Chapter 10

Jessica hung up but continued to sit in the salon, thinking. Warren’s death made Grant’s search for a new investigative reporter even more important. She was certain her father relished the opportunity to write about the serial killer, but she was worried that the stress would make his condition worse.

“Watch this, Ali,” called Tag from the doorway.

She rushed out to the deck. One look at the sea made her clutch the rail with both hands. The waves reminded her of a movie she’d seen—The Perfect Storm.

It was difficult to tell just how tall the waves were, but judging from the height of the boat, they had to be about forty feet. The waves formed rip curls, towering walls of water capped by a slight curl. The crest ripped downward with amazing speed and force. It would push a surfer ahead of it so fast it frightened her to think about it.

The killer waves pummeled a coral reef visible in the distance. Each one hit the reef and exploded skyward in towering sprays of foam, filling the air with so much spume that it masked the blue sky.

“Skree’s taking Jock out there,” Tag told her.

“Your brother’s going to tackle one of these waves?”

Tag’s proud smile made him seem much younger than his—what?—thirty-five or six years. “He’s surfed sixty footers. That’s how he won the XXL title. These waves aren’t much more than forty feet.”

She had to admit she was impressed. In most places fifteen foot waves were considered huge, and only expert surfers tackled them. Tag looked toward the back of the boat where one of the Jet Skis was being launched from a specially designed platform on the swim step.

“I need to get a picture of this,” she said, more to herself than to Tag.

She reached into her satchel to get her camera. The boat lurched sideways and she stumbled. Tag caught her shoulders.

She looked at Tag and his gaze bore into her with silent expectation. Once his intense eyes locked on hers, it was difficult to look away. Something inside her chest quivered. She told herself to be grateful she was leaving as soon as she got off this boat.

“You’d better let me help you,” he said.

Jessica wasn’t about to argue. Behind him, she saw Skree and Jock heading away from the boat toward the waves blasting the reef. She didn’t trust herself to get a shot good enough to publish without help.

“Do you want me to take it for you?” he asked.

She shook her head. It would be important to be able to say she took the picture that ran with her article.

“Then take out your camera, loop the strap around your neck so you don’t lose it, and I’ll help you.”

She pulled out the point-and-shoot camera, confident no one on earth would suspect she was taking a photo for a newspaper with a tourist’s camera.

Tag pointed to the ocean where his brother was being towed onto a mammoth wave. “Get ready.”

She put the camera up to her eyes and tried to spot Jock in the viewfinder. The boat heaved up and down, making it difficult for her to focus on the surfer.

“Brace your hips against the rail,” Tag told her. “I’ll hold you still while you shoot.”

Jessica pressed her stomach against the rail and attempted to catch Jock through the lens. Tag’s strong arms came down on each side of her, anchoring her in place as his sturdy torso braced her from behind. She ignored the heat of his powerful body and the tension in his muscles as he kept her from moving—a male wall of raw strength.

Click. Click.

She took two phenomenal shots of Jock as he raced down from the top of the mammoth wave. Poetry in motion, she thought, watching him through the view-finder as he coasted along, making it look so, so easy.

The wave curled over him, hanging there like a mountain of water on the verge of avalanching. She kept depressing the button on her camera. Please, she prayed, let one picture truly reflect this remarkable sight.

“Awesome, isn’t it?”

Tag’s breath was warm against her cheek. She’d been concentrating so hard that she hadn’t realized Tag had lowered his head to whisper in her ear. It was a strangely intimate situation to have his arms around her, have him so close that he could kiss her if he moved a scant inch.

“Totally,” she replied, doing her best to ignore the way he was coming on to her.

Armed with cameras, everyone was out on the deck watching and trying to stay steady enough to take pictures. Several noticed how Tag had her braced and were doing the same thing. She kept shooting, now certain no one would pay any attention to the number of pictures she was taking.

The wave curled downward and Jock disappeared from view. The rip curl had formed a perfect barrel around him.

“Jock’s in the tube,” Tag told her. “He’s a pro. He’ll come out this side before it clamshells on him.”

At the far end of the funnel-like wave stood the reef. In a matter of seconds the tube would smash into Jaws.

“Come on, man,” Tag coaxed as if his brother could hear him. “Get out of the tube, away from the impact zone.”

“Impact zone?”

“That’s where wave after wave slams into the reef. It’s harder than hell to get out of it once you’re caught there.” He seemed about to say something more but stopped.

Toes on the nose of his surfboard, Jock shot out of the tube into calmer waters where Skree was waiting for him on the Jet Ski. The instant Jock left the tube, the wave clamshelled, hitting the reef in an explosion of blue-green water.

“Perfect timing,” Tag said, with a smile for her alone. “Another ace.”

She stopped to reload the camera while Skree and Jock traded places. Surely one of these pictures would be good enough to run with the article.

“We’re looking for volunteers,” said one of the crew. “Anyone want to try a big kahuna?”

“I do.” Jessica glanced around at the others. Was that her voice?

“No, she doesn’t,” Tag said before the guy could respond.

Jessica hadn’t realized how she felt until the words popped out of her mouth. She’d never seen anything like extreme surfing. It was scary, yes, but she wanted to experience this. How else could she accurately capture the feeling on paper?”

“Mind your own business,” she told Tag as she pushed aside one of his arms and stepped away from the rail.

“You have no friggin’ idea what you’re up against.”

She turned to the sun-bronzed kid who was probably a surfer. “I want to try it.”

“Don’t even think about it.” Tag put his hand on her shoulder. “You have no idea how dangerous it is.”

“You only go around once,” Jessica said with more bravado than she felt. She’d noticed none of the other guests had volunteered, not even the surfer from Huntington Beach, the premier surf center in Southern California.

“Do you have a death wish?” Tag asked.

She almost flinched at his tone of voice, but years with her father had steeled her to overbearing men. She said to the surfer, “I’m ready. Tell me what to do.”

The guy looked at Tag.

“He’s not my keeper.” She marched toward the stern of the boat where they launched the Jet Skis into the water.

Tag was right behind her. “Put on a PFD.”

“No way,” she said before really thinking about it.

“Jock won’t let anyone off the boat without one,” the surfer told her.

It made sense, Jessica thought. She had to view this as a column. She needed to write about the resort, seeing it through a tourist’s eyes.

Safety first.

These were enormous waves, taller than anything most surfers would ever encounter, and they were hitting a reef famous for its ability to mangle a surfer. Putting on a personal floatation device was important.

The surfer handed her a life jacket and she tossed aside her satchel with her camera and cell phone to put it on. Nearby, Tag watched, scowling—not that she cared what he thought.

“I’ll take her out,” Tag told the guy. “You follow us—just in case anything goes wrong.”

Good thinking, Jessica silently admitted as she buckled up the life vest. Granted, the storm washed out the bridge that allowed workers to drive to the resort and they were shorthanded this morning, but she wondered how many crew members usually accompanied guests who were extreme surfing.

Tag turned to her, his expression grave. “This is what you have to do.”

He sounded irritatingly like her father, but too many times her father had been right. She would be utterly stupid not to realize this was a dangerous situation and take his advice.

“Do not attach the leash to your ankle,” he said, each syllable clipped as if he were chewing tinfoil. “When you fall, it’ll conk you on the head over and over because the sea near the reef Maytags like crazy.”

“The board could knock me out.”

“Right. If you’re not leashed, it will float to the surface, and someone will pick it up.”

A thought hit her, and she ran back to the couple from Portland, who were watching Skree. “Here’s my camera. Would you take pictures of me?”

“Sure,” they replied in unison.

She rushed back to the stern of the boat. Tag mounted the Jet Ski bobbing in the water that washed over the swim step. “Get on, if you insist on doing this.”

Jessica hated that tone of voice. Again, it reminded her too much of the way her father used to talk to her when she was a child and had ideas of her own. She climbed on back of the Jet Ski as Tag revved the engine.

The surfer handed her a short surfboard. “Get the tail in the pocket,” he said, indicating the rubber attachment on the side of the Jet Ski. “That way you won’t lose it getting out there.”

She tucked the board against the side of the Jet Ski as Tag gunned the engine and they shot off the back of the boat into the water. Jessica couldn’t quell a surge of apprehension as they raced across the ocean.

What was she thinking?

She glanced to the side and saw Skree fall. He flew into the air, his leashed board trailing from one leg. Just as he hit the water, the board hammered his head.

“See what I mean?” Tag shouted above the roar of the engine.

A wave of anxiety assailed her. Did she really want to do this?

Yes. Go for it, cried an inner voice that had guided her throughout her life. Don’t sit on the sidelines. Live in the moment.

She told herself to concentrate, to focus the way she did when she was on deadline and had to produce a column. She’d surfed enough to know exactly what to do and how important it was to maintain your balance as the wave shifted beneath you. Even a pro like Skree could fall.

Remember surf toward the boat—away from the impact zone, she reminded herself. Away from the impact zone.

Tag hovered near where the waves were forming. “Get on the board and hold the tow line. I’m going to pull you onto a wave, but I won’t go very fast. It’ll be all you can do to surf these mothers. You don’t need to add any additional speed.”

She opened her mouth to tell him off but decided he was right. The water was warm as she positioned her feet in the board’s straps and crouched down, ready to be towed.

“When I give you the thumbs-up, drop the line. You’ll be close enough to catch the wave. Remember—”

“Stay out of the impact zone.”

Revving the powerful Jet Ski’s engine, Tag nodded. He started forward and she hunkered down. The last thing she wanted was to fall before she even got on the wave.

As they picked up speed, heading toward a wave beginning to crest, she glanced around to see who was nearby should she need help. The surfer who’d asked for volunteers was circling nearby. She didn’t see the other Jet Ski with Skree and Jock. They’d probably gone back to the boat.

One thumb in the air, Tag yelled, “This is it.”

She dropped the tow line and slowly moved from a crouch to a semi-erect stance. So far so good. For balance, she positioned her arms as if she were planning to throw a spear.

The water beneath her shifted, the wave cresting, forming a rip curl. In a second she would be coasting down the face. Beneath her the sea moved like a living creature, causing her to make minute adjustments to her stance or fall.

It was like riding a watery roller coaster, she thought.

The wave crested and suddenly she was on its top. Sweet Jesus! She was at the apex of a wall of water as tall as a four story building.

A forty footer!

The wave raced toward the reef, hurling her down from its crest so fast that she couldn’t focus. Where was the impact zone? The boat?

Concentrate, she told herself. Stay on the board. Head toward the right. That’s where the boat is.

Don’t be afraid, she reminded herself as her vision cleared, and she realized she was now about thirty feet high and catapulting forward with Indy-like speed. If anything goes wrong, you won’t see your father again, whispered a voice in her head.

A cold knot formed in her stomach. A panic like she’d never known made her tremble and the board teetered. Fear, stark and primal gripped her. She couldn’t move her legs to make the necessary adjustment. The board fishtailed.

Somehow she managed to stay upright.

Suddenly something inside her snapped. A sensation of weightlessness came over her. She felt light-headed as if she were in some kind of narcotic fog.

“This is way cool,” she said out loud. “I’m extreme surfing.”

She ripped down the wave, coasting along like a ballerina. She’d never surfed a wave this big, this fast. This exciting.

Oh, my God! This was THE BOMB!

Without thinking about it, Jessica took her feet out of the straps and edged toward the front of the board. There she curled her toes over the edge.

Toes on the nose.

She zoomed along, feeling as if just her feet were on the water—no board. It was the oddest sensation she’d ever experienced. It was like being part of the wave. No wonder the guys raved about toes on the nose.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tag waving her to the right. She shifted her balance to move the board, which was almost impossible from the nose position.

She didn’t care. Riding a big kahuna was too much fun to worry.

She floated along, living in the moment until she unexpectedly realized the sea had flattened out. Glancing behind her, she saw the barrel had formed. She’d never surfed inside the barrel and wasn’t sure she wanted to push her luck.

She inched back to where she would have more control of the board. Toes on the nose didn’t work in flatter water. It relied on the push from the wave.

Tag zipped up beside her and tossed her the tow line. “Way to go!”

As she grabbed the line, she squatted down then sat on the board. The people on the boat were cheering and waving at her.

“Oh, my God! I did it! I really did it!”

She looked over her shoulder at another killer wave and couldn’t quite believe she’d actually had the courage to extreme surf.