When his arms and legs threatened to give out, he swam on adrenaline alone. When it became painful even to draw a breath, he thought of Addison, of everything that would be lost if he gave up now. When he thought he could go on no more, he used his own fury to fuel him.
Blinded by water, deafened by the wind. he drove himself mercilessly. His broken ribs took him beyond pain. Exhaustion hammered through him and the cold zapped his strength. The waves pummeled him. He cursed with one breath, prayed with the next.
Treading water, he tried to get his bearings. Next to him, Addison was silent and still. However much he longed to comfort her, to give her his warmth, he hadn't the strength left. He couldn't swim much farther. He couldn't take much more cold.
A bolt of adrenaline ripped through him when he saw the silhouette of the Bertram twenty yards to his right. A hologram against the horizon. Fading in and out of his vision like a mirage.
Hope burgeoned in his chest. Praying his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, he began to swim. "Hang on, Addison."
They approached The Pulpit from the stem. With weighted arms, he reached for the dive ladder and pulled himself out of the water.
The wind cut through his wet clothes, stunning him with cold. He murmured her name as he bent and lifted her out of the water. "Hold on, honey. We're safe. We made it."
A foot of water sloshed from side to side on the deck. Another hour and the boat would be at the bottom of the bay. Randall took her to the pilot house. Once inside, he closed the door, fell to his knees, and lowered her to the floor.
She spilled from his arms in a wet heap, cold, motionless, seemingly lifeless. There wasn't enough light for him to see her face so he couldn't tell how bad her coloring was. He checked her pulse at her throat, finding it weak and slow.
Acting on instinct, he quickly removed her boots and wet clothing, too frightened to notice the beauty of her flesh beneath.
"Addison, honey, we made it." His voice was thick with emotion, uncertainty, and the remnants of his own physical strain. "You're going to be all right."
She coughed, her arms stirring. .
Tearing himself away from her, Randall searched the small pilot house for something with which to cover her. She needed warmth. On a bench next to the door, he spotted a stack of neatly folded beach towels. He reached for them, snapped them open one by one, and placed them over her until she was covered from head to toe.
Brushing aside a shock of wet hair, he knelt and touched her face. "Addison. I need you to wake up, honey. Come on." His voice broke. He closed his eyes against the choking emotion. "Can you hear me? Can you move for me, honey?"
He grasped one of her hands and held it between his, hoping to warm it, knowing his own were too cold to make a difference. "I've got to use the radio. I'm going to have to leave you for a moment. I don't want you to wake up and be afraid, because I'm right here."
"Randall ... I thought you were dead."
"I'm right here. Everything's going to be fine."
"He was going to kill me."
"Shhh. It's over. You're safe."
"Where's Tate?"
He'd known she would ask. The last thing he wanted to tell her was that by some insane twist of fate, Garrison Tate was still alive. "I shot him, but he got away."
"Oh, God, no—"
"He won't get far. He's hurt. He's insane. The only thing that matters is that we're going to be all right."
Raising her hand, she touched his face. "You saved my life."
"You owe me big time, now."
Her smile devastated him. "Maybe we could work something out in trade."
"I bet we'll be able to come up with something," he said and pressed a kiss to her lips.
Chapter 31
The snow was coming down in earnest as Addison sank into the chair and put her elbows on the bistro table.
She frowned at Gretchen and made a futile attempt to ignore the butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach.
"He should have been here by now," she grumbled.
The older woman shoved a tall vanilla latte in front of her. "You're just nervous."
“Am not. I'm bitchy."
"Same thing." After wiping her hands on the ever-present apron at her waist, Gretchen gave the younger woman's shoulders a quick squeeze. "He'll be here. Trust me."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Call it wisdom. Call it age or whatever you like. But, honey, I know people. And just between you and me, I know men. Randall Talbot isn't going to let a little thing like a snowstorm get in the way of seeing you."
Addison watched her friend slip behind the bar and busy herself polishing the new espresso machine. How things stayed the same, she thought. How quickly things changed, a little voice chimed in.