Page 68 of Nothing to Fear

He rounded the corner onto the back deck and ran into Willow.

“I was worried. You were gone so long.” Clutching the railing, she handed him another life jacket. “I found it in the closet. You shouldn’t be out here without one.”

The wind snapped with a sudden ferocity, turning the deck more treacherous. The yacht rose on the crest of a great swell, and they both braced. The tremendous wave broke, foaming over the handrail, and the boat came crashing down.

Gideon’s feet slid, but he held tight to the rail and reached for her. Willow lost her footing in the gush of water washing across the deck and slipped through his fingers.

A violent wave broadsided the cruiser, and she toppled over the railing into the darkness.

Gideon’s heart stopped; the whole world seemed to shift into a slower gear.

One moment she’d been right beside him, and the next she was gone. As if the wind and darkness and raging ocean had conspired to pluck her from the air.

Adrenaline kicked in, his pulse cranking up to a hammering beat. Training had hard-wired him never to panic, but alarm tore out of his vault and straight through his chest. He rushed to the aft railing and scanned the water.

There was nothing. Only thrashing waves and foamy white caps.

“Willow!” he called into the brutal storm, his chest constricting.

Rain pelted him as the wind buffeted the boat. Every second it took to find her, the sea would put more distance between them.

He dashed inside the cabin and fished out a white flare from the locker. Hustling into the rain, he pulled off the cap. He lit it the same way one would a match, rubbing the end of the flare against the striking surface of the cap.

Ignited molten material sprayed like an angry tongue, casting a bright white light. Hoisting the flare high, he scanned one hundred eighty degrees.

There! A spot of yellow and flash of the vest’s white reflective strip.

An arm popped out of the turbulent water. She flailed at the surface, trying to keep her head up. Then a wave slapped her under a swell.

Gideon grabbed the life ring that was tethered to the boat and tossed it out like a Frisbee to the spot where he’d seen her. He launched himself from the stern into the savage sea.

The shock of hitting the chilled, pounding water snatched his breath. Frothing waves dragged at him, trying to suck him down into the water’s black heart, but he fought against them. He arrowed through the water in the direction of the life buoy, desperately searching for her.

The fierce current pulled on him, slowing him down. The metallic taste of fear mixed with brine in his mouth as the watery bowels contracted around him, jostling him like a toy trapped inside a humongous washing machine.

A ghostlike arm snaked hold of the orange ring. Willow hauled herself up, clinging to the flotation device.

Gusting winds sloshed water in his face, preventing him from catching a full breath. Spray stung his eyes. She was twenty feet away, the distance stretching in the turbulence as though it were a hundred.

He grabbed onto the line and pulled her closer. She reached for him. Their fingertips grazed. Jealous waves buffeted them, tearing them apart in an exhausting tease.

With fickle quickness, the sea swept them back together. This time, he caught hold of the buoy and helped Willow get a better grip.

She gagged, sputtering out water while the ocean force-fed her more. He got her higher onto the ring where she could get a breath. Keeping the flotation device between them, he started swimming, angling back toward the boat. She kicked, doing her best to assist him, with her arms looped over the ring.

Panic receded now that he had her. He kept his head up like a polo player, chin above water, sights trained on the bobbing yacht, struggling against the unrelenting current.

Wildfire burned in his side—he was in agony from his wound.

His arms and legs were growing heavier, but he gave each kick, each stroke everything he had, tugging the buoy along with him. He refused to lose.

Gritting his teeth, he pumped even harder for the last few feet, battling the ocean, the storm, Mother Nature herself, to get Willow to safety. He hooked his free hand onto the ladder and hauled her to his side. Straining, he heaved Willow up to the rail.

His gut screamed, and he grunted in anguish, but he didn’t let go of her until she made it to the deck.

A watery fist gripped him with impossible strength, trying to drag him under. Holding steadfast to the ladder, he had to go all the way, not permitting an ounce of weakness.

The metronome ticked in time with his heartbeat.