13

Connor pulled on his board shorts and stuffed his belongings into the locker. Stifling a yawn, he made his way through the empty changing room to the pool. Never in his life had he gotten up so early to go swimming. In fact, he’d rather do an early morning run than a swim any day—and on a Sunday, sleeping late was preferable to both. But, with his forthcoming operation being at sea, Connor figured he needed to work on his swimming skills.

As he stepped from the changing rooms, he caught sight of an abandoned wheelchair lying upended by the side of the pool. He glanced around, but nobody was to be seen.

“Charley?” he called, his voice bouncing off the white tiled walls and echoing his concern.

No one answered. Then he spotted her body at the bottom of the pool.

Connor tossed aside his towel and dived in, the chilly water shocking his system. Opening his eyes, the underwater scene was a blur of blue shadows and refracted sunlight from the pool’s glass ceiling. He spied her black swimsuit against the white tiles and swam hard toward her. Grabbing hold of an outstretched arm, he kicked upward with all his strength.

Charley’s head bobbed to the surface at the same time as his.

“Hey!” she spluttered. “What’re you doing?”

Connor blinked the water away from his eyes and stared at her. “You’re okay?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, floating easily at his side. “I was practicing holding my breath. Useful if you’re pinned down by a wave while surfing.”

“B-but I thought . . . you were drowning.”

Charley crinkled her nose in puzzlement. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because . . .” Connor glanced toward her wheelchair.

Charley immediately gave him that look. The one that said, Don’t judge me by my chair.

“Sorry,” Connor mumbled, treading water. “My mistake . . . I haven’t had breakfast yet, not thinking straight,” he added by way of a lame excuse.

“Forget it,” she replied with half a smile. “It’s kind of sweet that you dived to my rescue, though. A true bodyguard reaction. The chair tipped over as I got into the water. I must have forgotten to apply the brake. But I can handle myself in the water.”

“Of course you can,” he said, annoyed at himself for forgetting that she’d once been a surfing champion. “Still, isn’t it a bit dangerous to be swimming on your own?”

“I could say the same about you,” she countered, a steely flash in her eyes. “Since I’ve been in a wheelchair, I’ve had countless people tell me what I can and can’t do. They see my disability as inability. But I soon realized the only person who can place restrictions on me is me.”

“You’re right,” Connor replied, holding up a hand in apology. “I was just . . . worried about you.”

Her expression softened slightly. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re never in the pool—not at this time, anyway.”

“I’m trying to prepare myself for Operation Gemini. And you?”

“Swimming, of course!” she said, laughing, her mood lightening as she lay back in the water. She splashed, twirling effortlessly with a single stroke of her arm. “This is the one place where I can forget about my disability. All day long I’m like a prisoner in that chair. So this pool offers me the most freedom I can experience since losing the use of my legs.”

Connor didn’t know what to say to this. He still had no idea what had happened to Charley on that fateful assignment the previous year. But he didn’t press her for details. No doubt Charley would tell him in her own time, if she ever wanted to.

“I virtually grew up in the ocean,” she continued. “For me, swimming is second nature. Now it’s the one thing I can do free of my chair. Yet”—Charley spun to look directly at Connor, and he saw the fierce burn of determination in her gaze—“my real dream is to surf again.”

She grinned at the impossibility of the challenge she’d set herself. “And when that day comes, I intend to be ready for it.”

Ducking her head beneath the water, she swam off down the length of the pool. Connor watched her speed away with the grace of a dolphin and could only admire her resolve. He realized Charley was the sort of person who, when faced with a barrier, wouldn’t stop and turn around; she’d just smash through it. Inspired by her spirit, Connor questioned how he could doubt his own abilities, when Charley with her disability wouldn’t even let doubt enter her mind.

With a new resolve, Connor put his head down and swam after her.

But after only eight lengths, he found himself completely out of breath and his pulse racing. Gasping for air, he splashed the last few yards and clung to the lip of the pool to recover.

“It’s your breathing technique that’s the problem,” said Charley as she toweled herself off poolside.

Connor glanced over. Blessed with slender limbs, tanned golden skin and beach-blond hair, Charley looked the quintessential Californian beach girl. With her legs dangling in the pool, it was hard to imagine that she had a disability at all.

“Your stroke is basically fine,” she continued, “but you’re trying to inhale and exhale when your head’s above the water. Exhale under the water. Then when you go to breathe, you only have to inhale.”

“Okay,” said Connor, nodding his appreciation.

Charley put down her towel and pulled herself into her chair. “Next time I’ll teach you how to breathe bilaterally. That’ll make a massive difference in your swimming technique. You’ll be able to cut through the water like an arrow.”

Wondering whether he’d heard right, Connor tried to clear his ears. “Next time?”

“Yes,” said Charley, beaming. She flipped the towel over her shoulder and wheeled away. “I can’t leave a job half finished. Meet me in the pool tomorrow.”

“What time?” called Connor as she disappeared into the girls’ changing room.

“Same time,” her voice echoed back.

Grateful as he was for her training offer, Connor groaned at the thought of another early morning start. Why couldn’t my assignment have been on dry land?