Amen.
Besides, I’m far more concerned about Jake.
Although his breathing is holding steady, he’s barely conscious. Worse, his burns need to be dressed—I’m afraid he’s losing too much blood. And plasma. And he is dehydrating fast, too. If that happens, Jake will go into shock and we’ll lose him. Ironically, being submersed in the cold water helps with the plasma.
One way or another we’ve got to get out of this water, though. Even in the heat of the afternoon sun the temperature’s too low. Come sunset, I’m afraid it won’t matter how tightly we’re hugging each other—we’ll suffer hypothermia.
“Maybe we can string together a makeshift raft,” says Ernie, looking around us. There are still bits and pieces of the boat floating within sight. Not for long, though, given the wind and strong currents.
“Maybe,” I say.
Mark chimes in, his voice so raspy I can barely hear him. He echoes me. “Maybe.”
Wait a minute! That wasn’t Mark talking!
All at once we turn to Jake, whose head is barely clearing the surface of the water.
“He’s awake!” says Carrie.
She’s right—and he didn’t say maybe. It sounded more like Mary.
“Jake, it’s me, Katherine,” I say. “Can you hear me? Jake?”
His lips tremble, struggling to form words. All he can manage is the same one.
“Mary,” he says again.
“No, Jake, it’s me . . . Katherine.”
His eyes are closed, his face lifeless. Still, the lips are moving. He struggles with a second word.
“Hail,” he mumbles. “Hail . . . Mary.”
It suddenly clicks and I turn to Mark. “The Hail Mary box!” I say.
It’s got things we need. The answers to at least some of our prayers.
So long as it survived the blast.
“What color is it?” asks Carrie.
“Red,” I answer.
“Oh, I think I remember seeing it on the boat,” says Ernie.
Mark and Carrie immediately decide to go looking for it. They break away in opposite directions, agreeing to swim clockwise.
Mark spins his finger. “We’ll cover the area in circles, okay?”
“Got it,” says Carrie.
“Stay close to each other. Please,” I call to them.
Meanwhile, I try to keep Jake talking. Maybe there’s something I can do to ease the pain. It’s no use. His lips fall still again.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
He’s barely conscious, and yet all he needed to help us was two words. Hail Mary.
He’s still our captain.
Chapter 49
TEN OR SO MINUTES LATER, Carrie’s voice cuts through the air. Her jubilation is tempered by sheer exhaustion.
“I found it!” she yells.
I can hardly believe it. Hell, I can hardly see Carrie. She’s got to be over two hundred yards away, and she looks like a black dot out there.
“I found it!” she yells again. “The Hail Mary box!”
Hallelujah! It’s a miracle!
I call out to Mark, who’s about as far away from us as Carrie, only in the opposite direction. He’s still searching for the box.
“Come back,” I say. “Carrie found it!”
He hears me and begins swimming back, taking his time. Who can blame him? I’m amazed he and his sister can swim even a single stroke at this point. They’re both in better physical shape than I’d have thought.
“Do you think there’s any food in that box?” asks Ernie. “Because I’m starving.”
I think back to when I was searching through it for that mask and snorkel Jake needed. I can’t remember seeing anything edible.
“Let’s hope so,” I tell him. “We’ll be okay, Ernie.”
We watch as Carrie slowly gets closer. Very slowly. She’s dragging the box as best she can, and it can’t be easy. As she gets closer, I can see the fatigue etched all over her face. The poor girl, she’s absolutely pooped!
“Carrie, take a break,” I yell.
Of course she doesn’t.
I turn to Ernie, kidding. “Typical Carrie. I say one thing, she does the other.”
Only Ernie’s not listening to me either. He’s not even looking in my direction. I can’t see what he’s staring at, but my ears immediately tell me there’s a problem.
When he was a toddler he used to make this strange clicking noise from the side of his mouth whenever he was scared, only it wasn’t loud. The only way anyone else could hear it was if they were really close to him. As I am now.
“What is it, Ernie? What do you see?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he answers. “It’s something, though.”
He points and I squint. I still can’t see it. If Mark is at three o’clock and Carrie at nine, whatever it is—or isn’t—is directly at six.
“Ernie, I don’t —”
My mouth suddenly freezes. I do see it now. “Omigod. Is that what I think it is?”
Ernie’s clicking faster and louder than he ever has.
“Yes,” he says. “Carrie, look out! Carrie! CARRIE!”
Chapter 50
IT’S NOT THE COAST GUARD here to rescue us, that’s for sure.
It’s a shape, a triangle. Two feet high, darkish gray, and slicing through the water.
One terrible word is on my tongue. Shark!
“It’s coming right for us,” says Ernie. “What do we do?”
Every muscle in my body, every bone—broken or otherwise—is screaming panic. Panic like there’s no tomorrow!
But I don’t allow this to happen. I have my operating room calm on now.
“Mom,” repeats Ernie. “What do we do?”
“It’s what we don’t do,” I say. “We don’t move. Maybe it won’t find us.”
“I think it already has. I’m pretty sure. Look.”
I glance at Ernie, who’s staring down at the water. It’s red. Between the blood from my leg and Jake’s seeping burns, we’ve all but set the table for this creature.
Great.
We both look out again at the fin coming toward us. Actually, make that two fins! There’s a smaller one directly behind it, about fifteen feet back. Immediately I think it’s a second shark, maybe a baby. But then I realize something worse, even more terrifying. That’s no baby—that’s the tail fin of the same shark.
This mother’s a monster!
“Mark? Carrie?” I call out.
Mark answers first, and there’s no need for me to bring him up to speed. He sees exactly what we see. “Holy shit!” he yells. “I’m coming back!”
“NO!” I yell back. “Stay right there!”
“But —”
“No buts! You don’t move, do you hear me? You stay where you are.”
If we’re about to be shark lunch, Mark doesn’t need to be the dessert.
“That goes for you too,” I yell to Carrie.
She’s close enough that I can see the fear in her eyes as she stares at the fin. I’m sure her eyes look like mine right now. Small, dark pinpoints.
I grab Ernie by his life jacket and pull him so close we’re practically touching noses. My broken leg is pulsing with pain, but I don’t care. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say. “You’re going to take Uncle Jake and get behind me.”
I have to stop talking for a second. Tears are pouring down Ernie’s chubby little cheeks.
“Mom . . .” is all he can say. “Mom . . .”
“Shhhh, it’s going to be okay,” I whisper. “You have to listen to me now—this is important.” I take a breath, and then I go on. “If that shark attacks me, you don’t try to help. Do you understand?”
I know he doesn’t. How could a child comprehend that? He stares at me blankly.
“Listen to me, Ernie. You don’t try to help. You swim away to your brother as fast as you can. All right?”
“What about Uncle Jake?” he asks, his voice a shiver.
> I was afraid of that question.
“You leave him here with me,” I answer. “You just focus on swimming away as fast as you can. Now tell me you understand.”
He doesn’t want to answer.
“TELL ME!” I finally have to yell. I can’t help it, I love him too much. I can’t let him die with me—no way.
He finally nods and I help him grab Jake so they both can get behind me. Ernie’s too scared even to cry anymore. He falls silent. We all do. All I can hear is the slap of the water around us.
Slish-slosh, ripple-ripple.
Slish-slosh, ripple-ripple.
I stare at the large fin slicing toward me and I take the deepest breath of my life.
I’m hoping against hope it won’t be my last.
Chapter 51
CARRIE’S BLUE GAZE ricocheted all around the water. The shark. Her mother. Her brothers. Uncle Jake.
The damn shark again. Why won’t it just go away? Does it sense how defenseless we are? Of course it does, it’s a predator.
She felt helpless, stuck in limbo. There had to be something she could do, though. What?
That’s when it hit her—literally.
The Hail Mary box.
She didn’t even realize she’d let go of it until a small swell sent it smack against her head.
There would definitely be a bump later. If there was a later.
What mattered was now. Was there something in the box that could help? Maybe?
With a frantic burst of energy, Carrie grabbed the latch and snapped it open. Flipping back the lid, she quickly tried to push herself up from the water to look inside.
It only half worked. She caught some glimpses—a first-aid kit, some blankets, an inflatable raft—but even tilting the box to her eye level, she couldn’t see what was buried underneath.
Screw it, just dump everything out! she thought.
She thought again. What if some of the stuff didn’t float? What if the one thing she could use sank to the bottom before she could grab it?
She had no idea what that might be, but the thought was enough to make her try to reach deep into the box instead. She felt around.
C’mon! There’s got to be something . . .
Her hand desperately moved from one item to another. Was that a bottle of water? A flashlight?
She glanced over her shoulder as she continued to search. The shark was no more than a hundred yards from her mom and Ernie. Probably less than that.
Hurry!
Carrie’s hand kept blindly jumping from one item to another. Then, with a depressing thud, her fingertips hit the bottom of the box. Damn!
Nothing.
Her eyes welled up, the frustration pushing out the tears, when all of a sudden she felt something tucked tight against the rear corner. It was cold. It was metal.
It was a gun!
She was pretty sure of it. The smooth curve of the trigger gave it away.
She yanked as hard as she could. Out came the gun. Only it looked like no gun she’d ever seen. There were large casings attached behind the grip—were those bullets? No, she realized. They were flares. It was a flare gun.
Who cares? As long as it fires!
She turned back to the shark. Her hand was shaking. So was the rest of her. With her left hand, she tried to steady herself against the Hail Mary box. She’d never pulled the trigger of any gun in her life.
She started yelling at the top of her voice and splashing. Sure enough, the shark turned her way. Was that really such a good idea?
I can do this! Just aim it and shoot . . . Just aim and shoot . . .
Carrie lined the sight up against the shark, counting back from three . . .
Two . . .
One . . .
She squeezed the trigger.
The flare fired, amid a barrage of smoke and sparks so thick she couldn’t see a thing. Including the gun dropping from her hand, sinking.
She couldn’t help it—the sparks had scalded her knuckles. Had the gun malfunctioned? How old were those flares? All she knew was that her hand was practically on fire. “Son of a bitch!” she yelled.
And for a couple of seconds her voice was the only sound she heard.
Then came another sound.
Cheering!
All at once Ernie, Mark, and Katherine screamed for joy. As the smoke finally cleared, Carrie saw why.
The flare gun had worked, at least well enough. The shark had turned around. It was swimming away. She’d scared the dumb beast.
Lunch wouldn’t be served after all.
At least not here.
At least not the Dunnes!
Chapter 52
DEVOUX SAID GOODBYE to Peter Carlyle from the bench near the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse. He walked down the block until he had completely disappeared from Peter’s view.
Then he turned around.
Where to next, Peter? Pray tell.
Clients were more than just clients to Devoux. They were an investment. Or, if you really wanted to get down to it, a high-stakes gamble. Big risk, even bigger reward. So naturally one had to keep an eye on them.
Carlyle especially.
He represented the largest payday yet for Devoux. But it was hardly money for nothing.
All things considered, the dirty work was the easy part. Devoux excelled at killing. He was trained for it, had a real knack. Up close, far away, and everywhere in between. The CIA for sure had hated losing him, but there had simply been no alternative. Once you go off the reservation, you can’t come back.
That’s what had led Devoux to Peter in the first place. He wasn’t the first covert agent to freelance on the side, nor was he the first to get caught.
He was, however, the first to hire a hot-shit attorney who marched straight down to Langley to negotiate a highly classified severance package: his client’s life in exchange for his silence.
It was a deal both sides could live with, because they had no choice.
Just to make sure, though, there was a sealed envelope in escrow, hanging in the balance.
“You hold a lot of my dark secrets,” Devoux had told Peter. “Let me know if you’d ever like me to hold on to one of yours. Be my pleasure.”
Yeah, the dirty work was the easy part for Devoux. It was what came after, post-op, which caused concern in his newly found career. Hoping a client wouldn’t fuck things up, and consequently fuck him over.
In Carlyle’s case, the key question was whether he could withstand the media glare, and for how long? Sure, the über-attorney was a cool customer who was used to intense pressure. But the stakes in a courtroom were one thing. In this game there was a lot more on the line.
So for the next twenty minutes Devoux followed Peter as he continued on foot, heading uptown.
The guy wasn’t really going to walk all the way home to the Upper East Side, was he?
No, he wasn’t.
Near the NYU School of Law, Peter stopped in front of a prewar brownstone with narrow windows. Before climbing up the steep stone steps he glanced to his left and right.
Watching from the end of the block, Devoux chuckled. Peter, Peter, Peter . . . are you doing something you shouldn’t be? Or someone?
Of course he was.
Devoux had known it the first time they met and discussed his own case. Peter Carlyle wasn’t addicted to money, or sex, or anything of the kind.
He was addicted to risk.
Chapter 53
PETER KNOCKED on Bailey’s apartment door, all too aware that this would be his first visit that didn’t involve their having sex. It certainly wouldn’t be for a lack of wanting on his part. It’s just that he wanted something else even more.
Katherine’s estate. The ultimate score. Over $100 million if he survived both her and her obnoxious kids.
If that was to happen, he needed to start playing the role of the distressed husband right away. Even with Bailey.
Especially with Bailey.
She was a bit of a wild card
—suddenly part of his life but certainly not part of the plan. Hell, he hadn’t even known her when he concocted this whole thing and made his pact with Devoux.
Now that he did know her—and wanted to keep on knowing her—he had to make sure that she saw no connection between him and The Family Dunne’s disappearance. Like everyone else, she couldn’t suspect what a cold-blooded bastard he was.
Peter was about to knock on her door again when he heard that unmistakable New York sound of multiple turning locks. As Bailey opened the door, he prayed that she wouldn’t be wearing anything too sexy. A man can possess only so much willpower.
“Peter, what a wonderful surprise,” she said. “I couldn’t believe it when you called. I only got back from my last class twenty minutes ago.”
The good news was that she had considerably more clothes on than just her bra and panties. A pair of sweatpants and a Fit T-shirt, in fact. The bad news was that she immediately leaned in to kiss him with those beautiful bee-stung lips. He would have to pull back from her. Just do it, Peter. This isn’t the time for screwing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Hey, wait,” she said, a slightly confused look overtaking her face. “Today was your jury selection—shouldn’t you still be in court?”
“Something happened,” said Peter.
“That Kincade woman didn’t try to run you over too, did she?” she joked, grinning.
Peter didn’t laugh. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t. What a shame, he thought, because that was actually a pretty funny line. Gorgeous, smart, and a great sense of humor to boot. Bailey Todd had the whole package.
After stepping into her apartment, Peter first grabbed a Diet Coke from her fridge. Then he took her through the events of the morning, from Angelica charging into the courtroom to his call with the Coast Guard lieutenant. The conversation with Devoux, of course, was conveniently omitted from his already far too melodramatic storyline.
Bailey was stunned, to say the least. She couldn’t believe it, had to sit down. She also felt incredibly guilty, and told Peter as much.
“Why?” he asked.
“No, forget it. I’m too ashamed.”
“It’s okay, you can tell me anything.”
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