hunching her shoulders, she burrowed into the gale and started forward again. Then she veered away from his Jeep and headed toward the dune.
He knew she’d taken a severe blow to the head. Her thinking and reactions could be skewed. Taking a few precious seconds to slip on his Reeboks, he raced after her. “This way!” he shouted. “Where are you going?” “I’ll take my bike back to my cabin. We’re staying just down the road.” She pointed to the windward side of the island.
“At one of those cabins on Windjammer Point?”
She nodded. “The Grebbing place. Sunny Haven.”
“It’s already been evacuated. That section of the island will take the brunt of the storm. You can’t go back there.”
“I have to get my stuff. And my roommate’s still there!”
“No time!” he shouted, pointing toward the darkening sky. “And your roommate would have been evacuated with all the other residents.”
“No.” She stood her ground. “Heather wouldn’t leave without me.”
“She’s gone, I’m telling you! Don’t you understand what kind of damage a hurricane can do? Those cabins weren’t built to withstand gale-force winds. The big hotel over by the harbor is the only place on the island that can withstand hundred-and-forty-mile winds. And that’s what they’re predicting for Hurricane Jake.”
ELISA’S HEAD whipped around as she looked at the murky brownish green sea with a new awareness. Until this moment, she’d thought the gathering clouds were merely a strong summer storm. But a hurricane?
She had grown up in the Los Angeles barrio. The past several years had been divided among San Francisco, Chicago, Rome and, most recently, New York City, each of which had its own brand of danger. Dirty, gritty, poverty-stricken inner cities, with their escalating crime rates. Yet she’d survived those grinding environments pretty well unscathed. How ironic that she might face her greatest test of courage here on this tranquil island.
Though she’d never been exposed to the fury of a hurricane, she’d seen enough news broadcasts to know he was right. They had to find shelter.
Nodding her understanding of their grim situation, she stalked past him to the lone vehicle parked on the asphalt lot. By the time she was settled in the passenger seat, he’d already jumped behind the wheel and started the engine.
They pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the village. Storm rummaged in the back seat, found a mostly dry blanket and draped it around her bare shoulders. Elisa was soon grateful for the protection the blanket offered against the biting rain pelting her through the open side.
She huddled against the door, feeling vulnerable and fearful in this battle against the elements.
“Hold on!” he shouted suddenly.
Reflexively she braced herself, palms against the dashboard, as he swerved to miss an enormous branch jutting into their lane.
The vehicle hydroplaned on the wet surface, but he held a firm grasp on the steering wheel. After they slid in a half circle, the Jeep miraculously righted its course and they continued down the narrow road.
He turned toward her, concern replacing his normal scowl. “Are you okay?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Her teeth were chattering so hard she couldn’t speak.
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A few minutes later, they approached the Y-shaped intersection that divided the island. Elisa knew that the right branch led to the cabin she’d been sharing with Heather for the past three weeks. The left fork curved upward and eventually led to the inner, higher section of the island, where the small village was located. They were only about a mile from her cabin now.
Then, amazingly, he took the left turnoff—the one away from her cabin. She reached across the gearshift and grabbed his arm, her security blanket sliding off her shoulder. “Wh-where are you taking me? I live back that way!”
He nodded. “I know. But I have to get you to the hotel before I can go batten down my own place.”
“But you said there wasn’t time.”
With a slight shrug, he gave her a half smile. “There wasn’t. Not to go to your cabin, then mine. Yours is rented, so that makes mine more important. Besides, I told you, Windjammer Point has already been evacuated.”
Absolute bullfeathers! She’d been on the beach only two or three hours. Surely Hurricane Jake couldn’t travel that fast. What was this guy up to? Suddenly aware that she knew nothing about him, not even his name, Elisa edged closer to the door.
Suddenly, the gray fog that was becoming so familiar, so frighteningly familiar, shrouded her in its confusing mists. For the briefest moment, she wasn’t sure where she was, as jagged segments of lost memories whizzed through her mind in a confusing kaleidoscope of color and sensation.
Once again, she was held prisoner by shattered images of running, terrified, from Jay’s office that night. Of someone close behind her, chasing her. Intent on killing her. Elisa’s heart pounded and her pulse raced as she relived flashes of that awful flight through the empty office building. During these episodes, she could actually hear unrelenting footsteps dogging her pace.
In her mind, she stopped and turned, looking to see the face of her pursuer. But she couldn’t will the elusive memory into focus. The concussion she’d suffered in the subsequent accident had left her with a condition known as selective amnesia. Some things she vividly recalled. Others teased at the edge of her consciousness, but never emerged.