Dangerous Tidings Read online

  “I couldn’t do that.” He looked at her, brimming with deep emotion. Was the intensity his commitment to his duty? Or to her? Gently, he brushed her singed hair away from her neck. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters at the moment.”

  Her heart beat an exuberant song until she remembered. It was his job to care for the victim. He’d stayed because he was a rescuer who would never leave a patient.

  Pain inside dueled with the stinging in her arms and back.

  He pressed his lips to her face and stayed there, as if to reassure himself that she was really okay, until two nurses made it to her side, dropping to their knees to examine her. Donna’s efforts to wave them away did no good and she was loaded onto a gurney and wheeled into the hospital, where they painfully cleaned her cuts and abrasions and treated the burns on her upper arms.

  She endured a scan to be sure there was no concussion. Her mother, Candace and Angela appeared at her bedside as she waited for a final check-over. Brent hustled in a moment later. Why did her heart surge every time she saw him?

  His face told her the news was not good.

  “Cops think they made it over the bridge. Mooch was driving the green car. They’ve got someone going to interview Fran.”

  JeanBeth shook her head. “Was this Mooch character working with Kinsey?”

  Brent shoved a hand through his cropped hair. “I have no idea. Last time I saw him, he was doing his best to run Darius down in the water. Darius owes him money, but I don’t see how Kinsey fits in here.”

  Marco slammed into the room, hands balled into fists. “Happy now, Coastie? You’ve landed Donna in the hospital and she could have been killed.”

  “That wasn’t—” Donna started, but Brent’s eyes flashed black fire at Marco.

  “Mooch tossed a flash grenade,” Brent said. “Clearly, there’s more to this case than you thought.”

  Marco’s jaw clenched. “All I know is, you don’t let a girl run after tough guys while you take your sweet time getting down the stairs.”

  Brent straightened, nose to nose with Marco. “That’s not the way it went down.”

  Donna could see the muscle twitch in Brent’s clenched jaw, the same action mirrored in Marco’s.

  “You’ve been stirring up this hornet’s nest when it should be left to the cops. Kinsey is the guy, just like I told you. There’s nothing more to be done than to let them do their jobs and keep this family out of it.”

  “Would you say that if it was your sister missing?” Brent said.

  “I’m saying that because these women are my family and I’m not going to let you put them at risk.”

  “He didn’t cause this situation today, Marco,” Donna said.

  “Yeah?” Marco’s voice dropped and he stared right into Brent’s face. “Donna ran right into that flash grenade instead of you. How is that right?”

  They stayed riveted there for one long moment.

  “Don’t blame him,” Donna said.

  “Don’t have to,” Marco said. “He already blames himself, don’t you, Coastie?”

  Brent flinched.

  Marco pressed the advantage. “You know you need to leave this family alone. I’m sorry about your sister, man, really, I am, but I need to protect the Gallaghers.”

  “From me?”

  Marco gave one slow nod. “Bruce would want it that way.”

  Brent’s expression wavered. Donna’s eyes welled up.

  “You know,” Brent said softly, “I always thought I was one of the good guys.” He cast one more look around, at her mother and Candace, and one lingering glance at Donna before he turned away.

  “Brent...” Donna called, but he was already gone.

  Donna glared at Marco through misty eyes. “How could you do that, Marco?”

  Marco met her glare with maddening calm. “I’ll continue to work the leads, look into Fran and Darius, but it’s better that none of you are involved.”

  Better? She felt like yelling. Watching Brent walk away, right out of her life, did not feel the slightest bit better to her. In fact, it felt a lot like having her soul ripped out.

  She felt Candace watching her and Donna knew that her sister could sense the truth she did not want to admit. Brent had taken a piece of her heart when he walked out that door. Candace slipped her hand over Donna’s, but she yanked it away.

  “I’m going to get dressed now. May I have some privacy?”

  “The doctors want to admit you,” Candace said.

  “No. I’m leaving. Now can I have a moment alone?” When they hesitated, she added, “Please?”

  They filed out and Donna was grateful that the tears held off until she was alone.

  * * *

  It was a relief to report to the base in San Diego. The sector was still abuzz with the news of the recovery of eight tons of cocaine that would not make its way onto American soil thanks to the intervention of the US Coast Guard. He wanted to enjoy the chatter, but it washed over him, leaving him strangely numb.

  He wondered if Donna’s burns were hurting, if the police had caught up with Kinsey and Mooch, if anything had been gleaned from Fran Mercer. Worst of all, recriminations rang through his mind with relentless persistence.

  Donna ran right into that flash grenade instead of you.

  Carrie got onto that plane because of you.

  And Pauline? Was she lost forever because he’d bungled things? Three women whom he cared about. More than cared about. Donna’s clear blue eyes swam before him.

  He cut off the thoughts and focused on the weather reports during his shift briefing. The approaching storm was expected to bring waves of twelve to fourteen feet with potential flooding along the San Diego River. Excitement kicked up in his gut. Bad weather meant the potential for being called up and that was every rescue swimmer’s constant craving. Generally, his tasks were more benign, assisting with distressed recreation boaters and surfers who underestimated the power of the ocean, but there was always the potential for a big event that would challenge his skills and push him to the limits.

  He reconnected with his crew.

  Pilot Bruno “Bear” Philippi clapped him on the back. “Glad to have you back, Brent. Are we gonna see some action tonight, you think?”

  “Hope so.”

  Bear’s look lingered a little too long. “I’m hoping things turn out all right for your sister,” he said quietly. “The wife and I have been praying.”

  Mack, the flight mechanic who had delivered Brent safely back to their Jayhawk helicopter more times than he could count, nodded his silent agreement over the top of his coffee cup.

  They understood why he answered with a nod. The briefing room was no place to open that can of anguish. Do the job, and save lives. That was the focus and he felt grateful for that.

  The SAR alarm sounded just as Brent was helping himself to a cup of coffee. They listened to the brief as they grabbed their gear and jogged to the Jayhawk helicopter through pouring rain. The rotors churned them into the air, the vibrations both ferocious and comforting.

  “Boater in distress,” the pilot reported, “about two miles out.”

  It was dark now, rain falling in sheets as they roared over the Pacific.

  “What a night for a sail,” Mack called over the noise. “Some sort of man-versus-nature test?”

  Brent had long ago given up trying to figure out why people chose to ignore all weather warnings and believe their sailing prowess would help them defeat the ocean. The ocean was a formidable foe, unless you were a rescue swimmer, he thought with pride. Then the odds were more even.

  “No casualties tonight,” he murmured to himself. “Not on my watch.”

  Searching for a victim in the open ocean was like trying to find a coconut bobbing on the waves. Most of the time
, only the top of a head was visible. Bear circled the helicopter low while he and Mack leaned out the open doors, straining to find any sign below.

  “Got it,” Brent called. “Boat in the water at your eleven.”

  The helicopter’s powerful nose light, nicknamed the “midnight sun,” picked out the outline of an overturned motorboat.

  The captain had figured something that size would do the job against the storm-whipped waves? Madness.

  “There,” Mack called, stabbing a finger at a point in the darkness.

  Brent could just make out the flash of white from an arm or shoulder.

  “Alive?” the pilot called.

  “Unknown,” Bear said.

  While Brent pulled on his flippers and dive mask, they decided on a direct deployment approach and Mack attached Brent’s harness to a cable.

  After a thumbs-up from Brent, Mack eased him over the side. “Swimmer away,” Brent heard him say as he plunged toward the angry waves.

  Wind tore at him as he rappelled down. He swallowed the instant of fear and stoked up the anger instead. If this was the day God was going to take him as He had done with Carrie, Brent wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Straining to see through the curtains of rain, Brent could hear Mack’s shouted directions to Bear as he strove to keep the Jayhawk in a steady hover.

  Brent tried to keep the victim in sight as he hit the water and surfaced just in time for a wave to pick him up and slam him back to the surface. The breath whooshed out of him and for a minute he wondered if his back was broken. He felt the hoist line pull him back upward as Mack probably figured Brent had been injured.

  “Stay, stay,” he radioed, signaling Mack to leave him in the water.

  Fighting the waves, he spotted the victim again and made for the spot, struggling against the water, which seemed determined to yank his quarry away. The sea spray made it impossible to see clearly, but the person was Caucasian, wearing some sort of dress, long hair plastered against her face. Woman in a dress in the ocean during inclement weather?

  He reached her, swimming up shouting words of encouragement she probably could not hear. Didn’t matter. Big orange helicopter and a guy in a coast guard suit were welcome sights to a drowning victim regardless.

  She was limp at first until Brent reached out. Suddenly the head jerked up and Brent almost lost his hold. It wasn’t a woman. It was Jeff Kinsey, still in his hospital gown.

  NINETEEN

  When Brent reached for him, terror took over and Kinsey lunged, flailing and grabbing at Brent, knocking his swimmer’s mask off. Kinsey found some reserve of strength and clung to Brent with amazing tenacity. Brent jerked free, then used his momentum to flip Kinsey and grab him around the neck. Still fighting against Kinsey’s thrashing, Brent managed to get the rescue strop around him and give a thumbs-up to Mack, who began the delicate task of hoisting them up against the raging wind.

  As they rose, Brent’s mind whirled. Kinsey. Attempting an escape to Mexico maybe? Did he really think he would make it, sick as he was, without even proper clothing? But then, drug addicts weren’t always able to think through their actions. If he had been a moment later, Kinsey would certainly have drowned. Brent clutched him tighter. He’d saved a life, though it was the life of a man who had most likely taken his sister’s.

  He clung to Kinsey until Mack eased the victim into the chopper. Brent followed, took off his harness and knelt next to Kinsey, whose eyes were slowly closing.

  “Stay awake, Kinsey,” Brent said.

  “You know him?” Mack said, eyes wide with surprise.

  “He’s the guy who the cops think took my sister.”

  Mack’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  Brent felt for Kinsey’s pulse, which was faint. He rubbed two knuckles along Kinsey’s sternum, a technique to cause enough discomfort to rouse the patient. Kinsey came to, his limbs thrashing.

  “Stay still. You’re safe now,” Brent said. The sudden movement could propel the cold blood in his limbs back into his heart and cause cardiac arrest.

  Kinsey stopped moving, his eyes swiveling to Brent.

  “I can’t believe it’s you that got me out,” he whispered.

  “Me neither.”

  “If you had known it was me...” he whispered, “would you still have jumped in?”

  Would he? Would he have dived into that water to rescue the man who had most likely murdered Pauline? “Yes,” he said.

  Kinsey frowned in concentration. “Why?”

  “Because it’s what I do.”

  “Save people who don’t deserve it?”

  “Yeah, and people who do.”

  He smiled, his face ghostly pale. “My mother used to say that’s called grace, getting something you don’t deserve.”

  “Please,” Brent said gently. “Tell me what you did to my sister.”

  Kinsey’s smile vanished. “Pauline was a one-of-a-kind lady. I didn’t deserve her friendship.”

  “Tell me,” he pleaded. “Just say it.”

  He could feel Mack’s bewilderment beside him.

  “I’m sorry,” Kinsey whispered, just before he stopped breathing.

  * * *

  Donna drove to the Glorietta Bay Marina the next evening. She had no plan, only the need to see Brent since he’d finished his twenty-four-hour shift, to hear from his mouth how he was coping. Marco had broken the news to her about how Brent had rescued Jeff Kinsey only to have Kinsey die en route to the hospital. She stood there at the black security fence, rain drizzling against her umbrella, her jacket aggravating the burns on her arms.

  Ridley believed that Kinsey had struck a deal somehow with Mooch to help him escape, but Donna found it hard to believe. So many pieces still did not fit. Why had Fran shown up at the hospital with flowers? In her story to the police, she’d claimed she’d felt sorry for Kinsey, the desperate kid who had worked for her fiancé for a brief while, and wanted to wish him well when she’d heard he’d been hospitalized.

  Donna wasn’t convinced. Marco and her sisters weren’t, either, and she knew they were working together to see if they could find some evidence that Fran and Darius were involved. If only her father was still alive, he’d tell them exactly how to proceed. Grief surged through her as she clung to the bars with one hand. She desperately wanted to text Brent or call him, something, but she knew it was not right to bother a man who had clearly tried to separate himself.

  She stared through the fence, kicking herself for coming. There was nothing she could do here. She whispered a prayer to the wind and turned back to the cement path to find Brent standing there, rain beading against his leather jacket and the brim of his coast guard cap.

  “Hi,” she said. “I, um, was in the area and I came to see if you were all right. Did you... Are you off shift?”

  “Just finished.” He looked older, eyes shadowed and mouth drawn. “I’m hanging in. Ridley found Kinsey’s campsite—did he tell you?”

  Donna nodded. “I know they found a photo he had of your sister...”

  “And the gun he threatened us with on the beach. It’s been fired recently.”

  Pain lanced through her at the hopelessness in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked out over the boats. “Still some loose ends. Why come and steal her suitcase from the house? Why did Fran show up at the hospital? How did Kinsey contact Mooch to bust him out?”

  And where is his sister’s body? Donna’s mind pitched in.

  Brent sighed. “Thing is, with Kinsey gone, I may never find my sister.”

  Pain lanced through her at the hopelessness in his voice. “I’m sorry. I just want you to know we... Pacific Coast Investigations, I mean, are still looking into those loose ends.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” He w
iped a hand over the brim of his cap.

  “No problem.” She shrugged. There seemed to be more he wanted to say.

  “Do you want to come aboard?” he said hastily. “For some coffee?”

  She looked for signs that it was merely a pleasantry, a courtesy like “Let’s do lunch” or “I’ll call you sometime,” but there was sincerity in those haunted eyes. Brent wanted to talk.

  “I’d like that.”

  His broad shoulders seemed to relax a notch as he unlocked the gate and led her over the rain-slicked dock to the boat. The inside was spacious, if worn, and cozy, a welcome respite from the rain. He fired up the coffeepot and poured them both a cup.

  Brent gripped the mug. “Kinsey said something to me before he died. He asked me why I would save someone who didn’t deserve it. Said his mom told him that’s what grace was.”

  She sighed. “I guess it is. You don’t earn it—you just get it.”

  “I think I’ve been getting some of that.”

  “What?”

  He sighed. “Grace, even though I don’t deserve it.”

  “Brent, you’re a rescue swimmer. You put your life on the line for strangers all the time. You deserve plenty of grace.”

  He shifted. “I’ve been approaching my rescues as a way to get back at God for Carrie, to show Him that I can decide who lives and who dies.” She heard the range of emotions, confusion, anger, sorrow, fear.

  “But it isn’t true. I only get to save them when He lets me.”

  She stayed quiet and let him speak.

  “When Kinsey said that to me, it made me realize that I’ve been blessed by this job, every day, every save, even every one we didn’t save.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I am privileged to be that guy who drops in from the sky and gives comfort in a moment that nobody else can.”

  Donna watched the wonder unfold on his face like a bird unfurling its wings to the sky. Still she stayed silent.

  “How can I feel blessed?” he suddenly demanded, putting his mug down so hard it sloshed coffee on the table. “My sister is missing and I may never find her. I should be even angrier at God than I was before. Why have I changed?” His gaze swiveled to hers. “Why?”