Walking past him to the bow of the boat, I reached the V-berth, the bunk, stepped in, and slid the teak door closed behind me. I breathed in the familiar scent of the sea and leaned against the smooth, warm wood and tried like hell to calm my nerves.
There on the bed were clothes carefully laid out like I was an expected guest. I looked closely at them, touching and caressing each piece in wonder.
There were black jeans, like his, stonewashed and soft. There were cargo pants and two long-sleeved thermals, pretty in cream and cornflower blue. The underwear, black panties and bras, were my size exactly. A fisherman’s sweater of soft wool hung on a hook, a women’s size with a large cable-knit pattern. And there were pajamas, cloud-soft flannel. The matching tank top and short bottoms were decorated with tiny dragonflies and Asian coins for a pattern. I’d never owned anything as extravagant as pajamas before; at least, not since I was five years old.
Lying on this little bunk were more new clothes than I ever remembered owning all at one time. Where? And how? New Seattle? Not possible. The malls were underwater; nothing this nice could have survived. Then where? I thought of Gabriel’s sun-kissed skin, and I remembered my first impression: Not from around here.
I stripped off my clothes, slipped on the silky underwear, and climbed into the black jeans. They fit perfectly, hugging my body like an old friend.
I marveled that I actually had a choice of clothing. I chose the cream thermal and fisherman’s sweater. Oversize, it hung to my knees, and the sleeves covered my hands to the knuckles. It felt warm and cozy and welcoming. I loved it. But what I really wanted to wear were the pajamas. I couldn’t help handling them, rubbing them against my cheek, smelling the newness of them. But when, if ever, I’d wear them with Gabriel so close…well, for now it wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t.
I smelled a heavenly aroma coming from the cabin and my mouth watered with hunger. Time to face Gabriel. And then what? Thank him for the clothes? Thank him for planning ahead, for knowing my size? That was creepy on so many levels. I had so many questions. But would he answer them? And if he did, would there be any truth in his words?
I turned to leave when I saw a small mirror hanging flush on the door. Standing on tiptoe I peeked at my reflection. I looked at the dark circles under my eyes, the paleness of my skin, and the tangled mess of my hair. I looked at the lump on my forehead that matched Gabriel’s goose egg perfectly. A shadow of a smile passed over my face as I touched the painful spot. Guess both of us were pretty hardheaded. As bone-weary fatigue crept into every part of my body, I knew no amount of new clothes would help sort out the mess I was in. Sighing, I put my hands on the door and got ready to slide it open.
Taking a deep breath I prayed. Please, God, just get me through this night. Let Gabriel Black be different from all the rest of the Runners out there. Let me rest. Let me sleep. Let me regain my strength. And please, please, let me live through this night.
Chapter Eight
The aroma of something wonderful hit me the moment I slid the door open. My stomach growled and my nose told me I wasn’t in Salmon Land anymore. I smelled fresh bread and roasting vegetables and some kind of simmering meat and…wait, was it even possible?
Coffee?
Did I smell coffee?
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose, almost tripping as I made my way toward the aroma. Seamus had introduced me to coffee when I was seven, and by the time I was eight, I was the one making it. I was on the top of New San Juan, waiting on high ground, the day one of the worst waves took a giant swallow out of New Seattle. The sea took away the last vestiges of coffee, canned, freeze-dried, whole beans, or any other. My New Seattle coffee runs came to a halt. It was the beginning of a two-month-long caffeine headache for me. Which was my own personal hell. Even Max hardly recognized my normal pissed-off personality. I’d gone from marginally pissed off, to off-the-friggin’-Richter-scale pissed off. Looking back on it, I was surprised Max stuck around at all. At the thought of Max, my eyes stung and I quickly blinked back the threatening tears.
Stopping coffee runs was just one more door closing on my interaction with people. Which was probably for the best. My blue eyes and tattoo had been drawing too much attention anyway.
As things in our world got worse, the hatred for me grew. And who could blame them for hating me? Every time they heard my voice, death and destruction followed. No matter how much I read from the books and magazines piled in the Runner kindling dump, I never could find any explanation for my abilities. People didn’t like what they couldn’t explain. Some thought I wasn’t human, that I was something evil. Their superstition, desperation, and fear overrode hope.
Gabriel had set up a tiny fold-down table for us; he’d even lit a candle. He sat with his back to me, sipping a cup of Joe, as Seamus called it, reading a chart. His long black hair had been brushed out and hung loosely around his shoulders. It looked shiny and thick and glowed blue-black in the candlelight. It was beautiful.
I had the urge to walk up and yank it. Hard. But I really, really, really wanted a cup of coffee, so for now I’d try to play nice. Try.
“Have a seat,” he said without turning around. “Make yourself at home.”
I slipped onto the bench across from him, folding my hands in my lap, and waited expectantly. He would feed me, that much I was sure of, but I just didn’t know how to go about “making myself at home.” This wasn’t my home. This was my prison.
My stomach growled and he looked up and smiled. Twin dimples appeared and white teeth flashed. I must have been starving, because Gabriel Black looked good enough to eat. He had to quit smiling. It was unsettling and interfered with my thoughts of escape and stealing his boat and throwing him overboard.
He put the chart aside and leaned across the table. “Hungry?”
I nodded.
He looked at me appraisingly in the sweater, tilted his head, and whispered, “I know I am.”
Why did I think he wasn’t talking about food?
I felt the familiar heat climb into my cheeks.
“Your eyes look even bluer when you do that, as if that’s even possible.”
“Do what?”
“Blush.”
“Oh. I mean, I wasn’t.”
His black eyes sparkled with humor. “Oh,” he said. “The sweater looks terrific on you. I knew it would.”
I hardly knew what to say. Thanks for being my secret shopper? Thanks for stalking me for five years and getting my underwear size right? I decided to say nothing.
He continued to stare.
“Um, Gabriel?”
“Yeah?”
“Food?”
Now it was his turn to look embarrassed. He blinked. “Of course.”
Gabriel brought two heaping bowls of stew and placed one in front of me. I bent my head, breathing in the enticing aromas.
“It smells amazing. This is so not the fish chowder I’m used to.” I looked at him. “Venison?”
“Sirloin.”
I almost dropped my fork. Sirloin? Who had sirloin anymore? Sirloin was from cows. Cows had disappeared years ago. Hadn’t they?
There was warm wheat bread and tiny salt and pepper shakers, which blew me away, and then the magic words: “Do you want some coffee?”
It was all I could do to hide my excitement. “Um, yeah, sure.” I could do casual. I wasn’t a heathen.
“Cream?”
“Cream?” My voice squeaked and I dropped my spoon, sloshing the stew on the table. Okay. So maybe I was a heathen. Still, I was so surprised I could have fallen off a chair. Good thing my chair was a bench.
“Something wrong?”
I couldn’t stand it another second. I lost it. I picked up my spoon, pointing it at him like it was my knife. In my anger I might have even spun it, which was really embarrassing. I raised my voice anyway.
“Wrong? Wrong? Why would anything be wrong? Sirloin? Cream? Salt and pepper? And coffee? Who the hell has coffee these days?”
He looked confused. “What? You don’t like coffee?”
“I love coffee. Love. It. But that’s not my point.”
“What is the point?”
God, the man was dense. Who knew? But I guessed this was our first real conversation. We hadn’t had time to talk. We’d been too busy trying to kill each other.
“Okay, Gabriel. I’ll speak slowly.”
He frowned.
“Once upon a time there was a series of giant killer waves.” He sat back with arms folded, clearly not amused. “And they pretty much wiped out just about everything we humans had taken for granted. Things like cows and cream and pepper and coffee.” He gave me a blank look. I sighed, rubbing my temples. “The next thing you’ll tell me is that it’s Starbucks.”
“Christmas Blend.”
“What?”
“The coffee. It’s Starbucks’ Christmas Blend.”
“Un-fucking-believable.”
He raised a brow. “I like to eat well.”
“That’s my point. You eat well.” I spread my arms out in exasperation. “How?”
“Uplanders.”
His answer blew me away.
“Uplanders?” I hated that my voice sounded weak, uncertain. Scared.
“In part. The coffee is mine, though. It’s like gold. It makes a good trade.”
I put the spoon down and shook my head, amazed at this information. “How is this possible?” I demanded. “Uncle Seamus said Uplanders were no better off than the Runners—worse, even. He said the few of them who remained lived like animals. He said they weren’t worth saving. He said they’d kill me just as sure as—” I stopped. The look on Gabriel’s face said it all.
Seamus had lied.
How could that surprise me? Seamus had always lied. It wasn’t until now that I realized the true extent of it. The extreme measures he went to just to keep me isolated and alone. To be his personal Weather Channel. I saw the look of pity in Gabriel’s eyes and I hated it. With fists clamped against the anger and hurt, I hardly trusted my own voice. I held his gaze and then asked coolly, “May I have that cup of coffee now?”
“Of course.”
As Gabriel brought the steaming mug of coffee and set it in front of me, I kept my gaze down, intent on staring at the stew. It probably tasted wonderful, but I’d lost my appetite. I’d lost my fire, my will, my focus. Even the aroma of Starbucks Christmas Blend couldn’t rouse me.
Today I’d lost everything. My home, which now seemed like a lie. A lie because there were more people out there in more communities than I could have imagined. People who raised cows and had cream. I didn’t have to live alone, isolated on a remote island because Seamus O’Malley had put me there. And then I thought again of Max and realized that I hadn’t been truly alone for the past five years. But even my dog had been a lie. Max hadn’t been mine at all. And now he was gone.
Sitting in this stranger’s boat, held captive, my future in question, I felt as alone as the day they told me my family was dead.
I realized I was over-the-top feeling sorry for myself. Drowning in self-pity. But when most everything you thought was real wasn’t, well, it was a lot to process.
“Blue, you have to eat.”
Gabriel’s silken voice cut into my thoughts. I looked up into his intense gaze now filled with worry and I thought, Why does he care?
I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep through. I felt completely and totally lost. Where was my place in this world? Where would a freak who could read waves and talk to the water fit in? Would Gabriel, a Runner, even give me that chance? Or was I once again a pawn for someone else’s agenda? Someone like this mysterious Indigo.
Gabriel reached out and wrapped his hands around mine for a moment. His hands covered my own completely. I couldn’t help but flash on how easily those same hands had snapped Raspy Voice’s neck. I started to tremble, in spite of my efforts not to.
“There’s so much you don’t understand,” he said in a soft, low voice.
Releasing my hands, he reached for the cream, held it above my mug with a questioning look. I nodded, unable to find my voice, and watched as the white liquid dropped into a dark landscape, turning it into lighter shades of brown.
“Please, Blue. Take something hot. You need it.”
I stared into the coffee, watching the light swirl with dark. I listened to the rain beating a soft rhythm on the deck above. But most of all I listened to the waters of the bay, tapping out a faint tattoo message against the hull.
A message I’d heard before.
My heart rate increased tenfold, and blood roared in my ears as my blood pressure skyrocketed.
Gabriel and the lantern lights faded away. The swirls in my coffee moved faster and faster, forming peaks and foam. Sometimes it worked like that, like a message in a bottle. The sea talked to me in many forms: a tide pool, rain puddles, once even in Max’s water bowl. Why not a cup of coffee?
It was a summons. A summons to listen.
Gabriel’s voice seemed distant now. All I could hear was the voice against the hull, tapping out a warning.
A wave, Blue. A wave. A wave. A wave. A big wave. Huge. A monster.
A tsunami.
I gasped and the message continued.
Unmatched. Unstoppable. Unbeatable.
I gripped the mug tighter and the hot liquid sloshed out, streaming over my hands. Gabriel was on his knees now, kneeling before me, gripping my shoulders, calling my name.
I was Tsunami Blue, all right. And I was living up to my name. A wave was coming, unlike one I’d ever seen before. None of us had. And just before my world turned to gray and then to black and I passed out in Gabriel’s arms, one thing and one thing only resonated in my mind.
Chapter Nine
I woke up in Gabriel Black’s arms.
He was asleep, I was awake, and all I could think of was that we were in bed together. Again.
We were in the tiny stateroom, snuggled up on the V-berth under a cozy down comforter. And even though the comforter covered us completely, I knew immediately that I had on my new pajamas. The baby-soft flannel felt as good against my skin as I knew it would. Still, that left the million-dollar question. Not that a million dollars was worth anything, right? Or was it? I didn’t know anymore. Still, I hadn’t put on the pj’s. So?
So once again Gabriel had seen me naked. Or gotten me naked. Shit, I guess both were technically right. Well, that’s great, Blue. Just great.
I tried not to panic as thoughts of what might have happened raced through my mind. But no, my body would tell me; I would know. And I sure as hell would have woken up. A wave vision might lay me out for the count. But render me unconscious while I had wild, raw sex with a Runner? Not a chance in hell. I was an extremely light sleeper. And I was pretty damn sure sex with Gabriel Black would wake me up.
And as for Gabriel? I looked at him sleeping, one arm over my stomach, the other under my head. Inky lashes lay against bronzed skin, and his black hair mingled with my own, hard to tell where his started and mine left off. He looked amazing as always, but somehow in his sleep he looked…what? Not harmless, no, never not harmless. Honorable?
Okay. Get a grip, Blue.
I’d just visited the planet Delusional. Had to be lack of food. Or more likely the cup of coffee I missed out on last night. Something that traumatic would mess with anyone’s mind. I mean, come on. It was Starbucks Christmas Blend. With cream.I held my breath and peeked under the comforter, lifting it slowly. Gabriel was completely dressed, except for the nasty spiked belt he favored. Thank God. I mean, really, that belt could have snagged the hell out of my new pj’s.
The daylight from the tiny hatch above filtered gray light into the cabin, and I concentrated on the sounds that surrounded me: Gabriel’s even breathing, an eagle’s cry, the breeze slapping a line against the mast, and the sound I listened for the most: the water. And there it was, lapping at the hull, steady, constant, and nothing more. No war
nings, no words, no rise in my blood pressure, except for when I looked at Gabriel sleeping next to me—nothing.
A wave bigger than any other.
I fought panic. I had time to figure this out. I always had time. Not much. Two weeks, tops. The ocean would tease me with clues, give me facts mixed with fiction. It would lie, promise, renege, and then promise all over again. It was a dangerous game that had led to false alarms at times, which only further enflamed those who believed I was evil—that I somehow caused the waves.
I closed my eyes and tried to relax, tried to think. Whatever the sea was selling, I would buy. And I’d keep buying until I got it right. Eventually I would. I was Tsunami Blue, after all, and it was the one thing I could be proud of: In the end, I never, ever got it wrong. And when I figured it out, I’d take to the airwaves. But just like the boy who cried wolf too many times, there were people who refused to believe. And they paid for that with their lives. Our new world was filled with so much fear. It was easy to blame me. Still, I saved lives, so I’d keep on the air and— Wait. My equipment. My now burned and destroyed equipment.
I had more; I wasn’t a complete moron. I’d stashed shortwave radios all over the San Juans. Each had been jury-rigged to my own specifications. I’d been collecting the hand-cranked units since I was kid, back in the days when no one would listen. But we were headed north. Away from everything I needed. I had to tell Gabriel. We had to turn around. Now.
I shot up, so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t realize that Gabriel’s arm no longer lay across me, and once again, I collided with his forehead, a complete repeat of the day before.
“Damn it, Blue.” He flopped down on the bed.
“Oh, damn,” I said, crashing back on the bed in a heap next to him. Both of us put our hands on our foreheads, groaning.
He spoke first.
“You’re a painful woman,” he said with a grimace and a moan.
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