Going Overboard

by Christina Skye

No.

  Disappointment fell with crushing force. Where was he? Where were Daphne and the crew?

  She blinked as a woman in a white coat held a light before her eyes, every movement making Carly's head ache. She wanted to tell her to stop, but the woman's voice was too gentle. Her espresso-colored skin was smooth when she took Carly's pulse.

  “Daphne?” Carly winced at the effort to speak, her throat painfully dry. “Where's Daphne?”

  The woman put down her light and laughed. “She's pacing right outside your door. You two appear to be quite a team.”

  “A regular Laurel and Hardy.” Carly's fingers tensed. “She's not hurt, is she?”

  “She's as healthy as anyone can be with three gallons of coffee racing through her system. How do you feel?”

  Carly rubbed her forehead and felt the outline of a bandage. “Like I got shot out of a cannon.” She tried to

  move and gasped at the immediate burst of pain. “I feel as if I lost an argument with a cement truck.”

  “You're in spectacular shape, considering that you've been shot. You also took a nasty bang on the head when you fell.”

  Carly stopped trying to move, the effort too painful. Even thinking hurt. “Who are you?”

  “Dr. Harris.” She released Carly's wrist and slid her stethoscope neatly into her jacket pocket. “We've stitched you up and given you something for infection and pain. You've lost a fair amount of blood, so Mr. McKay contributed a pint to help you out. Ms. Brandon was ready to slit her own wrist to help, but your types don't match. She was furious, in that well-bred way of hers. A good friend, I'd say.”

  Carly smiled at that. “The best.”

  “Mr. McKay is outside with Ms. Brandon right now. He doesn't drink coffee, he just scowls. He's frightening my staff to death.”

  “Was he hurt?” Carly was almost afraid to ask.

  “Completely unscathed. I think it angers him that he couldn't take a bullet for you. Interesting man.” Her eyebrow rose. “Macho, but interesting. He said a lot of things when he carried you in. Most of them do not bear repeating.”

  “He carried me in?”

  “He also maintained pressure on your side, cutting down on blood loss until the medics arrived probably saving your life. All in all, he seems like a good man to know.” The doctor's eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I'd better send in your friends, so you can stop worrying. Only for a few minutes, however.”

  Carly felt a sudden stab of nerves. “I need to brush my hair, and this hospital gown is—”

  “Don't worry, he's not going to see anything but your smile. You will smile, won't you?” The diminutive physician grinned wickedly from the doorway. “In my experience, good spirits make good medicine.”

  Daphne came in first, looking pale and edgy and trying to hide it. “It's about time you woke up. You always did know how to sneak out of a tight spot and leave me holding the bag. Or in this case the champagne bottle.”

  “At least you had good aim. What happened? Who were they?”

  Daphne smoothed Carly's pillow. “Too soon to tell. The police are questioning them now.”

  “How are Hank and the crew?”

  “A few bruises, and the grip was cut on the leg. Otherwise they're all fine. They're downstairs arguing about who gets to see you first.”

  Carly took Daphne's hand. “What about you?”

  “Only a bump on my arm, but I was terrified.” Her voice broke. “Don't ever do that again.”

  “Do what?”

  “Try to protect me, dammit. I know what you were doing.”

  “You think this had something to do with you and Uncle Nigel?”

  “I don't know what to think. I told you how he's been acting. Right now I'm angry and I'm scared. If anything had happened to you—”

  Carly squeezed her hand. “Let's not play what if.” She fought back a yawn.

  Dimly she heard footsteps, then the door closing. Sleep was working through the edges of her mind now that she knew the others were safe.

  But safe from what?

  The question drifted as sleep closed in.

  Carly awoke to shadows moving on the wall.

  McKay was sprawled in a chair beside her bed his sleeping face lined with strain. Beneath his unbuttoned jacket, she saw the edge of a leather holster.

  She closed her eyes, memories slamming through her. McKay crouched and pulled a gun from his bag, moving with no hesitation, as if violence was familiar to him.

  Who was he?

  She turned her head on the pillow. He sat up instantly, one hand snaking beneath his jacket.

  To reach his gun, as if by reflex.

  His face was hard and watchful, relaxing only after he had checked the room. “Welcome back.”

  She raised one hand, tracing his cheek. “You're cut.”

  “Dr. Harris tells me I'll survive.” His jaw was a tight line that betrayed no emotion. “Other people might not have been so lucky. Dammit, why didn't you do what I told you?”

  “I'm not used to taking orders. I'm not used to gunfire and armed attackers, either.”

  “You should have listened to me. Next time—” He shook his head.

  “Next time what?”

  “Just a figure of speech.”

  Carly knew she should follow up, but she was too tired to argue. Instead she reached out, taking his hand in hers. “Thanks for the blood.”

  “It seemed the thing to do at the time since you were bleeding all over everything and scaring the staff.”

  “I hate it when that happens.”

  Emotions roiled across his face, then control won out, as it always did. “You had us worried.”

  “I was a little worried myself.”

  She watched him pull his chair toward the bed and angle it slightly, so that he faced the door. So that he could see anyone approaching before they saw him.

  “What happened today?” Something was very wrong here, and he knew things he should be telling her.

  “Yesterday, you mean.”

  She blinked. “I've slept that long?”

  He nodded, cradling her fingers in his palms. “Your

  wound is clean and healing nicely. Dr. Harris says you can leave tomorrow if you promise to take things easy.”

  “You didn't answer my question.” Carly's throat was dry and she was afraid of the questions pounding in her head. “Who were those people?”

  “Preliminary reports say they were local gangs involved in a turf dispute. We happened to get in the way.”

  Carly pulled her hand from his, reviewing her blurred memories of the encounter. “Why would local gangs pick a remote location on private land for a confrontation?”

  “Who knows? If they were smart, they wouldn't be criminals.”

  “The first man seemed to be looking for something. Or for someone.”

  “I doubt you were thinking too clearly at that point.”

  “But you were,” Carly whispered chilled by the memory of how cool he had been, how lethally he had responded. “You were prepared. You had a gun in your bag. You've been in situations like that before. Just like at the fitness center on the ship.”

  “Forget about me.”

  Carly felt pain sliding into anger. “Don't change the subject, McKay. I don't buy this talk about a turf war.”

  “Then ask the police, not me.” He ran the back of his hand gently over her cheek. “Better yet, lie back and practice relaxing. Those stitches must hurt like hell.”

  “They would if I weren't shot full of woo-woo medicine.” She studied her hand which seemed to be connected to her body at an unusually great distance. “Definitely woo-woo.”

  “Daphne told me to get her when you woke.”

  “Why? I just talked with her.”

  “Yesterday.”

  Carly lay back with a sigh. Everything was becoming hazy. She moved her right arm slowly and winced. “When can I start shooting again?”

  “When the doctor says and not before.” T
here was a snap to McKay's voice that hadn't been there before.

  “I can't lounge around here in bed. I've got film to shoot and my crew—”

  “Your crew has some time off while you recuperate, courtesy of your boss. Hank tells me your preliminary film received a round of applause when it was shown in New York. There's even talk of a bigger budget.” He studied her face. “Congratulations.”

  Carly forced herself to focus on the good news and stop obsessing about Daphne's safety. She was hardly an expert on criminals and their behavior, so the turf-war story could be right on target. With that thought firmly in mind, she shoved at the covers. “It's a start.”

  “Of what, a beach house in Malibu and a rambling estate in the south of France?”

  “No, professional recognition and economic independence. I don't want to make commercial footage for television forever.”

  “What then?”

  “None of your business.” Her secret goals were too fragile to share with anyone. She tried to sit up, only to find McKay gripping her shoulders to hold her still. “I need my clothes. Then I need to get up.”

  “The doctor gave strict orders. You're off your feet until tomorrow, Sullivan.”

  “Let me up,” Carly snapped, furious to be so weak. Desperate for answers that he wouldn't give. Ignoring her pain, she shoved away his hands. “I know how far I can push myself.”

  “Too far. Just the way you always do,” he said grimly. “How's your stomach, by the way? No doubt you forgot to mention that to Dr. Harris.”

  Carly jerked on her robe. “I'll manage my own health, thank you.” If and when her stomach got worse, she'd seek a medical opinion, but not before. In any case, it was hardly his concern.

  He moved in front of her as she started to stand up. “Stop fighting. I'll leave you in peace if you promise to stay in bed.”

  Carly looked away. “Agreed.”

  “I'll hold you to that.” McKay moved tensely to the door, and Carly saw two long welts at his neck and a bandage across his wrist.

  Her breath came hard and sharp. “You didn't tell me you were hurt anywhere else.”

  “Because it's not important.” With a shrug, he shoved open the door, letting it swing wide behind him.

  You don't look like someone who's resting,” Daphne said icily as she entered Carly's room. “What were you two fighting about?”

  “Same old same old,” Carly said wearily. “The man couldn't give an honest answer under deep hypnosis and Pentothol.”

  “He was honest with me. Your problem is you can't stop obsessing. First work, now McKay.” Daphne planted her hands on her hips. “I know you perfectly. You're demanding to get back to work.”

  “Your point?”

  “Are you a complete idiot bent on self-destruction?”

  “One out of two isn't bad.” Carly closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Please stop. This is not a first-class moment for me, and I'm busy trying to be stoical.” She smiled faintly. “While I obsess.”

  Daphne shook her head impatiently. “Someone has to hiss at you. You've been hurt. The only thing on your mind right now should be rest and recovery.”

  “Aren't you curious about why the man carries a gun?”

  “Maybe he has a military background or some involvement with law enforcement.” Daphne made a minor adjustment to Carly's pillows. “Did you ask him?”

  “He kept changing the subject.”

  “Maybe you should stop looking for problems.”

  “I'm good at finding problems, bad at relaxing.”

  “Don't I know it. In the interest of keeping you quiet, I've already asked Father for a background check on McKay. He told me not to worry. That should make you feel better.”

  “It doesn't.” Carly stared at her linked fingers, trying to smile. “There's some good news. I hear we were given an extension with the filming.”

  “Five blissful days, and I expect you to rest for every one of them.” Daphne studied Carly thoughtfully. “Let me guess the real problem here.” Her brow rose. “The problem isn't with him, but you. You're worried that you're not in control anymore. In short, you're terrified things might be getting personal.”

  “Not a chance,” Carly snapped. “No way is this turning personal. He's just a face on my monitor.” She pulled the covers over her head. “And if I could actually believe that, everything would be rosy.”

  Daphne wrestled the covers away. “Welcome to the real world—messy, confusing, and chaotic.”

  “Messy and confusing is what I expect every day in my work. My life is supposed to be different. That stays clean, simple, and uncomplicated.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Carly stared at her friend. “When did you become so sane and sensible? In school, you were the one who fell in and out of love with nauseating predictability. It was hunk of the week with you.”

  “And you were the one who bolted in the opposite direction at the first hint of a real relationship.”

  “This is not a real relationship. It's not even a semi-relationship.”

  “Of course it isn't.”

  Carly pulled the sheet back over her head. “I hate it when you agree with me. Why don't you go torture some other postsurgical patient and leave me in peace?” Her hand shot out, gripping Daphne's. “I didn't mean that. I'm edgy today.”

  “No, you're scared,” Daphne said perceptively. “It hurts to suddenly get reacquainted with your hormones. And your heart.”

  “Don't bring my heart into this. Hormones, yes. But no heart involvement is taking place anywhere soon.” Carly sat up and crossed her arms. “I owe him for saving my life, but the owing stops here. Everyone knows that mixing business and pleasure is a mistake.”

  “Bogart and Bacall did it beautifully. So did Tracy and Hepburn.”

  “I refuse to talk about this anymore.”

  “Then let's talk about me.” Daphne toyed with the cuff of her linen jacket. “I think … I need your help.”

  Carly couldn't keep the surprise from her face. “You never ask for anything.”

  “I am now.” Daphne pulled a box out of her leather bag and set it on the bed. “The Tradewind Foundation is finally ready for real publicity, and this tape is the beginning. We have three clinics established now but my goal is twenty, and as soon as the cruise is over I'm tracking major sponsors.” Daphne turned the boxed videotape restlessly. “This tape is the first of a series focusing on island children at risk. We're ready to send out ten thousand copies to businesses and foundations around the world, and I was hoping you could put in a word with the cruise line. We could use their sponsorship.”

  The public saw Daphne as a jet-setting clothes horse, but Carly knew the real woman beneath the gloss. Daphne was as staunch a fighter as her father, and she was determined to see that the children of Santa Marina had access to the best medicine available. For two years she had worked tirelessly to make that private dream come true. Now it seemed she was ready to take her dream public.

  “Get me ten copies and I'll shoot them off to the right people.” Carly frowned as Daphne turned to pace restlessly. “Wasn't David helping you with that?”

  “David has been wonderful. He funded this first

  video, then steered me to possible sponsors last year. I only wish we had had more time together.” Daphne twisted her engagement ring. “I want a real home, a real marriage, but we can't even agree on a wedding date. Maybe we'll get married via camcorder over the Internet.”

  “I doubt the wedding night would be very satisfying. What else is bothering you?”

  Daphne took a deep breath. “I just got the news this morning.” Her voice trembled. “I'm pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?” Carly sat back, stunned. “As in Lamaze classes and transition breathing?”

  “The whole amazing, miraculous thing. I'll probably be terrible at motherhood. I'll be thrown out of prenatal classes and throw up at the worst times.” She touched her stomach wistfully. “But I want this
baby desperately. I want a family with David even if neither of us has any idea what's normal. David has no family at all, and I lost my mother so young that she's only a blurry memory.” She sank onto the bed next to Carly. “Maybe you could film the delivery. On second thought, no. If I have to scream for an epidural, I'd rather not have my hysteria immortalized on digital film.”

  “You'll do exactly what's right.” Carly squeezed her hand. “How's David taking the news?”

  “David? I refuse to convey the most exciting news of my life over the hiss of a transatlantic phone connection. It will have to wait until he returns in two weeks.”

  There was a light rap on the door. “Daphne, may I come in?” Nigel Brandon's voice sounded tight with worry.

  “He's been outside talking with his security chief from Santa Marina,” Daphne whispered. “I don't want him to know about this, not until I've spoken to David.”

  Carly drew her finger across her lips.

  Daphne nodded gratefully. “Come in,” she called.

  Nigel Brandon was the height of elegance in a gray tropical suit and an Hermès tie. “Still getting into trouble, I see.” He gripped Carly's hands tightly as he searched her face. “How are you feeling?”

  “Nearly human again. It's lovely of you to come.”

  “Lovely?” For a moment anger flashed in his eyes. “I should have prevented what happened. You should never have been hurt.”

  “It's not your fault. We're not even on your home territory here. Bad luck put us in Barbados at the wrong place and the wrong time.”

  “Bad luck. I suppose you could call it that.” A muscle worked at his jaw. “Is your room adequate? Is there anyone you need to contact?”

  “Only my crew. After that I need to get back to work.”

  “Your crew is booked into a resort hotel in Bridgetown near the beach. They refused to return to the cruise ship without you.” He gave her a stern, fatherly look. “Set aside any thought of work for the moment. That bullet missed any deep tissue, but you can't disturb those sutures.” He put his hand on Daphne's shoulder. “Meanwhile, we have a little surprise for you.”

  He opened the door and ushered in a uniformed attendant carrying a huge arrangement of orchids and four large foil-wrapped boxes.