Page 130 of Ford

He hunkered down and stroked hard, his shoulders burning, his legs on fire.

Get to the ship.

Another flare shot, and he gauged the distance.

Four hundred yards.

He turned, searching for the skiff, for a light, anything, and the sea caught him up, drove him away from RJ. From Scarlett.

Into the dark night of the frothy, angry sea.

And he could do nothing but try to stay afloat.

12

Scarlett hadn’t traveled halfway across the world to die under a boat.

She hung onto the bench seat, shoving her head up into the air pocket caught under the overturned skiff, riding the swells and troughs.

The sea threw her against the top—or rather, bottom—of the boat, slamming her into the bench seat, trying to rip her hold, but she’d been outside the boat long enough to know she might die topside.

Her head throbbed from where she’d banged it going head over end when the wave thrashed her. It’d taken the entire boat over, filled her nose, her mouth with brine and churned her in a circle, wrestling her to the depths.

She’d ridden it out, let it crest over her, then kicked hard for the surface, not even sure she’d find air in the blackness.

Hard to tell which way was up in pitch dark water.

When she came up, she found the boat floating away in the waves and swam hard for it, catching the side, breathing hard as the next wave crashed over her. She’d hunkered into the side, coughed, stayed upright, and only then did she look for the freighter.

A distant light, so far away she could barely spot it, blinking against the pelting rain.

“Ford!” A useless scream and she ate water, but she couldn’t stop herself.

I’ll show up for you. I will always show up for you.

Not if he was dead. Because she’d seen him clinging to RJ with everything he had after the first wave tried to rip them from the ladder.

Of course he had to get his sister onboard. And Scarlett did know how to swim.

The man was probably frantic—she knew him better than to believe he’d just let her float away.

She was going to scream again, but it would do him no good to scour the darkness, the frothing sea, for her. The current had her—she felt it even as the ocean boiled around her. In minutes she’d be engulfed in darkness.

The next wave had nearly ripped her grip from the boat, and that’s when she ducked under, mostly for protection, and found air.

She hadn’t a clue how long she hung on, fighting for air. Her arms burned, her feet kicking hard to stay up, deep in the air pocket.

Oh why hadn’t she put on that stupid, tattered life jacket?

She leaned her head against the boat’s seat as the storm gathered under her again.Please, Ford, stay alive.

She bit back a cry, trying not to let her mind scurry to the terrible end.

Not after everything, not after—I’m yours if you’ll have me.

Her yes was the one thing she knew for sure. She was tired of living in fear, in the what-ifs, trying to protect herself from hurt.

She was all in too. Which meant she had to stay alive.