Drake Sisters - Dangerous Tides Part 2

"How? I'm not about to let some idiot of a man tie me to him." Joley shook her head adamantly. "I can't take the bossiness. And if they're yes men I'm so bored I want to scream. There just isn't a middle ground for me. I'm doomed to be alone."

Jonas snorted derisively. "You don't sound very unhappy about it."

"Would you want to live with you?" Joley demanded.

"I'm perfect," Jonas declared.

"A manly man," Sarah teased.

"You got it babe."

"I am turning you into a toad," Hannah said. "No one could ever live with your arrogance or your bossiness. Your poor wife would be browbeaten and your kids would run away."

"My poor wife would keep her clothes on around other men and the world in general and only take them off for me," he said.

"Why do you insist I take my clothes off? I wear clothes, that's my job."

"Inez carries all the magazines if you're on the front cover, baby doll. I'm not sure I'd call what you're wearing most of the time, actual clothes. When are you getting a real job?"

Hannah turned her face away from Jonas. Elle and Libby instantly put a hand on her, warmth and energy flowing into her. Sarah kicked Jonas. "Go home. You're annoying all of us now. You know you don't want us all angry with you."

Jonas made it smoothly to his feet. "Protecting the Barbie Doll again. You aren't doing her any favors. She can't live off her looks forever."

Hannah winced visibly. Her hands trembled so that she curled her fingers into fists.

Elle stood up, her small, pet.i.te frame dwarfed by Jonas's much larger one. "You know, Jonas, if I didn't know the things I do about you, that your intentions are really the best, I'd kick your a.s.s myself. Go away. And do it now." Her red hair crackled with electricity and in the darkened room, her body seemed to throw off light, as if all the energy inside of her was seeking a way to get out. The walls of the house expanded and contracted and the floor shifted slightly under their feet.

Jonas scowled at her, not in the least intimidated. "I don't care what you know, Elle. And don't threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you. If I did, you wouldn't be standing there, you'd be running for your life. In case you haven't figured it out yet, it isn't easy being me. You think I want to know what everyone is thinking or feeling at any given moment? You think it's easy to have a normal temper like the rest of the world, but be so dangerous I don't dare express anger?"

"You're expressing it right now."

"That's because I love you and I'd never accidentally hurt you. I don't love everyone else, you idiot. Go away before the house shakes apart and Mom and Dad are royally p.i.s.sed at me."

"Can you do that? Shake the house apart?"

"Does it look like I can do that?" Elle countered, gesturing toward the walls.

Her sisters were up, surrounding her, Libby putting her hands on her younger sister's shoulders so that her healing warmth flowed into the ma.s.s of boiling energy. Elle sagged back against her so that Libby slipped her arms around her.

"It's getting harder for you, isn't it?" Libby whispered.

Elle nodded and turned to bury her face against Libby's shoulder. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Jonas stepped closer and swept both sisters into his arms. "I'm sorry, Elle. I'd never make your life harder if I can help it. I can't stop being who I am, as much as I want to for you."

Elle shot him a small smile. "I know you would, Jonas. I feel very lucky to have you in my family."

Libby rubbed her sister's back as she watched Jonas slip out the door. The wind rushed in when he opened it so that the flames on the candles danced and flickered wildly, casting shadows along the walls. Libby didn't like the way the shadows leapt as if reaching for the Drakes, stretching clawed hands for them. She glanced uneasily at Sarah, the eldest, and saw the same recognition in her eyes. Hannah and Elle exchanged another long look of apprehension as Libby tightened her arms around Elle, holding her close to comfort them both.

Chapter Two.

SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD Pete Granger glanced toward the ocean and caught a glimpse through the drizzling rain of something-or someone-moving on the rising cliffs above Sea Lion Cove. His heart lurched in his chest as he slammed on the brakes to his old battered truck. Fortunately there wasn't anyone behind him and he peered at the sheer wall of rock rising above the churning ocean, swallowing the sudden lump of fear clogging his throat.

Instinctively, he reached for his cell phone, remembering, as he put it to his ear, that there was only limited service on the coastline and he wasn't on the one bluff that allowed him to make a call. The figure moved, and even at a distance Pete was certain he recognized his boyhood friend, Drew Madison. Frustrated, heart pumping, he set the truck in motion, racing through the series of hairpin turns before turning onto the dirt road leading to the cliffs. He nearly forgot to put on the brakes as he parked.

The wind hit him hard as he threw open the door and ran across the muddy ground to the top of the bluff. His cap blew off and the wind tugged at his shirt. Ignoring the small fence and the warning signs to keep away from the crumbling edge, he dropped to the ground, stretching his body out flat as he crawled to the edge and peered over.

"Drew!" The name was lost in the boom of the boiling sea. Pete cupped his hands together and tried again, putting everything he had into it. "Drew! Are you all right?" He doubted if his friend could hear the words, but then something alerted him, maybe the small trickling of dirt he'd displaced, because Drew turned his face upward toward Pete.

Drew Madison was several feet down the muddy cliff face. Nearly one hundred feet below him the waves crashed over large, jagged rocks, throwing white spray high into the air. The boom of the ocean was loud, reverberating off the sheer rock wall. The rain appeared a dank silver-gray, the steady drizzle making it much more difficult for Pete to catch a glimpse of Drew's stark white face.

Drew appeared small and helpless, his face streaked with mud. He shook his head and waved Pete off, hunching against a spray of ocean water as a wave dashed against the large rock formation directly below him. Pete could see skid marks in the mud, where Drew's body had gone over, sliding down the cliff face until he hit the small outcropping where he now clung.

Pete held up his cell phone and made the motion of throwing a rope. To his astonishment, Drew shook his head harder. The rain beat down steadily getting in Pete's eyes so that he had to use his knuckles to wipe the water away, for a moment cutting off his view of Drew's white, desperate face. When his vision returned, Pete's heart leapt to his throat. Drew was gone.

"Drew!" Pete screamed the name until he was hoa.r.s.e. He inched forward until he actually slid in the mud and had to anchor his own body by hooking his boots into the fence. Frightened, he peered below to the raging water, the white caps of foam and the spray blasting over the rocks and churning up the cliff face, searching for a body. It seemed impossible for anyone to survive the fall. Even if Drew had avoided the rocks he would have fallen into the roiling sea.

Tears blurred his vision. He stared at the top of the rock formation so long it appeared as if something was moving in slow motion. He wiped at his eyes with his knuckles and looked again. There were several outcroppings making the angle more difficult so he slithered back and repositioned himself. At once he could see on the rocks rising to meet the cliff that Drew lay in a crumbled heap and he was moving! Excited, Pete cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Drew!"

There was no answer, but he knew Drew was alive. He looked to be wedged between two boulders jutting up out of the sea, a part of the formation of the caves below the water-line. It seemed impossible that he could still be alive, but he definitely moved.

"I'm getting help. They'll be coming for you, Drew!"

Pete scuttled backwards like a crab until he crawled under the fence to safety and rushed back to his truck. He needed to get out a little farther on the other side of the cove where the cell phone service actually worked. It was tricky; he had to stay in one place when his body was flooded with adrenaline and wanted to move, but he gave the details to the sheriff's office.

He was almost back to the cliffs when he heard the wail of sirens and knew Jonas Harrington and Jackson Deveau, the sheriff and his deputy, were on the way. He sagged with relief and waited for the patrol car.

"TY'S tuning us out," Sam Chapman announced to the ring of firefighters sitting around the table playing cards. "This is his vacation, you know. He spends weeks, even months locked up in his lab at BioLab Industries. He doesn't eat or sleep and forgets everything but staring into a microscope. He doesn't talk to a soul, just stares at little wormy things dancing on a slide."

"He doesn't talk much here, either," Doug Higgens said.

"He manages to recertify for helicopter rescue every ninety days," Sam said, "but that's because he likes the rush, not us."

"I don't like you all that much either, Sam," Jim Brannigan, the helicopter pilot, announced. "You took all my money the last card game."

Tyson Derrick barely registered the continuous ribbing of the other firefighters at the Helitack station. It was true, he often forgot to eat and went days without sleeping, so focused on his research he forgot the world around him. Working the fire season provided him with a small respite, an opportunity for interaction with others as well as the adrenaline rush he needed outside the lab. Yet even that no longer seemed to be working for him. Something was missing. He had to get a life.

"Wake up, Ty." Sam Chapman slapped him on the back. "You haven't heard a word I've said."

"I heard," Tyson replied. "It just didn't merit a response. And by the way, Sam, I keep telling you odds are always against you in cards. Right now you're looking at two-hundred-and-twenty-to-one odds. That's just not that good. Sean has a much better chance at forty-three-point-two to one."

"Thanks so much for that little lesson," Sam said, tossing his cards on the table. He grinned at the circle of faces surrounding them as he ribbed his cousin. "Ty told me last night he's ready to settle down with the perfect woman. He just needs to find himself a woman who doesn't mind him disappearing for weeks or months on end while he works in his lab, or goes skydiving or parasailing or mountain climbing. You know, a saint."

A roar of laughter went up at Ty's expense. He wasn't easygoing and comfortable like his cousin, Sam. Sam just fit in anywhere and he had a natural ability to make others laugh. Ty forced a faint grin. "That's what I should be thinking about," he agreed. "I can't seem to get my mind off one of the projects at BioLab."

Sam groaned. "I thought you completed all your projects and whatever you were working on..."

"Not exactly, I'm currently working on an ongoing project to identify a series of compounds that are potent in vitro inhibitors..."

"Stop, Ty." Sam shoved his hand through his hair. "You're going to give us all a headache. No wonder you're thinking of settling down. No one could live full-time worrying about things like that. I probably can't p.r.o.nounce half the things you work on."

Ty shrugged, a frown settling over his face. "It isn't my Hepat.i.tis C project I was thinking about. Some time ago the company began developing a new drug using the basic findings of the cellular regeneration study for external wounds I did a few years ago. They believe they have a potential internal drug to fight cancer, but I just have this hunch that something's not right with it. I've been doing a little moonlighting..."

"Ty..." Sam shook his head. "You're supposed to be putting all that behind you when you come here. You looked like h.e.l.l when you showed up for training. You might as well be in prison the way you get so wrapped up in all that."

"It's just that this drug has the very real potential to help a lot of cancer patients if they get it right. Harry Jenkins is heading up the project and he isn't as thorough as he should be. He tends to take shortcuts because he wants recognition more than he wants to get it right." He was suddenly all too aware of the silence of the others around him. That was the way it was with him. He didn't fit in, no matter how hard he tried. Most conversations seemed trivial to him when his mind was always working on unlocking some key and preferred to keep working no matter how hard he tried to shut it off.

"This internal drug isn't even your department," Sam said. "I'll bet old Harry doesn't like you much, does he?"

"Well, no," Ty admitted reluctantly. Harry didn't like him at all. He doubted if many people did. He wished it mattered to him, but only Sam really counted. He didn't like letting Sam down. "But it isn't a popularity contest. This drug could save lives. And the new drug is based on my earlier work in cell regeneration. If they get it wrong, I'd feel responsible."

"Great. You're going to spend your off time in that makeshift lab in our bas.e.m.e.nt, aren't you?" Sam asked. "I planned white-water rafting and a couple of rock climbing trips as well as parasailing. You'd better not back out on me again."

Ty sat back in his chair and studied his cousin's handsome face. Sam managed to look petulant at times. He was the only man Ty knew who could pull off the look and still appeal to women. He'd seen it a million times. Sam had charm. Ty often wished he had just a little of whatever it was that Sam had. Sam got along with people. He could bulls.h.i.t with the best of them and everyone liked him.

Ty knew he had embarra.s.sed Sam more than once through the years with his abrupt, abrasive manner. How many times had he missed some trip or outing Sam had planned because time got away from him and fun with the boys wasn't nearly as exciting as working in the lab, following the trail of an inhibitor that might work on T-cells? The bottom line was, it didn't matter that he had an enormous IQ; he felt awkward in the company of others-and he probably always would-but he just didn't care enough to make time to improve his social skills.

It was always an adjustment, living with Sam for three months out of the year. Ida Chapman had left her son, Sam, and her nephew, Tyson, her house when she'd pa.s.sed away five years earlier. Ty always looked forward to visiting Sam, but that first month was difficult. Ty was used to being alone and not speaking to anyone, and Sam liked conversation. "I don't back out of our trips," Ty said. His frown deepened as Sam remained silent. "Do I?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He probably had, more than once. Disappointing Sam yet again.

Sam shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Ty. I'm just giving you a hard time. You're a biochemist. They're all crazy."

"And helicopter crews aren't?"

A roar of laughter went up. Sam held out his hands, palms up. "All right, you've got me there."

"I want to hear more about Ty's saint. Is she blond and built?" Rory Smith asked. He rubbed his hands together. "Let's get to the good stuff."

"That's your idea of the perfect woman, Rory," Doug Higgens observed, jabbing the firefighter in the arm. "And you definitely don't want a saint. What does she look like, Ty? You found her yet?"

Sam's mouth tightened. "He thinks he's found her."

An image flashed in his mind before Ty could suppress it. Her face. Pale. Midnight black hair. Large green eyes. A mouth to kill for. Ty shook his head. "She has to be intelligent. I can't spend more than a couple of minutes with someone who's an idiot." And that was the problem, would always be the problem. He wanted to talk about things he was enthusiastic about. He wanted to share problems at work with someone. Not even Sam had a clue what he was talking about and Sam actually tolerated him. Most women's eyes just glazed over when he started talking. And G.o.d help him if a date started talking about hair and nails and makeup.

"Geez, Ty. What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you? Who gives a d.a.m.n if they have brains? You're just doing the wrong things with her," Rory said. "Stop trying to talk and get on with the action. You need help, man."

Another round of laughter went up.

Three tones blasted through the air and the men went instantly silent. The three tones chimed again and they were on their feet. The radio crackled and command central announced an injured climber on the cliffs of Sea Lion Cove just south of Fort Bragg.

Ty and the others grabbed the rescue gear, loading it into the Huey as fast and as systematically as possible.

"Ben, go to the Fort Bragg command center first, but I'll want you to get as close as possible," Brannigan, the helicopter pilot, told the fire apparatus engineer. Ben would drive the heli-tender carrying the fuel for the helicopter as well as extra stokes-the baskets they put the victim in-and everything else needed in emergencies. He would have to take the large truck over the mountainous route to reach Fort Bragg and it would take him at least an hour or more. The helicopter would be there in fourteen minutes.

Ben nodded and ran for his vehicle. The helicopter devoured fuel and they never went anywhere without the heli-tender.

The familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through Ty's body, making him feel alive again after living in his cave of a laboratory for so long. He needed this-the wild slam of his pulse, the adventure, even the camaraderie of the other firefighters. He took his place in the back of the helicopter with the other four firefighters, the captain and pilot up front. His helmet was fitted with a radio and the familiar checklist settled everyone down.

"Commo check," Brannigan said into his mike.

The crew chief answered, followed by each member of the team.

"ICS isolation," Brannigan announced.

In the back, Ty, along with the others, checked their communication box and turned off all radios to isolate themselves from all unnecessary chatter. During the rescue operation it was necessary nothing distracted them.

Sean Fortune, the crew chief, answered. "Isolated."

"Pilot is isolated except for channel twenty. All loose items in cabin."

"Secured," Sean answered.

Ty felt the familiar tightness in his stomach. He loved the danger and he craved the excitement. In a few minutes they would be airborne.

"Doors."

Sean inspected the doors. "Right door open and pinned. Left door is closed and latched."

"Seat belts."

"Fastened," Sean confirmed.

"Rescue supervisor and crew chief safety harnesses."

Sam and Sean checked the harnesses very thoroughly. "Crew chief secured. Rescue supervisor secured."

"Rescuer rigging."

Sam stepped forward to inspect the rigging, giving Sean the thumbs-up. "Secured."

"PFDs." Brannigan continued with the checklist.

Tension rose in the helicopter perceptibly. They were going over water and the pilot and crew chief were required to wear personal floatation devices or PFDs, as the pilot was more apt to be trapped in the helicopter should it go down over water.

"Donned," came the response.

"H.E.E.D.S. and pressure. Pilot's H.E.E.D.S. is on and pressure is three thousand."