As I stepped back, he pointed behind me. “Wait!” he shouted. “Watch where you’re—”
It all happened so fast. I wasn’t sure how my feet got tangled in the thick coil of rope, but I felt my spiked heel snagging, then my arms flailing and Dyce lunging for me. As I fell backward, my shoulder slammed into a gate leading down to a dock bordering the ocean, cracking the hinges with a sharp metallic sound. Crying out from the pain, I tried to steady myself but couldn’t grab hold of anything solid, and I careened backwards …
“Sharayah! Take my arm!”
Dyce grabbed for me, only he seemed to lose his balance, too, and next thing I knew I was falling through an opening where there used to be a gate. Screaming, I tumbled and fell …
Into the ocean.
Stabbed by needles of icy water, I went down, down, shocked beyond thought. Salt water filled my mouth and pain ripped through me. I couldn’t breathe or think; the world blurred with freezing horror. Panic exploded; my own screams were drowning in my head. A voice somewhere inside me shouted Kick! Swim! Fight!
But my arms were heavy weights wrapped in fabric and my shoes anchors dragging me down. Gagging on salt water. Can’t breathe, need air, sinking … until something splashed next to me and strong hands pulled me, lifted me, and I gulped air.
“Don’t struggle,” Dyce’s words swam in my head.
I hadn’t realized I was struggling, and stopped. Then I was literally carried away in his arms. My teeth clattered with cold. I couldn’t stop shivering. Coughing, gasping, spitting salt water. Then the chill eased as we went down a staircase, out of the biting wind, and onto a boat. Emmeline, I realized.
Dyce bent slightly, opened a door, and carried me down a folding staircase into a dark but cozy and warm cabin. Then he gently lowered me onto a cushioned bench. There was a click as he turned on a wall switch and light flooded the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning over me. “I’m so sorry that happened — I tried to warn you about the rope but you fell too fast and I couldn’t stop you. Damned rope. Can I get anything for you?”
“Sooo cold,” I chattered through clenched teeth.
“Right.” In two steps, he crossed the compact room to a built-in cabinet and opened a drawer. He tossed me a striped blue towel. “Here.”
I caught the towel. “Thanks.”
Taking off the jacket he’d loaned me, I rubbed the towel over my soggy blouse and skirt, noticing with some embarrassment the dripping wet puddle I made on his bench cushions.
“S-sorry, I–I’m getting your boat all … all wet,” I shivered.
“That doesn’t matter, but you do, and you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t put on warm clothes.”
“I–I don’t have anything else — and only one shoe.” I pointed to the single black spiked shoe. The other must have been still stuck in the rope or sunk to the bottom of the sea.
“Fortunately, I keep spare clothes in my cubby up top. I’ll be back in a minute.” He climbed up the steps and pushed through the narrow doorway.
I worked the towel over my clothes but when drops of stinging sea water kept dribbling in my eyes, I wrapped the towel turban-style around my hair.
Then I sank back on the cushioned bench, exhausted but grateful to Dyce. That made it twice he’d rescued me, like he was a superhero in disguise. I wouldn’t have drowned — I can swim — but I’d been so shocked by the cold sea and so weighed down with clothes that I’d panicked. I was lucky that one shoe was the only casualty.
Or was it?
What about my GEM?
“No!” I cried, remembering the time I’d been soaking in a bubble bath and dropped a book into the tub. The book had swelled up with water, the pages sticking together, then warping, even after I dried it with a blow dryer.
I jumped up so suddenly that my towel turban raveled to the floor. I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out a completely dry book.
Amazed, I quickly opened the GEM and the familiar blank pages rustled with a soft flutter that seemed to chastise me for doubting their magic. A drop of sea water slid down my soggy hair and plopped onto the pristine paper, blotting only for a second and then fading until the page shone like new. My chill was fading, too, now that I was out of the cold night and warming in the cozy cabin.
Staring down at the small book, I thought of everything I’d been through in the last two days. Many things were still unresolved and I could really use some answers, but it was hard to know what to ask my GEM first:
What happened to Warren after his capture?
Will Sharayah win the Voice Choice contest?
Will Alyce forgive me for not returning today?
Has Eli noticed I’m gone or is he still dancing?
Torn between the practical questions I should ask and the emotional ones my heart longed to know, I started with the first question.
“What happened to Warren?” I whispered into the GEM.
He returned to his dwelling.
Huh? What did that mean? Maybe the book misunderstood and thought I wanted to know what happened to the innocent victim who owned Warren’s body. So I rephrased my question, this time specifying that I wanted to know what happened to the Dark Lifer posing as Warren.
Unable to locate the Dark Lifer.
Okay, now I was really confused. I’d watched the DD Team capture Warren yet the book was saying they couldn’t “locate” the Dark Lifer. Had he escaped from them? I opened my mouth to ask this when I froze. Footsteps approaching!
Quickly, I shoved the GEM back inside my pocket.
“Here you go!” Dyce called from the hatch-like door at the top of the stairs as he tossed down clothes. “Holler up when you’re dressed and I’ll come back.”
The door shut behind him with a soft bang, and I was grateful for the clothes — as well as Dyce’s gentlemanly behavior. Most guys would have stuck around, waiting for a free show. But Dyce wasn’t like most guys.
Hastily, I stripped out of my clothes and folded them in a pile on the oblong table that was sticking up like a flat umbrella on a metal pole. Then I reached for the clothes, expecting baggy uncomfortable men’s clothes but pleasantly surprised to find a pink scooped-necked blouse, skinny denim jeans, a lacy bra and red satin bikini underwear … all in a perfect size for Sharayah.
Whoa! Why did a bachelor have girl’s clothes conveniently on his rental boat? Did all rental boats come equipped with assorted spare clothing? Or was this a freaky coincidence … not that I believed in coincidences. In my experience, things usually happened either for a good reason or for a suspicious one. And my intuition strongly hinted at the latter option.
Then I noticed something which added to this puzzle — a price tag dangling from the jeans. I whistled at the price — an amount that would have taken me six months to earn babysitting. Why did Dyce have expensive women’s clothing? Had he lied about having a girlfriend?
I was trying to figure out a tactful way to ask this when he returned with food. My Amber appetite rose up like a feral beast, sniffing delicious smells and ready to pounce on the fresh strawberries, cheese and vanilla wafers. But I resisted the “scarf” impulse and politely thanked him. He also had a porcelain cup of warm tea on his tray, which had a sweet yet tart aroma.
As he set down the tray, I noticed a discolored gash on his lower arm that hadn’t been there before he’d pulled me out of the water. Instantly, guilt washed over me. I hadn’t even asked how he was after he jumped in to rescue me. He’d brought me clothes but hadn’t taken the time to change out of his own dripping clothes. He probably was miserable, yet all he seemed concerned about was me. I was a selfish, ungrateful klutz.
So I immediately and sincerely said, “Thank you. I really mean it.”