Safe Harbour

Then she’d tell her father everything and ask for his help. Get professional medical care.

She knew that even though Richard Roman might get annoyed with her for having done something that she was certain he would label “dangerous and foolish,” he wouldn’t waste time with recriminations. He’d just handle it, the way he handled everything else that came his way.

To her, her father was one of the dependable forces of nature. A great comfort to her.

But for the time being, Stevi needed to prove herself—not in anyone else’s eyes but her own.

She looked up to her two older sisters, Alex and Cris. Their lives were basically set, their paths more or less chosen and mapped out, while hers felt as if it was scattered all over the place and right smack in the middle of it was this slanted incline, perfect for skateboarding. And right now, she was going down it, ninety-seven miles an hour.

Could she execute the move, or was she going to crash and burn?

She had no idea.

“You’re going to have to hurry up, you know,” she told him. “I can only hold everyone off for so long. Right now, I can tell them that I’m working on a painting and that I don’t want to be disturbed. They’ll buy that. The family’s usually pretty good about that sort of thing,” she confided. “They give me my space, which in this case is actually your space. But sometime or other, they’re going to want to see a painting, so pull your act together and come around. In the next twenty-four hours, please.” Then she added, “Even faster would be nice.”

Boy, that had to have sounded weird to him if he could hear her.

“I don’t mean to rush you but hiding you in my room and not telling Dad or any of them about this is making things difficult for me. I’m not much on keeping secrets, if you must know, so the sooner you can open those eyes of yours, the better it’ll be for both of us.”

Picking up the coffee Jorge had slipped in the bag, she took off the lid. She sat sipping and staring thoughtfully at the unconscious man.

Her brain was going in three directions at once, all at top speed, coming up with different theories, each more fantastic than the last.

“Maybe you’re a spy. Or a secret agent.” Her words echoed back in her head and she stared at him even more intently, as if that would give her some sort of an answer. “Omigod, could I be sent to prison for harboring you? Worse, could my family get into trouble for this?” The thought of getting her family into trouble over something she was doing horrified her. “Maybe I’d better call the police,” she said, automatically reaching for the phone that was on the nightstand by her bed.

But then she stopped midreach. That same gut told her the details about this situation would eventually be brought to light and that she wouldn’t be found guilty of doing anything except saving a man from bleeding to death.

Maybe a man who mattered in the corporate world. Or the political arena. Someone important.

“Are you someone important?” she whispered, staring at him. He didn’t look familiar to her, but then, that didn’t mean anything. She wasn’t exactly up on news other than the headlines.

Stevi sighed, frustrated and helpless. She was the type who read the end of a mystery thriller before she invested herself in reading it at all. This situation was already dragging on too long for her liking.

You wanted an adventure, something to happen out of the ordinary, something exciting. Remember?

She pressed her lips together. Careful what you wish for, right?

He didn’t stir.

“Just hurry up and come to, okay?” And then she laughed to herself. “I’ve heard about the strong, silent type, but this is really raising the bar pretty high.”

She grinned then drained the remainder of her coffee and set the cup down again. “I bet they called you gabby at school.”

The man made no answer.

* * *

HE WAS HEARING it again, hearing that voice, that soft female voice whispering through his mind, teasing his subconscious as he tried to place it, tried to remember if he’d ever heard it before.

The words she was saying were becoming more distinct, more audible. He could almost make them out.

Almost.

But they still seemed garbled.

Try as he might, he couldn’t fight his way to the surface either, up above this oppressive hazy cloud that enshrouded him and was keeping him down.

CHAPTER SIX

THERE WAS A LIGHT, just a glimmer of it, really, winking in and out along the water far above his head. At first, it seemed to be more than an infinity away.

Unreachable.

But he knew that if he could just hold on long enough to break through the surface, then he could get some air for his all but bursting lungs.

He’d be all right then. He’d be all right.

It was miles and miles away, but he couldn’t give up. Couldn’t. He had to reach it. Giving up was for losers and he wasn’t a loser.

Given a losing hand at birth, he’d still found a way not to lose.

Hadn’t he proven that already? Beating the odds, surviving the bad neighborhoods, the indifferent families who gave him a bed to sleep in but were only in it for the money?

He was nobody’s kid.

Just a kid.

But he didn’t let it break him, didn’t let it drag him down. He’d hung on, struggled, made something of himself. Made a difference.

Where was it? Where was the surface? It had to be here somewhere.

With his very last ounce of strength, he finally broke through, finally made it to the top of the water.

Air, sweet, wonderful air.

He gulped it in, trying to get enough. Trying to make up for the numbing lack of it.

His temples were pounding, his body aching something fierce. And there was this all-engulfing pain—more like a fire—that had taken over his left side.

Orientation followed.

He remembered.

Remembered what had happened, remembered why he’d almost succumbed to the watery grave.

Spinning around, he searched for the cabin cruiser. Instead of right beside him, it was now some distance away.

Heading away from him.