Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
George Ingram had left the marina early that morning, determined to be out on the water early.
He liked getting to the best fishing spots before the dozens of charter fishing boats filled with tourists raced from the shores of Kauai on a tight schedule to get to the fish, catch, clean and get back in time to take out the next round of tourists. Time was money to the boat owners and captains.
George was on vacation. He was between assignments with the Hawaii branch of the Brotherhood Protectors, having completed a security gig for the wedding of a wealthy Japanese man’s daughter. He and three other members of his team had spent the past week in Oahu at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, making certain no one interfered with the preparations and subsequent conduct of an extremely elaborate wedding with over five hundred guests.
As soon as the bride and her groom had left for their honeymoon and her father had been escorted to the airport to board his private jet, George had hopped on a commuter flight to Kauai, where he’d arranged to rent a fishing boat and a cabin in the hills for a week of rest and relaxation.
No crowded streets, jostling tourists or drunks bumping into him.
Just him, the boat, a good fishing pole, bait and fish.
George had lived on the coast of Florida growing up. He knew how to handle a boat on waterways larger than a lake. He was careful to check the two-way radio, the GPS, the boat motor and supplies before he set off from the marina.
He sighed, the salty breeze whipping across his face as he left the marina in the early morning hours before the sun crested the island behind him. The humid air was still a little cooler than it would be later that day. It caressed his cheeks as he piloted the fishing boat to the GPS location the marina owner had given him, swearing he'd be guaranteed to catch his limit for the day.
George didn’t really care if he caught his limit. Granted, he enjoyed the challenge of reeling in a big fish, but if all he caught were rays of sunshine and the peace of utter silence, he’d be a happy camper.
The wedding gig had tested his patience. Brides and their mamas were out of his league. He would rather face a dozen Taliban terrorists than provide security for another high-dollar wedding.
Then again...a job was a job. Rich wedding guests needed protection as much as poor indigents who only wanted to live in peace.
George wasn’t part of the Marine Corps anymore. Fighting the Taliban was a thing of the past. He had to remind himself he’d asked for this. He’d left the Marine Corps when the US had pulled out of Afghanistan. That disaster had gone against the grain in George’s books. He’d fought alongside so many good operatives and risked his life to save even more for the American government to make an inglorious exit that had left a bitter taste in their mouths and strategic challenges for those left behind.
George had a chip on his shoulders for the way his fellow soldiers had been treated. For the way American contractors had been abandoned, left to die or be tortured at the hands of the Taliban.
George’s route had taken him toward the role of a mercenary taking work on the African continent where the enemy was more obscure and difficult to identify. He’d eventually landed with some of his fellow mercenaries on the Hawaiian Islands, working for Brotherhood Protectors, the Hawaiian regional office. So far, it hadn’t been too bad, sans the wedding event.
In George’s opinion, weddings were a huge waste of time and money and usually ended in divorce. Why marry? The institution had so many faults in the foundation that he’d avoided it like the plague.
And children? He couldn’t see bringing children into a world as messed up as the one he’d experienced for the latter half of his adult life.
Then again, he’d signed up for the job. After the wedding gig, he’d half-wondered if he needed to look for another job as a mercenary.
Whatever.
He was off the coast of Kauai in a fishing boat, about to spend the best week of his life being lazy, ignoring clocks and being his most selfish self.
As he neared the coordinates, the sun came up over the horizon behind him, spreading across the day, lighting the sky and the water with glorious shades of color.
With his hand on the wheel, he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. All the tension of the past week melted away. He could get used to living the island life. Being out on the water brought good memories of his childhood in Florida.
Maybe he’d quit the Brotherhood and hire on as a boat captain.
As soon as the thought entered his head, he dismissed it. It would take a lot more than a Bridezilla to make him walk away from his team. Since coming to work for the Brotherhood Protectors, he’d found what he’d been missing since leaving the Marine Corps.
His people. Brothers in arms. Family.
The guys on his team had all been special forces types, deployed to some of the most dangerous places in the world, performing hazardous missions. They’d been shot at, injured and watched close friends die. They each understood PTSD and fought their own battles with memories of horrific encounters.
Not many civilians would understand or relate to what they’d endured. Just being with his team members helped to ground him. Helped him know he wasn’t alone.
Not that being alone was a bad thing. Like now, with the sun at his back, the boat skimming over the swells, a salty taste on his tongue.
But if he needed someone to talk to or someone just to share space with, any one of his team would be there for him and he for them.
Caught up in his thoughts of the past, of his team and angling toward the ideal fishing spot, George didn’t see the thing floating in the water until he nearly ran over it.
At the last moment, he spun the wheel, sending the fishing boat to the right, avoiding hitting the pale, floating debris on the water’s surface.
As he passed the mass, it lifted on the boat’s wake, and something that looked like an arm swung up into the air.
“What the hell?” George rammed the throttle forward and kept spinning the wheel until the craft made a tight one-eighty and headed back the way it had come.
George slowed and shifted into neutral as the boat coasted up to the object he’d almost hit.
His heart leaped into his throat as he killed the engine and rushed to the bow.
“Holy shit,” he said as he stared down at a woman lying face down in the water, naked, dark reddish-brown hair a cloud around her shoulders.
Leaning over as far as he could without falling in, he snagged a thin arm and dragged her up and out of the water onto the deck.
Her skin was cool to the touch. She had a bruise and a cut across her cheek and bruises along her upper arms and wrists.
George touched his fingers to the base of her neck. For a long moment, he felt nothing. When he was about to call it, he felt the tiniest flutter. Was it a pulse? He held his breath and willed another flutter.
Nothing.
Her chest wasn’t rising. She wasn’t breathing.
Every man and woman in the military had training in basic life support, CPR and battlefield wound care.
George had used his training enough that it was second nature. Time was of the essence. If the woman had any chance whatsoever, he had to act fast.
He tipped her chin up, pinched her nose, covered her mouth with his and blew air in as he watched as her chest rise. After five breaths, he placed the heel of his palm between her breasts and started chest compressions.
He'd only performed three when the woman gasped, her body tensing beneath his hands.
She coughed up water and sucked it back down.
George quickly rolled her onto her side to keep her from aspirating.
The woman alternated between coughing and breathing until she sagged against the deck, breathing steadily.
George left her briefly to grab a towel from where he’d stowed it beneath one of the seat cushions. He hurried back to the limp, unmoving form and checked again to make sure she was still breathing.
The steady movement of her chest reassured him she was. He gently laid the towel over her naked body and rubbed it across her skin, absorbing the seawater.
As he did, he spoke softly. “You’re going to be all right. Just hang in there.”
She didn’t respond; she just lay on her side, her eyes closed.
George continued to rub the towel against her skin, hoping to warm her more. She was so cold.
When she was dry enough, he looked around for a more comfortable place for her to lay.
“I’m going to move you to one of the cushioned benches,” he said.
Since she didn’t say anything in protest, he scooped his hands beneath her back and legs and lifted her off the deck.
She was so light. Carrying her to the bench was like carrying a child.
When he laid her on the bench behind the captain’s seat, her head flopped back, and her eyes fluttered open, exposing the softest, moss-green eyes he’d ever seen.
“Hey,” he said, smiling reassuringly down at her. “Feel better?”
She gave the barest shake of her head, and her eyelids sank.
George adjusted the towel, covering her as much as possible, afraid it wasn’t enough.
“How long have you been out there?” he asked softly.
He might as well have been talking to himself. She was out.
George looked around for the dry bag containing a T-shirt and shorts he’d brought along in case he ended up wet from fishing or smelly from cleaning his catch. He found it in the storage well beneath the bench beside the passenger seat. He pulled the T-shirt out of the bag and knelt beside the woman on the bench.
He touched her shoulder. “Are you with me?”
When she didn’t say anything and her eyes remained closed, he held his breath and glanced at the towel over her chest.
For a long moment, it didn’t move.
George started to rise and start CPR again when the towel rose and fell so little it was almost imperceptible. She was still breathing.
He let go of the breath he’d held and slipped his hand beneath her shoulders, sitting her up.
Like a ragdoll, she sagged against him, her head lulling to the side until it came to rest on his shirt.
To help steady her, he slipped onto the bench behind her and held her up while pulling the T-shirt over her head. Then, one by one, he slipped her arms into the sleeves. Once he’d accomplished that, he tugged the shirt over her chest and torso.
Her head hung down, her chin touching her chest.
“You poor girl. How awful was it to be alone in the water long enough to be this out of it?”
She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect her to.
George scooted out from behind her and eased her back down onto the bench.
He’d done what he could for the woman. She needed medical attention ASAP.
George revved the engine and headed back to the marina, steering the boat with one hand while reaching back with the other toward the woman on the bench in an attempt to make certain she didn’t fall off.
He needed another hand to operate the radio and call back to the marina to have the owner call for an ambulance. As he got closer to the shore, he’d slow down long enough to make that call. He was still too far out to make a difference.
When the island of Kauai came into sight, the mountains rising high out of the sea, he slowed the boat to a stop and checked on his patient.
She lay still on the bench, her face pale, tendrils of auburn hair curling around her cheeks, having dried in the wind.
George leaned over her and touched her shoulder. “Are you still with me?” he asked.
Her chest rose with a deep breath. Her eyelids twitched as if she might be trying to surface.
“Just relax. We’re almost back to shore. I’m going to call an ambulance to meet us at the marina.”
As he straightened, her hand reached out and grabbed his.
“No,” she said, her voice not much louder than a whisper.
He leaned closer. “Did you say something?”
She murmured something that sounded like dead.
“No, darlin’,” he said. “You’re not dead. You’re alive. But you came close to drowning. We need to get you to a hospital.”
Her head rolled to the side and back to the other side. “No,” she repeated a little louder. “Dead.”
That time, the word was clear.
He brought her hand up, rubbing his fingers over hers. “You’re not dead.”
“Need,” she said and coughed.
“Need what?” he leaned closer.
“To...be...dead,” she said as if it took all her strength to form those words.
With a frown, George shook his head. Had she attempted suicide by drowning? His heart pinched hard in his chest. He’d known a couple of his buddies from his Marine Force Recon days who’d committed suicide. After they’d left the military and battled with PTSD, they hadn’t been able to reconcile their experiences in battle with the civilian world and cashed in.
George had been in some dark places before. He’d come close to that same kind of despair where he’d felt the only way out of it was to end his life. However, he’d found his way back, though he still had nightmares and still fought his own demons.
He had the Brotherhood now. Maybe what this woman needed at that moment was a friend—someone who would listen and take her darkness seriously. No matter what she needed, he wasn’t going to let her go down without a fight. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not on my watch. Whatever is wrong, dying isn’t the solution.”
For a long moment, she didn’t speak or move. Her hand was limp in his.
“You need a doctor,” he said softly. “I’m calling for an ambulance.”
Instantly, her hand gripped his with surprise strength. Her eyes opened, glassy yet feral. “No.” She tried to rise.
“Hey, easy there.” His free hand pressed against her shoulder, urging her to remain on the bench.
She gripped his hand tighter. “No one can know I didn’t die. Please. No one can see me.” She drew a ragged breath, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Promise,” she whispered.
George frowned down at her. “But you almost drowned. You need a hospital.”
She shook her head, her eyes boring into his, her hand squeezing his tightly. “Promise.”
That single tear and the desperation in her voice and expression wrecked George’s resolve to get her to a hospital. She was afraid of something or someone. So afraid that she’d rather be thought dead with no one the wiser than go to a hospital.
“Promise,” she said, wilting back against the bench, her strength seeming to leech from her body. “No one must know.”
“I promise,” he said, wanting her to feel safe from whatever had her so terrified. “I promise. No one will know you survived.”
She lay still, her fingers loosening around his. Her eyelids drifted closed.
“Are you still with me?” he asked.
She lay silently for a moment, then answered, “I am.”
“Can I do anything for you? Water? Food?”
Without opening her eyes, she replied, “Water.”
He grabbed a bottle of water from the small cooler, twisted off the cap and helped her sit up. With an arm around her shoulders, he propped her up and pressed the bottle to her lips.
She took several sips before her head dropped back against him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Emi,” she said and went limp in his grasp.
“Emi, can I do anything else for you?” he asked as he eased her back onto the bench.
Her lips moved, and she whispered. George leaned closer and yet couldn’t quite make out her words.
He thought she might have said something like, Help me save her .
“Save who?” he asked.
The women didn’t respond.
“Emi?” he touched her shoulder.
Her eyes remained closed.
For a long moment, George studied the woman, not quite sure what to do.
He’d promised not to take her to a hospital or let anyone know she was alive. In order to do that, he had to sneak her out of the boat, into the SUV he’d rented and find somewhere to hide her until she recovered enough to tell him what the hell was going on and where he could take her.
He stared at the island not far off his bow.
The marina was out of the question. It would be teeming with boat crews and tourists by now.
His small cabin was close to a fairly secluded beach. He could take the boat to the beach, carry her ashore and hide her at the cabin until she came to. Then, he could try to convince her to go to a hospital or home to her family.
He'd take her where she needed to go and then get back to his quiet, peaceful vacation before he’d lost too much of the week.
With that plan in mind, he resumed his position at the helm and steered the boat away from the marina and toward the little stretch of beach where his cabin stood.
He didn’t know this woman and could just take her to the local medical facility. He told himself that she wasn’t his responsibility.
Except he’d pulled her out of the water, saved her life and then foolishly promised to let her stay dead.
He cursed softly.
That made her his responsibility.