Well, that’s an improvement, I suppose. Because ever since she’d stood in the parking lot at Delilah’s, contemplating the fact that her father might be the one behind the attempts on her life—and certainly after she’d discovered he and Blake had conspired against her with the press—her blood had been like ice.
“Jesus Christ!” Billy yanked off a set of diving goggles and tossed them onto the captain’s chair to join the flashlight. Grabbing the white fluffy towel that was draped over the back of the seat, he used it to roughly scrub the water from his hair before moving to dry off his arms and chest. “That water is colder than a penguin’s backside.” He shivered once, then shook himself like a dog shaking off water before wrapping the towel around his shoulders.
Cold? Yep, she remembered just how cold it could be. Which was why she hadn’t put up a fight over which one of them would jump overboard to see if whatever was wrong with the engine had something to do with the propeller.
And speaking of…
“Did you see anything?” she asked, unconsciously licking her lips when her gaze snagged on one lone droplet of water as it rolled lazily down the center of his torso until it dipped into his bellybutton, reemerged, and got caught in the thin line of hair that arrowed down the lower portion of his stomach.
Ripped. Jacked. Buff. A whole slurry of descriptors tumbled through her head, but none seemed quite up to snuff when it came to encapsulating the wonder that was Billy and—
“We ran over some sort of rope, I think. The damn thing’s wrapped six ways from Sunday around the prop,” he said, bending to wring out what water he could from his loose swim trunks. “I’m going to need to go back down there with a knife and see if I can saw it loose.”
Saw it loose…which meant he’d have to go back into that frigid, pitch-black water time and time again. Coming up for air, going back under. Rinse and repeat until he was a human popsicle. Although, it would certainly go much faster if she just went with him. She could hold the light while he worked on the rope.
She could hold the light…in all that endless, frigid, pitch-black water…
The memory of the scooter ride, of the weight of her backpack pulling her down, down, down into the abyss flashed through her head and refroze her blood in an instant.
“Crap,” she cursed, biting her lip and glancing out over the lake. “Crap, crap, crap!” She turned to slam the teakwood hatch down over the top of the engine compartment.
Blam!
The loud report echoed out over the water and gave her a tiny niggle of satisfaction. But not enough to mitigate the tsunami wave of self-pity and frustration and…fear that threatened to engulf her. And was it too much to ask that Fate throw her one, just one—she didn’t need more than one, but she’d like just one—flippin’ bone? Seriously? After everything, didn’t she deserve just a teensy, tiny break?
She reached up to fist both hands into her hair, her wet hair, which reminded her how twenty minutes ago she’d tried—without any luck—to shower away all her cares and worries. The maneuver usually worked. Being out on the water, on her Catalina 34-foot sailing yacht nostalgically named Summer Lovin’, with none of the bullcrap day-to-day…things around her, save for the absolute bare necessities, she was usually able to find some clarity, some…peace.
But not tonight. Because either her ex-husband or her father or both were trying to kill her, and they’d apparently teamed up years ago to ensure she’d not only lost what little free will she had, but also completely annihilated any chance she had of making a life with the one and only guy she’d ever had the good fortune to love and…and…on top of all of that, an innocent man was dead because of their duplicity, because of them, because of her.
Blood running down a beer belly…Bearded mouth slightly open…Gray eyes glassy and dead…A red puddle of waning life steadily growing on the floor beneath a bar stool…
The images invaded her brain like a disease, and shoot! Now, she was going to lose it. She was supposed to have toughened up. She was supposed to have grown a set of brass ladyballs, but right now, despite her best efforts, everything was catching up with her, pressing down on her, pressing in on her. And she was going to lose it.
She bit her lip to try to hold it all back, but the sharp pain of her teeth sinking into the delicate pad didn’t work. The world around her began to dissolve into a jumble of fuzzy shapes as tears welled in her eyes. No, no, no…Don’t do this. Don’t—
“Hey, hey,” Billy padded over to her, throwing a heavy, damp arm around her shoulders. “It’s no big deal. If I can just cut it away—”
“Y-you’ll need m-my help,” she sobbed, turning her face into his shoulder, breathing in the crisp smells of lake water and Billy. And it was official. The dam had broken. No, not broken. Exploded. Suddenly, she was shaking and bawling and probably working herself up to be a big ol’ snot factory. But she couldn’t help it. It felt like the entire world was out to get her, out to punish her for…for…“And I-I,” she hiccupped, “I’m scared to go down there with you after,” hiccup, “I nearly drowned!”
“You don’t have to go down there with me. I can do it on my own, and—”
“Th-that’s not it,” she cried. “I’m n-n-not supposed to be scared of the water. It’s my,” hiccup, “my job!” Turning to wrap her arms around his neck, she choked on another sob when he immediately hugged her close. Hugged her up all tight and secure against his warm, solid chest, instinctively trying to sooth her, protect her. Being so nice. Being…Billy.
Oh, God! What had she done? Why hadn’t she been tougher twelve years ago? Why hadn’t she told her father to go screw himself when he kept after her about Blake? If she had, she’d have never betrayed Billy and she wouldn’t be in this mess right now. If she’d only remained strong, remained true, her whole life would be different.
What was that old chaos theory about a butterfly flapping its wings and setting into motion a series of events that resulted in a hurricane? Well, her decision to submit to her father’s wishes was like the flapping of that butterfly’s wings. And now she was experiencing the hurricane. She wished, oh, how she wished she could blame it on something or someone else, but it had been her decision, so this was all her fault…
And, holy cow, she was so tired. So tired. And so scared. And so unbelievably sorry for…for everything.
“Okay,” Billy murmured next to her ear, his deep voice calm and capable-sounding. “You’re not really scared of the water. You’re just exhausted.” She opened her mouth to refute his claim but snapped it shut when she realized he might be right. She was exhausted. Exhausted and defeated. “Which means you’re going straight to bed.”
“Wh-what about the rope?” she asked.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a highly trained Navy SEAL. This little problem is exactly that. A little problem. And once I take care of it, by myself,” he stressed, “everything will be perfectly fine.”