Shield, p.24
Shield, page 24
Even now Alyse couldn’t believe how fast the weather had turned. The clouds appeared on the horizon and only minutes later they were right above them, turning the bright day dull and bringing a wind that morphed the gentle waves into giant towers.
Her father had handed out the life jackets and radioed Marine Rescue to let them know they were heading in but caught in the storm.
That one call had saved Alyse’s life.
The next thing she knew, a wave had swamped the boat, turning it over and she’d been flung into the heaving ocean, fighting desperately to reach the surface, but not sure which way was up. Her life jacket had grown firm under her arms, buoying her in the right direction and when she finally breached the water, gasping for breath, she’d frantically searched the ocean for her parents.
Water slapped Alyse in the face and she blinked, coming back to the present and the sea swirling in front of her. She slid off the seat into the hull and huddled, shaking, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t do this. Fear vomited from her, running into the bottom of the boat. The smell turned her stomach further and she retched and retched until nothing else would come. Mark swore. Her brain screamed at her to go back, to run, to get off the waves, but she was frozen. She squeezed her eyes shut before the claws of hysteria ripped her skin.
She wasn’t on a boat, she was on a bucking bull ride in the middle of a showground and if she fell, she’d land on soft pillows below.
Another spray of water coated her face, soaking her jacket, and she tasted the salt. No amount of pretending would alter the truth.
She would die out here. The ocean hadn’t claimed her last time, but it was coming for her now.
Maybe it was for the best. Dying was the only way she would ever be free of Mark. Perhaps she should give in to the call and throw herself overboard. She opened her eyes a crack. The dark water mocked, called to her, threatened. She remembered the pull of the water, the way the weight of the boat dragged her under, and she retched again, her stomach and throat straining.
No. If she had to die, there were better ways to go. She wouldn’t let the ocean take her as well.
Mark shouted something but she didn’t turn. Couldn’t move.
Seconds later he grabbed her, twisting her around, almost unbalancing the boat. Her heart leapt to her throat.
“Get a grip,” Mark snarled. “When we reach the yacht, you help me lift the package on board, got it?”
She nodded though she didn’t think she’d be able to stand, let alone have the strength in her arms to lift anything. He released her and sat by the engine.
Alyse huddled back into a ball. Mark’s interruption had been enough to cut through some of her fear, to switch gears. What was Mark smuggling—drugs, guns, people? No, he’d said package so not people, and the boat wasn’t big enough for more than a couple anyway. Her hand slid to the mobile phone in her jacket pocket. Now wasn’t the time to be brave and film his activities. Plenty of better opportunities at home that wouldn’t make her an accomplice. She was already far more involved than she wanted to be. If Mark went to jail, she’d be going as well. He’d made sure of it.
A huge wave crested in front of them and Alyse’s heart stopped. The engine roared as Mark accelerated, but he was too slow. He cut through the middle of the wave and water flooded the boat.
No. Not again.
This couldn’t be happening.
The boat was low, close to the surface, full of water, barely able to make it over the oncoming waves.
Mark shoved a plastic bucket at her. “Bail it out.”
Her hands shook as she threw bucket after bucket of water out of the boat. Mark continued to steer at the helm, taking them further and further out to sea. He was insane.
The dinghy laboured in the waves and Alyse kept bailing, moving as fast as she could, her arms aching, her breath coming in pants from the effort and the fear. She didn’t want to die like this. Why didn’t Mark have life jackets? This time nothing would make her take it off.
Not like last time.
Last time she’d had to remove the jacket to dive under the overturned hull to find her parents. Her father was caught on something around the steering wheel and her mother was trying to free him. She’d looked for a knife, but all their gear was at the bottom of the ocean.
Then the boat shifted, tilted down and began to sink in earnest. Terror had gripped her and they’d all fought to free her father, but it wasn’t possible. She’d taken a deep breath just before the last air pocket disappeared and struggled to get away from the hull. When she’d reached the surface, she was alone. She’d waited and waited for her mother to appear, but she never did. And the life jacket Alyse had removed had long since vanished in the waves. She was alone in the middle of the ocean, uncertain which way was land.
Mark’s yell made her blink. He pointed to a large yacht. Their destination. At least they could soon go home.
She stayed huddled on the seat until they were close enough for the person on board to throw them a rope. She wrapped it around the cleat at the front of the dinghy to help hold the boat in place, fighting with the waves that tossed them about.
Mark and the man spoke, but the wind whisked their words away and then two men brought a big black crate to the edge of the yacht. It looked heavy and too wide to fit on the dinghy.
“Alyse.” Mark prodded her. He stood, ready to receive the cargo.
It meant she had to stand too. Stand in this little metal boat that was rocking like crazy. And somehow they had to lift the huge box on board without overbalancing and falling overboard.
“Get up,” Mark growled.
She knew that tone. If she didn’t move now, she would regret it when they got home. If she made it home.
Slowly she stood, her legs shaking. She wanted to vomit all over Mark. It would serve him right. Instead she reached for one side of the black plastic case and prepared herself. When the two men on the yacht let go, the true weight hit her and it was more a controlled fall to the bottom of the boat. Whatever was inside weighed a tonne.
The dinghy rocked and dipped lower in the water. Going back would be far more dangerous than coming out. She wanted to push the case overboard right now so they would get back to shore alive.
She sat as Mark concluded his business and then she unhitched the rope and they drew away from the yacht. The boat was more sluggish, but the waves pushed them now. Her hands stung in the cold and she tucked them under her arms as the wind blew through her wet jeans. She stamped her soaked feet to get some warmth into them.
The hills near the boat ramp appeared on the horizon, but still so far away.
Then the engine stuttered and stopped.
Alyse whirled around, eyes wide as Mark pulled the rip cord and nothing happened. He checked the petrol tank, tried again. Still nothing. They were adrift. It was getting darker and in only an hour it would be night. Fear bubbled inside her.
“Mark, why isn’t it working?” Her voice was shrill.
“Give me a minute. I’ll fix it.”
No, he wouldn’t. He liked to think he was good with anything mechanical, but he wasn’t, and she’d long since stopped asking him for help. But it would take him a couple of hours before he’d admit defeat—if he admitted it at all. And she had no intention of still being in this boat after dark.
She slipped off her seat onto the hull and made herself as small as possible. Mark was busy looking at the engine so she retrieved her phone. She hesitated. He’d hear her if she dialled Marine Rescue. She flicked her phone to silent and texted them instead. Our boat has broken down near the Southpoint boat ramp. About a kilometre from shore.
The response was instant. Alyse?
Her heart beat faster. Only one guy at Marine Rescue knew her phone number. Kim On. Yes. He knew about her fear. Please hurry.
Mobilising now. How many on board?
Two. Don’t tell Mark I contacted you.
Be there soon. Hold tight, Aly.
Her heart squeezed at the nickname she hadn’t heard in three years. Kim had been the one person she could turn to before her life went to shit. Her one confidante before her parents died. But then they’d fought about Mark and she’d pushed him away.
So stupid.
She stuck her phone back in her pocket. Hope warmed her. Kim would come, he would save her.
Mark swore at the engine. He would be furious if he discovered she’d contacted Marine Rescue, especially with the cargo on board.
The boat rocked, dipping low in the water, and she clenched the sides, her heart in her throat. No life jackets and, although land was in sight, she wasn’t certain she was fit enough to swim to shore. She slid back up to the seat. It was more exposed, but at least there was little chance of getting caught on something and drowning if they capsized.
A wave splashed over the boat and she shrieked, squeezing her eyes closed, praying they wouldn’t sink.
“Shut up,” Mark growled. “It’s just a bit of water.”
She gritted her teeth. He knew it wasn’t the water. He’d met her at the hospital on the day her parents had drowned, when Marine Rescue had finally found her struggling to stay afloat, and she’d told him everything. Those days he’d still pretended to care and was attentive and lovely. He’d soothed her and let her cry.
She’d avoided even looking at the ocean for ages afterwards. But eventually he’d manipulated her into going fishing with him. She’d climbed into the boat and sat still while he’d cast off, and before they’d been more than ten metres from the boat ramp, she’d broken down in hysterics, begging to go back.
He’d hit her.
Slapped her right across the face, telling her to pull herself together. Not even the pain had been enough to cut through her fear and eventually he’d headed back to shore. She’d vowed never to go on a boat again.
Her hands shaking, she picked up the bucket and bailed out the water sloshing in the bottom of the dinghy. The movement helped distract her, made her feel she was preventing a catastrophe. When she was done, she scoured the shore. Where were Marine Rescue? Shouldn’t she see their bright yellow boat by now? It was growing darker by the minute and they had no lights on board. None that Mark would light at least.
Her teeth chattered and she shook. “What’s wrong with it?”
Mark had the engine casing off and had some engine part in his hand. “Filter’s gummed up.”
Probably because he hadn’t done a second of maintenance on the boat since he’d bought it. Anger stirred in her, but it dissipated as a huge wave crested right behind them.
They were going to drown.
Buy Now
Also by Claire Boston
The Texan Quartet
What Goes on Tour
All that Sparkles
Under the Covers
Into the Fire
The Flanagan Sisters
Break the Rules
Change of Heart
Blaze a Trail
Place to Belong
The Blackbridge Series
Nothing to Fear
Nothing to Gain
Nothing to Hide
Nothing to Lose
First Response Series
Shelter
Shield
Harbour
Protect
The Beginner Writer’s Toolkit
Self-Editing
About the Author
Claire Boston fell in love with romance and romantic suspense at eleven when she discovered her mother’s stash of Nora Roberts novels. Like Nora, she writes series set around families or groups of friends, and always guarantees a happy ending.
Claire loves learning, and exploring new locations, interesting vocations and cultures through her writing.
When Claire’s not writing she can be found creating her own handmade journals, swinging on a sidecar, or in the garden attempting to grow something other than weeds.
Claire lives in Western Australia with her husband, who loves even her most annoying quirks and is currently learning how to knit.
You can connect with Claire through Facebook and Twitter @clairebauthor, or join her reader group.
First published by Bantilly Publishing in 2019
Copyright © Claire Boston 2019
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity, in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Shield: First Response Series #2
EPUB format: 978-1-925696-44-8
Mobi format: 978-1-925696-45-5
Print: 978-1-925696-46-2
Large Print: 978-1-925696-47-9
Cover design by Amygdala Design
Edited by Ann Harth
Proofread by Teena Raffa-Mulligan
Claire Boston, Shield
