Page 112 of Remember Me

“Huh?” mutters Sheldon.

Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it disappears. Just as quickly, all hope vanishes into thin air. I’m doomed. I’ll never see my beloved husband or daughter again. A tempest of emotions whirls inside me. Terror. Sorrow. Despair. Finality. No one’s coming to my rescue. Not even my hero. Like the onslaught of a tsunami, sobs wrack my body. Loud, heaving ones.

“Shut up!” screams Greenberg.

Suddenly, sirens blare in the near distance.

“LAPD. Drop the weapon and put up your hands.”

A booming voice. Echoing in my ears as if it’s coming through a megaphone. I blink open my wet, stinging eyes. Bright lights three decks below blind me. The yacht is surrounded by a swarm of police boats! And it’s not moving!

“I repeat. Drop the weapon and put up your hands.”

As the yacht bobbles in the riotous ocean, Sheldon shouts down at them.

“You listen to me, assholes! One move and I’ll blow her to pieces.” He presses the gun harder against me. A shiver of panic zips down my spine. I bite down on my quivering lips so I don’t provoke him. Or throw up.

Another voice, this time female, floats into the air. A familiar, firm, and direct one I’ve heard before while covering a hostage story. The negotiator. Tried and true, Jan Lunden.

“Mr. Greenberg. Please calm down. We want to work with you. Tell us what you want.”

“This is what I want.” His voice bellows against the crashing waves. “I want you to get off my back and let me sail to Mexico with no intervention. Once I’m free and clear, I’ll let her go.”

Or not!I don’t believe him. Any way I look at it, my life is over. It just takes one bullet.

An instant response from the voice below: “All units. Put down your weapons. Do not engage.” My leaden heart sinks like an anchor as I watch the fleet of police boats retreat. The yacht begins to move again, battling the sky-high waves.

The monster roars with laugher. “The stupid pigs. They fell for it! Should I shoot you now and just get it over with or should I take you on a little cruise? There are a lot more sharks off the coast of Mexico.” The cold barrel of his gun digs deeper into my neck.

“Shoot me now!” I scream.

On my next breath, a deafening pop thunders in my ears. The scent of gunpowder surrounds me. My legs buckle.

“Skye!”I hear my name as I go down.

A groan and then a crush of my bones. A rush of heat bellows up my neck and my throat closes. The menacing gray sea and obsidian sky become one as the fog fades to black.

CHAPTER 68

Finn

The wheels of the gurney grate in my ears as the rain beats down upon me, the wind still gusting. Clad in a rain parka, I’m close by her side, my heart in my throat, as Skye is transported into the chopper to airlift her to a nearby Marina Del Rey hospital. When she came to in my arms, she was shivering like crazy and in a state of shock. Her pulse frighteningly low, her pupils dilated, her lips blue.

Now inside the helicopter, the EMTs work at breakneck speed to get her out of her soaking wet clothes and then wrap her in a thick blanket before inserting a fluid resuscitation IV into her arm and placing an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. Silently, I sit next to her holding her icy cold hand, never taking my eyes off her. A violent chill of my own runs through me at the thought of how close I came to losing her again.

“I love you, baby,” I tell her as we lift off. Weakly, she squeezes my hand as a ghost of a smile appears beneath the plastic mask. That’s all I need.

The ride to the hospital takes less than ten minutes. While Skye is rushed into the trauma unit, I’m forced to remain in the waiting room. Eager to talk to her, Billings offers to stay with me, but I tell him to come back in the morning. Anxiousness ticks with each passing minute. And guilt tolls like a death knell at each passing hour. Why the hell did I let her go through with this? What the hell was I thinking? I should have stopped her! Finally, after almost three long hours, a doctor ambles up to me as I stare remorsefully at the floor.

“Mr. Jackson?”

Startled, my head jerks up as he introduces himself. “I’m Doctor Linderman, your wife’s attending physician.” My weary eyes meet his. They look glazed. Like he’s tired and overworked.

“My wife... is she okay?” Apprehension fills every word.

He lifts his horn-rimmed glasses on top of his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. I’ve watched far too much TV to know this isn’t a good sign. My heart thuds in my ears as I brace myself for bad news.

Then, he exhales a breath and twitches a smile. “We’ve done a full work-up on her—an MRI, a CT scan, and routine blood work—and all her vitals are stable.”