Free Caught in the Surf by Jasinda Wilder Page A

the treatment and sloshing noisily.  
    “Probably wishing you had a Tylenol about now, I’d think,” came a rough male voice from somewhere off to her left.  
    Lani squeaked and jumped. “Holy shit!” She spun in a circle, looking for the source of the voice.  
    There, in the shadows near a window and a cracked-open door. The faint orange glow of a cigarette being dragged on.  
    “How long have you been there?” Lani demanded, striding closer to the voice.
    “Long enough. Too long.”  
    The voice was odd, Lani decided. There was a definite Southern twang, but there was also a kind of burr, almost Irish. It was a deep, slow voice, and something about it seemed to hit Lani between the shoulder blades and stroke down her spine.
    “That’s not an answer,” Lani retorted. “And yeah, I would kill for a Tylenol. Or some codeine. Or morphine. Or a shovel between the eyes.”
    “Ain’t got none of that, sorry to say.” The voice seemed to be rising upward, and the orange glow followed.  
    Up, up, up. The cigarette tip stopped about a foot and a half above Lani’s head, and then glowed brighter, crackling. A stream of smoke was visible for a moment, then was sucked out into the sky beyond the airport.
    Now that Lani was conscious, she smelled the rain and, layered beneath it, the ocean, along with the faint acrid whiff of the cigarette smoke.
    “If you didn’t have any Tylenol, why’d you bring it up?”
    The man grunted. “Icebreaker, guess you could call it. There’s probably some kinda painkiller in the first aid box under the counter, though.”
    Lani circled around behind the bar and squatted. There was a battered white metal box with a red cross painted on it. Rusty metal clasps held it closed, sort of, and Lani flipped these open. Sure enough, there were several packets of generic pain reliever. Lani took several packets and replaced the box.
    “Thanks,” Lani said, ripping one open and shaking the pills into her hand.
    “Yup.”  
    Lightning flashed just then, and the man was cast into silhouette. He was gargantuan. Well over six feet tall, maybe even closer to seven. Shoulders and arms so thick he might as well have been carved from a koa tree.  
    “Why are you here?” Lani asked, chasing the pills with more water.
    “Waiting for the storm to pass,” the man said, and reached out to crush his cigarette into an ashtray on the bar. “You?”
    Lani hesitated. “Passing through.”
    The man laughed, a short rumbling chuckle. “Think you missed the ‘through’ part of that, don’t you?”
    “Looks that way,” Lani said, ruefully.
    “Got a plan?”
    Again, Lani hesitated. She didn’t. Not at all. Not even remotely. “No,” she admitted. “I have absolutely no clue what I’m going to do.”
    “Well, your options are limited. Stay here in the airport, or walk to town.”
    “How far is town?” Lani asked.
    “Ten, maybe fifteen miles.”  
    “I don’t suppose a cab would come out here, would they?” Lani figured she might as well ask.
    “A cab?” He seemed amused by the idea. “Not sure the town, if you can even call it that, has one.”
    “So, basically, my only option is to stay here.”
    “Seems so.”
    “Alone, in a dark, closed airport. In the rain.”
    “Yep.” A stool creaked in protest as the man sat down.  
    Lani filled her rocks glass with Coke and sipped it. “When you said you were waiting for the storm to pass, what did that mean?”
    A long silence. “Well, just that I’m hoping the rain will let up on the sooner side of eventually.”
    “No shit, Sherlock. I meant why. Why are you waiting?”
    Another silence. Lani got the idea he was avoiding answering. “Probably ’cause I’d like to get home before it’s tomorrow.”
    Lani cursed mentally. Getting a straight answer from this man was like pulling teeth. “And where’s home?”
    “Seeker’s Island, I guess. At least as close to home as I’d call anything.”  
    “Seeker’s Island?