Dan lunged into the surf. Salt water stung his eyes as he frantically tried to locate the fallen victim. Angela headed right for the spot, her flashlight beaming a path for him to follow. Splashing awkwardly, he surged against the agitation of the waves toward Angela.
“Here,” she yelled, groping around in the water.
He churned to her side, grabbed the back of a soggy shirt and hauled with all his strength.
A face emerged, dazed and sputtering.
“Tank,” Angela said, shocked. “What happened?”
Dan pointed to the cliff where the other figure struggled upward, face nothing more than a streak of white in the darkness. “That’s Cora. Tank was climbing up behind her.”
“I got to get her away, somewhere safe,” Tank moaned.
There was a scream from above, and a cascade of rock broke loose from the cliff side. Dan’s stomach twisted. A fall down those rocks from that height would batter her to pieces. Cora had somehow managed to hold on, at least for the moment. No telling how long that would last until the cold and fear overwhelmed her.
Marco and Donna splashed over.
Marco took in Cora’s progress. “Got any rope in your truck?”
Dan nodded.
“I’ll get it. Lower it to her.”
“I’ll climb up from here and get her harnessed,” Dan said.
“No,” Angela blurted. “That’s too dangerous.”
“I’m a pretty good rock climber, among other things.”
Marco cocked his head. “You sure, Doc?”
“I’m always sure,” Dan said. “That’s part of my charm.” He pushed Tank toward them. “Take him back up the stairs before the tide gets any higher.”
Marco grabbed one of Tank’s arms and Donna the other.
“I don’t think this is smart,” Angela said.
He chuckled. “I’m sure Jeb would agree,” he said, heading toward the cliff. “Stay with Tank. Call for an ambulance.”
“Dan...” she started.
He looked over, framed from behind by a wash of rolling waves, tall and strong even against the storm.
What could she say? Be careful? I care about you?
Did she care? Could she possibly have feelings for a man at this time in her life? She stood frozen, mute, as the water rose and slapped around her legs. Donna moved toward the stairs with Marco.
Dan came close and put his hands on either side of her face.
“Hey, Chaplain,” he said. “Tank needs you. Go do your thing.”
“I can’t just leave you here.”
He ducked to look right in her face, his eyes capturing hers. “All you have to do is get him up those stairs. One foot in front of the other.”
One foot in front of the other seemed impossible if it meant leaving him alone, at the mercy of the ocean. Then his lips were on her temple, and he kissed her there.
“Time to go.” He stepped back and gave her a cocky thumbs-up. Donna tugged on her jacket sleeve.
“Let’s go, Angela. We need your help. Dan will be okay.”
Her body felt leaden with fear and cold as she half walked, half swam back to the stone steps. The rising water was waist high, breaking with slaps of jarring cold against her numbed body. Shuddering now, she felt the bite of the wind, and each movement was an excruciating effort. What if Dan did not come back? He was a doctor, not a special forces operative or a firefighter, skilled in cliff rescue.
Lord... Panic immediately overwhelmed the prayer.
One foot in front of the other. She focused on her feet, plowing through, pushing on though her body screamed for her to stop.
Marco and Donna hauled Tank up one step at a time, their progress too slow.
“You two need to take him,” Marco said. “I’ve got to get that rope down to Cora before she falls.”
Donna nodded, taking up position at one of Tank’s shoulders, and Angela stepped up to support the other. Tank was able to help a little as they struggled up step after step. She looked down at the stone, black and unforgiving as they inched their way up. Angela’s muscles were screaming and her breath came in frantic puffs as they finally crested the top.
“Dan’s truck,” Donna said. “It will give Tank some protection from the rain.” With backbreaking effort, they dragged Tank to the truck, propping him in the passenger side. Donna found a blanket behind the seat and wrapped it around him as best she could.
He blinked, as if he was coming out of a trance. “Cora. Where is she?”
“They’re getting her,” Angela said, forcing the words through her stiff, frozen lips.
He nodded, and his eyes focused on hers. Teeth chattering, lips nearly blue, he clutched the blanket to himself. “I...I,” he stammered, then stopped, hands falling slack, face twisting with emotion.
Angela pulled up the edge of the blanket, tucking it around his shoulders. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk now.”
Donna whispered in Angela’s ear. “This has turned into a full-blown rescue. I’m going to call the police if they haven’t already been notified. We don’t have a choice.”
Angela nodded as her sister stepped away.
Tank coughed. “We were going to run. He found out about our meeting place somehow. He must have bugged my phone. Why didn’t I think of that?”
A bout of violent shivering cut off his words. Angela wished she had the keys to the truck so she could turn on the heater.
He coughed until he choked for air. “I was waiting in the lighthouse, and I saw a car come. I ran to help Cora. We thought we could hide on the beach, but the tide was coming in.”
Rain slammed against the windshield, thunder crashing so loud it shook the ground under her feet.
“I have to go help,” she said. “You can tell me the rest later.”
He reached out a hand, his cold fingers clawing at hers. “Thank you...for coming for her. I’m sorry.”
Angela felt stricken. She had come, but had it been too late? Cora had looked so small, barely a dot against the cruel expanse of rock. She squeezed his hand and pulled away, a tiny piece of her wondering.
I’m sorry. For involving Angela in the first place? For attacking her?
What if she was wrong about Gruber being the one?
But Tank couldn’t be her attacker. Could he? A man who loved his wife? Loved his brother? And hated her for causing his brother’s death. The whole situation was a nightmare. “I’ve got to go help.”
“Wait.” Tank rooted under the blanket and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a capped plastic cylinder, the type of canister that used to hold film back before the digital revolution. “In here, in case I don’t make it. You can get him.”
“What are you saying, Tank?” She wanted to press more, but she heard voices shouting over the howling wind.
“Go,” he said. “Go help my wife.”
She stowed the canister in the pocket of her jeans and followed her sister along the cliffs.
The wind roared, blowing the rain into stinging needles.
They found Marco attaching the rope to a sturdy iron pole wedged into the rock. He tied a knot in the other end and began to feed it over the lip of cliff. When he’d fed out fifty feet or so, he approached the edge.
“Rope’s away,” he shouted down to Dan. “Got it?”
It seemed like an interminable length of time, and then the faint shout of Dan’s reply came.
Angela went weak with relief.
“He’s got it. Tying her in,” Marco said.
Another few minutes of anxious waiting, and they heard Dan’s signal. The three of them hauled on the rope. In the distance, a siren wailed. Angela hoped it was the ambulance. No telling what Cora’s condition was. Or Dan’s.
She pulled harder, the rough rope digging into her palms. Hand over hand they toiled until her skin was burning, eyes nearly blinded by the downpour.
Finally, through the deluge, Cora appeared, face contorted and scraped.
Angela and Donna ran to her and eased her over. While Marco sent the rope back down for Dan, they carried Cora to the truck and put her next to Tank. His face quivered with naked relief. He pulled her to him, wrapping the blanket around her and speaking softly in Spanish, lips pressed to her wet hair. She was shivering, crying, babbling.
“Cora,” he said. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. All of it. I’m going to get you out of this mess—I promise.”
Angela sighed as she saw Dan climbing over the cliff edge, Marco holding firmly on to his arm. The relief overcame the cold and the pain in her back and hands.
One foot in front of the other, inch by painful inch, the four of them had conquered the storm and the sea and brought Tank and Cora to safety.
And Dan. He stood slightly bent over, hands on hips, struggling to catch his breath. She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around him and send up a prayer of jubilant thanksgiving.
The next moment seemed to unroll in slow motion. She smiled at him, her arm half lifted in a greeting. She took two steps toward him.
Then a shot rang out.
And then another.
* * *
Dan dove for the ground, Marco right behind him. The shots came from somewhere in the trees, bullets sparking where they hit rock.
“Get down, get down,” he yelled at the women.
Through the driving rain he could not see where Donna and Angela had gone. Another shot drilled into the side of Marco’s rental car. The ambulance, lights flashing, pulled up and rolled to a stop.
Marco tried to shout a warning, but the paramedic was already on his way out, carrying his kit, oblivious to the danger. A shot exploded the light bar on the top of the rig. The medic dove back inside, no doubt radioing for the police.
The shooter seemed to be bent on creating chaos, or he was an unskilled marksman. Another bullet hit the iron pole, ricocheting with a shower of sparks.
“The women,” Dan shouted. He could find no sign of them in the inky darkness.
“Near your truck,” Marco called back. “Tank and Cora are inside, so they’ve got cover.”
Dan knew he had to get to Angela and Donna. They might be lying unprotected from the bullets flying around them. He was not sure if Angela would have the ability to take proper cover, or if the shots would bring her PTSD roaring to life. He’d been so sure, sending her up those stairs with Marco and Donna.
One foot at a time, right into the range of a shooter. His gut clamped down tight.
“Go on three,” Marco shouted. “I’ll draw his fire.”
Dan did a slow count to three and then beelined it for the truck as Marco leaped from his position. Dan’s feet pounded over the rubble. Marco ran out into the open toward the trees for several yards before he dove behind a pile of rotting wood.
Get to Angela. The thought throbbed relentlessly through his mind as he sprinted, ignoring the fact that a bullet might punch through his skull at any moment. Slipping and sliding, he tried desperately to keep his balance. Three yards left. He could see no movement from inside the vehicle. Were Angela and Donna underneath? Had they piled into the cab to seek protection?
Dan was inches from the truck when the engine throbbed to life. How was that possible since he had the keys in his pocket? As he struggled to catch up, the truck jerked forward. Dan sprinted closer, got a hand around the back bumper. It jerked forward out of his grasp, careened around the ambulance and up the slope to the main road. Dan pursued for a few minutes until he stumbled and fell.
The truck must have distracted the shooter, who fired once in the direction of the vanishing vehicle.
One more bullet, probably intended to hit the truck, slammed into the side of the lighthouse, so close to Dan’s head that he heard it whistle by, felt the flying chips of wood on his cheek. Once again he hit the ground.
Gasping for breath, heart slamming into his ribs, he peered through the curtains of falling rain. No more shots. To his right, the medics still crouched in their vehicle. In the distance, the sound of police sirens. Past the lighthouse, Marco cautiously peered around his shelter, checking to see if the shooter was finished.
His mind took in all the details simultaneously, but his gut flared with an unbearable question.
What had happened to Angela and her sister?
“Angela,” he called out, voice low.
No answer. No shots. Silence.
“Angela,” he said, voice rising until it rang out in a shout. “Answer me.”