Dyce wore his cap slightly tilted to one side, along with dark blue slacks, a gray windbreaker and a satisfied smile. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Me either,” I told him. “But I hope you aren’t planning to ask me to dance. I was in the mood, but that’s over and gone now.”
“Who wants to dance at a dance club?”
“You’re teasing me,” I protested, blushing. “And it’s not that I don’t like dancing. I do, a lot, it’s just that … ” Babbling Alert flashed in my head and I stopped before I completely lost all my pride. “Anyway, what brings you here?”
“I came with some friends, but they’ve ditched me and I’m getting tired of waiting around for them.”
I frowned at the writhing dance floor. “I know what you mean.”
“You’ve been ditched, too?” he guessed.
“Not exactly. Everyone else just wanted to dance.”
“Except you,” he guessed with a sympathetic nod. “This band is all noise and no substance. I can’t stand another minute in here. Come on, let’s go outside.”
I didn’t agree with Dyce about the band — the music was rockin’ with a raunchy edge that almost lifted me out of my chair. I peered through swaying bodies, searching for Eli or my friends, but a spinning strobe light distorted colors and shapes, making my eyes ache. I wanted to dance — but only with Eli. Although he hadn’t intentionally left me, it bothered me that he’d gone along with Mauve, who thought he was cute. And why hadn’t they come back yet? The band was on a new song, yet there was no sign of Sadie, Mauve or Eli returning for me and I wasn’t about to dive into that crowd searching for them. I was done waiting around — they could just come and find me.
I followed Dyce past the bar and its cushioned stools, through a door and then outside. Clouds blew fiercely, chilling my bones and making me almost turn around and run back into the warmth. But as if reading my mind, Dyce took off his windbreaker and wrapped it around me.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yeah. Thanks.” That feeling I’d noticed yesterday, a deep hot stirring inside, rippled through me. “Um … this wasn’t a good idea. I should go back in.”
“Why? Will your friends miss you?”
“Eventually.”
“Until they do, stay and talk with me.”
“Well … for a few minutes. You did save my life yesterday.”
“I was lucky to be nearby at the right time. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
“Not just anyone,” I pointed out. “You were really brave.”
“And you’re really beautiful tonight,” he said, in such a sincere way that I forgot how to breathe for a second.
“Um … I just feel cold.” I rubbed my hands together.
“If you’re too cold, we can go inside.”
I glanced back, unable to see more than reflections and light through the tinted windows. The raucous music seemed to rock the building and the buzz of voices — shouts, laughter, squeals — spilled through the air. Sharayah would never have left; she’d be dancing like a force of nature until she dropped. That’s what I should have done, too. But I just couldn’t work up the energy. Standing outside, under clouds that shifted to allow glimpses of a half-moon, with wind tousling my hair and tasting of salty surf, both bitter and sweet, I felt content. Underneath my party dress and makeup, I was still me. And I’d always loved quiet moments alone with nature.
But I was far from alone — Dyce was leaning close, studying my face as if it were a map.
I shrugged. “I’ll stay outside for a while.”
“Then you should move around, get your blood flowing so you don’t freeze.” He pointed beyond the parking lot to where night lamps twinkled over roofs and pavement. “Let’s walk on the path.”
I followed his gaze to a graveled path leading toward the marina; high masts and sails swayed in the distance like pale ghosts. Walking was the least offensive type of exercise, so I followed him.
We went along the path for a short way until we stepped up onto a wooden dock. It swayed slightly with the undulating breath of the sea, waves slamming against the wood and spitting spray.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Dyce said, leaning against a rail and staring off into the night-ocean.
Standing beside him, I stared off too, and nodded. Beautiful hardly began to describe the glinting half-moon’s glow on the silvery waves. I wrapped his jacket around me tighter, inhaling salty sea and a whiff of something I could only define as “Dyce”: musky, spicy, and mysterious.
“This night reminds of me of Robert Browning’s famous lines,” he said. “And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap, In fiery ringlets from their sleep.” He turned to peer down into my face. “I sense something in you, Sharayah, some sort of fire. Tell me about yourself.”
“What’s to tell? I’m here for spring break, just like a thousand other girls.”
“But you’re different than other girls.”
“That can be good and bad.” Okay, I was flirting a little, but it was harmless because he had a girlfriend and I (hopefully) had a boyfriend.
“From my view, it’s all good. You have a poet’s soul,” he said.
“Me? I can’t recite any poems, except a silly one about a fuzzy bear.” I laughed, taking all his flowery talk like a game. I mean, really! What normal guy talked like this? It was like he was a throwback to the Renaissance era. Still, I have enough of an ego that I loved the flattery.
“I can teach you poems and much more,” he said huskily.
“Whoa,” I said with a firm shake of my head. “This has been fun and all, but we both know it’s not going anywhere. I have a guy I like and you already have a girlfriend.”
“I do?” He arched his brows in a question.
“Come on, Dyce, you told me how you couldn’t wait to get back to her yesterday. Your girlfriend — Emmy.”
“Oh … Emmy.” The confusion on his face spread into a dazzling smile. “Right, she’s amazing and I can’t wait to get back to her.”
“That’s what I guessed. She’s probably waiting for you right now, so you should go.”
“I will, and you should, too. Come with me. I want you to meet her.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“But I am.” He reached for my hand, and while I knew I should resist, I didn’t. Our fingers touched with such a delicious tingle that I almost forgot how to think.
“I–I can’t.” It took all my energy to pull back my hand, and when I did, the sweet warmth faded away to a numb chill. “I really can’t. I’ve already been gone too long,” I added trying to convince myself. I glanced up the hill to the bright lights of the dance club.
“But it’ll only take a few minutes. Emmy is just over there.” He pointed toward the marina. “You’ll love her as much as I do.”
“I guarantee you — your girlfriend won’t love meeting me.” Guys could be so dense sometimes … yet it was kind of sweet. “Now I really have to get back to my friends.”
“Five minutes, that’s all it will take,” he persisted.
There was something so vulnerable and sincere about him that I hesitated, touched by how much he loved his girlfriend. And I owed him a lot after rescuing me yesterday. If this was all he wanted in return, how could I refuse?
So with a sigh, I nodded.
I followed him down a graveled path, around a boat repair yard and down steep steps to the marina. We passed sailboats and two huge yachts, then stopped abruptly at a mid-sized boat. Dyce pointed proudly. “Here she is.”
Under the yellowy light from a nearby lamp, I looked around for a girl but only saw boats. And then I noticed the name of the boat we faced: Emmeline.
“Emmy,” I said, finally getting it.
“She’s my girl,” he told me. “And my home.”
“You live here?” I asked, surprised because the boat didn’t look bigger than thirty feet, or deep enough to have more than a cramped room below the deck.
“Temporarily,” he answered. “I don’t sleep well on land, perhaps because I come from a long line of seaman and have saltwater in my blood. Although this isn’t actually my boat. It’s a rental, but she’s still a beaut. A 1991 Bayliner Cierra Sunbridge — fully equipped galley with stove, fridge, sink, shower, digital depth sounder, pinion power steering, and AM/FM stereo with four built-in speakers.”
I nodded appreciatively, although I only understood part of what he said.
“So come aboard and I’ll give you a tour,” he invited me, with such a sexy, intriguing smile that I was sorely tempted — which is exactly why I refused.
“Can’t,” I told him. “My friends will worry if I don’t return soon.”
“It won’t take long. And I think you’ll be interested in some special things I have — a poetry book that belonged to my great-great-grandfather and dates back to the mid-1800s.”
“Wow — that’s old.”
“Leather binding and signed by the author. It’s a work of art.”
“Is it safe to travel with such a valuable book? Shouldn’t it be under glass?”
“Books are meant to be read, not hidden. Besides, I keep it in an airtight trunk, along with several others.” He cocked his head, watching me expectantly.
“No. This all sounds interesting, but I have to go now. Thanks for the rescue and everything.”
“Come on, Sharayah,” he said in a tone as lulling as a gentle surf.
“I’ve already stayed longer than I should.”
As I stepped back, he pointed behind me. “Wait!” he shouted. “Watch where you’re—”
It all happened so fast. I wasn’t sure how my feet got tangled in the thick coil of rope, but I felt my spiked heel snagging, then my arms flailing and Dyce lunging for me. As I fell backward, my shoulder slammed into a gate leading down to a dock bordering the ocean, cracking the hinges with a sharp metallic sound. Crying out from the pain, I tried to steady myself but couldn’t grab hold of anything solid, and I careened backwards …
“Sharayah! Take my arm!”
Dyce grabbed for me, only he seemed to lose his balance, too, and next thing I knew I was falling through an opening where there used to be a gate. Screaming, I tumbled and fell …
Into the ocean.
Stabbed by needles of icy water, I went down, down, shocked beyond thought. Salt water filled my mouth and pain ripped through me. I couldn’t breathe or think; the world blurred with freezing horror. Panic exploded; my own screams were drowning in my head. A voice somewhere inside me shouted Kick! Swim! Fight!
But my arms were heavy weights wrapped in fabric and my shoes anchors dragging me down. Gagging on salt water. Can’t breathe, need air, sinking … until something splashed next to me and strong hands pulled me, lifted me, and I gulped air.
“Don’t struggle,” Dyce’s words swam in my head.
I hadn’t realized I was struggling, and stopped. Then I was literally carried away in his arms. My teeth clattered with cold. I couldn’t stop shivering. Coughing, gasping, spitting salt water. Then the chill eased as we went down a staircase, out of the biting wind, and onto a boat. Emmeline, I realized.
Dyce bent slightly, opened a door, and carried me down a folding staircase into a dark but cozy and warm cabin. Then he gently lowered me onto a cushioned bench. There was a click as he turned on a wall switch and light flooded the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning over me. “I’m so sorry that happened — I tried to warn you about the rope but you fell too fast and I couldn’t stop you. Damned rope. Can I get anything for you?”
“Sooo cold,” I chattered through clenched teeth.
“Right.” In two steps, he crossed the compact room to a built-in cabinet and opened a drawer. He tossed me a striped blue towel. “Here.”
I caught the towel. “Thanks.”
Taking off the jacket he’d loaned me, I rubbed the towel over my soggy blouse and skirt, noticing with some embarrassment the dripping wet puddle I made on his bench cushions.
“S-sorry, I–I’m getting your boat all … all wet,” I shivered.
“That doesn’t matter, but you do, and you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t put on warm clothes.”
“I–I don’t have anything else — and only one shoe.” I pointed to the single black spiked shoe. The other must have been still stuck in the rope or sunk to the bottom of the sea.
“Fortunately, I keep spare clothes in my cubby up top. I’ll be back in a minute.” He climbed up the steps and pushed through the narrow doorway.
I worked the towel over my clothes but when drops of stinging sea water kept dribbling in my eyes, I wrapped the towel turban-style around my hair.
Then I sank back on the cushioned bench, exhausted but grateful to Dyce. That made it twice he’d rescued me, like he was a superhero in disguise. I wouldn’t have drowned — I can swim — but I’d been so shocked by the cold sea and so weighed down with clothes that I’d panicked. I was lucky that one shoe was the only casualty.
Or was it?
What about my GEM?
“No!” I cried, remembering the time I’d been soaking in a bubble bath and dropped a book into the tub. The book had swelled up with water, the pages sticking together, then warping, even after I dried it with a blow dryer.
I jumped up so suddenly that my towel turban raveled to the floor. I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out a completely dry book.
Amazed, I quickly opened the GEM and the familiar blank pages rustled with a soft flutter that seemed to chastise me for doubting their magic. A drop of sea water slid down my soggy hair and plopped onto the pristine paper, blotting only for a second and then fading until the page shone like new. My chill was fading, too, now that I was out of the cold night and warming in the cozy cabin.
Staring down at the small book, I thought of everything I’d been through in the last two days. Many things were still unresolved and I could really use some answers, but it was hard to know what to ask my GEM first:
What happened to Warren after his capture?
Will Sharayah win the Voice Choice contest?
Will Alyce forgive me for not returning today?
Has Eli noticed I’m gone or is he still dancing?
Torn between the practical questions I should ask and the emotional ones my heart longed to know, I started with the first question.
“What happened to Warren?” I whispered into the GEM.
He returned to his dwelling.
Huh? What did that mean? Maybe the book misunderstood and thought I wanted to know what happened to the innocent victim who owned Warren’s body. So I rephrased my question, this time specifying that I wanted to know what happened to the Dark Lifer posing as Warren.
Unable to locate the Dark Lifer.
Okay, now I was really confused. I’d watched the DD Team capture Warren yet the book was saying they couldn’t “locate” the Dark Lifer. Had he escaped from them? I opened my mouth to ask this when I froze. Footsteps approaching!
Quickly, I shoved the GEM back inside my pocket.
“Here you go!” Dyce called from the hatch-like door at the top of the stairs as he tossed down clothes. “Holler up when you’re dressed and I’ll come back.”
The door shut behind him with a soft bang, and I was grateful for the clothes — as well as Dyce’s gentlemanly behavior. Most guys would have stuck around, waiting for a free show. But Dyce wasn’t like most guys.
Hastily, I stripped out of my clothes and folded them in a pile on the oblong table that was sticking up like a flat umbrella on a metal pole. Then I reached for the clothes, expecting baggy uncomfortable men’s clothes but pleasantly surprised to find a pink scooped-necked blouse, skinny denim jeans, a lacy bra and red satin bikini underwear … all in a perfect size for Sharayah.
Whoa! Why did a bachelor have girl’s clothes conveniently on his rental boat? Did all rental boats come equipped with assorted spare clothing? Or was this a freaky coincidence … not that I believed in coincidences. In my experience, things usually happened either for a good reason or for a suspicious one. And my intuition strongly hinted at the latter option.
Then I noticed something which added to this puzzle — a price tag dangling from the jeans. I whistled at the price — an amount that would have taken me six months to earn babysitting. Why did Dyce have expensive women’s clothing? Had he lied about having a girlfriend?
I was trying to figure out a tactful way to ask this when he returned with food. My Amber appetite rose up like a feral beast, sniffing delicious smells and ready to pounce on the fresh strawberries, cheese and vanilla wafers. But I resisted the “scarf” impulse and politely thanked him. He also had a porcelain cup of warm tea on his tray, which had a sweet yet tart aroma.
As he set down the tray, I noticed a discolored gash on his lower arm that hadn’t been there before he’d pulled me out of the water. Instantly, guilt washed over me. I hadn’t even asked how he was after he jumped in to rescue me. He’d brought me clothes but hadn’t taken the time to change out of his own dripping clothes. He probably was miserable, yet all he seemed concerned about was me. I was a selfish, ungrateful klutz.
So I immediately and sincerely said, “Thank you. I really mean it.”
“No problem.” He set the tray on a small table. “Hope you like the food. It’s all I could find.”
I sniffed the tea, detecting almond and spices. “Smells yummy.”
“Do you recognize the flavor?”
“No,” I said, “but it’s very nice. What is it?”
“Almond spice black tea.” He pursed his lips together as if bothered by something. “Are you sure you’ve never had it before?”
“Never, but I’m enjoying it now.” I took a sip, warmed by the heat and intrigued by the nutty, bitter taste. “Thanks for hot tea and dry clothes. I was wondering about the clothes … they look new. How did you happen to have them?”
He shrugged. “I bought them for someone special.”
“So you do have a girlfriend?” I took another sip.
“Not any more.”
“Oh … sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Disappointments are learning experiences,” he said. “I’m wiser and won’t make that mistake again.”
There was a subtle anger in his tone that made me uneasy. I set the tea cup down and stood abruptly. “I really have to go now. Leave me your address and I’ll mail the clothes back to you.”
“Keep them.” He pointed to the plate, which I hadn’t touched. “At least eat something before you go.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“But they’re your favorites.”
“Excuse me?” I stopped short, staring at him. “How would you know?”
“You mentioned it earlier.”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t.” My uneasiness intensified and I realized how vulnerable I was, in a boat with a strange guy. No one even knew where I was. “I need to leave now.”
He blocked my way to the ladder. “Enjoy your tea. I know it’s your favorite, just like I know about the wafers and strawberries. And you should recognize the clothes, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’ve been waiting a long time to be with you.” Dyce rubbed his stubbly chin. “We have so much to talk about.”
“We never met before yesterday. I don’t know you.”
“But I know all about you.”
“You have me mixed up with someone else.”
“No,” he said simply, with a confident, creepy smile.
But what creeped me out even more than his smile was a jolting realization.
Dyce was right about the clothes — I did recognize the pink blouse and the skinny jeans. I’d never worn them, but this body had. They were identical to what Sharayah had been wearing when I’d dreamed about her climbing on the ocean bluff, when her romantic hopes were crushed by Gabe’s cruelty.
“Gauguin said it best,” Dyce told me with eerie calm. “Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.” Then he reached for a roll of duct tape.