In Too Deep

by Cherry Adair

  The moment he cleared the entrance, he broke the surface of the water and dragged in lungfuls of air, then started swimming toward the back of the cave. The ceiling, now only three feet above his head, seemed to press down on him. His chest was tight, his throat ached. But he was in the water and functioning, by God.

  The air was charcoal gray, not quite pitch-black, but close enough, thick and stuffy, and damp with spray. Water slapped loudly against the walls, sucking and pulling as the tide rose.

  Michael strained to hear Tally.

  Silence.

  No. No! NOOOOOOOO!

  Chapter Twenty-one

  « ^ »

  With water lapping at her toes, Tally finally freed herself from the ropes. Heart in her throat, she groped her way up the spiral stone stairs. "Sun… shine on my shoulders maakes me haaapy—"

  The monster of her childhood lurked in the surrounding watery darkness, ready to pounce the moment her self-discipline faltered. "Sunshine on the water looks sooo lovely—" Ha! Not!

  Her eyes had adjusted a little to the dark; it wasn't quite as impenetrable as she'd first thought. And the higher she climbed, the lighter it became. She took the stairs two at a time, her hands braced on the damp walls as she ran.

  She arrived at the top slightly breathless to find herself in a considerably larger "room" than the water-filled cave below. Two things made it preferable: It was slightly lighter. And it was dry.

  Tally glanced around. So this was what all the fuss had been about. Wooden crates on top of crates on top of more crates. By the stenciled markings on the containers, it was clear what was inside. Enough munitions to make the IRA look like a Boy Scout troop.

  She cocked her head. Under the swish of sloshing water was a faint noise—more a feeling than a sound. Her imagination, because she knew there was a clock counting down the minutes in here somewhere?

  She zipped down the center aisle between the boxes, heading for the pinpricks of light indicating the way out. She imagined the water creeping up the stairs trying to find her. She wasn't hanging around. The rubble at the far end of the cavern shouted freedom, and by God she was getting out of here.

  Come hell or high water.

  Directly ahead, Tally saw the source of the earlier crashing and bashing. The entrance to the cave had been effectively sealed by the explosion. Stray shafts of sunlight speared through the rocks and boulders. The rocks and boulders that blocked her way out.

  And somewhere in this lava rock warehouse was Michael's bomb, ticking away.

  "Oh, I don't think so." Tally slid between the rest of the towering crates until she reached the debris blocking the mouth of the cave. She sized up the situation as she got closer. Beyond this barrier lay the ocean. It was high tide. She was probably about twenty or so feet above the water-filled cove. Feasibly, if she could clear a big enough space, she could wiggle through, jump down into the water, and not break her neck.

  Or… she could stay right where she was, kiss her butt good-bye, and pray.

  Easiest decision of her life.

  Tally started grabbing rocks as fast as her body could move. Grab. Toss. Grab. Wrestle. Toss. Drenched with sea-water and sweat, she got a good grip on another huge chunk of broken cliff. At the rate she was going, she'd have this pile cleared by her 102nd birthday.

  If her situation hadn't been so dire, she'd bewail her ruined manicure. She started to laugh a little hysterically. God, this was bizarre. Here she was—she hefted a smaller rock and tossed it behind her—battered, beaten up, bruised, bleeding, and in imminent danger of dying, and she noticed she'd broken a couple of nails and her polish was chipped. "You've lost it, Tallulah."

  She put her hands around a head-size boulder, one of the smaller loose chunks, and put her back into it. "Ninety-nine boulders and rocks on the wall, ninety-nine boulders and rocks. You take one down, pass it around—"

  "Jesus, woman. You're hell on a man's ego, you know that?"

  Tally stopped singing in mid-note and turned as Michael came into view at the other end of the corridor of boxes.

  Their eyes met, and they stood drinking in the sight of each other. His wet hair was slicked back off his face, and his jeans, dark and heavy with water, clung to his strongly muscled legs. Tally had never been so happy to see anyone in her life.

  They looked like twins, their faces bearing black-and-blue badges of honor.

  Tally's heart almost burst with love for him. Michael had come for her. He'd risked everything to come for her. He'd faced his fears, fought her father, risked life and limb, and shown up just in the nick of time.

  Rescuing herself was ingrained, but, damn, it was a relief to see his battered face. They'd both survived. So far.

  She tossed the rock she held into the pile behind her and grinned. "You're late, Double Oh."

  "But not too." Michael did a visual scan of her from top to toe and back again. That look wound around her body and heart like a warm caress.

  "Forget trying to clear that mess. It'll take too long." He held out his hand. "Come back this way." Through the maze of boxes and back to the top of the stairs.

  "Tell me you're going to turn off your bomb to give us more time."

  "No way to turn it off. Move it, time's a wasting."

  "How much time?" Tally wended her way between the boxes. Fast. The ticking in her head seemed much louder.

  He hesitated. "Fourteen minutes."

  Tally sped up, the imaginary ticking sounding like Big Ben. "How are we going to get out?"

  "Swim."

  Tally hesitated. "Right." The water downstairs was well over her head. She was a fairly strong swimmer, under normal circumstances, which these weren't. But a diver, she wasn't. She met his eye as she got closer.

  Despite his fear of water, he'd come. He'd battled his dragon to find her. She wouldn't let him—or herself—drown now, by giving in to her own fears.

  Michael snagged her hand and tugged. When she was flush against him, he lifted her face with a hand scraped raw. "Trust me."

  "Implicitly." That was the one damn thing she was sure of. Despite it all, she did trust him.

  He brushed her mouth with his. "Let's do it."

  They stopped at the waterline, which was now more than halfway down the stairs. Michael shone a mini Maglite down across the black water. Tally sucked in a sharp breath. It looked like miles to the other side. The darkness pressed in on her like a suffocating blanket, and her heart did a little flip of panic in her chest. She drew in a shaky gulp of air. "You know I'm terrified, right?"

  Michael tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, his fingers warm and steady. "You're the bravest person I know, Tally. I've never seen anyone face fear with as much courage as you have." He stroked her shoulder—a light, reassuring brush of his hand, as if he couldn't bear not to touch her. "You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine. Work with me here, honey."

  She swallowed hard and forced a smile. Getting into the deep water would be harder for Michael than fearing the dark would be for her. But he was going to do it without hesitation. Could she do any less? "Right," she said briskly.

  He showed her how to use the small rebreather. "You'll only need it for a few minutes to get through the fissure. Okay? Don't panic. I'll be right here with you. Breathe easy. There you go. Ready?"

  No. "As I'll ever be." Tally's hand was engulfed by his. She followed him into the water. Her skin crept at the thought of swimming across the enormous, deep expanse in the dark.

  The water closed over her shoulders, and she treaded water. "Michael?" she said, her voice sounding as freaked out as she felt.

  "Right here," he said, calmly drawing her closer to him until their legs brushed under the water. "If you can do it, sweetheart, so can I. Together. Let's go." He released her hand.

  Now or never. Tally struck out. Under. Over. Under. Over. No style. No finesse. All she cared about was speed.

  Kick. Kick. Over. Under.

  She sensed Michael keeping pace with
her.

  The rock ceiling snagged her hair. Oh. God. Oh. God. The water was rising. They switched to breaststroke and kept going.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  It took years to reach the far wall. Breathing hard, she slapped a palm against the rough rock, and let her legs drop. Quivering, out of breath, terrified, she rested her head against the cold surface. She felt the thud and pulse of her heart behind her eyeballs.

  Michael came up behind her, wrapped an arm about her waist, and braced her weight in the buoyancy of the water. He pressed his large hand against her diaphragm. "Take a breath and relax. We'll be through any minute."

  She inserted the breathing device in her mouth, and turned so he could check it. He gave her the thumbs-up.

  "I'll be right behind you. If you have any problems, signal." He smiled, and touched her cheek. "Let's make this snappy, honey. We've got things to do, and places to go. Ready?"

  She nodded.

  He tugged on her hand. "Let's do it." And he pulled her deep under the water. A gentle shove on her butt, and she was maneuvering between the narrow walls of the exit.

  Instinct took over. The only thought in her mind was to get the hell out of there. And still, it was the longest "minute" of Tally's life. With Michael's guiding hand on her behind, she stayed calm enough to push herself through the water. The walls were too close together to swim. The murky water lightened, and Tally pulled harder, heading toward the sun-bleached water ahead.

  She popped free of the rocks, kicked toward the surface, and emerged gasping to drag in huge lungfuls of salty air. It smelled sweet. The sunlight on her face was brilliant and was so welcome, Tally almost cried with gratitude.

  "Don't stop now!" Michael yelled as his head broke the surface beside her. He struck out for the rim of rocks barely visible above the waterline to their left. Swimming side by side, Tally knew he was pacing himself to her speed.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  He finally streaked ahead, and reached the outcrop before she did, so he was already climbing out of the water as she arrived. He hauled her up and out, keeping hold of her hand to help her across and down the other side of the rocks with barely a pause.

  The clock in Tally's head ticked louder. Faster.

  Hand in hand, they raced up the beach toward the protection of the trees.

  "Go. Go. Go," Michael yelled, running hard and fast through the soft sand, pulling Tally with him. Breathless, she clung to his hand and damn near flew across the beach. Sand clung to their wet feet and ankles like cement shoes.

  BOOM!

  The first explosion shook the ground. The percussion reverberated across the sand and water in waves. Even though she was expecting it, Tally shrieked and instinctively tried to look over her shoulder. Michael kept her running.

  Just the appetizer.

  Fifteen seconds to the big one.

  His heels bit into the soft, dry sand, his long legs eating up the distance to safety. Tally's feet barely made contact as sand rooster-tailed in their wake.

  A barrage of debris followed them. Rocks, boulders, sand, and vegetation rained down in a dangerous hail.

  Fourteen.

  Michael played dodge 'em, dragging Tally with him in a mad dash across the beach. "Move. Move. Move!"

  Thirteen.

  Almost carrying her because his legs were longer and stronger, he staggered as something heavy slammed into his shoulder. He almost fell, and this time it was Tally who jerked him upright. "Don't stop! Don't stop!"

  Twelve.

  Eleven.

  He veered to the left, toward the tree line. Ten. His arm wrapped around Tally's waist, lifting her, propelling her along ahead of him.

  Nine.

  Eight.

  Seven.

  Their feet hit the shrubs and sea grasses. Six. Michael threw her to the ground behind a ridge of dunes and rocks. Five. He flung his body over hers, and covered her head with his arms.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  BOOM!

  The earth shuddered. Sand danced on the beach like fleas.

  He buried his face against Tally's neck. Rocks and debris flew over them as if in the grip of a tornado. Her body trembled beneath his from the exertion of running flat out, and from his suffocating weight. Michael pressed down, covering as much of her body as he could.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  He absorbed the sound, relished the percussion, as the mountainside blew up. The cacophony of destruction was music to his ears. And despite the falling crap bulleting into his back, Michael grinned in satisfaction.

  When he was pretty sure the chance of shrapnel was gone, he enjoyed the silence, punctuated now and then with a loud crash, as more cliff broke free and fell with a tremendous splash into the ocean below.

  As quickly as it had started, it was over.

  Silence.

  Blessed, triumphant silence.

  "Omph," Tally said from beneath him.

  Jubilant, feeling no pain, Michael rolled off her and jumped to his feet, pulling her up beside him. Sand, rocks, and bits of plant life dropped off his body. "Hoo-yah!"

  "Is it over?" She brushed leaves and dirt out of her hair and stared at the raw scar on the cliff side.

  He grinned. "Hell, no. It's just beginning."

  "Crud," she said, dismayed. "What's left to blow up?"

  Michael laughed, and wrapped his arms around her. "No more big bangs. Not that kind, anyway." He pulled her tightly against him, loving the tensile strength of her slender body in his arms.

  He couldn't stop touching her. Her face, her throat, her hair. He brushed his mouth across her forehead, then just stood there, her body pressed to his, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close. "Jesus, Tally," he said thickly. "I was scared I'd be too late."

  "And I was afraid Trevor would kill you." She slid her arms around his waist, her small hands on the small of his back holding tightly to his shirt. "I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you. I wasn't sure—I didn't think—"

  "That I'd go in the water?"

  She nodded. "I didn't expect you to. For me." She shivered, despite the tropical heat.

  "The thought of losing you"—Michael buried his face in her hair, inhaled her scent, and closed his eye on a prayer of gratitude that was soul deep—"I would've walked through hell and back to find you."

  She pulled back, looked up at him, and smiled as she cupped his battered face. "You did, Michael."

  Yeah, he thought, he'd fought his own private hell. But had he won heaven? "Let's head back to Auntie's and get you patched up and into dry clothes. It's been a hell of a day."

  "Good idea." But she didn't move; she just stroked her thumbs across his cheekbones with a gentle touch. He saw pain and sadness in her eyes. "You conquered your dragon to save me," she said.

  "I didn't have a choice." He reached up and caught one of her hands in his. "You were my touchstone."

  Her lashes came down and shut him out. She released his shirt and stepped back, and his fingers lost contact with her skin. He felt bereft.

  "Nice to know that I proved useful after all. Not quite what you had in mind, I know. But, hey"—she wrapped her arms around her waist—"it's unfortunate that Trevor didn't give a rat's ass about me. Think how much more fun it would have been if he'd given a damn."

  Michael shoved his hands deep into the front pockets of his wet jeans so he didn't reach for her. He kept his gaze steady. "Just because he was an ass doesn't diminish in any way who you are, Tally."

  "I know." She looked… lost.

  No matter what kind of man Trevor Church was, and no matter that Tally knew it, Trevor Church had been her father. And Michael had killed him. Hell. He'd known this moment would have to come. He just hadn't been looking forward to it.

  "I came here to kill him, Tally. No apologies. He was responsible for killing Hugo, for the loss of my eye, and consequently my navy career. And that was just the personal stuff. He was one of the seriously bad g
uys. Hell, I don't have to tell you what kind of man he was.

  "You weren't supposed to be here. So, yeah, when I realized who you were, using you was in the cards."

  "Understandable," she said reasonably as she watched him, head tilted. Waiting? For an explanation? A logical rationale? For him to walk away? To grab her and kiss her?

  Shit. He was lousy at this man-woman stuff. Was she pissed? Hurt? Indifferent? "I didn't know you then," he said. The truth, no frills. Just the facts, ma'am.

  "If you had?"

  He hesitated. "I don't know," Michael admitted. "Getting Church was the only thing that kept me alive for so long—I don't know if I could have given that up. Even for you."

  She plucked her wet and sand-crusted shirt away from her skin with a small grimace as she watched him. "If I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't have asked you to."

  "I couldn't take that chance. I did what I came to do."

  "I'm glad you killed him. He was a sick, twisted son of a bitch." She started to walk down the beach toward Auntie's.

  That had gone pretty well, Michael thought as he followed her.

  There was probably a square inch on her body that didn't hurt, but Tally was hard-pressed to figure out where that might be. But the outside was nothing compared with how badly her heart ached. She'd learned a lot about herself in a short time. And one of those things was that she had a tendency to love where it wasn't wanted. She'd better learn to stop doing that.

  "What now?" Michael asked, close but not touching.

  What now? How like a man, after all they'd been through. Tally couldn't look at him. If she did, everything she felt would be right there on her face for him to see. Eyes front, one foot in front of the other. She refused to look at him. She refused to beg. And, damn it, she thought blinking rapidly, she refused to cry. "I'm going to do the only thing left to do. Call the charter company and see how soon I can get a flight out."

  Michael put a hand on her arm. She stopped dead and tried not to react to his touch. Right. Like telling a match not to react to being struck.

  "Come with me, Tally," Michael said urgently. "Come with me and be my first mate on the Nemesis. Let's sail across the world together."