Read Vortex (Cutter Cay) Online
Authors: Cherry Adair
Vortex (Cutter Cay)
This one is for my BFF Deborah McGuire. Words cannot express how much I love you for all you are, and for all you do. If friends were flowers, I’d always pick you.
Acknowledgments
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to copy editor extraordinaire Martha Trachtenberg for years of meticulous editing. Thank you for not (
too
vocally) mocking my awesome ability to get every number I use completely wrong. Every time. Your patience, nitpickiness, and wonderful sense of humor make what I love to do even more enjoyable.
And thanks to my Awesome Street Team for all the fun and names on Facebook.
Contents
One
She fought him off like a feral wildcat, their bodies rising and falling in the swells. Grappling to get a secure grip on the woman’s slippery, flailing limbs, Logan Cutter struggled to restrain her, keep her face out of the water, and not drown himself in the process.
Over the surge of the roiling, moonlit-speckled black water, the warning bells sounded. Three long rings, followed by the ship’s whistle, alerted everyone there was a man overboard.
Woman
overboard in this case.
Except there
were
no women on board
Sea Wolf
this voyage.
If not for his dog barking, and that fleeting glimpse of the white strobe on the woman’s life vest seen briefly in the vast darkness, he would’ve gone to bed, none the wiser.
Salt water stung the scratches she’d already scored across his throat and face. “Lady, stop fighting me!”
Sirens bleating. The slap of the waves. She could do little more than gurgle now and again as the sea filled her mouth. But she fought him with such intent, he was afraid he would have to knock her out to save her. The other alternative was to swim away until she went under. A little water in her lungs wouldn’t kill her. But it might shock her into awareness. Or not.
The floatation device she wore wasn’t foolproof, as was evidenced by her repeatedly sinking below the surface.
Logan grabbed whatever he could—her hand, this time—hauling up so her head breached the surface chop. She coughed, gagged, fought harder for purchase. She tried to climb his body.
“I’m trying to help—Shit!” Her thrashing leg found his groin. He managed to close his fingers around her upper arm.
Now
she shrieked bloody murder, grabbing at his hair, his face, his reaching hands. She was as slippery as an eel as she battled to scale to the highest point. His head.
He went under. Came up spluttering, peeling her octopus arms off him, so he could control where they went and how. “I get it.” He managed to grasp both slender wrists in one hand. “You’re terrified. I won’t let you drown, hear me? I got you. Just let me—”
Mindless with fear, she was out of control. Dangerous to them both as, despite—or because of—his hold on her, she planted one foot on his extended leg and started climbing his body again. “—ver hit—wom—my life,” He bit out. “—ut, lady, if—don’t—rescue you,—gonna—ave—slug y—. Your choice.” None of his threat came out in a neat stream, as he, too, was gagging and spitting out water. His words washed out of his mouth the minute he uttered them.
Moonlight shone on the woman’s pale, wet face, glinting in her terrified eyes as she batted at his hands. Logan doubted she even saw him. She was in full-on panic mode. Her instinct for survival primal, she was too afraid to hear his assurances. He grabbed a handful of long hair as she went under again, pulling her head to the surface. He jerked his face out of reach—too late—and was rewarded with her elbow smacking him in the mouth.
Their bodies rose with the next swell—he saw the lights of his ship—then sank into the next dark trough.
It wasn’t uncommon for drowning victims to use their rescuer as a floatation device. “Damn it, we’ll both drown at this rate!” He was already hoarse from the salt water and so much yelling. He could’ve saved his voice. She was too panicked to hear him. “Settle dow—” His nose got in the way of the top of her hard head. “Ow!”
He grabbed and twisted the cord of her life vest in one unyielding fist, holding her at arm’s length and kicking out, dragging her with him. Her head went under again. He tried to hold it up, but getting her to the ship took precedence over worrying about her swallowing a little water. “My ship is two hundred yards away. Stay still and I’ll get you there. Keep fighting me, and I’ll haul your unconscious ass the rest of the way.” At least that was the way he heard it in his head; to her, it was probably disjointed babble.
She sank, and this time when he hauled her head up she wasn’t fighting, but hung limp in his grip. Exposed to the cold water for who knew how long, she was now unconscious, the vest keeping her on her back, head mostly out of the water.
Logan spat out water as a wave slapped him in the face. Where the hell were his men with the dinghy? He struck out for the lights of the
Sea Wolf
in long, sure strokes. She was damned lucky he was a strong swimmer. Exactly what she needed right now. She could sue him later for manhandling her.
He wasn’t a particularly inquisitive guy, but the woman’s presence begged the question: What the hell was she doing in the middle of the Pacific Ocean at midnight a hundred miles from land?
The fishing trawler he’d noticed earlier had disappeared before dark, and that was hours ago. If she’d been out here that long, it was a miracle anyone had found her. If it hadn’t been for Dog, Logan would have finished his nightly exercises and gone to bed, none the wiser.
Finally able to do his job without her fighting him tooth and nail every step of the way, he wrapped an arm across her chest, tightening his grip as they rose and fell with the waves. He fought to keep her head out of water as best he could by grabbing ahold of her long hair, which stuck to her skin like seaweed. Logan tucked her against his hip, waited until a swell lifted them, and scanned the area between himself and the lights of the ship for a sign of the dinghy.
He heard muffled shouts, and the throb of an engine, more lights flashed on from his ship, the searchlight strafing the water a few feet ahead. He and the woman went down into a dark trench. He kicked, swimming one-armed, holding her tightly to his side.
“Who is it?” Galt, one of his divers, yelled, bringing the inflatable dinghy alongside Logan and the woman.
“Not one of us.” Logan treaded water as he maneuvered the dead weight into position for his friend to pull her over the side. “Good?” he asked, as Galt grunted, hauling the body over the lip by her vest and easing it into the bottom of the raft.
“Yeah.”
“Haul ass. I’ll swim back.”
“Didn’t doubt it.” Galt’s teeth and bald head glinted in the moonlight. He used the motor to power back to the
Sea Wolf
, leaving Logan to follow.
* * *
“Wow. A mermaid. Is this our lucky day or what?” Daniela Rosado stayed limply silent as she listened to guys’ happy tones. Her chest hurt. Someone had thumped her lungs, and she vaguely remembered spitting up a lot of water. It was a miracle she hadn’t inhaled half the ocean. Her throat and lungs burned. Her body ached, and she was freezing.
Furious
and freezing.
“A mermaid with hypothermia,” a deep authoritative voice pointed out, not sounding pleased. “Harris—where are those warm blankets? Dell, bring the first-aid kit, then go find her something dry to wear. The rest of you clear out. Wes, you stay. We have to get her out of these clothes.”
Oh, no you don’t. No one’s stripping me.
It took every ounce of reserve she had to remain limp, not stiffening in resistance at their comments. She just needed a few more moments to gather her thoughts.
She was no longer in the water. A plus. Cold and wet, she lay on an equally cold and wet flat surface. Not the hard deck this time, but a bed. Streamers of wet hair covered half her face, water dripping down her throat, to pool in her ears. Her teeth chattered as she shivered.
“Where the hell’s Harris? Good man.” A heated blanket was wrapped around her by large, sure hands. It was then tucked tightly around her body, sealing the icy wet fabric of her clothing against her wet, chilled skin.
Was she on board the
Sea Wolf
after all? The last few hours were foggy, and her brain felt sluggish and uncooperative. If she
was
on board, it was more fluke than meticulous planning. The idiots could’ve drowned her.
A pulse throbbed on her forehead. Point of contact where they’d hit her. She’d do a little hitting herself when she caught up with them. But before that, Daniela had to gather her wits and come up with a story to explain how she’d ended up in the water.
As several men in the room made suggestions as to what to do with her, she drifted as if she was still in the current. It was really hard to put together two consecutive thoughts, let alone plan a course of action, and she let herself float.
Why hadn’t they just
listened
to her? Taken a few extra days to formulate a plan?
Because they were idiots, that’s why.
“Hand me that other blanket.” A deep, take-charge, make-it-happen kind of voice.
“Her clothes are wet, maybe I—”
Whatever the softer toned man had been about to say was cut off as Mr. Take Charge started chafing her body with hard, rough hands. He didn’t seem to care much where he rubbed, but at least she was warming up. Maidenly hysterics weren’t appropriate right now. Getting warm was somewhat of a priority; she’d been in that water a long time. Brain sluggish, responses too slow, didn’t matter. Daniela knew she had to think, and she had to think
fast
.
She was so angry she was surprised her fury wasn’t turning the water on her skin to steam. The morons. The idiots. The scumbags. They’d thrown her overboard.
Hit
her, and thrown her overboard.
No warning, no discussion. She was going to kill them.
Now she had to decide—while she still could—what the best course of action was. Open her eyes and say hi? Stay limp and mute as she figured out what to do next? The longer they thought she was out of it, the longer she had to make up a plausible story. And the more time they had to strip her naked.
Limp it was. Unless stripping was imminent.
The man with the rich, deep voice got up from the side of the bed at her hip, leaving a cold spot. “Wes, she’s all yours. Get the lead out, she’s still shivering. Call me when she’s tucked in.”
“Why does Wes get to tuck her in?” another man demanded, amusement lacing his words. He sounded a bit farther away than the others.
“Because our mermaid’s modesty is safest with him. Give a holler when she’s dry.”
Several pairs of footsteps retreated, a door closed.
A firm hand placed on her shoulder gave a little squeeze. “You can open your eyes now.”
Daniela’s sea-salt encrusted lashes fluttered, and she let out the shuddering breath she’d been holding.