Nobody's Hero. Carrie Alexander

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      THE NEXT MORNING, Sean made his second attempt at the walk to Whitlock’s Arrow. The brisk salt air was invigorating, and by midmorning he was negotiating a tricky path down the cliffside to the shingle beach. Up top, he’d come across an island old-timer who’d offered directions, warning that while the close-up view was worth the trip, it was potentially dangerous once the tide came in.

      Despite a few hairy moments when he slipped on the slick rocks, Sean landed safely on the beach. He sat on one of the outcroppings to rest his injured leg while watching the blue-green waves beat at the craggy stones of the point.

      After a while, the constantly changing patterns of spume and the fecund smell of the tide lulled him into forgetting about himself. The shore was a world in itself, private except for the sightseers who appeared at the edge of the cliff to pose for photos. Some of them shouted into the roar of the surf, setting off the gulls and cormorants that speckled the rocks.

      When the tide turned, Sean got up to go back. Along the way, he took a few extra minutes to explore the tidal pools formed by the water’s recession. The microcosms of ocean life were more fascinating than he expected.

      He’d been born and raised and gone to college in cities, then moved several times around Massachusetts during his career as a state trooper. He’d never much considered the rugged appeals of the country. After a marriage prompted by his girlfriend’s pregnancy, vacations to Cape Cod with baby Josh in a soppy diaper and Jen complaining about her sunburn had been about as rural as he’d gotten.

      He’d made the trip to Maine strictly out of desperation. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it. He hadn’t expected that the respite would truly help him recover.

      Minutes flew by while he watched crabs scurry over the rocks and the delicate but sturdy anemones bob in the water of the tidal pool. Seaweed spread green tentacles through the shallows. Snails left glistening trails on the stones. He touched the elaborate white designs drawn on the black rocks, then licked at the crystalized sea salt left on his finger.

      Only when he put a foot down wrong and his running shoe plunged into icy water did he realize how much time had passed. The tide was rising rapidly, already turning several of the formerly accessible rocks into mini islands of their own. He moved from stone to stone, traversing rivers that foamed white with each crashing wave.

      A plaintive cry stopped his scramble up the cliffside path. He looked back the way he’d come, but saw only a white gull diving into the sea.

      “Over here!”

      He shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the ocean. Huddled, shivering and wet, stranded on a steeply slanted rock that had become surrounded by the rising tide was the girl, Pippa. Sean’s blood turned cold. There was no way for him to swim out to rescue her without being beaten bloody on the rocks by the incoming surf.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “DON’T MOVE!” HE SHOUTED, although clearly Pippa had no intention of moving. Flattened against the stone, she flinched each time the thunderous waves crashed and sent spray high into the blue sky. She was somewhat sheltered from the surf by adjacent jutting rocks, but her position grew more precarious every minute. The water crept higher, swirling with dangerous currents.

      Sean shielded his eyes and searched down shore for help. He’d spotted a beached dinghy maybe a half mile away, but gave that up as useless. There was no time. Not even to climb the cliff in hope of finding tourists nearby.

      A length of frayed rope lay twined among the stones on the beach. He grabbed it and backtracked, working out a route to cross the slippery stones. Several times he waded through the frigid water. Soon he was plunging in, swimming the gaps from rock to rock. Each time, the icy shock of it stole his breath and sapped another portion of his strength as he fought against the treacherous pull of the current. By the time he pulled himself onto the rock that brought him as close to Pippa as he could get, he was numb through.

      The waves surged past Pippa’s sheltered position and battered him full on. “Can you catch the rope?” he called, knotting a loop.

      Her face was stark white, her lips almost blue. “I th-think so.”

      He threw the lasso, which barely had enough length to reach her. She lifted a hand but missed as a large wave broke behind her. The roped dropped into the rush of rising tide.

      “You’re fine.” He reeled in the line. The waves lapped at her shins. “Try again.”

      Pippa got it on the third attempt and slipped the loop over her head and shoulders before clamping herself to the rock again. She closed her eyes and said, “Okay,” through chattering teeth.

      Not okay. He gripped the end of the worn rope, praying it was strong enough. “You have to climb down. Or jump.”

      She stared at the tumultuous gap between them. “In the water?”

      At Whitlock’s Arrow, the surf boomed as loud as thunderclaps. He’d read Pippa’s lips more than heard her. “Keep hold of the rope,” he yelled, hoping she’d understand. “I’ll reel you in.”

      She looked down, then clutched at the craggy rock. “I can’t!”

      “You have to. I can’t come to you.” As it was, he could only hope he’d be able to catch her before the waves slammed her into the rock—or pulled her under.

      She hunched her shoulders up around her ears and shook her head, her eyelids squeezed shut again.

      “You can’t wait!” he roared. He didn’t give her time to think, just leaned farther over the edge of the rock and whipped the line taut between them, giving her middle a jerk. “Jump this way when I say go.”

      He’d been watching the waves. They came in escalating series of seven. When the largest one broke, showering both of them with foam, he barked, “Go!” and gave the rope another pull.

      Pippa plunged into the water and was immediately swept sideways into the current, heading directly toward a half-submerged rock. The rope caught her up short. The sharp snap sent a jolt juddering up Sean’s arm into his shoulder. She surfaced, white-faced and sputtering.

      He pulled her СКАЧАТЬ