Chapter 6
“Excuse me—”
Both men tried to speak at the same time. The captain took over. “What are you doing in here? I mean, you should be down below, inside the cabin with the other passengers.”
The second in command said, “This is Captain Strong and I’m Andy, his copilot. Is something wrong?” He was older and a series of worry lines ran across his forehead like streams. His boss looked more panicked than worried, but she figured they had cause.
“Of course there’s something wrong. I can see the storm like everyone else and it looks big—”
“Don’t be concerned. This is a sturdy ship,” the captain said. “We’re in a squall. It’ll pass quickly. We’ve been in touch with the coast guard.”
“A squall?”
Andy said, “Yes. It should pass within fifteen minutes as far as we can tell.”
“As far as you can tell?” She sounded like a parrot. She didn’t know what she expected from the men in charge, but not this pseudo-certainty.
“What’s your name? You look familiar.”
“Shana George.” She didn’t hesitate to play on whatever notoriety she might have.
“I thought I knew you. Welcome aboard—sorry about the weather.”
The captain said, “Glad to have a pro aboard. Always good to have another cool head in case of an emergency.”
“We’re light on the crew today,” Andy explained.
“I’ll do what I can.” Whatever that was, she wasn’t sure. She could surf and she could swim, but that was as far as her nautical skills went.
“The radio’s cutting in and out, but the coast guard knows we’re out here and they’re watching the weather, watching for other boats for us.
We’ll be fine.” He was trying to reassure her and although it might not have been intentional, he sounded patronizing.
For the first time in a long time, she missed her law enforcement standing.
Hell, technically she didn’t even have her standing as sidekick to Dane-the-damn-Legend to fall back on now.
But they didn’t know that and she wasn’t telling them.
The room darkened slightly and she looked past the two men and out the window. A dark wall of water in the form of a massive surging wave roared toward them. The older man turned. He saw it and grabbed the wheel.
“Shit.” He yelled at her, “Make sure that door is secure.”
She turned, but the door slammed open with a wash of seawater. Not good. She’d left the padre down at the railing. Surely he’d have had enough sense to go inside before now.
“Get on that speaker and warn the passengers to stay inside. Reassure them. Calmly,” Andy told her.
The captain yelled into his radio phone. “This is Governor. We’re taking surging waves at ten o’clock. Headway is delayed—” He looked at some monitors. “By at least an hour. Stand by for updates.”
She grabbed the microphone from the hook, flipped the switch, and spoke carefully and with command.
“This is a message from the … bridge. All passengers are to remain inside the cabin on the lower deck for the duration of this storm. The storm is expected to last—” She stumbled as the boat tipped steeply.
She dropped the microphone when she looked up just in time to see water crashing over the low broad bow and directly at them.
“Hang on.”
No one had to tell her to gab onto the nearest thing that was nailed down.
It happened to be the captain’s chair and it swiveled wildly as the boat shook and groaned and clanked more.
She held on as the wave crashed over the boat, shook them, and ocean water sprayed inside the bridge again.
She stood and wondered how the water got inside.
Once she realized it hadn’t broken the window, she let out her breath.
The door on the other side of the bridge had banged open.
The co captain—or whatever Andy was—had the wheel in a steel grip and struggled to keep the boat on course.
She headed back for the door and was about to leave when Andy stopped her.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“I’m going below—making sure everyone is inside. And I need to get into some dry clothes.”
He shook his head. “Not now. You can’t safely use those exterior stairs. Not while we’re hitting these swells and the winds are high. The biggest danger in high seas is someone getting knocked about or, at the worst, swept overboard by a swell if they’re foolish enough to be outside.”
She felt like saluting him. She felt like she was part of the inadequate crew.
But no way was she staying on the bridge all safe and sound while who knew what had happened to Father Pedro.
She needed to find him and make sure he was safe inside with the rest of the passengers.
Shana darted a glance at the captain before heading for the door while she hung onto the cabinets lining the room.
He had the radio in hand and head phones on, hanging onto his chair and looking worried and frustrated.
He looked up at her. “This damn radio keeps crapping out—I don’t think we’re getting through.”
She slipped her cell phone from her pocket and checked the coverage. They were close enough to mainland that she had three bars. Without thinking or hesitation, she pressed number one. Autodial for Dane Blaise.
Dane’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His first inclination was to ignore it. But in the next second he realized there was only one person left on the planet who would be calling him on Christmas Eve. He pulled it from his pocket, pressing it to life as he put it to his ear.
“Shana—you all right?”
She’d forgotten how powerful his voice was, how hearing it could jolt her and have a monumental, stabilizing effect on her as if he were a mountain under her feet—her mountain.
“I’m fine. Wet.” She didn’t tell him that the shaking had stopped as soon as he spoke to her; that she hadn’t even realized that she’d been shaking until it was over.
“How severe is the storm?”
“Giant swells. High winds. Dark skies. Heavy snow. Poor visibility. I should let you talk to the captain.” She said this when the man crowded her and reached for the phone.
“Hang on—there’s another swell coming. Bigger—” Andy shouted.
The captain snatched the phone from her hand. She joined Andy at the wheel and held on. She searched what they could see of the deck and it was empty of people.
She thought of the padre again, standing at the railing where she’d left him. “Shit.” She spoke out loud and stumbled toward the door. “I need my damn phone back, Captain.”
He looked at her and frowned, but he disconnected and handed it to her.
“The coast guard is monitoring us. We’ll be fine. The trip will take longer than usual—a lot longer—but we’ll get there.”
She didn’t bother saying anything to him about her concern that they could have someone overboard. She didn’t warn him or Andy—or ask for their permission to leave. Instead she turned for the door while the boat was relatively steady and pushed outside again before they said a word.
Holding on tight to the rails while snow drove into her, she kept her head down and, half sliding, descended the stairs two at a time.
Dane shoved the phone back in his pocket. He’d heard her voice and he felt calm, felt a measure of peace. But he also needed to do something.
“They’re okay for now.”
“They’ll be fine,” Vendi said. “I’ll send the 30-foot patrol boat in their direction—as soon as I can get my signal straightened out, I’ll send him to the coordinates you got from the ferry.”
“You could call them on your cell phone.”
Vendi scoffed. “Maybe I will.”
“Take the 47-footer out now—”
“And do what? Hold her hand?”
“They’re taking on waves. There’s a danger of someone going over.”
“Not if they all keep inside where they belong and off the deck.”
“What about the crew?”
“They’re smart enough to avoid being swept by a wave.”
“So you say.” All the comfort he’d felt at hearing Shana’s voice faded as he contemplated her out there in the rogue blizzard being soaked by frigid waves. She wasn’t part of the crew, but she was topside with them on the bridge for some reason.
Same place he’d be if it were him out there.
Shana made her way down the stairs as the boat tossed her. Her teeth chattered. She’d need to change clothes soon, but first she needed to find Padre Pedro.
After making a sweep of the passenger cabin, she realized he wasn’t there.
She’d even checked the head. The boat was far from full capacity, barely fifty people aboard.
She thought of asking the crew—surely they would have noticed him outside and directed him to come inside as soon as the rough waters hit.
But before she sent up a panic with the understaffed crew, she decided she would check the main deck herself. No need to raise a ruckus when she could handle this much herself.
There were crew standing at all the main doors to the deck as if guarding the passengers from escape, but she knew there was another exit near the stairs to the bridge where he came from.
And there was no one standing guard, no one even close by since it was around a corner and out of sight.
She headed back, took a breath, hunched down to battle the wind-driven snow, and pushed the door open to slip outside.
The deck was wet and windy with the snow blowing sideways and blurring the gray sky.
She kept against the cabin wall and went around to the side where she’d seen Pedro last. The spot where she left him, where she’d told him not to go anywhere.
Shana held a hand up to block the snow from her eyes as she searched for the padre along the rail with rising panic.
It was too difficult to see—he’d been wearing Dane’s old weathered jacket that blended in. She pushed herself along; hugging the side of the main cabin, she moved toward the stern of the boat, slipping and stumbling. And praying she’d find the padre safely huddled behind a life raft or something.
Squinting, through the snow she spotted a figure slumped at the rail near a lifeboat—just as she’d hoped.
Her racing heart slowed and the muscles across her shoulders unclenched a notch.
She wasn’t sure it was the padre, but who else could it be?
She moved closer. A huge swell hurled the boat sideways by thirty degrees and she fell back against the cabin wall.
She shouted when she saw the figure fall back, jostled by the wave. He looked toward her but stayed put.
It was him. It was the padre. She was sure of it now.
“Are you crazy?” she shouted. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m fine—was sick.” He held onto the rim of the lifeboat with one hand and had one arm around the rail of the ferry. He was about twenty feet away and the boat swayed again, but not violently. She moved toward him. There was a cabin door close to where he was.
“Head for that door—” She shouted but a roar of wind and ocean took her voice away.
She watched the padre let go of the boat. She thought he was going to come toward her across the short expanse of deck toward the cabin door. He stumbled. She moved in his direction.
A shadow darkened the already gray sky and she looked up behind her in time to see a forty-foot swell approach.
She yelled, but couldn’t hear her own voice.
She turned back and saw the padre staring at the oncoming wave, standing still as if waiting for it to take him.
Shana grabbed onto the window latch behind her and held on as the water slammed violently against the boat causing massive sprays of water over the deck, pushing her forward.
The shock of the ice-cold ocean water nearly stopped her heart.
She couldn’t breathe for a beat, couldn’t yell as she saw the water hit the padre, saw him fall.
The boat dipped. Snow and wind stung her eyes as she held on.
And then she watched, frozen in place, frozen to the core, as the boat swayed back up into place and her eyes frantically searched the deck where the padre had been a moment before. He’d disappeared.
“So what are you doing on duty tonight? On Christmas Eve? For real?” Cap asked Vendi.
“I’m the O in C. I pull whatever duty I need to pull—especially during an unexpected storm.” He pulled a grim smile and added. “What’s your excuse?”
Cap grunted. “I live here.”
“Exactly.”
Dane didn’t care who was in charge, he needed to get out there and take a look at that ferry up close for himself. Take a look at Shana’s face, see for himself that she was still there. Still in his orbit.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket for the third time since he spoke to her. Too briefly. He couldn’t raise her. Maybe her battery was dead. His signal was iffy now.
“Where’s the patrol boat? Did they get to the ferry yet?” He looked out the window at the snow and the wind and the ocean against the dark gray sky.
“It should be close but I’ll call her—poor visibility could be slowing her down.” Vendi picked up his binoculars and peered into the distance. He put the binoculars down. “Shit, those waves are high.”
The radio buzzed and Vendi leapt for it. Cap spun around. Dane moved his eyes, but kept his cool. On the outside. His heartbeat ratcheted up until his blood flowed like a raging rapid.
“It’s the 30—they’re on their way back,” Vendi told them. He listened and took in the report. When he signed off the call he faced Dane.
“The 30-footer is heading back to the station because the waves are too high and the visibility too poor. They can’t get to where the ferry is—at the elbow of their route, close to open ocean and the worst of the waves and wind.”
“Let’s get that 47 fired up and get out there,” Dane said. As if he were in charge.
Vendi compressed his lips. “No need.”
Dane heard the unspoken “not yet.” He contemplated whether he could manage the boat on his own, if he could get by Vendi. Whether Cap would back him up or arrest him.