SEVENTEEN

Payton spun in the air like a kid’s pinwheel. Whirling. Impotent.

A jarring belly flop. The tidal surge pushed up, offered her to the sun. Momentary relief propelled instinct into her limbs. The surge withdrew, sucking her back under.

White hull looming. Instinct battled terror. She swam, imitating the strokes she knew should save her. She plunged downward. MaryAnn’s hull raced across her spine, the hydraulic force propelling her to depths unknown.

Wave-swell pushed her up again, lent more hope and a glimpse of shore. An ebb rescinded the dream with unabashed disregard. She moved her arms and kicked her feet in endless succession.

A breath. Just one. The simple wish went unanswered inside the relentless noise. Horrifying power. Muddy taste.

An endless circle. Lake Ontario enfolded Payton in its chilly embrace and sucked her into its womb. Darkness engulfed her senses, filled her up. Mother Lake’s caress was persuasive, comforting. Cameron beckoned. Handsome. Smiling.

Reaching for her.

Go to him.

The lake swelled again. The tide rolled and shoved.

Cameron’s love flowed over her with all the lake’s power. I’m coming! She stopped flailing and waited for the water to take her. Waited for the immense pressure in her lungs to subside. She wouldn’t need them any more.

The wave crested, vomiting her upward, spewing her into the bright sunshine. Payton blinked, coughed, breathed and felt overcome by overwhelming sadness. It wasn’t time. She wouldn’t see her beloved.

Her head broke the surface to the cries of the crowd. She was pushed higher, the lake’s compulsion to rid itself of her. Payton inhaled. The breath brought with it the urge for another. And another. Blue sky. Sunshine and life.

Cameron pointed toward shore.

She coughed. Swam. Someone screamed her name. Memory returned. The race. Sean. Frank.

Ahead was a wall of white that was MaryAnn, her bow shattered against the rock barrier. The broken main mast lay atop the wall. The sail snapped angrily in the wind.

People clambered across her deck. Two men stood at the rail, pointing at Payton. She waved. Choked. They pointed again and yelled something that the wind tore away. Yes, she was okay.

“No!” They pointed left.

A flash of blue rose, and grew, like shaving cream—denim jeans, legs. Payton sucked in a ragged breath. The wave waned and didn’t take her. For another instant she was sorry.

More blue, then yellow. Sean!

Payton summoned failing strength and plunged toward him. Fifteen feet was like miles. Her body ached to be done with this watery hellhole. Her lungs burned for air not mixed with lake water. There he was, blond hair arced around his face in an incongruous halo as he bobbed for a millisecond on the surface. The water ebbed, driving him toward her. Payton found his shoulder.

He was dead. He had the same look as Cameron that night. Angry, but resigned to his fate. Payton felt the tears as searing heat on her cheeks. She wrapped her arm under Sean’s and around his chest as she’d seen Mitch do so many times on Baywatch. It had been one of Cameron’s favorite shows. She sobbed, a child now.

Swim.

Don’t want to, the child cried.

Do it!

If you insist.

Payton and Sean were cast up on the next swell—a quick glimpse of sun and sky and life. She kicked, her left leg striking Sean’s body with every frontward motion. She drove with her left arm, muscles on fire, lungs saturated.

Something touched her arm, just a tickle at first, then firmer. And a voice. It spoke in her ear, but elation forced the words away and left simple relief. Strong arms took Sean. More arms gripped her, holding her face out of the water. She was set on the tiny stretch of sand and turned over. Intense pressure on her back. Up and down.

Water erupted from her lungs, burnt her throat. Just as the lake vomited her, she returned the favor. Anxious voices edged into her head. Sirens. The scent of seaweed. Grit in her teeth. She was alive.

Not yet, love, Cameron said. You have a lot of living left.

Payton rolled on her side, pushed herself up, sand biting her palm in a welcome chafe. The gentle hands guided her to sit. She coughed. Gagged. Hands pounded on her back.

A face loomed through the brain fog. Suntanned skin, salt and pepper mustache, green searching eyes. “Welcome back. My name’s Dennis.” He pulled her head onto his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re safe now.”