Warning Signs (Love Inspired Suspense) (11 page)

Ahead, water sloshed against the gray stone, leaving white foam behind. She pushed through with another stroke and stopped for another survey of her proximity. About twenty-five yards left. She swirled in a circle to check her distance from the shoreline and jolted in alarm.

A fisherman’s boat barreled down on her. The driver must not see her in his path, she figured. She threw her arm high and waved wide and rapidly, praying they would see her.

The boat stayed the course straight toward her.

Panic spiraled up her throat and choked her. Miriam fumbled back and pushed at the water, her arms like flapping paddles. A fruitless technique, but it seemed her knowledge of accurate swim strokes had fled from her mind.

Water sloshed over her. Freezing gulps of it filled her mouth, pushing her down. She couldn’t be going under.
She couldn’t.
She was an expert swimmer. Water burned her eyes. Her head felt the pressure of the water’s weight above her. She’d submerged.

Miriam pushed to resurface, breaking free for the moment. It didn’t matter that she was an expert swimmer. She knew the signs of a drowning victim, and right now, in her panicked state, she was in aquatic distress. With each mouthful of water and absence of air to her lungs, her splashes would begin to slow to nothing. From there, instinctive drowning response would set in. Once that happened, the sea would swallow her in less than twenty seconds...
if
the boat didn’t hit her first.

She needed to force her body to react with the precise stroke that would move her. The backstroke would take her from the boat’s path. Her brain knew that, but the message failed to reach her limbs.
Backstroke,
she restated, triggering her body to engage.

She spit the water out and sent her arm flying back. The stroke pulled her up and out of the water, back at least five feet. Air filled her lungs to capacity and gave her enough strength to swing back the other arm, then the other, again and again.

The boat’s bow remained on her, pointing the way to disaster. Was he
trying
to aim for her like the truck had? There would be no trees to escape to out here.

Miriam pushed for another rotation of strokes, the waves thwarting her efforts. Her breathing came short and was interrupted with swigs of brackish seawater.

She couldn’t give up. Her arms worked another set, bringing her closer to the rock.
Move, move,
she rammed home in her mind with every stroke, even as she could see the boat tracking her. There was no way to outswim it. Miriam accepted the collision even as she heaved through one more rotation.

The hull of the boat towered over her. It was so formidable in its speeding approach, she stopped breathing at the sight. It would sink her in less than a second. Miriam kicked hard, praying she could skirt the hull. Water gushed at her like a plow, sinking her down. She grasped at nothing; the boat’s wake was powerful enough to hold her below the surface.

And yet she hadn’t been hit.

Miriam felt the boat fly by her. Had the bow changed its course and veered away? She swung her arm back for another backstroke to pull away farther while she still could, but her hand smacked into something hard.

The rock. She’d made it to the rock.

And if the boat hadn’t changed course it would have hit the rock, too.

Miriam’s hands bit into sharp barnacles as she clung to the rock for dear life. She had to get to safety, and this rock wasn’t it. What if they came back? Her position wouldn’t stop them from harming her. If anything, she’d made herself an easy target. Especially since nobody knew she went swimming. She ignored the fact that even if they did know, she didn’t think anyone would come for her.

* * *

Owen circled the outside of Miriam’s house. Her Vespa sat parked in the driveway. The same place he’d moved it to last night after the ambulance had transported Nick. Owen’s chest heaved from running up the narrow, sandy path from her shoreline. He thought maybe she’d gone for a swim out to the lighthouse, but when he’d scanned the rock from shore, it appeared vacant.

His first stop had been the clinic, where an awakened Nick had said he hadn’t seen her since she’d left to go find him.

I shouldn’t have left her alone in the first place.
Owen slammed a fist into his thigh.

“Is Ms. Hunter here?” A voice came from behind him.

Owen whipped around to find Wes and one of his deputies. “Hey, Wes. Actually, I’m looking for her, too. What do you need?”

“The warrant I’ve been waiting for came in.” He slapped a tri-folded slip of paper against his palm.

“Warrant? I haven’t seen any evidence against Miriam to make a warrant necessary. If anything, after the theft and burning of her car and Nick’s assault, they should be exonerated. Protected even.”

“Well, then, a quick search won’t hurt anybody.” Wes took the back steps and opened the screen door.

“Wes, I think you should wait until she’s home.” Owen pleaded from the bottom step. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “Please, Wes. This is really going to hurt her. It might even send her packing.”

The sheriff turned around with his back to the door. “It would seem you’ve let your personal feelings get in the way of the job,
Agent
Matthews. If you don’t remember, Owen, we went to the same police academy, and as I recall, that’s a no-no.” With that he jabbed an elbow back and broke the small square pane of glass closest to the doorknob.

Glass tinkling to Miriam’s kitchen floor filtered to Owen’s ears as he set off to find her in earnest.

* * *

Owen checked the boat lights for the third time. With dusk settling, he couldn’t be caught out on the water in the dark. If his lights didn’t work he’d have no way to illuminate his course—and no way for another boat to see him.

The fact that he found himself back in a boat, the one place he didn’t belong, made him wonder if Wes has been right.

Maybe he had lost his focus.

Because of a certain little redhead.

Owen scanned the water’s surface for that redhead now.

Short of knocking on strangers’ doors, he’d checked every storefront, park bench and doghouse to find her. He’d even peeked into the Underground Küchen again. The rival restaurant had closed early for the day. No explanation was provided at the Blue Lobster.

With the sun dropping behind the island, he didn’t have to contend with blinding light in his eyes. Owen’s view shot clear to the rocks. The lack of movement on them suggested this was another wild-goose chase.

Owen idled up close to the first rock protruding high out of the water. Too high to scale. He considered the others nearby. One seemed accessible.

He motioned forward, shifting his gaze in all directions for any surprise stones in his path. A collision would be the equivalent to reliving a nightmare.

He scanned the darkening horizon and caught movement. A large bird of some kind? Owen squinted.

Something black flew over the farthest rock. Some kind of bicycle with glider wings, he thought, but it was too far to be sure. Owen kept it in his sight and changed his course, but that meant turning away from the low stone. He gave it a quick glance for movement.

Nothing.

He searched the sky in time to see the flying contraption drop a bundle onto the rock, then cut a wide path back from where it came.

Owen pulled up the throttle, knowing exactly what he’d witnessed.

The drop.

He’d unintentionally ventured into the path of the illegal drug operation.

Owen’s senses shot to high alert. The waiting pickup party wouldn’t be far. Would they appear if they saw him or hold back?

Or would they just shoot him out of the water?

He turned the boat back to the low rock. The stone’s width would shield him while he called for backup. Adrenaline pumped though his veins. This would be the proof Wes needed to pardon Miriam from any wrongdoing. Owen would give Wes the criminal on a silver platter—
if
he stayed alive to catch the guy.

Owen chugged around the rock, dropping anchor when the rock covered him completely. He moved back to the port quarter to pull the rear of his boat closer in. His gaze caught on a familiar mishmash of blue and red in the water. It floated between the boat and rock, and it reminded him of Miriam’s swimsuit.

Miriam.

At first his feet stayed locked in place, unable to make a move, then he kicked his body into high gear. Over the port bow, he bent over the side to reach her.

She was on her back. Her eyes were closed, long lashes resting on white skin. Her lips were blue.

He reached down, and stopped right before he touched her. Old, drilled rescue instructions reared their heads.
Don’t move a victim. There could be a spinal injury.

But she needs to get out of the freezing water.
“Miriam!” he called uselessly.

Owen pulled his hand back in a fist, slamming it on the boat’s rim in frustration. He needed to figure out the safest way to get her out.

He judged the rock. It was low enough that he might be able to slide her up onto it without moving her neck. Standing up on the boat’s edge, he stepped over her and secured his footing on the rock. Crouching down, he cupped the back of her head while placing a hand under her armpit.

Her eyes fluttered and closed again. He brought his face within inches. She was upside down to him. He needed to ask her if she was hurt, but he couldn’t sign at the moment.

Her lashes fluttered wide. He noticed the typical vibrancy of her eyes had been replaced by a glassy haze. Even if she didn’t have anything broken, hypothermia had settled in.

“Miriam, are you hurt?” He spoke clearly, hoping she could read his lips upside down.

Leaving one hand supporting her neck, he withdrew his other hand and used it to half sign, hoping she got the gist. “I need to get you out of the water. I’m going to pull you up.”

Her lids fell closed but quickly opened again with a small nod.

Owen breathed a sigh of relief. She was coherent. He reached back under her armpit and hefted her out swiftly. She lay sprawled on the rock, not a muscle shaking. Not a good sign.

Owen jumped back onto his boat for the blanket he’d used the first day he’d met her. He’d covered her that day with the wool blanket, but his thoughts had only been on Rebecca. The memory of losing his wife had pushed him to reach out to help the unknown woman that day.

The idea of losing Miriam propelled him now. As he covered her, a riot of emotions welled up inside, warring against his self-imposed punishment of a lifetime of solitude. He didn’t understand them and wanted to deny their existence.

Miriam’s glassy eyes gazed up at him. Her hands attempted to move beneath the blanket. “Shhh.” He tried to calm her, inches from her face. Her blue lips trembled. He leaned closer to blow his warm breath on them.

She pushed up; her forehead pressed into his. She could move on her own.

Relief swept through him. His eyes closed on an exhale. Again he questioned the emotions careening through him. He nearly thanked God, but he opened his eyes before he did.

Owen noticed he’d drifted closer to Miriam’s lips. His eyes locked on them, unable to withdraw from their pull.

Until they shivered again.

He needed to get her warm. The sun had set and the rock offered little remaining heat from the day. They needed to get to the boat or they’d be traveling back in darkness. Owen didn’t trust himself to man the boat at night. He needed to keep her alive, not put her in more danger.

Her mouth formed a circle. A sound squeaked from her lips. He struggled to understand what she tried to tell him.

“We’ll talk when you’re warmed up,” he signed. “I’m going to lift you and put you in the boat.”

In one swoop, Miriam rested cradled in his arms, the blanket covering her from chin to toes. Her head nestled into the crook of his arm. A lulling feeling washed over him, which seemed illogical, since he was the one cradling her.

Unless saving Miriam offered him a sense of atonement.

Owen stepped into the port bow, shaking his head at the ludicrous idea. A life for a life was the only way to retribution.

She made the squeaking circle with her shaking lips again. He laid her down on the long cushioned seats in the stern and signed, “Hang on. I’m going to get you to the clinic.”

Owen took the controls and pulled up anchor. The rock that contained the dropped package tempted him. More than anything he wanted to retrieve it. The drugs were the real reason he was there, and he had a job to do.

The shivering woman behind him changed all that.

Owen started the engine and called Wes on his cell.

The sheriff answered on the second ring. “Where are you?” he demanded.

Owen zipped forward and set his course for shore. “Wes, get to the pier. The farthest rock to the left has a package on it. Willing to bet it’s your drugs. I watched a flying contraption make the drop. But listen, I can’t get to it right now.”

“Why not?”

Owen hesitated in telling Wes where he’d found Miriam. If Wes knew she was near the drop he would think the worst of her. He would think she was guilty.

“Miriam’s ill. I need to get her to the clinic.”
And protect her pure heart.

“That’s where you’re heading?”

“Roger.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there.”

Owen pocketed his phone and cast a glance at Miriam. She watched him from her prostrate position. So serious were her eyes that his spine shuddered. He recognized gratitude in them, but that wasn’t all. Even he couldn’t deny the intense closeness growing between them.

Then common sense struck back into him like a lightning bolt of conviction.

Owen whipped forward, breaking their bond before he could destroy another pure heart.

* * *

Miriam nestled back into the crook of Owen’s arm as he headed straight for the clinic. Never before in all her life had she felt so protected. Not even when she’d dated Andy the lifeguard had she felt looked after and cared for like this.