Warm rays of sun beat down on Drake's back as he leaned over his board. He waited—one breath, then another, inhaling and exhaling to the pulse of the ocean, each swell matching the beat of his heart. All thought, all anger, and all distraction fled in the tranquility of the Pacific, the only place that could bring him peace. He found his God here, his religion. Not even Father Patrick's pews could compete.
The wave approached, and Drake, one with it, stood on his board and sliced through the tide. He balanced on the edge of the world, no longer affected by the push and pull of the needy masses. Sprays of saltwater splashed his face—a baptism for a man who belonged nowhere.
A tingle of dread broke through his zone. It started in his spine and worked its way up his back. He felt sinister eyes on him.
Drake never used his powers while surfing; he didn't need to. But now, he broke his own rule and snaked his mind over the water and to the beach, seeking the person who didn't belong. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, but the break in concentration stole the joy from his meditation.
Anger boiled in his blood, unwilling to be cooled by the water. He turned his board toward the sand and rode back to shore, scanning as he did for anyone paying too much attention to him.
Kylie the Beach Bunny scampered up to him and threw her slender arms around his neck as he shrugged out of his wetsuit. "You looked so hot out there, Drakey. Did you come back for some fun in the sun?" Her lips sought his, but he pulled away.
"Not now, Kylie. I have to get going. Did you see anyone around the beach watching me, or anyone who looked suspicious?"
Her painted, puckered lips turned down in confusion. "No, why? Let's go get a drink and maybe go back to my place if you're done here. I can take your mind off whatever is worrying you. Did you get my text messages and voicemails? I even came by your place but you weren't home. I've missed you." She ran a finger down his wet chest, tracing a drop of water to his navel.
He pulled her hand away. "I said, not now." He added just a bit of compulsion to his voice, using his mind to nudge hers. A vacant expression crossed through her blue eyes then disappeared. He hadn't really controlled her mind; he'd just given it extra encouragement so he could get rid of her without a scene.
Another trickle of foreboding crawled over his shoulders. Goose bumps formed on his arms and he shivered despite the heat.
Kylie frowned, but said nothing else as she walked away, her long, tanned and very exposed body attracting the admiring glances of every man on the beach.
Drake didn't care.
Another, more powerful pricking alerted him to danger. He whipped his head around in time to see a figure in black slip into a car parked in the lot, and drive away.
***
Before anyone else could stop him, Drake grabbed his towel and board and walked the few blocks through the streets of Venice Beach back to his apartment.
His best friend Brad was still asleep, probably up late again—writing, trying to become a famous journalist, but getting stuck with Crime Watch and Feature Obits.
Drake showered, dressed and started a breakfast of bacon and eggs.
Percolating coffee and the smell of frying food finally convinced Brad to join the land of the living. "Dude, you get up way too freaking early."
"You sleep in way too freaking late. On this, we will just have to agree to disagree. Eat some bacon." Drake pushed a plateful of food in front of Brad.
"Thanks, man. How were the waves this morning? You ready for the West Coast Championships?" Brad shoveled breakfast into his mouth.
Drake considered how much he should reveal about his unnerving morning. "I think I'm being watched."
This put a halt to the eating. "Oh, man, I told you this was a bad idea. You need to keep a low profile, dude. Stick to teaching surfing lessons to wannabes, but don't enter an international surfing competition with major media coverage. What if someone finds you?"
The small two-bedroom apartment they shared felt even smaller. Drake fought the urge to escape back into his ocean, but even that holy place had been violated.
He put his dishes in the sink and paced the living room, staring at the stains in the brown carpet. Their bachelor pad wouldn't impress many women, but it kept Drake close to the beach and Brad close to the newspaper he worked for. A happy compromise.
"This is important to me, you know that. I can't spend my life as a beach bum teaching surfing. I want so much more than that. I could get sponsors and surf for a living."
He sighed and sank into the living room chair. A pile of bills taunted him from the coffee table. He shuffled through them, then held them up as evidence. "Phone bills, rent, power, car insurance... by the time I finish paying these every month, I have nothing left. I can't live like this, man."
Brad frowned. "I know what it's like. I'm in the same boat. You'll find a way."