Page 73 of Moonlit Hideaway
The yacht was trying to lose him, to shake off his pursuit like a dog shedding water. But Hank kept his course, using his knowledge of the inlet to predict the yacht’s path. He squinted at the yacht’s silhouette, looking for signs of Sierra. Was she below the deck or hanging on the rails? Would she jump if she saw him close in? He would be ready with life preservers, but could she swim once the yacht reached the wild Atlantic? The part of the world dubbed the Graveyard of the Atlantic—just offshore of Cape Hatteras.
And then, the yacht slipped from his grasp. It sped out of the treacherous inlet into the open ocean. Hank’s skiff wasn’t designed for the breaking waves where the channel met the sea. He had one last chance to drive the yacht toward a shoal—one so treacherous it had broken up the ships whose survivors had washed up to spend Christmas at the Baxter’s Inn.
The chase was on, the skiff’s agility against the yacht’s brute strength. Hank plotted an interception, steering toward the deep blue, forcing Marco’s hand. The skiff bucked and reared over mammoth swell after swell, shockingly going airborne before crunching down in an explosion of seawater. Hank took advantage of the yacht changing direction.
With a roar, he slung the wheel sideways and hurled the skiff toward the yacht’s starboard bow, preventing it from going out to sea. Closer, he edged the skiff like a sheepdog, herding the larger boat inward…
He caught sight of a lone figure standing at the rails. She raised her head and braced herself, seeing him.
And yes, he saw right into her. He could always read her, and she was ready. She would jump if she had to, and she would risk it all. He had to get closer. Had to be able to pick her out of the water the way the rescuers of old did when they took their rowboats out to a floundering ship.
She waved at him—ready.
Elation rose as he homed in toward the yacht to narrow the gap.
And then, a towering wave rose from his left, way out farther than expected. Hank gritted his teeth at the tower of water bearing down on him, facing it head-on.
“Brace yourself, Sierra,” he shouted toward the sea. “I’m coming for you.”
The wave crashed, swamping over Hank’s head. It threw the tiny skiff sideways. Hank lost his grip on the wheel, and he plunged into the churning ocean in a swirl of sand and sea.
“No!” A scream tore from Sierra’s throat at the sight of Hank’s skiff capsizing in the torrential wave.
Time stood still as Hank disappeared into the raging waters.No, no, no, no, no.Sierra’s heart plunged with Hank as the skiff, theSea Melody, bobbed sideways and crashed against the surf, splintering into pieces.
She strained her eyes, leaning over as far as she dared. Her heart teetered on the edge of hope and despair. Where was he? Oh, please, please, please…
“Ah, all’s well that ends well.” Marco’s lips curled into a cruel sneer. “Quite the hero, isn’t he? But he’s no match for the sea, let alone my yacht.
The ocean was so vast, and Hank was but one man—the one who held her heart and soul. Panic paralyzed her, rooting her to the spot where the wave broke. A spot of orange, could it be?
She pointed, fixed her gaze, and waved. “Hank’s over here.”
Marco stood beside her, his voice dripping with derision. “Look at him, trying so hard. It’s almost pitiful.”
Sierra tore from his side, running toward the helm where Linc was piloting the yacht. “Someone, help! There’s a man overboard.”
Russ rushed down to the deck, almost running into her. “Boss, what do you want me to do? Shall we throw a life ring?”
“He’s right there.” Sierra pointed to Hank’s head and shoulders, bobbing up and down in the churning waters. “Hurry, he’s being washed out to sea.”
“No, leave him,” Marco spat. “We didn’t see a thing; tell Linc it’s full speed ahead.”
“But we can’t leave him,” Sierra cried as Marco grabbed her arm.
“Don’t waste your tears, darling.” Marco’s mock sympathy was smooth as silk and just as suffocating. “We’re going down below for our wedding celebration.”
“But, you can’t?—”
Marco’s lips curled with a snarl, and he hissed under his breath as Russ walked away. “You’re my bride. It’s time you did your duty unless you’d rather I marry someone younger who’s more eager.”
He was referring to Emma. Horror seized Sierra at the thought that she had to carry through with her act. If only she had a vial of poison, but even then, Emma would be at risk.
“I understand my duties well enough, but I’ll need a shower and privacy. I didn’t expect to be a bride today, and I need to change into something sexier.”
“You don’t need any clothes, but…” he leered at her, licking his lips.
“A bath would be preferable, wouldn’t it? Surely, your yacht is equipped?” She imitated her mother’s haughty tone.
