Windswept by Anna Lowe Page B

One hundred feet to the closest boats, which seemed buttoned up for the night. Not a soul in sight to witness the crime.
    The motorboat turned for another pass, and Ryan shook his head. He had no weapons, no defense. No way to keep Mia safe.
    Think! Think!
    Could he grab an oar and swing it? Throw it at the driver like a harpoon? Could he—
    There was no time for any of that, though, because the motorboat was charging them again. Mia swung right, and in one blinding instant of that light bearing down on them, Ryan played it all out in his mind. The driver would anticipate this time and ram them, catching Mia’s side. She’d be hit and thrown into the water. Never mind drowning, she’d be killed by the impact.
    Every muscle in his body coiled.
    Mia screamed, looking back — no, up — at the looming motorboat. He launched himself at her, trying to get it exactly right. Reaching for her, angling his body so it would shelter hers. To knock her far enough back that she’d be thrown clear. To—
    There was a deafening roar, a slamming sensation, and then everything went black.

Chapter Ten

    All Mia saw was the piercing light of the oncoming motorboat. All she heard was the murderous roar of the engine. Then something hit her — hard — and she went flying. There was a crash and a splash and great wall of water and a heaving pressure on her chest and—
    Jesus, hadn’t she had enough for one day?
    Salt water flooded her nose and mouth. She flailed this way and that, seeking the surface, wherever it was. Swirling, swirling, and—
    Air! She sucked in a lungful along with salt water and coughed so hard, it hurt. She paddled in no particular direction. The night was dark, the water darker still, and she couldn’t tell which points of light were boats and which were stars for all the hair in her face.
    She dipped her head back to clear it away. The drone of an engine sounded from the left — the motorboat rushing back for another pass at the dinghy, which floated at an odd angle a few strokes away.
    “Ryan!” she screamed, turning in a desperate circle.
    No sign of anything but the motorboat, which veered away from the dinghy and headed straight at her.
    She barely had time to gulp a breath of air and dive before it was upon her. She jackknifed her head down, stuck her butt up, and kick-kick-kicked downward for her life.
    The engine throbbed and the propeller sliced past, practically shaving the wake off her feet. She’d had enough of deep water for one day, but it was her only way out. Down, as deep as she could, then a couple of strokes sideways to come up in a different place.
    When her desperate lungs forced her to surface again, she spluttered and coughed but didn’t dare cry for Ryan again. Forcing herself to stay low, she breathed whatever air she could find a hair above the waterline. Where was the motorboat? Where was Ryan?
    Vrrrrooom!
    She spun around as the aluminum launch rushed by two boat-lengths away, ramming the dinghy. There was a dull scrape as the motorboat rode halfway up her poor inflatable, using sheer weight to drive it under.
    Pffffsssssst!
The dinghy ruptured with a violent hiss of air.
    “Ryan!” She splashed in a circle, kicking upward to see better. God, where was he?
    Any second now, the motorboat would be back for another pass. She could already hear the engine throttle down as it headed into a turn.
    “Ry—”
    She spotted a limp, dark lump in the water. She stroked toward it and snatched the back of his shirt. Bundling the fabric in her fist, she flipped him onto his back.
    “Ryan!” She shook him then glanced up. The motorboat was coming back, slower this time. One man leaned over the bow, scanning the water with a light.
    She grabbed Ryan by the collar and started kicking sideways toward an anchored sailboat. A big catamaran, judging by the high profile. If she could get him there, they could hide between the twin hulls.
    She kicked while stroking with one arm, keeping the other