by Dani Pettrey
© 2016 by Dani Pettrey
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2994-6
This novella is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dani Pettrey is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
Epilogue
Excerpt from Cold Shot
About the Author
Books by Dani Pettrey
Back Ads
JULY 1979
GULF OF ALASKA, OFF THE COAST OF YANCEY, ALASKA
Libby sliced through the frigid water, her limbs burning and weak . . . so weak after a dozen miles. Two to go.
One, two, three. Rolling her head to the side, she inhaled and then back into the deep, dark blue water, bubbles fizzing around her on the exhale.
Her wet suit clung to her like a second skin, but the forty-two-degree water seeped through, burrowing into her bones.
Just swim.
They can’t catch you if you keep moving.
Her lungs burned—ice shards stabbing her chest, each breath torturous, but she had to keep going.
She was surrounded by swimmers, but had one of them been sent to kill her?
ONE
THE WEEK BEFORE . . .
Libby’s sunflower-patterned rain boots sloshed through the deepening puddles as she made her way down the pier to the I>Waves.
Who named their ship using a mathematical symbol, let alone calling it I Greater Than Waves?
She couldn’t wait to meet this guy.
Rain pattered about her, her yellow raincoat hood shielding her hair and new Sony Walkman as Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” played over the headphones. It was a rather extravagant gift, but one her parents sent after she won her last tournament.
Unfortunately the hood blocked her view, and the only time she appreciated tunnel vision was when she swam—just her and the sea, rhythmic strokes and breaths, singular focus. Today she wanted to see the world—well, the wildlife—around her.
Flipping back her hood, she let the cool Alaskan summer rain wash over her and slipped her Walkman and headphones into her jean coverall pocket, the melody still dancing through her mind.
She cast her gaze to the end of the pier and found it devoid of people. Just two moored boats. One a small eighteen-foot sailboat. The other craft—white with teak railings and a gorgeous cobalt blue stripe along its sides—was closer to thirty feet, and what she assumed would be her touring vessel for the afternoon.
She glanced at her waterproof Seiko. 3:00. Where was everyone?
“You lost?” a man asked.
Following the direction of the deep timbre of his voice, she blinked up through the rain at a stunningly handsome man. Dark hair fell beneath his white baseball cap. The hat had UNM Lobos scrolled across it in red lettering—and a grey wolf. A smattering of auburn-tinged scruff covered his cheeks. He had to be at least an inch or two over six feet, with broad shoulders. A navy slicker draped open revealed a forest green thermal Henley hugging his defined torso. With crinkled lines at the edge of his eyes and wind-kissed skin he looked every bit the seafaring sailor.
“Are you lost?” He enunciated the phrase—probably a reaction to her ridiculous gaping stare.
She shielded her eyes to better meet his gaze, his eyes Confederate grey, with a tinge of blue. Or perhaps it was just the silvery sky reflecting in them.
She found her voice. “I’m here for the whale-watching tour.”
He rested his booted foot on the rail, his hand clasping the top rung, towering over her from his perch on his ship. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s raining.”
Yeah? “I doubt the whales mind the rain.”
Bemusement flitted across his lips. “No, but people do. You’re the only show.”
“Oh.” She slid her hands in her pockets, the rain slicker material cool against her already chilled skin. So this was Alaska’s idea of summer. “Then I guess it’ll just be you and me.”
He arched a dark brow barely visible beneath the brim of his cap. “You still want to go?”
She shrugged. “Why not?” Her coach had given her the afternoon off, and she was taking advantage of it.
His wide eyes lit with curiosity. He lifted his chin as rain drizzled off the brim of his cap. “What’s your name?”
“Libby. Jennings.”
“Well, Miss Jennings, everyone else has rescheduled for tomorrow. Same place. Same time.” He dropped his foot to the deck and turned to go.
“Good for them,” she called.
He paused, shaking his head, and turned back around. “You wouldn’t rather go when it’s not raining?”
“I’m here. Might as well go.” She tilted her head, fixing a smile on her face. “Don’t tell me a big strapping Alaskan fisherman is afraid of a little rain?”
Okay, it was a pathetic route to take, but was the guy serious? She wasn’t wasting her afternoon off just because of some rain.
“Hey, I’m good if you’re good,” he said.
“Great.”
He reached out a hand to help her aboard, but she did it on her own. Just as she did everything.
“I’m Ben McKenna,” he said. “Welcome aboard the Waves.”
“Thanks.” Maybe she’d ask him about the story behind the name later. It had pricked her curiosity.
“By the way . . .” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her as he started the engine. “No need for the mocking flattery, but I appreciate the strapping part.” He chuckled.
She bit her lip. Yeah, it had been beneath her, but she liked that he’d called her on it. She moved to the bow as Ben piloted them out of the marina. Her gaze should have been fixed on the gorgeous mountains surrounding Yancey or on the expansive Gulf of Alaska before them, but instead she was drawn to the man at the helm.
There was something intriguing there. But as always, she was in town for the competition and the competition only. It wasn’t worth the effort to try to get to know him. In less than a week she’d be gone and Ben McKenna would be a forgotten memory.
Forcing herself to fully turn around, she faced the gulf and the boat entering the marina as they exited.
A man dressed in a red shirt and rainbow suspenders. The silly accessory that had been all the rage back in Cali five years ago had apparently finally made its way up to Alaska. The only other person she ever saw still wearing them was Robin Williams on Mork and Mindy. Perhaps that’s where he’d gotten the idea, missing the intended comedic value of it.
The man smiled—or rather leered—at her across the white-capped gap and then turned to Ben. “Private tour, ay, McKenna?”
She rolled her eyes as the spray of the sea mixed with the rain splattering her face. Like she hadn’t heard that one before.
“Looks like you had a disappointing day, Karl,” Ben called. “What’d you catch—a pity handful? Seems even the fish know to avoid you.”
Karl coughed up a guffaw. “Funny, McKenna. Real funny.” He winked at Libby before he turned back to his wheel. “We’ll see who gets the bigger catch.”
Ben waved him off and opened the throttles.
She set her JanSport backpack—way more comfortable and sensible than carrying around a purse—on the ground and wrapped her arms tighter around her as the wind billowed over the bow.
Rain lashed even harder as Ben idled the boat nearly an hour later, an island on their port side, nothing but the sea and wind on the starboard.
Chilled to the bone didn’t begin to describe how she felt. Water was one thing. The bite of the Alaskan air, even in July, quite another. Everyone in town said they’d been having record lows—figured on her first trip so far north—but this tropical island girl was hurting.
“Here.” Ben handed her a steaming mug of coffee. “It’ll help.”
She took it, cupping her hands around the blue metal mug. “Thanks.” Maybe it’d help to settle her jittering jaw.
Growing up in the Caribbean, she was most definitely warm-blooded. Even Santa Barbara, where she was currently based, got cooler than she preferred, but cold-water competitions were for the elite of her sport, and she liked being at the top of it—even if it meant freezing now and again.
Ben hopped up to sit or rather impressively balance atop the starboard rail. “Sorry about Karl back there. He’s Yancey’s resident jerk. Keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, but I know how to take care of myself.” Guys like Karl hardly fazed her.
“Got it.” Ben nodded.
She took a sip of the coffee, and the first sensation of warmth in nearly an hour sparked inside. She glanced over at Ben. He most certainly was handsome, but she’d lose the scruff. Seemed nice enough, but why was he still sitting there? She wasn’t interested in anything beyond the tour. Wasn’t interested in men period since the train wrecks of two attempted relationships and her coach’s insistence on singular focus during the tournament season.
“There,” he said, pointing over the starboard side, excitement tinging his baritone voice.
She looked, saw nothing and frowned.
“Wait for it,” he said. “Any minute . . . now . . .” An enormous humpback whale surged out of the water twenty feet off their starboard side. It flipped, twisting on its side in the air before crashing back into the gulf with a gigantic plume of water jetting up, the spray dousing them.
“Oh . . . my . . . goodness.” She jumped up and down, unable to contain her enthusiasm as coffee sprayed across the deck, though fortunately not burning either of them. “That was incredible. How did you know? Where to look, I mean?”
“I caught sight of the tail. Figured she’d be popping up soon enough.”
“Will it come again?”
“We can wait and see.”
“Do we have time?” It’d been advertised as a two-hour whale-watching tour. They were more than halfway through and still had the return trip to make.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m not in any hurry. Are you?”
She shook her head, watching as another whale surfaced and then a third. The trio surging out of the water, gliding toward the sky and then flopping back in with gigantic splashes, waves of seawater gushing across the ship’s bow.
“There,” Ben said, shifting and pointing to the port side.
She followed his gaze and spotted the shafts of water spurting into the air—five, ten, close to a dozen.
“Orca feeding pod,” he said.
One surfaced, its dorsal fin dipping back under. Another surfacing, bouncing something across the bridge of its black nose.
“What’s it got?”
“Maybe a seal, but they don’t usually play with their food or bring it to the surface.”
Ben moved back to the helm, slowly inching the boat closer to take a better look.
Whatever it was, they weren’t so much interested in eating it as nudging it to the surface.
“Shoot,” Ben said, rushing to the stern of the ship.
She followed as he grabbed a silver pole with a hook on the end. He climbed into the red kayak fastened at the stern and used the pulley ropes to lower himself down into the gulf.
Libby grasped the wet railing, peering down at him. “What are you doing?”
“It’s a body.”
Shock radiated through her. “What?” She looked back to the whales.
“Surf must have washed it into the lagoon,” he hollered, paddling toward the pod.
She grabbed the binoculars, wiping the lashing rain off the front in a futile attempt to dry them long enough to see what he saw. To her horror, Ben was right. A long clump of hair clung to the person’s back. Libby squinted. Was that a swimmer’s cap?
“Get on the radio,” Ben hollered. “Channel sixteen. Tell the coast guard we’re on the south side of Tingit Island and we’ve got a floater in the lagoon. Coordinates are on the display panel.”
Ben approached the orca pod, knowing he could be flipped any instant, praying they didn’t view him as a threat.
The lagoon was teaming with shoals of herring this time of year and most of the pod was feeding on them below the surface.
If he could just maneuver close enough, he could grab hold with the hook next time they nudged the body off one of their noses.
They spotted him, several circling the kayak. He’d spent enough time in these waters that the kayak shouldn’t be an unfamiliar sight to them.
With great patience he waited until the opportune moment presented itself, and then he scooped, tugging the body to him—a woman—still intact for the most part.
Laying her across his lap, he eased back and paddled for the boat.
Libby greeted him at the stern, concern etched across her furrowed brow.
“You reach the coast guard?” he asked.
“Yeah, but they want to talk to you.”
That was never a good sign.
“Okay, help me lift her up.”
Libby’s eyes widened, but she did as he instructed, grabbing hold of the woman’s torso and pulling as he hefted her onto the ship.
Libby lost her balance on the slippery surface, tumbling back, the body’s dead weight collapsing on top of her.
A surprised yelp escaped her lips, but not the horrified shriek he’d expect from most in the situation. “Hang on.”
Securing the kayak, he scrambled up to assist, rolling the body off of her.
He helped Libby to a seated position, and her eyes widened in horror at the sight of the woman’s partially nibbled face.
“Kat?” her voice squeaked.
Shock rooted him in place. “You know her?”
Libby nodded grimly.
Libby stared at the woman she’d known, and not known, for the past dozen years, remembering the first time they met and the last—just this morning.
Ben returned from talking with the coast guard, his jaw and expression tight.
“What’s wrong?” In addition to Kat being dead, of course.
“An underwater earthquake was detected ninety miles south of here.”
“Okay.”
“Last time that happened the nearest island was struck by a hundred-foot tsunami within the hour, followed by massive storm surges.”
“So we should get going?”
“We don’t have time to make it safely back to Yancey.”
“What are you suggesting?” Certainly not riding out a hundred-foot wave in his fishing vessel.
“We need to get to high ground.”
“Wh
at?”
“Tingit.” He nodded toward the island. “We need to anchor and get to the highest ground possible.”
“And Kat?”
“We’ll secure her below deck.”
“A hundred-foot wave could crush your boat. We can’t just leave her there.”
“We can’t carry the extra weight. We have to bring supplies and move fast.”
“What kind of supplies?”
“Whatever we can carry to make it through the night.”
“I don’t understand. Can’t someone help us with shelter?”
“Tingit is uninhabited except for wildlife.”
“Then what was Kat doing way out here?”
He answered as he started making preparations. “I have no idea. Maybe she was on a boat and fell overboard, but the coast guard hasn’t received any distress calls.”
“She’s in her wet suit and cap so I’d say she was training, but no swimmer goes this far out without a support vessel.”
“Swimmer? You’re here for the tournament?”
She nodded. “And so was Kat. She’s one of my fellow competitors. My toughest one.”
“Coast guard and Yancey police will have to sort out what happened to her later. Right now we need to brace for the tsunami.”
Libby helped Ben carry Kat’s body below deck, a hundred thoughts and one massive regret sifting through her uneasy mind.
Ben laid Kat on the floor of the storage compartment and covered her with a tarp.
“Wait,” Libby said, reaching for Kat’s cap and watch. “Just in case the wave hits your boat, just in case the worst happens, her family back in Russia might want these.” Her goggles no doubt had been lost at sea.
Ben nodded as she stuffed both in her backpack.
“Do you have room for some more supplies in there?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She opened it, and he shoved a few items inside, testing the weight before handing it back to her.
“Is not too heavy is it?” he asked.
She was a champion open-water swimmer. She trained hard. Pushed herself. Doug, her coach, pushed even harder. She could take the weight. “It’s fine.” She fastened it in place and waited while he filled a huge pack of his own, placing it over his broad shoulders.
He checked his watch. “We’ve got to move.”
