The Right Touch. Eileen Nauman

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СКАЧАТЬ Cal and Chief worked open the jammed canopy. Steam shot skyward as seawater rushed into the hot engines. Water gurgled and burped into the cockpit. Cal’s hands trembled badly as he worked to unsnap all his harnesses. He glanced over at Chief. He was doing the same.

      “I’m in trouble, I’m in trouble,” Chief yelled.

      Cal released the last hitch on his harness, twisting. Water slopped in over them. He felt the jet’s nose begin to drop. It would be a matter of seconds before they were swallowed by the ocean. Cal tried to help Chief get the lap harness released. The thick, heavy, leather lap belt was held by a stout aluminum device. Water washed up to their chests.

      “It won’t come….” Cal said, gasping. He twisted back again, pulling his survival knife from his belt, throwing off the sheath.

      “Jump, Cal!” Chief cried hoarsely. The jet was sliding in, wing down. Sliding into a cold, watery grave.

      Cal cursed, sawing into the confining leather belt. “No! Shut up, damn it!”

      Water closed over them. Cal took a deep breath into his lungs, clinging to the belt as the jet sliced downward with frightening speed. The knife made huge, gaping tears across the leather. Cal felt his chest expand as if it would burst. Two more cuts…God…just two more and Chief would be free. The aircraft suddenly rolled over. As it did, the action wrenched Cal, who had nothing holding him in the cockpit other than one hand on the leather belt, free. His gloved hands clawed outward as he felt himself tumbling, trying desperately to grab for the cockpit frame. Fire arched through his chest. Water funneled up into his nose and down into his throat. He was going to drown. Chief! Oh, God, Chief! Cal struck out toward the surface that seemed so far away, blackness closing in on him. Only one thought screamed through him: Chief was going down with the jet. He would drown. He’d die. Oh, God, no…not Chief! Not his best friend.

      “Cal, Cal, it’s all right…shh, it’s all right. You’re safe…safe.” A soft voice crooned to him.

      Cal shuddered, still hooked into the nightmare of survival that haunted him, as he broke the surface of the gray sea. Gasping, he vomited up the sea he had swallowed, flailing weakly to stay afloat. Instinctively, he pulled the cords on his life vest and it inflated immediately, holding his head and shoulders above water. He cried out Chief’s name, oblivious to the rescue helicopter that had been launched immediately after the accident. He felt cool hands on his face, fingers gently combing through his hair, and he sobbed. Chief was dead. The only real friend he had ever made was dead. Heading fifty fathoms down in a jet while he floated on the surface, rasping and swallowing the life-giving oxygen.

      “You’re safe now, Cal. Relax. Come on, you’re going to be all right….” Cal felt movement. It wasn’t the movement of the ocean that embraced him. He forced open his tightly shut eyes, aware of sweat running down his taut face. Dark. It was so dark. Cal felt the moist warmth of a cloth against his face. Heat. It felt so good and he was so cold. Icy cold in the water. Automatically, he began to relax. Someone was gently running a hand across his trembling shoulders, and he visibly responded to these tentative ministrations. Where was he? Where?

      “Chief?” His voice came out in a raw whisper.

      “No. It’s me, Dev. Just rest, Cal. You’ve been through a lot. Just close your eyes and rest. You’re safe. I promise you….”

      Her voice was so close, so rich and husky. Cal closed his eyes, trusting her. Trusting her hands that were easing the coldness and terror out of him.

      “But…Chief…”

      “He’s gone, Cal. You couldn’t help him. But you’re alive. Alive. Come on, try to rest. You’re so tired.”

      A huge pressure welled up like a fist within his chest, and Cal turned his face, burying it in the soft warmth of her. He shut his eyes tightly, fighting the pressure, trying to wrestle with the grief and loss. The instant her trembling hand settled on his hair, he blindly reached out, his arms sliding around her body. He felt scalding tears pummeling the back of his eyes, and he felt her arms embracing him. Holding him and rocking him. The pain was like a fist ripping through him, and a low, tortured sob tore from him, sending a shudder through his entire body. The sounds were so foreign to him, so strange. But he couldn’t help himself. Animallike sounds shattered him, expressing the loss, and all the while, she held him. Held him and murmured soft, unintelligible words meant to heal.

      3

      CAL FORCED HIS EYES OPEN to mere slits. His head was throbbing like a kettledrum, and his mouth felt as if an army had tramped through it. His scowl deepened as he realized someone was sitting very close to him. He forced his lids higher, his vision unfocused. Light was cascading from a hall, slanting into the room, backlighting the unruly auburn hair that framed her concerned face. Her eyes were cobalt as she sat there in silence, leaning across him, her one hand resting near his hip.

      He moved his mouth, trying to form coherent words. He felt drugged and incapable of speech. “Where?”

      “You’re in my hotel room, Cal. The Shangri-La Hotel. Remember?” Her voice was low. He was grateful for that; each sound multiplied and reverberated through his pounding skull. His eyes slitted again as he tried to piece together the jumble of events, separating the present from the accident. And Chief. Giving him an understanding smile, she sat up, removing her hand.

      “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours, Cal.”

      He forced his limited attention back to her. Back to her kind and beautiful face. He knew her. Yes, Dev was her name. Wasn’t it?

      “Dev?” His voice was raw as if he had been screaming at the top of his lungs for hours. Had he?

      “Touche, Major Travis. You’re starting to remember, I see. How about some water? You’ve been very sick. I think you’re close to dehydration.”

      The information was too much for him to assimilate. Twenty-four hours. What was she talking about? And sick? Why? The water sounded heavenly. “Yeah…water… please….” It hurt to talk. Croak would be a more appropriate word, he thought blearily. He watched through blurred vision as she rosé and went over to a table. What was she wearing? White knickers and socks and a red T-shirt? That didn’t make sense. He closed his eyes, dizziness making him nauseated. The moment the cool dryness of her arm slid beneath his sweaty neck and she supported him with her body, Cal reopened his eyes. He rested his head against the softness of her breast and shoulder as she pressed the glass to his lips. The coldness soothed his raw throat, cleansing his mouth of the bile taste. He sucked up the water thirstily, some of it dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

      “There’s more,” Dev said, setting down the glass and then blotting Cal’s mouth and stubbled chin. She poured another glass; he stared at it like a man who had been in the desert and was about to die from lack of water. Finally though, his thirst was satisfied, and dizziness forced him to close his eyes once again. He heard the steady beat of her heart, nuzzled his bearded cheek into the hollow between her breasts and took a deep, shuddering breath.

      “Feel a bit better?” she asked, holding him.

      “A little.”

      Dev gently laid him back down, pulling the blankets up across his naked chest. “Go back to sleep, Cal. I’ll be here if you need me.”

      Her voice was like thick, soothing honey pouring over him, somehow easing his spinning head and exhaustion. He looked СКАЧАТЬ