Stormcatcher (10 page)

S
imon acted as though nothing had happened between them. Wynne tried not to feel disappointed. What had she expected—for him to hold her hand and make eyes at her? She told herself to grow up.

When they reached the
Windigo Wind
coordinates, Wynne looked out over the white caps. “Where are our buoys?”

Simon frowned. “You’re right, they’re gone. There was no storm last night.”

They looked at one another. “Wilson,” Wynne said slowly. She pulled on her dry suit and fins, then went overboard. Kicking down through the clear water, she got to the boat before Simon. He joined her moments later as she stared in dismay at the boat. Someone had begun salvage on it. A hole had been knocked into the hull.

Simon glanced at her then swam inside the steamer. Wynne felt too heartsick to join him. The best stuff was
likely gone. Wilson must have been very determined to have come out here at night.

After a few minutes, Simon joined her and they swam slowly back to the boat. When her head broke the surface, she spit out her mouthpiece. “He’s stripped it, hasn’t he?”

“Yep,” Simon panted. “I’m going to file a complaint. I’d clearly marked it with buoys in accordance with maritime law.”

“All you can do is take him to court and it’s a long process. He knows he won’t have to answer for it,” Wynne sputtered.

“Yeah, I know.” Simon sounded resigned. “Let’s get our gear and do what we can.”

They worked until nearly four o’clock, taking half hour breaks to warm up. Wynne found interesting artifacts still in cabinets and other rooms, and her initial anger began to fade. They would have to post a guard to keep Wilson out though.

She and Simon climbed aboard for the last time that day. Wynne squeezed water out of her hair, then wrapped it in a towel. She felt as cold as Superior in a January blizzard. The June sun was not enough to ward off the bone-chilling effect of Lake Superior’s depths. She snuggled into her terry sweats and sat beside Simon.

He gave her a weary smile. “I had no idea archaeology was such hard work. It’s not much like Indiana Jones.”

“The movies tend to romanticize things,” Wynne
said, her smile widening. It was a common misconception. And marine archaeology was especially challenging since the scientist was working in an unnatural environment.

“You did a good job today,” Wynne told him. “Tomorrow will be better. You’ll have some idea what you’re doing.”

Joe joined them. He sat beside Simon and propped his bare feet on the dash. “Want me and Bjorn to stand guard tonight?”

“If you’re up to it,” Simon said.

Wynne listened to them talk and watched the white foam that rolled over the tops of the endless blue water. She spotted a boat moving toward them. With a start, she recognized Mike Wilson’s boat. “Speak of the devil,” she said. She sprang to her feet and threw a tarp over the artifacts they’d found that day. Hopefully, Mike wouldn’t get close enough to see, but she was taking no chances.

The other boat drew nearer, and Mike hailed them. His portly figure was clad in an all-white outfit she assumed he thought looked dapper, when in reality, it made him look even rounder.

“Any luck today?” Mike called.

She wanted to launch into a tirade, but Wynne forced herself to smile sweetly. “A little,” she said.

Simon was scowling. “I clearly marked my find with buoys, Wilson. You had no right to try to horn in on my find.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mike
protested. “I’m just out looking for a ship to salvage.” His gaze wandered over the deck and landed on the tarp. “What you got under there?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you’re the one who knocked a hole in the hull of the
Windigo Wind
. I’ve marked the find again. If I have to, I’ll get a lawyer to keep you out.”

“You don’t have to be quite so hostile. I just wanted to offer my assistance. If you need help with anything, remember my rates are quite reasonable,” Mike said, turning back to the helm. His stiff back proclaimed his outrage.

“We’ll keep you posted,” Simon called. “That man bugs me big-time,” he muttered as Mike’s boat moved off in the waves.

“He won’t get nothing again,” Bjorn said grimly. “Me and Joe will make sure of that.”

Simon nodded. “I’ll join you and we’ll take watches through the night.”

“You’ll be too tired to work tomorrow,” Wynne objected.

“We don’t have much choice.”

“Don’t do it because of me,” Wynne said. “This isn’t such a valuable find that you need to wear yourself out. We could look for your Viking ship tomorrow.”

Though she felt weak with fatigue, she forced a smile. “Let’s get back in the water.” The cold chill had eased, and she glanced at her underwater watch. “We’ve got a few more hours before sundown.”

He glanced into her face. “At least your lips aren’t blue.”

His gaze lingered too long on her lips. And she felt herself swaying toward him. She took a step back. He blinked and turned away, and Wynne felt a stab of disappointment. Maybe last night’s kiss had been a fluke, a mild flirtation on Simon’s part. The last thing she wanted to do was make Simon think she was after him.

She turned and pulled her dry suit back around her shoulders then zipped it up. Swimming back down to the site, she forced herself to focus on the steamer.

After awhile, Simon touched her hand, and pointed to his watch. She looked at her own and realized they’d been working nearly two hours. No wonder her muscles ached from the cold. Fatigue overwhelmed her as she swam toward the boat with the sack of artifacts.

Her head broke the surface of the water, and she looked over the rolling waves. Where was the boat? She turned and looked the other direction. Nothing. Hypothermia made her thought processes slow. Had they drifted with the tide to a different place? But no, that was impossible. The archaeological site hadn’t moved, so they’d been in the same place. It was the boat that had moved.

Simon’s head surfaced. He pulled his mask from his face. His lips were blue, and dark circles showed under his eyes. He blinked the water from his eyes and looked around. “Where’s the boat?”

“It’s not here,” she said. What a stupid thing to say.
Of course it wasn’t here. Simon could see that for himself.

Simon’s eyes widened, and he tread water as he flailed in the water and turned in a circle, his gaze searching the horizon.

A few moments later, his frantic movements slowed. “Let’s think this through.”

His words sounded slow and lethargic in Wynne’s ears. She knew they were in a desperate situation, but hypothermia made her feel listless and uncaring. She pulled off her gloves and dug the nails of her right hand into her left wrist. The pain sharpened her senses.

Simon’s eyes kept closing, and he jerked them open again. She reached out and gripped his arm, then snatched the glove from his right hand and pinched the skin of his wrist between her fingernails. His eyes snapped open, and she saw a more alert awareness surge over his face.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “We have to figure out how to get out of this. We’ll both be dead in another fifteen minutes.”

“I know.” Her gaze raked the horizon again, but all she could see was a distant white speck from a sailboat.

“I’ve got a flare,” Simon said suddenly. He put his glove back on, and his hand plunged into the water as he fumbled with the bag at his waist. He pulled out a flare gun. “Pray.” He shot the flare into the air.

Wynne watched the white flash arc into the air then burst into color. She tried to pray, but her mind was slowing again.
Help, Jesus
, was all she could formulate.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The waves grew, or maybe she was just sinking deeper into the cold clutch of the water. Waves slapped her in the face, the numbing cold too familiar now to rouse her. A warmth began to creep into her limbs, and she realized in some dim recess of her mind that this would be the end.

“Stay awake,” Simon said, his voice slurred. He took her hand, but she was too numb to feel it.

“I’m trying,” she mumbled. At least she thought she said it. Simon didn’t answer, and she looked into his white face. His eyes were closed, and he was listing to one side, barely keeping his head above water. She touched his face, and felt a touch of regret. They might have had something between them, but it was going to be too late.

Simon’s limbs felt pleasantly warm, and he imagined he was swimming in Hawaii. A beautiful white beach beckoned, and he could sense the warm sun on his face. It was just a little ways off. All he had to do was swim to it, and he could lay on the shining sand. He moved his arms and leg feebly. He heard Wynne’s voice as if from a great distance.

“Come with me,” he slurred. He tried to take her hand, but her head was sliding under the waves. A last remnant of cognition caused him to understand she was drowning, and he grasped at her arm, tugging her toward the surface. Her white face looked like death. He cradled her head in his arm and tried to pray but it was hard, so hard, to formulate thoughts, much less words.

The last thing he remembered was a voice shouting off to his left.

When he awoke, he was wrapped in a solar blanket. His teeth chattered, and his legs and feet felt like they were on fire. Wynne. He tried to sit up, but his muscles wouldn’t obey him.

He weakly turned his head, his gaze searching for Wynne. Another form lay on the deck by his left side. All he could see of her was her black hair spread out on the deck. Her face was turned away. A blanket was snugged around her, too. He tried to see if she was breathing and saw a faint rising and falling of her chest.

“Wynne,” he whispered. There was no response from the still figure beside him. He tried to reach out and touch her, but it was going to be some time before he could move. He wet his lips. “Wynne,” he croaked.

She sighed and her head lolled around toward him. Her face was as white as the foam after a storm. Her lips were still blue, and her eyes were unfocused.

“Simon?” she whispered.

Her voice was so faint he had trouble hearing her even though she was only a foot away. “I’m here,” he said.

“Where are we? I thought we were dead.”

It was a good question. Simon had no idea how they’d cheated death, but he wanted to find out. He tried to move again, and found his muscles a little more cooperative. He managed to sit up and look around.

They were on a sailboat. One lone figure crouched by the engine. The sails had been lowered, and the boat sped through the water. Simon turned and looked and realized they were just offshore from Windigo Manor.

The man at the helm saw him. “We’ll be ashore in no time,” he shouted above the sound of the motor and the wind.

Simon recognized him as one of the owners of the new condo complex on the other side of the island.

A few minutes later, the boat bumped the dock at Windigo Manor. The man took a whistle and gave several short, shrill blasts then hurried to where Wynne and Simon were on the deck.

“How did you find us?” Wynne asked. She blinked, and awareness sharpened in her eyes.

“I saw the flare. You were both really lucky.” The man grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around her. “What happened to your boat?”

“That’s what we’d like to know.” The boat. Now that Simon could think again, the magnitude of losing the boat hit him. And what about Joe and Bjorn? Had something happened to them?

“Do you need another blanket?” Gram asked anxiously.

“This is perfect. I’m warming up now.” Wynne had finally stopped shaking, and she felt warm and lethargic. She didn’t want to think about their close call. All she wanted to do was snuggle under the covers with
baby Isabelle. She wanted to savor every second of her life.

Becca paced across the living room rug. “Max and Jake are out looking for the boat with Simon. You don’t have any idea what could have happened to it?”

“None. It was really weird. I just hope the other men are okay. What if someone threw them overboard and they drowned?” Wynne shivered at the thought.

Gram patted her hand. “I’m sure they’re fine. Maybe the anchor broke.”

“They still had the engines and the GPS system to stay put,” Wynne pointed out.

Becca turned away, but not before Wynne saw the worry in her sister’s face. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked slowly.

“No, no, of course not.” Becca thrust a cup of hot tea into her hands. “Here, drink this.”

Wynne wrapped her cold hands around the warm cup, enjoying the heat that crept into her fingers. She took a sip and closed her eyes at the bliss of the hot liquid sliding down her throat.

“I think I’ll go check on dinner,” Gram said. “Call if you need me.”

Once their grandmother was out of the room, Wynne glanced up at her sister. “How did Simon look?”

“Fine. You know how guys are. Too macho to let on that anything can hurt them.”

“You think he was hurt?” Wynne tried and failed to keep the alarm from her voice.

“No, he’s fine. I meant he acted like what you’d both gone through was no big deal. Typical male.” Becca brushed the hair back from Wynne’s face. “You scared me to death. I thought you were dead when they brought you inside.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Wynne leaned against her sister’s hand.

“Max had to practically drag Simon out to look for the boat. He wanted to hover over you. Once the doctor said you’d be okay, he finally went with Max but it was with obvious reluctance. I think he’s smitten.” Becca smiled, but the worry didn’t lift from her eyes.

The front door banged, and they both looked to the doorway. Wynne recognized Simon’s heavy tread in the hall, and her heart rate sped up. How ridiculous that he could do that to her when she felt too weak and shaken to sit up.

The worry on his face eased when his gaze found her. The concern for her she saw in his eyes warmed her. “Find the boat?” she called, forcing more of an upbeat tone to her voice than she really felt.

“Nothing yet. The Coast Guard is out looking, too.”

The way he was staring at her did more to warm her cold insides than the hot tea and blankets had done.