The back deck is empty except for the smoking motor and scattered tools floating in the water that’s pooled there.
Panic slams into me. “Jasper?” I call out, my voice rising, cracking slightly. “This isn’t funny!”
No response, just the sounds of the wind and the water lapping against the hull.
I scramble to my feet on the wet deck, nearly slipping, rushing to the starboard side of the boat. I lean over the railing, looking out into the gray-green water. Nothing. No sign of him.
I spin, checking the port side, my heart hammering so hard it hurts. Still nothing.
Then I race to the back, to where the motor is still spewing smoke, and I look out into the water.
There. Several feet from the boat. Floating facedown.
Jasper. Not moving.
“JASPER!”
I don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Don’t consider the consequences.
I rip off the Wilde Charters jacket. Kick off my shoes, not caring where they land, and I dive.
The water is a shock that steals everything.
Ice cold. It feels like being stabbed with a thousand knives simultaneously, like plunging into liquid nitrogen. My lungs seize, my muscles lock up, and for a terrifying moment, I can’t make my body move.
But I force my arms to sweep, my legs to kick, feeling like the water is pulling at my clothes, my hair. Finally, I break the surface, gasping, choking on seawater, and immediately start swimming toward Jasper.
My clothes are dragging at me, heavy and waterlogged. The cold is already making my limbs feel sluggish, uncooperative. But adrenaline overrides everything. Terror for Jasper compensates for the cold, the discomfort, the rational part of my brain screaming that I’m going to freeze.
I reach him in seconds that feel like hours, my arm wrapping around his torso as he faces away from me, and I’m grabbing his shirt.
He immediately jerks upright out of the water, his back to me.
I scream, startled, my grip loosening, and I’m suddenly splashing wildly, trying to keep my head above water while my heart tries to beat out of my chest.
“Jasper!” I’m coughing, sputtering, trying to tread water with arms that are already going numb.
He grabs my arm firmly, pulling me closer behind him, his voice urgent and commanding. “Calm down. Stop splashing like that. You’re going to drown us both. Why the fuck are you in the water?”
“Why areyou?” I gasp, trying to catch my breath, trying to process that he’s alive and upright and apparently fine. Not unconscious. Not dying.
“I got shoved overboard when that motor kicked and jerked the boat.” He’s treading water easily, like the freezing temperature doesn’t bother him. “Thought I saw a big chunk of the motor housing break off and sink. Was trying to see if I could spot it below the surface before it drifted too far. We need that part.”
He’s turning to properly face me now, both of us treading water, and I’m starting to register just how devastatingly cold it is. My teeth are already chattering violently. I can’t feel my fingers or toes. My whole body is shaking.
Jasper’s expression changes completely.
His face goes from concerned to shocked in a heartbeat. His mouth drops open, those blue eyes widening, staring at me like he’s seeing a ghost.
“What?” I ask, new fear spiking through me. “Please don’t tell me there’s a fucking shark in here with us.”
“Anita?” The word is a question. Confused. Disbelieving. Like he can’t quite process what he’s seeing.
And that’s when I notice it.
My wig, floating past us on the current about three feet away. My hand flies to my head instinctively, feeling that the pins musthave been pulled out, and now my long, wet hair is plastered to my skull. My natural hair. Not the wig.
Then I move my hand to my face, fingers finding smooth skin where the fake beard should be.
