“Yeah, well, I wish we would hurry up and figure it out.”
Quinn chuckled. “I can agree with you there. I guess we’ll just have to distract ourselves with other things until that happens, huh?”
Instantly suspicious, Rowan raised her eyes. “What did you have in mind?”
Quinn’s grin was playful. “Well, I’m glad you asked. I thought we would start with a little of this.” He leaned forward to press his lips against hers. He never made it, though, because a bright light filled the air over their heads and caused him to jerk his eyes up.
“What’s that?” Rowan asked, instantly shifting gears. “Is that ... fireworks?” She knew that wasn’t the right answer and yet it was all she could come up with.
“Not fireworks,” he countered, sliding his legs over the side of the lounger and struggling to a sitting position. “It’s an emergency flare.”
“Coming from where?” Rowan glanced around. “Did someone on the ship fire that? It looks like it came from over there.” She pointed at the open sea.
“It definitely does,” Quinn agreed, clambering toward the railing. “I ... can you see anything?”
Rowan didn’t answer because, at that exact moment, someone started screaming. The noise wasn’t coming from the ship, though. It was coming from the ocean, which meant somebody was out there ... and in trouble.
Quinn narrowed his eyes and peered into the darkness. “Son of a ... . We need help. There’s someone out there.”
Rowan thought that was the understatement of the year, but she immediately reached for her phone to call for help. “What do we do?”
Quinn wasn't certain. “I don’t know. We’d better decide fast, though. I don’t think we have a lot of time.”
2
Two
Quinn’s eyes were keen as he scanned the dark ocean.
“They’re close,” he muttered.
“Michael is stopping the ship,” Rowan announced, referring to the ship’s captain as she returned to his side, phone in hand. She was all business. “He’s ready to launch a rescue mission if you can figure out which direction you want to go.”
“I ... don’t know.” Quinn’s frustration was palpable. “I know I heard something.”
Rowan knew that, too. “They’re out there.” She gestured vaguely, earning a dark look from Quinn.
“Would you like to narrow that down for me?”
Rowan held out her hands. “I would if I could.”
“I know.” He squeezed her shoulder and stared into the night. “We need to get out there. I’ve tried calling out, but either they can’t hear me or I can’t hear them. Maybe we overshot them.”
“What happens if we can’t find them?” The prospect made Rowan uneasy.
“We’re going to find them.” Quinn was sure of himself. “I’m not leaving until we find who is out here. I can promise you that.”
ULTIMATELY, QUINN’S MEN LAUNCHED two rescue boats. He called out into the darkness for almost a full twenty minutes before he made the decision. He couldn’t run the risk that people were out there, waiting to be rescued, and he somehow missed them. The fact that they crossed paths at all was something of a miracle.
Quinn took two men on his small boat with him and sent another four on a separate boat. They were in contact via radio, and the small engines of the rescue boats were quiet compared to the large engines boasted by The Bounding Storm.
Even though he lost sight of her in the gloom as soon as they pulled away, Quinn could feel Rowan’s eyes on him. Her anxiety was palpable and he felt bad for leaving her behind. She volunteered to help, was keen to offer her services, but she wasn’t trained for this sort of operation and he recognized he would spend more time worrying about her than focusing on his mission if she were part of the rescue team. So, instead, she remained behind. He could practically feel her nerves stretching out over the vast ocean, but he pushed them out of his head.
“Anything, Craig?” he asked the security guard navigating their boat. Craig Lancaster was a former Navy man with an impeccable sense of direction. Quinn purposely picked him as a wingman for this mission.
“I think they’re that way.” Craig pointed with his chin. “I swear I see a small light.”
Quinn stared hard in the direction he indicated but came up empty. “All I see is the moon bouncing off the water.”
“They’re there. Can’t you hear them?”
Quinn tilted his head and strained to pick up something on the water, anything. Finally — although he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it — he was convinced he heard the faint sound of chatter. “There’s definitely something out there.” He squared his shoulders. “All ahead ... although don’t go too fast. I think we’re going to come up on them all at once.”
“I think you’re right.” Craig remained focused on their path as Quinn cracked an industrial glow stick and started waving it.
“My name is Quinn Davenport,” he called out. “I’m head of security on The Bounding Storm. That’s a cruise liner that anchors in Florida. We’re here to help. We have food and supplies back on the ship. Please call out if you hear us.”
He waited a beat. When there was no response, he nodded toward the man on his right. Hector Gomez was a former Cuban citizen who immigrated to the United States ten years before. Quinn surmised that they were about to encounter were embattled Cubans trying to make it to the United States, people who had accidentally blown off course and ended up floating past their initial destination. There was every chance they couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Hector repeated the statement in Spanish, encouraging the people on the boat to respond. When there was no answer again, Quinn found he was getting frustrated.
“Please,” he started. “We can’t find you without a little help. We need you to speak so we can follow your voices.”
Then, as if magically lifting a veil, someone did speak ... and it took him completely by surprise.
“It’s not that we don’t want to talk,” a female voice said, raspy and rusty and so faint he almost didn’t hear it. “It’s just that we’re really thirsty ... and it hurts to talk.”
“Some of us no longer have voices,” a male added.
Quinn jerked to his right, his eyebrows practically flying off his forehead as he finally caught sight of what they were looking for. There, floating on the water — almost invisible in the darkness — was a rescue raft. It was larger than most rafts, although it was holding a number of people. Quinn quickly counted in his head. Six people. There were six people in the raft, and they looked ragged and ready to pass out.
“Geez,” Craig muttered, killing the engine on the rescue dinghy. “I didn’t see them until we were right on top of them.”
“That makes two of us,” Quinn noted, grim as he grabbed a rope from the floor of the rescue craft. “We’re going to toss you a line. I need you to secure it to the raft. We’ll tow you back to The Bounding Storm and get you on board. We have medical staff there ... and we’re due to dock tomorrow so we’re not all that far out.
“We have food and all the water you could want,” he continued. “For those who check out, we even have a few cocktails if you’re feeling up to a proper evening at sea.”
The lame joke got a few hollow laughs from the people on the raft.
“I think we’re all just going to be happy to get off this thing,” a woman said. She looked as if she’d been to war and back, her clothes tattered and stained, her hair matted on one side. “Thank you so much for finding us. That was our last flare. I was afraid nobody would be on deck and see it.”
“We’ve been out here for ... well, a long time,” someone else said. “We’ve run through every ounce of water and food we had. We were giving up hope.”
Quinn flashed a smile. “Well, you don’t have to hope any longer. We’re here and we’ll get you back to the ship before you know it. Although, out of curiosity, how did you end up here?”
“We were sailing aro
und Florida,” the woman replied. “It was a family trip, a getaway. We lost our bearings in a storm and the ship went down.”
“At least you all made it out together,” Craig offered. “It sounds like you had a rough time, but you made it.”
Her expression turned grim. “Not all of us.”
IT TOOK QUINN ALMOST AN hour to get the raft back to The Bounding Storm. Once there, he had another problem. The people he found on the raft were weak. Some of them were incapable of climbing a rope ladder on their own. That meant Quinn’s people had to help, and after a few minutes of plotting, they figured out a way to get everyone onto the main deck.
That took another forty minutes, and by the time everyone had landed, Rowan was a nervous wreck.
“Are you okay?” she asked, hurrying forward. She looked so relieved to see him that Quinn had to bite back a smile. “I was getting worried.”
“It wasn’t the smoothest of operations, but we got the job done.” He refrained from pulling her into his arms because it seemed unprofessional and instead focused on the welcoming crew she’d amassed on the main deck. “What do we have?”
“They’re that missing family from the pleasure yacht,” she replied. “It was on the news when we left port a few days ago. The yacht was called the Serendipity and it disappeared almost two weeks ago.”
Quinn was stunned. “Two weeks?”
She nodded. “I’m pretty sure the Coast Guard called off the search for them right before we left Florida. They said there was no way they survived.”
“Yeah, well ... they freaking survived.” Quinn’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch. “This is ... wow.”
“A big deal,” Rowan agreed, rolling her neck. “The medical staff is checking everybody over. I’m pretty sure they’re going to want to transport them to the medical wing. They’re all dehydrated and in need of food and water.”
“There goes the bar night I promised them.”
Rowan merely arched an eyebrow and shook her head.
“It was a joke,” he reassured her, squeezing her hand. “I just can’t believe we found them. What are the odds? Were they even supposed to be in this area?”
“I’m going to leave that up to you to ascertain,” she replied. “You know I’m not good with directions.”
“Even with GPS, you get lost,” he teased lightly before turning serious. “Geez. Refresh me on the yacht crew. I’m assuming we don’t have everyone. Is there a chance others are out there?”
“No.” Rowan pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “There were nine people total on the Serendipity. Three of them didn’t make it.”
“I don’t suppose they told you how that came to be, did they?”
“No, and I’m definitely leaving that line of questioning up to you.”
“Fair enough. Can you give me a rundown on who we have here?”
“Sure. That woman over there, she’s Patrice Sterling. She’s the matriarch of the family. It was her husband who owned the yacht.”
The way she spoke in the past tense caused Quinn to recognize that the patriarch was one of the fallen. “Okay.”
“She’s severely dehydrated and has done very little talking,” Rowan explained. “She seems a little out of it. You might be able to get more information from her tomorrow if you’re so inclined.”
“Just tell me about the rest of them.”
“That’s Ben Sterling.” Rowan pointed to a stalwart man in his thirties. Quinn figured he was the strapping sort who dressed in polo shirts and khakis on a normal day. Now, his shorts were stained and his cheeks looked sunken in. “He’s Patrice’s son. The woman with him is Vicky Chapman, his fiancée. She’s unable to talk right now and Dr. Kavanaugh says that he’s probably going to have to put her on an IV.
“Over there is Leona Chapman,” she continued, pointing toward a chair about ten feet away from the previous couple. “She’s Vicky’s mother. She’s been quiet, but she’s not as bad off as her daughter. Next to her is Byron Winchester. He’s the captain of the Serendipity. From what I’ve been able to ascertain, he’s also a longtime friend. He seems wrecked by whatever happened out there.”
“And her?” Quinn pointed at a woman who was sitting on a lounger by herself. She looked stricken, and he was pretty sure she was the one who had been talking to him during the rescue. Somehow, she’d managed to get their attention even though she was obviously dealing with rampant discomfort due to dehydration.
“That’s Ariel Coltraine,” Rowan answered. “She’s basically a Jane-of-all-trades on the ship. She worked as a maid and waitress and is not considered part of the family.”
“Okay.” Quinn rolled his neck until it cracked, running the names through his head. “So, who are we missing?”
“That would be Pat Sterling, the father. He was an oil tycoon, I believe, although he had a lot of other business interests, too. There was some mention of manufacturing in the news story. Barbara Sterling, the daughter, is also not here.” Sympathy rolled through Rowan as she thought about everything the family had lost. Sure, several members survived — and that was something of a miracle — but they lost a lot, too. “And Carly Vaughn is also missing. She was Barbara’s best friend. Apparently they were inseparable.”
“And you’re absolutely sure there’s no chance they’re out there?” Quinn asked.
“They said it’s impossible, but I can’t answer that for you. You’re going to have to find one of them and ask those questions yourself.”
“Yeah.” Quinn obviously wasn’t happy at the prospect. “Well, I need to be sure. I should probably get to that right now.”
“You did a good thing here,” Rowan offered quickly, her voice low. “You saved them. What happened before ... well, you couldn’t have changed that outcome. You did everything you could.”
He shot her a reassuring smile. “I know. It’s still difficult.”
“Difficult is still to come. I don’t think any of them want to talk about what happened to the rest of their party.”
“Yeah? Well, they’re going to have to. I need answers, and I won’t be the only one. Once we rendezvous with the Coast Guard, they’re going to have so many questions they may never stop answering them.”
To Rowan, that sounded like a nightmare. She didn’t voice her concern, though. Instead, she merely stepped back and allowed Quinn to continue with his business. He was nowhere near done for the evening.
IN THE END, QUINN DECIDED to approach the captain for the initial question-and-answer session. It seemed like the most professional thing to do. Once he got a basic story, he could allow their new guests to settle in for the night. Odds were, everyone would be better off to answer questions in twelve hours.
“I don’t want to bother you, Captain Winchester,” he started, choosing his words carefully. “It’s just ... I need a little information.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you,” Winchester rasped from a lounger, one of the nurses monitoring his pulse and blood pressure. “I’m not even sure myself what happened.”
“There must be something you can tell us.”
“We set out from St. Augustine on the fifth,” he started. “That’s not the home base for the Sterlings, mind you. They live on the Gulf side.”
“Which is where we’re going,” Quinn volunteered. “We port on the Gulf side.”
Winchester looked confused. “Are we on the Gulf side now? I’m not sure how that happened.”
“We’re not. We’re heading south. We will be on the Gulf side when we dock tomorrow, though. That will happen at around noon or so.”
“I ... what day is it?”
Quinn swallowed hard. It would only make sense for the captain to lose track of time on the ocean. He was dehydrated and probably spent all of his time sleeping to conserve energy. “It’s the twentieth.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Winchester viciously swore under his breath. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
“You still have
n’t told me what happened,” Quinn prodded gently. “I need to know so I can relay information to the Coast Guard. I guarantee they’ll meet us when we dock. You guys are going to be media sensations when word of this gets out.”
“Oh, well, that’s exactly what I always wanted my claim to fame to be.” Winchester rolled his eyes. “As I said, we left St. Augustine on the fifth.” He sounded stronger, although not by much. “The first night passed without incident. We were in no hurry. This was a pleasure cruise to celebrate Ben and Vicky’s engagement.”
“Okay. That makes sense.” Quinn bobbed his head.
“We didn’t run into trouble until we hit West Palm Beach,” he supplied. “That’s when things went to crap. A sudden storm popped up, one we weren’t expecting, and the mast was struck by lightning.”
“You were on a yacht, though, right? There should be contingencies for that.”
“There should,” Winchester agreed. “We were screwed from the start, though. The storm turned us around and the lightning fried all of our navigational equipment. Even the backups weren’t working.”
“That should be impossible.”
“Yeah, well, if you can figure out a reason why ... that would be great. I don’t know what happened. All I know is that we started taking on water about an hour after the lightning strike. Things weren’t great for us at that point, but I thought we could wait it out and get our bearings when the sun rose.
“The problem was, the ship had other ideas,” he continued. “I tried to engage the bilge pump but that wasn’t working either. By then, there was a lot of water beneath the deck and people were starting to panic. I made the decision that we should get in the life rafts ... but a few of the people on the ship disagreed.”
“Pat Sterling?”
“He was one of them,” Winchester acknowledged. “He didn’t want to abandon his pride and joy. He put up a terrific fight. Finally, his wife convinced him he had no choice. He could always buy a new boat and start from scratch, an idea that appealed to him. He agreed to evacuate.
Perilous Seas Page 2
