Chapter 11 #4
“Medical separation, two bionic knees. I should have recognized her in Barcelona, but my brain just didn’t click in fast enough. And then I caught her hunting your AI program in Mariposa, and... well, she’s rather unforgettable. Even when she’s disguised.”
Declan grunted in agreement.
Steinbeck wore that distant look again, as if scrolling through memories. Finally, he sighed. “I should probably try to, though.”
“Try to what?”
“Forget her.” He met Declan’s gaze. “Or maybe figure out why I can’t.”
Declan sensed there might be a third option, one that involved Steinbeck in something off-books and extracurricular. Yes, Stein definitely wore a “mission not over” expression.
Declan got it. Please, God, let Austen’s EPIRB be working. So apparently, he was all over the humbly-asking-for-help thing. “Whom have I in heaven but you?”
The thought hung on to him as the sun settled into the sea, as the stars came out, glistened on the waves.
They drank more water. Shared another bar and huddled in the raft, trying not to freeze as the wind and night cast them into the waves.
He woke at the sound of a seagull calling into the dawn-lit morning. Declan sat up, watched it circle, then fly away.
They couldn’t be that far from land.
Another seagull cried, and then he spotted a fin in the water.
“Is that a shark?” Steinbeck had woken too, and now sat up, watching it.
“I hope not.”
The animal surfaced, sprayed water from its blowhole.
Dolphin. In fact, an entire pod of them, now circling the raft, blowing, diving again.
Steinbeck glanced at him, a half smile.
Declan handed him a protein bar and water. They ate in silence, watching the sun rise, and he didn’t want to bring up her name.
Please, please let Austen be alive. Yes, it was a prayer.
He was trying to figure out if he should take off his shirt and drape it over his head to keep from getting burned when a horn sounded over the expanse of water.
Declan searched, a hand cupped over his eyes.
“There,” Stein said, pointing. “A boat. Smaller than the Coast Guard, but there, on the horizon!”
Declan grabbed the flare gun, removed the barrel cap, loaded the flare, and shot it off.
It arched over the water, bright even in the rising daylight.
The boat responded with another long blast of its horn as it cut through the waves toward them, and it seemed he’d seen it before.
“It’s Hawkeye!” said Stein, getting to his knees, waving.
How—
The boat slowed, edging closer, and Declan spotted a handful of men gathered in the bow, one he recognized. His contact, sandy-brown hair, with a cowboy aura about him. Texas. The man nodded at Declan, his expression tight.
So maybe something had happened to the Santa Maria . A stone formed in Declan’s gut.
But first on his list was finding Austen.
“Seriously?” Steinbeck said as he grabbed the rope one of the men had thrown him. The man had dark hair and a strong build. “Colt? What are you doing here?”
“We’re here for him,” said Colt, the man next to Texas. “Heard he needed a lift. Didn’t realize you’d be part of the package, cuz.”
“That’s your cousin?” Declan said to Steinbeck.
“Yeah, you met him in Barcelona.”
“No, no, I didn’t.”
The raft bumped up against the boat, and Texas let down a ladder. Stein headed up first, glad-handed his cousin.
Then Declan climbed up.
Texas helped haul him aboard. “You okay?”
“Thanks,” Declan said and shook his hand.
“Stein,” Colt said, “this is Tate. He works with that group I mentioned.”
Steinbeck extended his hand.
“Tate? That’s your real name?” Declan said.
“I like Texas better,” Tate said. “Easier to keep my worlds apart. Tate Marshall.”
Declan got that. Except he was so very over his own double life as the Dark Horse. Alosha. He held out his hand to Colt. “Declan Stone.”
“I know who you are,” Colt said, giving him a nod. “Logan Thorne, my boss, can’t stop telling us that you’re his secret weapon.”
Right. “No,” Declan said. “Just trying to stay afloat.”
“We got you now,” Hawkeye said, coming out of the pilothouse. “Tate called Colt, and he called me. You guys hungry?”
“I ate a bar of soap a couple hours ago,” said Steinbeck.
Hawkeye laughed. “Oh, you cracked into the sea rations. Yum.”
“Any news on Austen?” Declan asked.
Hawkeye frowned. “What about Austen?”
“She’s also lost at sea,” Steinbeck said.
And the way he said it sort of punched Declan. Lost. At sea. Alone.
Because of him. I’m sorry, Austen.
Hawkeye’s smile dimmed. He glanced at Declan, then back at Stein. “Then let’s go find your sister.”
And Declan shot another prayer toward heaven. Because apparently God was listening.
Please.
* * *
She’d been in her ratty pajamas for two long days by the time she was rescued by Alfonzo— Fonzie —Pinder, as he’d introduced himself on the Royal Bahamas Defense Force ship.
The twenty-something sailor had seemed to make her his priority after they landed at the small defense post in Bimini, because he’d helped her make a call to Key West from the RBDF administrative office.
Hawkeye hadn’t answered, so she’d called Mo. Thankfully the pilot had been between charter gigs and said yes, he’d fly over and rescue her.
And then maybe she’d never leave Key West again, thank you.
Except, she had nowhere to live, did she? So maybe it was back to Minnesota and... that’s when she shut down, sitting on a vinyl chair in the reception area, staring out into the blue ocean, the endless sky.
Fonzie found her, suggested food, and brought her next door to a tropical hole-in-the-wall café, and bought her bacon-flavored peas and rice and johnnycakes.
She’d never tasted anything so good as she sat in the air-conditioning overlooking the Resorts World Marina and the seaplane base.
Tall whitewashed ceilings, a couple palm fans circulating the air, and the smell of deep-fried conch fritters.
And outside, at the long pier down the road, a Virgin cruise ship, with its big red stripe, had pulled up (the island wasn’t so wide that she couldn’t see the seventeen-story ship).
Thousands of tourists streamed into the small town, shopping and maybe heading for Resorts World Bimini and its expansive golden-white-sand beach.
She watched jet skiers circle the turquoise waters, and a dive boat came into the dock and unloaded a crew.
She was back in fantasyland, a refugee standing on the outskirts, and it felt almost sacrilegious for the world to keep turning after...
And she lost her appetite, unable to bear the gasp, the terrible swell of reality.
Finally she put her head in her arms, letting herself cry despite being nearly dry. How was she going to tell her parents that Steinbeck had died?
Died.
And Declan ? —
“Ma’am. Would you like to talk to one of our local clergy?
” Fonzie had come back, sat down on the opposite side of the yellow picnic table.
He’d changed into a pair of shorts and a collared shirt and wore a baseball cap.
It hadn’t occurred to her until now that maybe he’d been out looking for her all night.
“I don’t...” She wiped her face. “I’ll be okay. What I’d really like is clothes.”
He pointed at her, then snapped his fingers. “C’mon.”
They hopped into a golf cart, and he motored her down the long main drag into Alice Town proper, past pink and turquoise and yellow homes, some on stilts, past rustic beaches, and boatyards with private marinas, a few food stands, and salt-licked office buildings and cafés, and bordering it all, the azure sea.
And despite her ordeal at sea... the vastness of it still beckoned.
Run . The urge to just... ignore it all, put it behind her, not think about Stein or Declan, or even Phoenix, just... leave it all behind, swelled inside her.
Except. “Be still.”
Fonzie finally turned into a neighborhood and pulled up to a church shaped like a pyramid in the middle of a cluster of small homes.
A wooden building with slanted walls and windows at the base. “This is a Catholic church?”
“Yes,” he said. “They have a clothing shelf. I’ll be back.”
Oh. She got off and headed to the building while he drove away.
The door was open, and she walked inside. Light streamed from a tall triangular stained-glass window onto the gleaming wood sanctuary. At the side and front, small altars held Virgin Mary statuary, a crucifix at the head altar.
The place smelled of peace and quiet and sanctuary.
“May I help you?” said a nun. Her brown eyes, as warm as her smile, took one look at Austen and said, “Oh, I see. Let’s get you some clothes.”
And that’s how Austen found herself at a rack, searching for the right attire.
And maybe the sun had gone to her head, turned her a little crazy, but she was actually considering the purple sundress with the puffy short sleeves and slit up the side.
“We get so many people discarding their clothing to make room for souvenirs,” said the nun, who’d introduced herself as Sister Clare and opened the closet and allowed her to rifle through the offerings.
Probably not the purple sundress, but maybe too many choices. White linen pants, sandals, sleeveless shirts, sundresses, hats. Even bikini coverups.
She found a pair of flowered leggings that looked like something out of the seventies, and then, just because, a yellow crop top with puffy sleeves and a boat neck.
She used the church bathroom to change, then donned a pair of worn white Converse tennis shoes.
As she stared at herself in the mirror, she felt, well, nearly normal.
She dropped her pajamas in the trash. Not that she didn’t love them, but she just...
well, Declan had purchased them for her. And Declan...
Was complicated. And kind. And sweet and... Oh, she should have trusted him.
Of course, his words tiptoed into her head. “I am doing the right thing. But sometimes doing the right thing requires you to do some, well, some bad stuff to get it done.”