No—he refused to believe he was too late.
He started the engine again, steered slowly through the choppy water.
Shannon jolted, blinked into the bright sun.
She was tired and cold and so incredibly thirsty. She licked her parched lips, tasted the sharp tang of the ocean’s salt.
So thirsty.
She shivered.
So cold.
Her eyelids drifted downward again.
So tired.
Then she heard it, the low drone of a motor across the water. Fatigue was chased away by fear, her heart sinking like the empty tank she’d discarded as tears of frustration and despair filled her eyes.
Dammit.
She didn’t have the energy to swear aloud, but the oath echoed in her mind. She hadn’t come this far only to let Drew find her, and she sank lower in the water now, hoping the boat would pass by without noticing her.
But as the vessel drew nearer she realized it was too small to be the Femme Fatale.
Relief surged through her as she forgot about the island and started praying for a rescue. A tourist charter, a fishing boat—she really didn’t care.
She waved her arms over her head, hope expanding in her chest as the boat turned toward her. She continued to tread water as the vessel slowed and drew nearer.
Then she recognized the man at the helm.
Her jaw dropped, and she choked on a mouthful of seawater.
It was the man she’d met on the beach.
The one she’d invited back to her hotel room, almost made love to, and had last seen racing after her at the marina.
What was he doing out here?
Mike had never been as happy as he was when he recognized the spot of neon orange bobbing in the water as Shannon’s life vest.
He slowed the boat so she wouldn’t have to fight the waves churned up by the motor, then cut the engine completely as he came nearer. She was here. She was alive.
He hurried toward the ladder at the back of the boat to help her board. He was grinning like an idiot, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He wasn’t too late. He hadn’t failed her.
The realization, the relief, almost overwhelmed him.
Until he got closer to her.
Her deep-green eyes were shadowed and glassy with fatigue, her skin was pale and waxy, and she was shivering. He recognized the visible symptoms of impending hypothermia and knew she’d been in the water too long.
“I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever find you,” he said, deliberately casual. He didn’t want to alarm her by remarking on her physical condition. He just wanted to get her out of the water.
Shannon, apparently, wasn’t so eager. She made no move toward the ladder and her only response to his comment was, “Why were you l-looking for m-me?”
“It’s a long story,” he admitted. “Why don’t we talk about this on our way back to Miami?”
“B-because I’m not g-going anywhere with you until I know who you are and what you’re d-doing here.”
Who he was?
Mike’s concern escalated. Maybe it wasn’t just hypothermia. Maybe she’d suffered some kind of trauma or head injury and had amnesia.
“You know who I am,” he reminded her. “Michael Courtland.”
“I know that’s who you s-said you were,” she admitted.
Okay, so she didn’t have amnesia, just a sudden case of distrust. He felt ridiculous carrying on this conversation over the side of a boat while she was shivering in the water, but he could understand that she needed some reassurance. He didn’t know what had happened on that yacht to make Shannon jump overboard, but he knew it had to have been significant for her to take such drastic action.
“I don’t know what Peart told you, but I’m exactly who I said I was.”
She frowned. “Who’s P-Peart?”
“Andrew Peart. The guy you left the hotel with.”
“He said…” she trailed off, as if reluctant to confide anything the other man had told her.
As anxious as Mike was to finish this conversation, he was more anxious to get her out of the cold water. The bluish tinge of her skin worried him. “Would you please climb onboard so we can continue this conversation on our way back to Miami?”
“He said he was M-Michael Courtland. And he showed m-me identification.”
He couldn’t blame her for her doubts. During the time they’d spent together the previous evening, they’d talked about little of a personal nature. He’d certainly never told her about his reasons for being in Florida, his work or his indirect connection to her sister. And keeping that information from her—even if it had been his client’s decision—had been a mistake.
“That’s how he convinced you to leave the hotel with him,” he guessed.
“He got m-me to leave by d-drugging m-me.”
“If he drugged you, then it shouldn’t surprise you to know he lied to you, too.”
“It d-doesn’t,” she agreed. “B-but I want to know if you lied to m-me, too.”
He met her gaze evenly, knowing that his assignment would be a lot more difficult—if not impossible—to carry out without her trust. “I didn’t,” he told her. “I might not have been completely honest about some things, but I never lied to you.”
Still she hesitated.
He realized she was stubborn enough to freeze to death before she’d admit it was happening. But he refused to continue playing twenty questions while she was shivering. Not to mention that Peart’s men were likely looking for her—for both of them. “Are you going to come aboard now or do I have to come in and get you?”
Her eyes widened. “You w-wouldn’t—”
It was the chattering of her teeth more than the challenge of her words that mobilized him. He kicked off his shoes and dove into the water.
Shannon was sputtering when he surfaced beside her. “Are you crazy?”
His only response was to band an arm around her waist, then he started towing her back to the boat.
“I’m not getting on that boat with you.” She struggled to free herself from his hold but was too tired to put much effort into her resistance.
“You
