Sanctuary Island (31 page)

Finally forcing his heavy legs into movement, Grady strode after him. “I’ll come with you—”

“No.” Ben tossed his kit in the truck and faced Grady. “Jo needs you to go down to the ferry and try to hold it. Buddy’s not answering his phone, but you know how the cell reception is down at the pier.”

“I thought you said there wasn’t enough time…”

“Not for Merry.” Ben hauled himself up into the truck cab and started the engine with a roar. “Ella left Windy Corner fifteen minutes ago, planning to take the afternoon ferry over to Winter Harbor.”

Grady’s heart sank like a boulder dropped into a lake. “She’s leaving Sanctuary.”

She’s leaving me.

“But Merry’s asking for her,” Ben said, as if that sealed the deal. “So you need to go get her. Now.”

Grady was moving before Ben finished talking, cold rain stinging his bare skin and weighing down his clothes.

But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting to Ella before the ferry left the island.

*   *   *

Ella held tight to the hard plastic arms of the copilot chair and muttered a fervent prayer that this old bucket wouldn’t shudder to pieces around her.

Beside her, the grizzled ferry pilot was less silent, and a lot less prayerful. He was wearing a different bowling shirt from the one he’d had on when they took the ferry onto the island three weeks ago. This one was a solid, shiny sky-blue and had
BUDDY
emblazoned across the back under the unlikely team name
THE SALTWATER COWBOYS.

The foul-smelling, unlit pipe clamped between his lips hadn’t changed.

Wincing as he turned the chilly air blue with another streak of swear words, Ella gritted her teeth. “I thought you said the storm wouldn’t hit until after we made it to Winter Harbor.”

She’d been nervous when she got to the dock and saw the islanders’ powerboats moored there tossing in the wind like toys in a splashing toddler’s bathtub. But Buddy, the pilot, had spat on the ground at his feet and told her if she’d quit dithering and hurried up, they’d be fine.

Once Ella deciphered the thick Virginia drawl that made it come out sounding more like “If you harry up, we’ll be fan,” she bit her lip and boarded.

It might not mean much, considering she’d probably be back on the island in less than a month for her niece or nephew’s birth, but right now, Ella needed the distance. She needed to feel in control of her destiny.

Making the choice to go back to real life and the real job waiting for her might not fill her with happiness. But at least when it came to the job, she got out of it what she put into it. Her personal life had never worked that way—she didn’t know why she was surprised it hadn’t gone well this time, either, but she was. Surprised, sad, and hurt.

Lightning zagged through the clouds over the water and she jumped in startled surprise. Buddy cast her a grouchy look that made her think he was reconsidering letting his sole passenger sit in the glassed-in cockpit with him, out of the wind and rain. “First time my knee’s been wrong in twenty years.”

Ella’s fingers went white-knuckled. “We’re out here on the open ocean in the middle of a thunderstorm on the advice of your
knee
?”

Looking taken aback at the shrillness of her tone, he said obstinately, “It acts up when a storm’s coming in. Was fine at lunch, so I figured we had time. Figured wrong.”

“Oh my God.” Ella moaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the ferry rocked sickeningly through the choppy waves. “We’re going to die.”

“No we ain’t.” Buddy clamped the pipe stem between his gristly jaws. “I’ve got league tonight.”

Great. If she made it through the next hour, she was going to owe it all to Buddy’s dogged determination to get to his weekly bowling night.

Ella checked her phone again. The cell service on Sanctuary was never great, but with the interference from the storm, “not great” had been downgraded to “downright abysmal.”

Who would she call, anyway? She certainly didn’t want Merry traipsing around the island in this weather, or Jo driving that broken-down old truck on the roads that had almost defeated Ella’s trusty rental sedan.

Grady.

She closed her eyes and pictured him the way he’d looked that first day, his muscular thighs gripping the horse’s flanks, his shoulders broad enough to block out the sun when he rode up to interrogate her about her intentions toward Jo.

Funny. Ella had been so sure they’d moved past that initial distrust—but apparently it had been lurking underneath everything, every conversation, every kiss, every caress.

Gripped by nausea, she opened her eyes and stared sightlessly out the rain-smeared plate glass enclosing the cockpit.

The ferry pitched alarmingly, giving a shuddering clank that stopped Ella’s breath for a moment before the lights in the cockpit flickered and went out. The eerie darkness was such a sudden shock that it took a moment to realize there was a reason she could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

The constant grinding throb of the ferry engine had stopped.

And in the instant before red emergency lights buzzed on, Ella knew that if she had even a single bar of signal and could make one last call, in spite of everything, it would be Grady Wilkes she reached out to.

CHAPTER 30

Grady made the hard right into the dock parking lot, cranking the wheel so sharply that the back end of the Jeep swung out in an uncontrollable arc.

But he was a man on a mission. His grip never wavered, all his focus on getting to the dock before the ferry cast off.

She’ll still be there,
he’d told himself over and over on the drive from Ben’s cabin.
Buddy knows better than to make the run to Winter Harbor in weather like this. He’ll wait it out.

She’s not gone.

Ella couldn’t be gone—Grady had too much to say to her. And on top of everything else, he knew she’d never forgive herself if she missed the birth of her niece or nephew.

And God forbid anything should go wrong, but Grady didn’t know if Ben had ever assisted with an unplanned home birth of a human being rather than a calf or a foal.

Ella needed to be there, that’s all there was to it.

But when he reached the shore, the ferry was nothing but a black smudge bobbing against the darkness of the waves in the distance.

Unable to believe it, Grady parked and jumped out of the Jeep before he’d made a conscious plan.

All his plans had centered on getting here in time. As if his body hadn’t gotten the message that it was too late, he found himself running, feet slapping through puddles and skidding on the slurry of gravel and mud coating the parking lot.

He ran down the pier through the forest of tall sailboat masts, their sails all packed away tightly, the colors painted on the sides of the powerboats a blur in his peripheral vision.

Lungs contracting like a bellows, Grady pushed himself to the limit, racing to the end of the wood and concrete pier, fifty feet out over the churning water.

He caught himself against a short pylon wrapped with thick rope, his eyes still on the ferry in the distance and urgency firing his blood.

This was as close as he could get to her.

Wiping rain out of his streaming eyes, Grady panted through the slashing pain and frustration.

Wait. Something’s not right …

Shaking his head to clear it, Grady screwed his eyes shut and opened them again to check that he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

He might not have set foot on that ferry personally in five years, but there wasn’t a soul on Sanctuary who hadn’t memorized its schedule. The comings and goings of the ferry were part of the rhythm of island life—and as Grady stared at it now, his overloaded brain flashed a warning that there was something missing.

Lights. The ferry was equipped with safety lights fore and aft, and in cloudy conditions, the cockpit at the aft end of the upper deck was always lit like a beacon.

Right now, it was dark.

Fear reached up from Grady’s gut to choke him, but he hardened his jaw and forced himself to concentrate on the ferry’s movements.

In the minute or so since he’d parked, the ferry hadn’t moved any farther away.

That, plus the lights being out—the ferry had lost power.

Ella, and whoever was on that ferry with her, was marooned in stormy seas halfway between Sanctuary Island and Winter Harbor.

Years of training kicked in smoothly, as if Grady had never left the task force. No cell service on the dock, so he loped back up the dock to his Jeep and whipped out his CB radio to call it in to the Coast Guard. He reported that the ferry didn’t appear to be in distress, apart from the loss of power. The dispatcher sounded harried—no doubt the Coasties were spread thin by the storm.

He wouldn’t interfere with an official rescue op, but he wasn’t going to sit on his hands and wait, either. In most cases, he’d be the first to strongly advise a civilian to keep out of it and let the pros handle the situation—because nine times out of ten, a civvie who rushed out to save a friend or family member in trouble ended up needing rescuing himself.

But Grady Wilkes was no civilian. And he had a perfectly seaworthy boat tied up at the dock, waiting to take him out to Ella.

Thank God he’d never dropped the habit of keeping the task force essentials in his kit. Grady grabbed his tool bag out of the back of the Jeep. Unzipping it, he did a quick double check—yep, flashlight, rope, signal mirror, knife, first-aid kit nestled in the corner of the bag next to the leather roll of screwdrivers and wrenches.

Grady slung the bag over his shoulder and moved quickly down the dock to the slip he’d rented for his sport boat. After years of tinkering and polishing, maintenance and hanging out, his feet carried him there without conscious thought. His hands remembered the motions, knew how to untie the lines, and cast off from the dock.

He’d tossed his tool bag into the open bow and vaulted into place behind the custom steering wheel before it hit him.

The minute he turned the key in the ignition and motored away from the dock would be the first time he’d left the safety and security of Sanctuary Island in five years.

Grady waited for the panic to slam into his chest, stealing his breath and flipping his stomach like a hamburger on the grill, the way it had every other time he’d tried to step foot off the island.

But it didn’t come.

Maybe the panic couldn’t get through the adrenaline careening through his bloodstream. Or maybe even his stupid, broken brain knew better than to allow an irrational fear to stop him from rescuing Ella.

The perfectly tuned engine roared to life at the flick of a switch, and Grady pushed back from the pier.

After all, he thought grimly as he put the full strength of his shoulders and back into fighting the surf, the slippery, wet steering wheel wrenching against his grip, his safety meant less than nothing if Ella was in danger.

Peering through the wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead at the helpless ferry in the distance, Grady muttered, “I’m coming for you, Ella.”

*   *   *

Ella left Buddy in the cockpit trying to call for help on his radio. Both of their cell phones had lost signal before they even left the harbor, and she’d long ago passed nervous and was hurtling straight into freaked the heck out.

Keeping one hand on the rough wall to steady herself, Ella made her way down to the lower level. She’d stowed her suitcase in the backseat of the rental car, and she wanted to have it with her in case the Coast Guard or whoever sent a rescue boat. She wanted to be ready.

Mostly, she wanted to do something, anything, instead of sitting around tracking the rudderless drifting of the creaky old ferry.

It was dark in the narrow metal stairwell, lit only by the sullen red glow of strips of emergency LED lights. Ella gripped the handrail against a particularly heavy swell, the floor rocking under her feet and sending her stomach tumbling.

Please let me almost be there,
she pleaded silently, fumbling down the last few steps toward the cavernous blackness of the lower deck where her car was parked.

The emergency lighting appeared to end at the bottom of the stairs, Ella noticed, squinting. Cautious but determined, she moved forward—and gasped when she stepped down onto the last stair and splashed up to her ankle in icy water.

Heart hammering, she scurried back up a few steps and groped for her phone. Still no signal, but when she turned it face out, the light from the backlit screen illuminated enough for her to see the water lapping fitfully at the hubcaps of her rental car.

Giving her suitcase up as a lost cause, Ella scrambled up the stairs as quickly as she could. She had to let Buddy know what was going on, so he could tell the Coast Guard to harry the hell up, because, oh God—

“Water!” she gasped out, hanging on to the metal door frame of the cockpit by her fingernails. “There’s a leak … or something.”

Shooting her a sharp look from underneath his bushy gray brows, Buddy said, “You sure?”

“There’s a sloshy puddle in my right shoe,” Ella told him, “and my rental car is floating better than the ferry. Yes, I’m sure.”

“How much?”

Being forced to think and answer questions was actually helping her calm down. “About a foot, maybe? At least eight inches.”

Buddy held the radio up to his mouth and relayed, “Yeah, we’re taking on a little water, too.”

“Copy that,” came the tinny voice over the receiver. “This is the second call we’ve received about your situation. We’ll send a boat out as soon as we can to tow you in. Sit tight for a spell. Over.”

Before Ella could politely, calmly inquire exactly how long “a spell” might be, Buddy muttered something about checking out the damage and headed down below, leaving Ella alone in the cockpit.

Just as she was contemplating whether she’d be able to steer this thing if Buddy somehow knocked himself unconscious before the power came back on, her phone buzzed in her pocket for the first time in an hour.

Signal!