Providence had sent someone to save her in the most inappropriate manner. God had a sense of humor. Why couldn’t it be another boat? Why not the Coast Guard? She would never fly unless she had no choice.
But then Sylvie had never needed saving before.
And now that floatplane that had flown low and deep to find her running, and had made waves for her would-be killers, meant everything to her. She assumed the plane waited just beyond the trees. She’d seen that much—but unfortunately that meant the rifleman had seen it, as well.
Breathing hard and fast, Sylvie pushed through the wildness of this uninhabited land, brushing past thick and lush sword ferns and alongside a thorny undergrowth that shredded her dry suit. Through the trees she could make out the water.
She continued on to the water’s edge and searched for the plane. Down from her a few hundred yards, the plane waited. The whir of the props echoed across the water. Her stomach lurched. Would he leave before she could get there? How could she signal him to wait? Draw his attention without giving away her position?
God, please let him wait for me! Help me!
It was too far for her to quickly traverse the thick brush and rocky shore, but there was another way. Sylvie rushed into the water and dove beneath the surface, quickly reminded of the brush against the coral during her struggle with the mad diver. Her dry suit no longer protected her from the cold water that seeped in, icing across her skin and into her bones, it seemed, slowly stealing her body heat away.
Hypothermia would set in soon. Never mind her aching joints that brought to her attention another problem. Sylvie was too experienced to ignore the symptoms or write them off as the shock of nearly being brutally murdered.
No. She had to face the truth.
She had the bends. Decompression sickness.
But she had to keep it together until she made it to the plane. Holding her breath, she swam just under the water’s surface to keep out of sight. Without her mask, her eyes burned in the salty water as she remained vigilant in watching for the boat and the man with the rifle. She prayed the other diver wasn’t right behind her.
The flash of an image rushed at her—the diver’s knife, glinting in the water as he cut her hose. Shivering, she tossed a quick look into the depths behind and beneath her. She had to be sure the diver wasn’t closing in. At least she was safe for the moment. Head bobbing to the surface for a quick breath, she continued to swim, her limbs growing sluggish.
She drew near to the plane.
Almost there.
The pilot scrambled from the plane and onto the beach, brandishing a weapon. Her pulse quickened. Could that be for her? God, please let him be friendly. Please let him be someone here to help me. She didn’t know what she would do otherwise.
Dizziness swept over her, swirling through her core with the shock of the last few minutes.
But Sylvie was strong. She couldn’t have excelled in her career as a diving instructor if she wasn’t.
Then she heard it.
The echoing fire from a rifle. Sylvie ducked under the water. Had the rifleman seen her? Was he firing at her now in the water? Or at the pilot?
She was cold and numb and drained. Wasn’t sure she could breach the surface again. She heard the rumble of the floatplane before she found the energy to bob above the water’s surface and see it moving.
Disappointment weighed her down into the depths.
The rifleman was shooting at her rescuer. If he’d come to help, he’d been scared away. Sylvie fought the desire to give up, to sink and keep on sinking. Anger burned in her chest along with the need for air.
No, God! Her life couldn’t end like this.
Like her mother, Sylvie was a fighter, and she’d find a way to survive this. There were a million reasons to live, not the least of which was that she had to discover what had happened to her mother’s plane.
She had to be strong.
She’d always believed it was her faith in God that would see her through. But with nitrogen bubbles coursing through her blood, hypothermia threatening to sink and drown her, and men who were trying to kill her, Sylvie struggled to trust God to see her through. How much could she trust Him? How much did she do on her own?
Right now she had never felt more alone. Had never had to draw on her own strength, or even on her faith in God, in this way before.
Like her dry suit, her faith and strength failed her.
Will couldn’t leave without the woman. Neither could he stay with a man taking shots at him and his plane. He’d landed here because she’d been running in this direction. Now where was she?
In his Champ, he skipped across the water’s surface, searching and praying. If he saw nothing, he would circle the island and come back to this spot, but he needed to draw the rifleman away from her. She could be hiding in the woods and afraid to run for the plane.
There!
The woman breached the water and waved, not twenty-five yards from him. If he hadn’t been looking in the right direction at that exact moment, he might have missed her. Now to get her out of here without getting either of them killed. He slowed the plane, guided it close...closer...until he was as close as he could get without risking harm to her.
“You’ll have to swim the rest of the way,” he called. “Can you do that?”
The way she dipped below the water, that desperate look on her face, he wasn’t sure she had any reserves left enough to swim all the way. But she was already swimming toward him even as the words left his mouth.
He stood on
