There were hands on her, and in her terror she fought them, beat at them
as the water beat at her. It was the monster, the one who had smiled at
her, the one who wanted to kill her as it had killed Darren. As an arm
hooked around her throat, red balls danced in front of her eyes. They
faded to gray as she broke the surface.
"Just relax," someone was telling her. "I'll get you in. Just hang on
and relax."
She was choking. Emma started to drag at the arm around her throat
before she realized it wasn't cutting off her air. She could see the
sun, and when she dragged in a painful breath it was air that burned her
throat, not water. She was still alive. The tears started as much in
shame as in gratitude.
"You're going to be okay."
She laid a hand on the arm around her. "I wiped out," she managed.
There was a chuckle, quick and a little breathless. "Big time. But,
man, you had a hell of a ride first."
Yes, she had, she realized, and concentrated on not humiliating herself
further by being sick. Then there was sand, hot and rough on her skin.
She let her rescuer lay her down, but the first faces she saw were of
her bodyguards. Too weak to speak, she sent them a furious look. It
didn't make them back off, but it kept them from coming closer.
"Don't try to stand up for a few minutes."
Emma turned her head, coughed up some seawater. There was music-the
Eagles, she thought groggily. "Hotel California." There had been music
before, in the dark, but she couldn't remember the words now, or the
melody. She coughed again, blinked against the dazzle of sunlight then
focused on her savior.
The boy in the navy trunks, she thought and managed a weak smile. Water
was dripping from his dark hair. His eyes were dark too, rich deep
gray, as clear as lake water.
"Thanks."
"Sure." He settled down beside her, feeling awkward in the role of white
knight. The guys would razz him for weeks. But he couldn't bring
himself to just leave her there. She was only a kid, after all. A
great-looking kid, he thought-then felt still more awkward. He gave her
shoulder a brotherly pat and thought she had the biggest, bluest eyes
he'd ever seen.
"I guess I lost my board."
He shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand as he looked out to sea.
"No. Fred's bringing it in. It's a nice board."
"I know. I've only had it for a couple of weeks."
"Yeah, I've seen you around." He glanced back down at her. She'd risen
up on her elbows and her wet curls tumbled down her back. Her voice was
pretty, he thought, sort of soothing and musical. "You English or
something?"
"Irish. For the most part. Well be here only a few more days." She
sighed as the boy named Fred dragged in her board. "Thanks." Not
knowing what else to say, she concentrated on rubbing the wet sand from
her knee.
The boy in the navy trunks gave Fred and the others who had gathered