Troubled Waters

by Susan May Warren

  “Don’t worry. If she’s out there, we’ll find her.”

  He caught her eyes, as if testing her words.

  “C’mon, dude, lay down,” Ty said, coming up beside him.

  He submitted to Ty’s urging, and Ty sat at his feet, put them on his lap. “Just breathe. When we find Sierra, she’ll be really hot if you died on our watch.”

  Jess gave Ty a look, but he didn’t seem to be joking.

  Maybe that was exactly what Ian needed. Reassurance. The belief that everything would be okay. That they’d find Sierra out there, in that vast dark ocean, and all go home.

  Wow, she wanted to go home. And in that moment, not just to Montana.

  She glanced at Shae, who had come to sit beside Ian. Jess wanted to see her mother, her brother, to apologize. To weep in their arms.

  Yes, she wanted to go home.

  16

  “I SHOULD HAVE NEVER LET YOU go back to that island.” Jess stood in front of Ian, her hands gloved, holding a cotton ball saturated with antiseptic. He sat on the dining table in the main saloon, the ship’s first-aid kit open beside him for Jess to choose from.

  They were underway, with Pete and Ty and the rest of the crew standing at the rail with binoculars.

  “Some of these wounds are infected already. But I need to get them cleaned out.” She paused. “This is going to hurt.”

  Please. He longed to hurt more on the outside than he did inside. To escape the knot around his chest that turned into a noose when they’d found the island early this morning.

  When their search turned up empty.

  “Hurry up,” he said, and yes, regretted his tone. But they needed every eye on the ocean.

  Ian had shoved every crumb of hope into finding and scouring the island, wildly praying that Sierra might have washed back into the harbor.

  He couldn’t believe he’d been so undone when they pulled him aboard. He winced as the memory bounced around in the back of his mind, as he remembered the sounds that came from him when they’d found him.

  Without Sierra.

  And then . . . Esme. Onboard, searching for him. It unraveled him, and he simply fell apart.

  He could admit that the PEAK team had pulled him back together. Tried, yes, to get him on the chopper that arrived to take Dex to Miami.

  Ian wasn’t leaving this boat, not with Sierra still out there. Besides, he alone knew where the island was, and after they’d shown him their position, he’d pinpointed it on a topographical map.

  Pete showed him where the Montana Rose had sunk and gave him an update on Noelly, Nessa, and Hayes.

  Ian had wanted to weep again with relief that his friends had survived but managed to hold himself together, managed to get some food down. Hadn’t yet slept, but he’d do that after they located Sierra.

  He gritted his teeth and looked out the window at the undulating blue ocean as Jess cleaned out his wounds.

  “How did you get these?”

  The sun had risen to a clear and glorious morning. The perfect Caribbean day.

  “I took a few hits against limestone while I was retrieving the Jet Ski.”

  “A number of these are pretty deep. Could have used a stitch or two.”

  He said nothing, routing his mind through the search on the island, in case they’d missed something. No sign, really, that Sierra had washed up, although the signal flags were still flapping in the warm breeze. His heart had lightened when he saw them as they motored into the harbor on the boat’s dinghy.

  However, the beach was swept clean, and no fresh tracks dented the sand. He’d found their campsite, then with his hope fading, trekked back to the cave.

  “We spent the night of the storm here,” he’d said to Pete. He’d stood at the entrance, listening to Sierra’s voice echoing in the hollows of his heart. Listen to our cry, for we are in desperate need.

  He’d suggested they search the rest of the island, and Pete and Ty, along with the crew, gave it a cursory look. But even he could agree that if she’d washed up on the island, she would hunker down in a known location.

  The urge to scream crawled through him, shook through his bones when they left the island.

  Jess pressed a freshly saturated cotton ball into the wound on his shoulder, and he sucked in a breath, closed one eye.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I’m going to add some topical antibacterial and try to butterfly a few of these closed. I found you a fresh T-shirt. I want you to wear it, protect these wounds a little.”

  Whatever.

  They’d left the island behind, but the captain set a slow course along the current. He’d suggested searching a number of smaller islands and shoals along the cay to Bimini.

  Ian dearly hoped she’d washed up on one of those islands.

  Jess finished doctoring the wound on his shoulder and started working on a tear across his pectoral muscle. He groaned, swallowed it back. “Are you almost done?”

  “Mmmhmm,” Jess said, and he guessed she might be lying to him. He’d seen the mess the sharp stone had done to his body.

  No wonder Sierra had looked at him with so much worry.

  Then again, she’d always looked at him that way. Worry. Compassion.

  Love.

  Please, please, let us find her.

  He closed his eyes, not sure if he had the strength to pray anymore. He’d felt Dex’s life slipping from him as he held him in the raft, hunkering down to give him as much warmth as his body could radiate. Not enough, maybe, because Dex seemed nearly gone when the chopper lifted him away. But in the time between, yeah, he’d prayed again.

  Prayed and wept and shouted and hated himself.

  He couldn’t believe he’d done it again. Made promises that got the woman he loved killed.

  No. She couldn’t be dead.

  “Sorry.”

  He looked up at Jess.

  “I know it hurts. Just breathe.”

  He swallowed, nodded.

  “It’s not what happens to us, it’s how we respond.”

  Sierra, in his head. Always in his head.

  Always right, probably.

  He tightened his hands on the edge of the table as Jess closed the wound on his chest, then added tape.

  He felt patchworked together.

  “I brought you some coffee.”

  He looked up at the voice and found a smile for Esme—or Shae, as she’d apparently named herself. She stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee. He still couldn’t quite wrap his brain around why she’d dyed her beautiful blonde hair a dark, raven black, added the tattoo on her neck, or decided to decorate her ears with piercings. Last night, however, he’d seen none of it, just the outline of her beautiful face, those luminous eyes. And really, he didn’t care how she looked.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” he said.

  Shae gave him a soft smile and handed him the coffee. “You still take it black?”

  He nodded and lifted it for a sip. Jess stepped back until he finished. He set it on the table beside him.

  “I’m not sure where to start with the questions. Like, what happened that day in the park? Or why didn’t you come home? Or . . . I don’t know, even, how are you?”

  Shae offered a slight smile. “I’m good. And . . . I didn’t come home because I didn’t think it was safe.”

  He frowned. “And now . . .”

  “Well, I figured Sierra was right. That you deserved to know how I was—and really, if anyone could protect me, it was probably you, right?”

  He stared at her. “What . . . what do you mean, Sierra was right?”

  Shae’s smile vanished, and she shot a look at Jess, then back to Ian. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” A gnarled darkness spread through his chest. “Oh . . . what?”

  “I thought . . . she said she was going to tell you. And I figured, well, when you didn’t come after me, that maybe you’d changed, that maybe you weren’t going to . . . Uncle Ian
?”

  He was blowing out long heavy breaths because it was the only thing he could think of to keep his head from spinning. “Sierra knew where you were?” The voice that emerged didn’t sound like his own. “For how long?”

  Jess had stepped back, and now her gaze flicked to Shae.

  “She came to see me over a month ago.”

  Ian had nothing.

  “Okay, maybe you need to put your head between your legs,” Jess said. “Because you don’t look so good.” She pressed her gloved hand to his neck, as if checking his pulse.

  No, he wasn’t feeling so good, but he didn’t need to be treated like he was going to faint. He just . . . “A month—a month ago?”

  Shae glanced again at Jess, as if asking her permission.

  “I’m fine. Sheesh.” He slid off the table and grabbed the T-shirt Jess had found. He yanked it over his head. “What do you mean, you thought I’d changed?”

  Shae held up her hands. “Uncle Ian, just calm down—”

  “I’m calm,” he said, and schooled his voice. “I’m very calm. What do you mean, you thought I’d changed?”

  “You were always just . . . well, bossy, and you overreact, and I thought—okay, you’re not calm at all.”

  Maybe not, because he was breathing hard, every cell in his body aflame. He closed his eyes, ran his hand down his face. “Sierra knew where you were.”

  He opened his eyes and stared at Shae.

  She nodded. “Although I made her promise that she wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen, I wasn’t even sure I was going to come back, and I didn’t want you to hunt me down. I thought—well, if you could find me, so could he!”

  He?

  The word left him weak. “What happened to you out there, Esme?” Ian advanced on her, gripped her shoulders. “We found Dante’s body. And a woman we met said you showed up at her cabin, terrified. Were you . . .” He winced, unable to say it.

  “No, I wasn’t raped,” Shae said softly. She withdrew his hands from her shoulders, held them. “Dante died protecting me.” Her eyes glistened. “But I knew that going home wasn’t an option so I . . . I left. And I would have never come back had Sierra not convinced me. You need to know that part.”

  And the part where she spent the past month—more, the past three days lying to him.

  “I’m done searching for Esme.”

  Sierra could have told him anytime and . . .

  He couldn’t think about this. Not with Sierra out there, alone. Lost.

  Ian held up a hand. “Listen. I can’t—I can’t talk about this right now. Let’s just find Sierra and then . . . I don’t know.”

  Shae drew in a breath, looked away.

  “Maybe you’d changed . . .”

  Not that much. And with a deep breath, Ian centered all the hurt deep inside, the fear, the anger, the frustration into one central, thrumming centrifuge. When he spoke, he recognized the voice. The tone. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Esme. Trust me. I’ll keep you safe. But . . . who is he?”

  “You’re not going to freak out, do something stupid?”

  He hoped not. “No.”

  “It was Sheriff Blackburn.”

  The blood flushed out of him. “Sheriff Blackburn? He killed Dante?”

  “We saw him kill that woman, Sofia d’Cruze, and he knew it.”

  “Randy Blackburn. You’re sure.”

  “Yeah. But see—that look on your face—that’s why I couldn’t go back.”

  “I believe you, Shae.”

  “But what if nobody else believes me? It was easier to run than to think about facing it all.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly, then braced himself on the table. Sometimes it was just easier to run.

  “Ian!” Pete’s voice thundered from outside, accompanied by footfalls from above.

  Ian strode across the room just as Pete landed on the deck. The guy looked as wrung out and tired as Ian felt.

  “They found her!” Pete grabbed him by the shoulders. “A couple of sailors spotted her on a sandbar just north of here. They picked her up and are bringing her to Bimini!”

  Ian couldn’t breathe. He reached out and slumped down on a bench.

  The voices had woken her, and Sierra opened her eyes to find the morning upon her, the sand and grasses coiled around her.

  A tall mast rose from a moored sailboat just offshore.

  A retired couple, perhaps—they seemed well into their relaxing years—shouted at her as they waded to shore. When they reached her, the man knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

  She wanted to answer no, that she’d probably never be okay. Not without Ian.

  They carried Sierra out to their sailboat. Set her up with fresh clothing, water, and breakfast as they ferried her to Bimini. A Coast Guard ship picked her up before they reached port, and a chopper flew her into Miami.

  Sierra had pressed her forehead to the window and stared down at the unrelenting chop of the sea. Praying.

  She’d asked about Ian, but no one seemed to have any news. The fatigue owned her then, and after they’d checked her into a hospital, she’d fallen into a hard slumber.

  She woke up with the cascade of the late-afternoon sun, hot in her room, and begged for news about Ian. Nothing. It had occurred to her to call PEAK, but what could they do from Montana? The team probably didn’t even know they’d been shipwrecked, that she’d been lost at sea, found, lost again, and now . . . sunburned, dehydrated, hungry, but safe.

  “I’d rather have a pizza,” Sierra said to the male nurse who pushed aside the curtain, carrying dinner. Tall and lean, he reminded her a little of Kelley.

  Who was probably lost at sea.

  Along with everyone else. Noelly, Hayes, Nessa . . .

  No, she had no appetite for pizza or anything but good news.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Until your stomach is ready for more food, it’s Jell-O, soup, and popsicles.” His name badge read “N. Thomas,” and he pushed the cart to her bed, then went over to check her empty IV bag. Unlatched it from the hook to retrieve another.

  “Oh, really? I feel waterlogged,” Sierra said.

  “You lost a lot of electrolytes,” Nurse Thomas said. “You finish this bag, however, and the doc said he might let you go home in the morning.” He hung the new bag, and the cool nutrients filled Sierra’s veins.

  She gave an involuntary shiver, and Thomas noticed as he took her pulse. “Do you need another blanket?”

  No. What she needed was Ian, here. Ian, safe. Ian, holding her hand. Ian, telling her that it was time for them to go home.

  The news that he and Dex had survived.

  Please, God, let them have been found by fishermen or tourists.

  Anyone.

  “I’m fine,” she said to Thomas.

  “Eat,” he said, compassion in his voice. Sierra nodded, but when he left, she pushed the tray away.

  She stared out the window at the green lawn, the lush palm trees blowing in the breeze off the ocean. She finally leaned her head back onto her pillow, her heartbeat a lonely echo in her chest. Closed her eyes to the image of Ian aboard the Jet Ski, looking back. Waving.

  “Are you going to eat that?”

  Huh? She opened her eyes, and her mouth fell open at the sight of Jess standing next to her bed, lifting her tray of food. A tan bronzed her nose, a handkerchief held back her blonde hair, and she looked like she’d spent the last week at the beach.

  “You know how I feel about Jell-O,” Jess said. Then she winked. “Sorry we took so long to get here. It was a longer trip home than out to sea.”

  “What are you talking about?” Heat burned her eyes, and her throat swelled. Sierra pressed her hand to her mouth, and Jess set down the cover, leaned over, and pulled her into a hug.

  “Shh. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  Sierra pushed Jess away. “No, no, I’m not. Ian and Dex. They’re out there—”

  Jess caught her hands.
“No. We found them.”

  The words stopped her, caught her breath. “You—you found them?”

  “Yes. We came down when we heard the Montana Rose had capsized and have been looking for you ever since.”

  “You’ve been looking for us?”

  “Of course we have.” Pete came over, gave Sierra a kiss on the cheek. “Did you think we’d leave you floating in the ocean?”

  She swallowed. “I . . .”

  “Hello, what was it you said to me?” Jess said. “We don’t leave team members behind?”

  Right. Sierra managed a nod as the door opened and Ty came in. “Okay, I found flowers, but . . . Hey there, you.” He held a vase of yellow roses. Made a face when he saw her. “Oh, you look nearly as bad as Ian.”

  “Ty!” Jess said.

  “Sorry.” He set the flowers down on the windowsill, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I tried to find cookies, but then I thought they’d only be a poor imitation of yours, so . . .”

  She tried a smile. “Tell me about Ian. You found him? And . . . what about Dex?”

  Ty slid onto the bed, near her foot. “Yeah.” He looked at Jess and Pete. “So, the Coast Guard picked up Dex last night and flew him here.”

  Silence. She looked at her team members. “Someone please tell me he’s alive.”

  Jess took her hand. “He’s alive. But . . . he lost his leg.”

  Sierra’s jaw clenched. “But he’s alive.”

  “Yeah. His sister and his friends Nessa and Hayes are driving up from the Keys right now,” Pete said.

  This news fired inside her, hot, bright. “They’re alive? They survived? How?”

  “They rode on top of the hot tub cover, along with a guy named Kelley.”

  Kelley. “What about the captain? And Erica? And Cat? And there was a first mate—I can’t remember his name.”

  Ty shook his head. “No one has found them, and the Coast Guard has called off the search.”

  All those people . . . and none of them would have been there if . . .

  “Is she here?”

  The voice reached out from the past. “Esme?”

  Yes. The same woman Sierra had seen over a month ago, only this time she was tanned and wearing a T-shirt and a look of wholeness that hadn’t been in her eyes before. “Shae, remember?”