watched her through binoculars, she pretended she was alone, or, better,

with one of the groups of teenagers who haunted the beaches.

She crested over a wave, enjoying the swells and the way her stomach

seemed to dip with the motion. The roar of the sea was in her ears,

mixed with the riot of music from dozens of portable radios. She

watched a tall boy in navy trunks catch a curl and ride it smoothly to

sh.o.r.e-and envied him both his skill and his freedom.

If she couldn't have the second, Emma decided, she would work on

developing the first.

She waited with the edgy patience of a surfer watching for the right

wave. Sucking in her breath, she brought herself up to a crouch on the

board, then stood, and with the faith of the young let the roll take

her. She was up for nearly ten seconds before she overbalanced. When

she surfaced, she saw the boy in the navy trunks glance her way, tossing

his wet, dark hair out of his face with a careless hand. Pride had her

struggling back onto the board.

She tried again, and again, each time lasting only seconds before the

wave s.n.a.t.c.hed the board from under her feet and sent her flying. Each

time she dragged herself back on the board, and with muscles aching,

paddled and waited.

She imagined the bodyguards sipping their warming drinks and discussing

how clumsy she was. Each failure became a public humiliation and made

her only more determined to succeed, just once. Just once to ride the

wave all the way to sh.o.r.e.

Her leg muscles trembled as she pushed herself up. She could see the

wave curling toward her, the gla.s.sy blue-green tunnel, the dancing white

froth. She wanted it. Needed it. Just one ride-one success completely

and totally her own.

She caught it. Her heart slammed into her throat as she skimmed along

the pipe. She could see the beach rushing toward her, the glint of the

binocular lens. The drum of water was like music in her head, in her

heart. For an instant she tasted it. Freedom.

The tower of water closed in behind her, shoving her off the board,

tossing it and her up. One moment she was in the sun, the next she was

tumbling in the wall of water. It slammed her, knocking away her

breath, sending her wheeling, arms and legs flailing like rubber.

Lungs burning, she struggled to break the surface. She could see it

shimmering above her, but the power of the water dragged her deeper,

viciously pitching her. She clawed at the water, then was plunged down,

gyrating helplessly until the surface was below her and just as out of

reach.

As her strength failed she wondered giddily if she should pray. The Act

of Contrition floated dreamily through her brain.

Oh my G.o.d, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee.

As she was sucked back, sucked down, the prayer faded and music seemed

to fill her head.

Come together. Right now. Over me.

Panic stabbed through her. It was dark. Dark, and the monsters were

back. Her efforts to reach the surface were only wild flailings now.

She opened her mouth to scream and gagged.