Swept Away (Wildfire Lake Book 3)

by Skye Jordan

  Swept Away

  Skye Jordan

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Also by Skye Jordan

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The intensifying wind whips stray strands of hair across my face, making it difficult to drop into meditation.

  “Breathe deeply,” I say to the women sitting in the circle, using my most serene voice. I inhale the warm, humid, ocean-scented air and count to three before releasing the breath. “Exhale completely.”

  This is our fourth day of a ten-day retreat with over one hundred participants. It is by far the largest event at which I’ve been invited to teach, and I want the participants’ parting reviews to be stellar.

  I continue the slow, deep breathing exercise to prepare the other seven women in the circle for a therapeutic meditation. I’m still catching chaotic energy wafting from Laiyla where she sits directly across the circle.

  I open my eyes just enough to see through my lashes. Laiyla mirrors the other women: eyes closed, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees, palms to the sky. She appears serene enough on the outside, but she’s kicking off so much emotion, it’s hard to silence the reverberation inside me.

  I’ve tried to connect with her during meals and workshops to see if I can figure out what’s bothering her, but she’s so guarded, I can’t get a deeper read. She’s about my age, with long light-brown hair and big whiskey-brown eyes that seem to soak in everything and everyone. She also holds on to her brittle veneer like a life preserver.

  Just before I close my eyes again, Laiyla opens her own and glances at the empty meditation pillow beside her where KT, another retreat participant, should be sitting. Then Laiyla’s gaze drifts to the ocean and its rough surf.

  I inhale and close my eyes to ground myself again. “Bring up an image of the person with whom you’ve been harboring resentment.” I picture the subjects of my own turmoil—my two older sisters who abandoned me as soon as they were old enough to bail, leaving me to take care of my alcoholic father. In the last year, since I returned to the States, I’ve had the opportunity to reconnect with them both and begin healing that deep wound. “Accept any emotions coming up. Just breathe into the feelings and let them go.”

  Of course, that’s easier said than done, but I know from experience that when done often enough, the pain and anger and resentment do, in fact, fade with time and acceptance.

  Another burst of wind whips through the group, disturbing the peace. I mentally scan the spaces inside the resort available for this session, but this facility is as small as its South Pacific island, and booked to the brim. By the time I get everyone inside and settled again, the session will be over.

  “Imagine this person is sitting across from you. Collect all your frustration, anger, and hurt into a glowing orange ball.” I allow a long pause to give the visualization time to form in the mind. “Now offer that sizzling globe up to your inner—”

  “Excuse me, Chloe.”

  The interruption makes my teeth clench. Bad yogi. Nothing is going as planned today—not the weather, not my instruction, and now, not even my students. Patience, I remind myself. Patience.

  I open my eyes and find Laiyla’s nervous gaze darting between me and the angry ocean. “This is more than a tropical storm, and it feels much closer to us than the experts predicted.”

  I take stock of our surroundings, the very space I’ve been trying to block for meditation. The tall palms arc in the wind; the ocean pounds the tide pools surrounding the island.

  The other women in the circle open their eyes and glance between me and Laiyla.

  Just as I open my mouth to instruct everyone on how to let distractions around them pass by like clouds in the sky, a gust of wind picks up a wicker chair from the deck of the main resort and tosses it over the railing.

  A collective gasp zips through the group.

  “You’re right.” I push to my feet and gesture for the others to do the same. Everyone grabs their meditation pillows. “Let’s head inside.”

  I herd the women toward the concrete stairs traversing the rocky cliff leading up to the resort. Once everyone is headed that direction, I count heads and realize I’m missing someone.

  Laiyla.

  I turn and find her staring out at the ocean, one meditation pillow tucked against her chest and the one that would have been KT’s hanging from her other hand. Not what I expected from the woman who nervously pointed out this was more than a tropical storm to begin with.

  “Laiyla.” I yell to be heard over the quickly intensifying wind. “Come on.”

  “Do you know where the other woman is? KT?” she yells over her shoulder, hair whipping around her head and into her face. “Is she sick or something?”

  “She probably decided to join another group.”

  She turns her gaze toward the ocean and yells something I only catch in pieces. “I saw…tide pools…scuba gear…session started.”

  I check on the other women, who are all up the stairs and nearing the resort, then start back down the steps. I have to collect my hair and secure it back into a bun so I can see.

  When I reach Laiyla, I take her arm. “We need to get inside.”

  “Have you ever been diving?” she asks, staring at the waves with an intense, worried frown. “How long will her air tank last? Long enough to ride out this storm?”

  I put her earlier words together with these and realize Laiyla believes KT went diving. The idea is sobering. “I’ve been, but I can’t remember how long a tank of air lasts.”

  The emergency alarm makes both Laiyla and me jump. “This is a severe storm warning.” The tinny, mechanical voice comes between siren calls. “Return to the resort and shelter in place.”

  More mechanical wails follow the announcement. Laiyla finally relents and turns toward the resort just as the clouds unleash a torrent of rain. I’m a few steps higher, hand gripping the iron railing, so the wind doesn’t pick me up and carry me off like a kite. When I glance back to check on Laiyla, I find her skipping down the steps toward the ocean.

  What the hell?

  “Laiyla!” I raise my voice, but the wind swallows my word.

  Before I can decide what to do next, a huge wave curls toward the tide pool shelves. I drop the meditation pillow and grab hold of the railing with both hands. The wind is so strong, I swear it lifts me off my feet for a terrifying second. The wave crashes like thunder and shakes the ground under my feet.

  My gaze is drawn to a dark spot in the tide pools, one that wasn’t there earlier. Then it moves, tossing off fins and scaling along the rocks like a hermit crab. It’s KT, in a wet suit, her scuba tank still attached to her back.

  Another wave crests behind KT, a gigantic, furious wave that’s going to pound her into the tide pools like a hammer. A vise grips my chest.

  “Look out!” Laiyla’s scream to KT is instantly swallowed by the storm.

  I watch in disbelief, my hands bloodless on the railing, completely powerless to do anything but witness the wrath of Mother Nature.

  The next wave hits KT like the last, swallowing her. Horror flows through my blood like acid.

  KT
surfaces, only to be lashed and thrown by the waves, then dumped back on the tide pools so hard, she bounces—once, twice, then lies there motionless for what feels like minutes, but is, in reality, only seconds.

  Laiyla drops her pillows and runs down the stairs, toward the ocean. Bile rises in my throat, and my screams for Laiyla to stop barely exit my mouth. I’m soaked to the bone in warm rain.

  KT is on her feet again, working her way toward the stairway where Laiyla positions herself to meet KT. Before the women can meet, another wave rises. KT lunges for the last post in the stairway railing, and Laiyla runs back up the stairs to escape the ocean’s reach.

  The power of the sea rumbles through the rock and shakes the island. When the water recedes, I’m shocked to see KT still clinging to the railing.

  Laiyla runs back down and grabs a handful of KT’s wet suit. I take two steps toward them before the next wave crests. Just when I don’t think I can be any more terrified, they both disappear beneath the water.

  I choke out a scream and grip the rail with both hands.

  They’re gone. They’re dead. There’s no way they could survive.

  The horror of losing these two women ravages my heart. The wind deafens and blinds me, and I hide my head between my arms. Debris flies from every direction, pelting me again and again.

  Clearly, a miracle is required to save them. I put every ounce of my soul into a quick prayer. Archangel Michael, keep them safe. Bring them back.

  Michael is the badass of archangels. The big guns. When I need something that seems impossible, I call on Michael.

  I chance a glance as the wave recedes, terrified the prayer wasn’t enough and I’ll find them gone.

  But both women are still clinging to the iron pole, and all my air whooshes from my lungs.

  “Oh my God.” Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  I force myself to my feet to move and meet them midway up the stairs. They both look at me with terrorized gazes. Blood trails down KT’s face, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

  KT’s hand moves to the strap around her chest, and the next thing I know, a gust of wind grabs the tank and swings it toward me and Laiyla. I duck, Laiyla doesn’t, and the tank hits her squarely in the side of the head with a clank that’s loud enough to hear above the wind.

  A sick sensation swirls in my stomach, and Laiyla goes boneless. I barely have time to cushion her head before she hits the ground. And now she’s bleeding too. She’s also unconscious.

  “Fuck,” KT yells. “Get her arm around your shoulders,” she tells me, doing the same on the other side.

  We fight our way up a few more steps before Laiyla regains consciousness. KT orders us to stop, and the three of us crouch to gain some strength. The rain comes in torrents and buckets, and I struggle to breathe. I wonder if this is how it feels to be waterboarded.

  The air is a minefield of tree branches, stones, tables, chairs, umbrellas. Roof shingles peel, siding rips, all becoming lethal projectiles. My head is filled with the chaotic scream of the storm. All we need is a cow hurtling through the air, and we’d fit right into a Hollywood blockbuster.

  When we start out again, Laiyla is moving mostly under her own steam and we make progress toward the resort. If we can just stay clear of the larger debris, we’ll make it.

  I hate to bother you again, Michael, but this situation is going to require multiple miracles. Please help us to safety.

  I lead the way, and KT and I keep Laiyla between us. A thundering crack rips through the air, and my feet jerk to a stop just before a tree falls directly into my path mere inches from crushing me. A violent whoosh of air hits me. Branches cut at my face, arms, legs. The ground thunders beneath my feet so hard, I’m knocked off-balance.

  For what feels like a long time, I stand there, wondering if I’m dead or alive. When I force my eyes open again, I find one of the century-old banyan trees that populate the island lying across the stairway.

  Thank you. I shoot my gratitude heavenward. I’ve lost count of the miracles we’ve received. Certainly, KT making it back to shore, Laiyla regaining consciousness, and now all three of us cheating death. Again. But with the tree blocking our path, we’ve got another barrier to safety.

  “Link arms,” KT yells. Once we do, she says, “This way.”

  With KT in the lead, I bend my head to block the wind and rain and debris as we use our human chain to press on. I have no idea where we’re going, but KT exudes command and confidence, so we follow.

  Then we climb a set of wooden stairs, cross a threshold, and slam a door behind us.

  Inside.

  We’ve made it inside—somewhere. All three of us slide to the floor, and my eyes close on another silent prayer. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  When I open my eyes again, I see we’re in one of the resort’s studio cottages at the edge of the property.

  For several long moments, no one speaks, no one moves. We just catch our breath and absorb the shock of our near-death experience.

  I don’t know how long it takes me to roll my head toward the other women, but I’m instantly alarmed at the sight of blood flowing down the side of Laiyla’s face. I roll to my knees and take her face in my hands, searching for the source.

  “Oh, Laiyla.” She opens her eyes, but they’re dazed. “Look at me.”

  “I am.”

  KT mirrors my move, inspecting Laiyla, but KT doesn’t look much better. “Her pupils look okay. Laiyla, talk to me.”

  “Jesus,” she says on a breath, her gaze floating toward KT. “I hope I don’t look as bad as you.”

  An unexpected puff of laughter escapes me, and the terror eases.

  Something outside hits the wall facing the property. We all jump and look that direction, which is when I realize the wall is made up of glass louvers. I may not have all my faculties, but I know that’s dangerous.

  KT beats me to a solution. She stands and moves to the bed. “Laiyla, help me upend this mattress. Chloe, bring those chairs over here.”

  It takes me forever to find my feet, and the side chairs in the room feel like they’re made of concrete. KT shoves the mattress off the bed, and Laiyla helps tilt it against the wall of glass.

  “Brace this,” KT tells Laiyla, then moves the nightstands and dresser up against the mattress to hold it in place against the windows.

  I get the chairs into position on the other side of the room, behind the safety of the mattress. “You two sit down so I can take a look at you.”

  KT and Laiyla obey, dropping into the upholstered chairs, exhausted. I sit on the edge of the bed’s box spring, facing them, and assess their injuries. My time in third world countries taught me the value of basic first aid and lifesaving skills, but those aren’t going to do much for the discolored egg rising on Laiyla’s temple. I’m most immediately worried about her, but she’s able to follow my finger with her eyes, and her pupils are both equal in size.

  “Other than the bump on your head and a few nicks and cuts,” I tell Laiyla, “you look like you’re in pretty good shape.” I turn my attention to KT and wince. “You, on the other hand, are a different story. We need to get you out of the wet suit so I can get a look at all the damage.”

  We get KT to the box spring where she can lie down, and Laiyla and I dig into rips in the wet suit, tearing it away from KT’s body piece by piece. Underneath, she’s wearing a bikini, exposing a fit body with dozens of cuts, some that will need stitches. “That coral tried to devour you.”

  “Could have been a hell of a lot worse. I’m still shocked I’m even alive. I never would have gone down if they’d correctly forecast this cyclone.”

  “This is a cyclone?” Laiyla asks. “They said it was a tropical storm.”

  A wind gust shoots something large and hard against the wall of glass, rattling the entire studio, and we all jump again. I suspect our startle reflexes will be stuck on high for quite a while.

  “This is a cyclone,” KT says with confidence.

/>   “I’ve been in a couple of hurricanes,” I tell them, agreeing with KT on the severity of the storm, “but not this bad. I bet this storm jackknifed. The weather changed really quick.”

  KT repositions herself, resting her forearm across her eyes and hisses out a breath between her teeth. “I think I have a couple of breaks.”

  I reassess her body, but nothing is obviously out of place. “Where?”

  She takes a deep breath and winces. “Ribs, and maybe my left foot.” Then she moves her arm to her forehead and grins. “Sorry, Chloe, I’m going to opt out of your ‘deep breathing’ clinics.”

  That makes Laiyla laugh. “Oh, shit.” She presses her palm to her head. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow.”

  “Adrenaline is wearing off,” KT says, staring at the ceiling. “Pain is going to come on something fierce.”

  Laiyla wets a washcloth for me, and I clean blood away from KT’s wounds while Laiyla searches the room for supplies. She manages to find bottles of water and snacks and a basic first aid kit. Then, as I do my best to close KT’s deeper cuts with butterfly stitches made out of Band-Aid adhesive, we get to know each other better.

  KT is a marine engineer who works in the engine room on cruise ships. Laiyla is high up the corporate ladder in her parents’ hotel chain. In the face of these accomplished women, I’m embarrassed to say I take jobs as they come and live in the moment, moving from place to place as soon as I get the money to travel.

  “What about you, Chloe?” Laiyla asks.

  “My background is similar to KT’s to some degree. My mom ran off with another guy when I was young. Unlike your dad, who sounds amazing,” I say to KT, “mine was a drunk and lived in the bottle, so I was raised by my older sisters, who both bailed as soon as they were eighteen, leaving me alone to take care of my dad.