She followed Paul back to Cuyler Harbor and felt as if she were walking on air. He wasn’t the kind of guide who filled every silence with informative speeches. If anything, he waited for questions and “taught” very little. He seemed content to watch her explore the area, seizing few opportunities to share his superior knowledge.
Between the strenuous hike and the interesting sights, they didn’t get a chance to finish their conversation about relationships. He was more reserved than he’d been earlier in the day, not as playful or flirtatious.
It dawned on her that he might not ask her out, no matter how attracted he was to her, because of the fraternization rule.
Ella nibbled at her lower lip, wondering how to work around that. She could join the dating site he belonged to or search for his name on Facebook. She wouldn’t email the adventure company because that might get him in trouble.
What if she never saw him again?
Just before they descended the trail to the beach, she turned to him, her heart pounding. “I was thinking...”
He gave her an expectant look.
“I, um, didn’t get a chance to ask you about the islands’ submarine volcanic formations. I’m doing a study on magnetic shearing and transtension, you see, and I thought I could call you. With my questions.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You want to talk to me about transtension?”
Color rose to her cheeks. She sounded like an idiot. “It’s the process of—”
“I know what it is. I’m teasing you.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll give you my number at Santa Rosa,” he said, continuing downhill. “You can call me anytime.”
She noticed an extra spring in his step, as if he was amused by her obvious ploy to keep them in contact. He probably knew she wanted to jump his bones, not pick his brain. Well, she wouldn’t mind doing both.
About halfway down the trail, he came to an abrupt halt. She bumped into his back and almost stumbled sideways. He extended his right arm in a protective gesture, holding her still. Her stomach dropped when she followed his gaze to the strange activity on the beach. Two men were loading the marijuana bale into an inflatable Zodiac near the shore. A larger boat was anchored in the harbor.
She sucked in a sharp breath. The smugglers had returned for their lost cargo.
Paul gestured for her to retreat, but it was too late. One of the men caught sight of them. When he pointed their direction, her stomach dropped.
“Run,” Paul said, turning to face her.
Ella didn’t have to be told twice. Adrenaline kicked in, giving her an extra surge of energy. She rocketed up the path with the speed and strength of a triathlete. They reached the plateau at the top of the cliff and raced by the visitor’s center. It offered no shelter, just a pair of primitive toilets and an information board. At the fork in the trail, Paul darted to the right, the opposite direction of Caliche Forest and Bennett Point.
Even in her panicked state, she understood why. The main trail was too exposed. If they were pursued—and shot at—they’d be doomed. San Miguel Island was only a few miles long, and mostly flat, with little vegetation.
There was nowhere to hide.
They zigzagged through a deserted campground, which boasted slatted windbreaks and wooden picnic tables. Paul didn’t stop there to take shelter. They continued to the remains of an old ranch, the only long-term settlement the island had ever known. It was now a pile of stones, hardly a secure fortress. But it stood among a cluster of thick foliage and had several crumbling structures to duck behind.
Paul leaped over a low rock wall, bringing Ella with him. They crouched in the rubble on the other side, panting from exertion.
“Are they following us?” she whispered.
He lifted his head to look. “Shit.”
Ella bit the edge of her fist. “Where are they?”
“At the visitor’s center. Looking in the restrooms.”
“What should we do?”
“If they come this way, we’ll head to the cliffs.”
She nodded, preparing herself for another sprint. It was a short distance from the sloping hill beyond the settlement to the cliff’s edge. She hoped a cozy harbor or sheltered cove awaited them at the bottom.
A moment later, his hand tightened on her arm. “They’re in the campsite. Let’s go now. Stay low.”
She scrambled away from the rock wall, keeping her head down and her knees bent. It was almost like running on all fours. They had been reduced to this animalistic posture, prey fleeing predators.
At the cliff’s edge, the situation deteriorated further. It was a sheer drop.
“Have you ever climbed before?”
“No,” she said, incredulous. “I’m afraid of heights!”
“I won’t let you fall,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. The smugglers would be searching the settlement next. They had minutes, maybe seconds, to spare. “There are good handholds. I’ll go first and show you the way.”
Ella knew she didn’t have a choice. These men weren’t pursuing them to have a polite conversation. It was do or die.
Paul climbed down the side of the cliff, finding depressions in the sandstone for his hands and feet. He must have been familiar with the route because it was invisible from her vantage point. She sank to her knees and peered over the edge, feeling nauseous. Angry-looking waves crashed against the rocks on the shore below. He was standing on a narrow outcropping, gesturing for her to hurry.
“Come on,” he said.
Blood rushed in her ears as she eased over the precipice. His dusty palm gripped the back of her thigh, helping her along. When the soles of her shoes landed next to his, he showed her where to put her hands. As soon as she was secure, he descended further. She smothered a whimper, her arms trembling, wind whipping her hair.
He lowered himself to the next available ledge and murmured instructions from there. “Left foot here,” he whispered, grasping her ankle to guide her.
She performed the required motions, her mind blank. When she got close enough, he locked an arm around her waist and hauled her toward him, into a shallow, wind-carved space beneath the outcropping. It was like a broom closet, barely accommodating two bodies. Ella pressed her back against the sandstone and clung to Paul for dear life. He held her tight, his stance alert, muscles poised for action.
They couldn’t be seen from the top of the cliff. As long as the smugglers didn’t know they’d climbed down here, they were safe.
But for how long?
At some point her legs would give out and she’d collapse from exhaustion. Standing in a precarious place, tense and silent, was a chore in itself. The temperature had dropped more than ten degrees in the past hour. After dark, they could get hypothermia.
Paul listened for their pursuers, his heart hammering against hers. Keeping his left arm around her, he drew the knife from his pocket and held it ready. She swallowed a cry of distress. His throat worked in agitation.
They waited. And waited. And waited.
The sound of footsteps on the cliff above sent a wave of fear rushing through her. It undulated from her toes to her scalp and back again, settling in the pit of her stomach like a calcium carbonate deposit. She clutched Paul’s shoulders and studied the cords in his neck, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
Pebbles rained down the cliff. The men exchanged a few words, probably in Spanish, their voices muffled.
Then the footsteps retreated, and they were gone.
At least, Ella thought they were gone. Who could tell? She certainly wasn’t going to stick her neck out to look.
After a few minutes, Paul’s muscles relaxed, going from rock hard to merely firm. He put his knife away and turned his attention back to her. His expression was guarded. They were still in danger,
obviously.
She moistened her lips. “What should we do?”
“Let’s stay here for awhile,” he murmured. “We can’t assume they gave up and went back to the harbor.”
“What do they want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t they just take the pot and leave?”
He had no answers, only regrets. “I shouldn’t have touched the bale. I should have just left it floating. I never thought this would happen.”
“Of course not. This is crazy!”
“I’m sorry, Ella.”
Tears of stress and anxiety filled her eyes. She didn’t like this adventure anymore, but she still liked him. If not for his quick thinking, they’d be trapped on the exposed plateau at the mercy of the drug smugglers.
His jaw clenched at the sight of her emotional distress. “Don’t cry.”
“Where’s your radio?” she asking, wiping her cheek.
“With the kayaks.”
Her spirits sank further. They’d brought almost nothing on the hike. She’d left her bottled water somewhere. He had more in his day pack, along with a pair of binoculars.
They endured salt spray, northerly gusts and cramped conditions as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. This side of the island offered little protection from the elements. She listened to waves crashing against the base of the cliff as she shivered in his arms. Although her legs were cold, he kept her upper body warm, his broad shoulders blocking the wind.
A terrible thought occurred to her. “What if they circle around by boat?”
“They can’t reach us.”
“They can shoot at us.”
He couldn’t deny the possibility. “We need another place to hide,” he agreed. “Are you ready to climb?”
She didn’t want to, but moving on was the best option. He helped her with the ascent, following close behind in case she slipped. It was easier on the way up, and she worried less about falling. When she reached the top of the cliff, she searched the area for intruders. Seeing none, she scrambled over the edge.
He joined her a second later, his gaze sweeping the deserted plateau.
“Do you think they left the island?”
“I don’t want to hike down to the beach and find out they didn’t.”
Neither did Ella.
“There’s a lookout point on the opposite side of the harbor, near the caves. We can get a better view from there.”
They cautiously hiked the short distance, keeping their eyes peeled for the smugglers. At the lookout, he got down on his belly and army-crawled toward the edge of the plateau while she waited, crouched by a bush. He observed the area for several minutes, scanning every inch of space before rising.
“It looks clear.”
She walked toward the edge and glanced around. The harbor was deserted. Their kayaks lay abandoned on the sand.
“I have to call Ramona and tell her what happened.”
“Now?”
He nodded. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“No way,” she said, clasping his hand. “Either I go with you, or you don’t go.”
His brows rose at her vehemence. “I’d rather go alone.”
“Why, because it’s dangerous?”
He didn’t respond. Of course it was dangerous.
“What’s the rush?”
“It’s almost five,” he said, checking his watch. “We’re supposed to be back by six. When we don’t arrive on time, the Coast Guard will be notified. They’ll start looking for us. They might even send a helicopter.”
She hoped so because she was worried about spending a long night out in the open without a tent or warm clothing. The islands were known for harsh conditions. If bad weather struck, they’d be in trouble.
“I guess we could wait an hour or two to make sure they’re gone.”
Relief swamped her. “Good idea.”
“I’m glad I thought of it.”
She released his hand with a smile, rolling her eyes. He was protective, rather than domineering. In this situation, a take-charge attitude was understandable. “Should we sit here and keep watch?”
“Let’s go to the campground shelters. We can see the trail from there.”
She followed him that direction, eager to get out of the wind. The past hour had chilled her to the bone and frayed her nerves. San Miguel no longer seemed like her own private utopia. Their perfect afternoon had transformed into a holiday in terror—and it wasn’t over yet.
“Why isn’t anyone camping?”
“Overnight visits aren’t allowed during nesting season. Guided hikes only.”
He selected a site and took off his day pack, rifling through the contents. After sharing his water with her, he removed a square package about the size of a paperback.
“What’s that?”
“An emergency blanket.”
He unfolded the item to demonstrate. It was shiny, like aluminum foil, but more flexible. Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he sat down with his back to the picnic table, inviting her into the circle of his arms. When she settled in next to him, he closed the edges around them both.
The forced intimacy was awkward at first. He kept his gaze on the trail. She rested her head on his shoulder and hugged his lean midsection, savoring his warmth. Soon, they’d generated enough heat to get cozy. “I feel like a baked potato.”
He squeezed her waist in a reassuring way.
Maybe they’d pass an uneventful evening, cuddling. While Abby stayed up all night, tearing her hair out. “My sister’s going to have a panic attack.”
“Mine would be worried, too.”
“She’s had anxiety issues since the San Diego earthquake.”
His muscles tensed at the mention of the tragedy. “Oh?”
“We were living in the downtown area, pretty close to the epicenter.”
“You were home?”
“No, I was at UCSD. Abby had just left for work and Brooke was home alone. We couldn’t find each other in the chaos. There was no phone service during the evacuations. Abby thought Brooke was dead.”
He stared at the trail, looking pensive.
“Thankfully she was fine. Everyone in my family survived. We were lucky.”
“Yes.”
His curt response gave her the impression that his loved ones hadn’t fared so well. “Where were you?”
“Cal Poly. Paige was in LA.”
“Did you...lose anyone?”
“My parents were on the freeway,” he said. “They were going to catch a plane to Hawaii that morning.”
Her heart clenched inside her chest. “They didn’t make it?”
“No.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, stricken. She couldn’t imagine losing both of her parents in the same accident.
“It was chaos, like you said. We didn’t know for sure for almost two weeks.”
Tears of sympathy flooded her eyes. She’d never forget the aftermath of the disaster, the constant thrum of fear. So many people had gone missing.
“They brought us here, as kids.”
“To San Miguel?”
“Mostly Santa Rosa and Santa Cruz. They were outdoor people. My mom enjoyed kayaking. She—” he broke off, clearing his throat. After he collected himself, he continued. “She took me to explore the sea caves when I was twelve.”
She studied his face, touched by what he’d shared. This was quite a display of emotion from a man who’d told her not to cry earlier.
He flushed at her perusal. “I’m not usually like this.”
“Human?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Not so long. The earthquake changed a lot of people’s lives
. It’s the reason I became a geophysicist.”
His gaze locked on hers for a moment before he looked away.
Ella changed the subject, aware of his discomfort. “That was quick thinking, climbing down the cliff. I should thank you for saving my life.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Have you evaded criminals before? You’re good at it.”
“I got mugged in Brazil once,” he said, his mouth quirking.
“How was it?”
“Mercifully quick.”
“Did you fight?”
“No. It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to react.”
“What were you doing in Brazil?”
“Traveling with my girlfriend. We spent most of our summers backpacking. For the first few years after the quake, I was restless.”
“What changed?”
“I guess I did. I talked her into settling down in Modesto, which is close to where my sister lives. But she didn’t like it there, so we came to LA instead. Six months later, she wanted to move again.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I couldn’t. I’d just signed a two-year teaching contract. And I doubted she’d stay in the next place.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She wasn’t happy unless we were traveling.”
Ella wondered if he was still in love with her. “Where is she now?”
“Nepal last I heard.”
“You haven’t talked to her?”
“Not lately. When we first broke up, she’d call every few weeks and say she missed me. Then I’d feel bad.”
“My ex did the same thing,” she said, remembering Kevin’s frequent texts. “I think it was his way of trying to hold on.”
“How did you handle it?”
“I stopped answering.”
“Yeah,” he said, sighing.
Island Peril Page 3
