There were hands on her, and in her terror she fought them, beat at them

as the water beat at her. It was the monster, the one who had smiled at

her, the one who wanted to kill her as it had killed Darren. As an arm

hooked around her throat, red b.a.l.l.s danced in front of her eyes. They

faded to gray as she broke the surface.

"Just relax," someone was telling her. "I'll get you in. Just hang on

and relax."

She was choking. Emma started to drag at the arm around her throat

before she realized it wasn't cutting off her air. She could see the

sun, and when she dragged in a painful breath it was air that burned her

throat, not water. She was still alive. The tears started as much in

shame as in grat.i.tude.

"You're going to be okay."

She laid a hand on the arm around her. "I wiped out," she managed.

There was a chuckle, quick and a little breathless. "Big time. But,

man, you had a h.e.l.l of a ride first."

Yes, she had, she realized, and concentrated on not humiliating herself

further by being sick. Then there was sand, hot and rough on her skin.

She let her rescuer lay her down, but the first faces she saw were of

her bodyguards. Too weak to speak, she sent them a furious look. It

didn't make them back off, but it kept them from coming closer.

"Don't try to stand up for a few minutes."

Emma turned her head, coughed up some seawater. There was music-the

Eagles, she thought groggily. "Hotel California." There had been music

before, in the dark, but she couldn't remember the words now, or the

melody. She coughed again, blinked against the dazzle of sunlight then

focused on her savior.

The boy in the navy trunks, she thought and managed a weak smile. Water

was dripping from his dark hair. His eyes were dark too, rich deep

gray, as clear as lake water.

"Thanks."

"Sure." He settled down beside her, feeling awkward in the role of white

knight. The guys would razz him for weeks. But he couldn't bring

himself to just leave her there. She was only a kid, after all. A

great-looking kid, he thought-then felt still more awkward. He gave her

shoulder a brotherly pat and thought she had the biggest, bluest eyes

he'd ever seen.

"I guess I lost my board."

He shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand as he looked out to sea.

"No. Fred's bringing it in. It's a nice board."

"I know. I've only had it for a couple of weeks."

"Yeah, I've seen you around." He glanced back down at her. She'd risen

up on her elbows and her wet curls tumbled down her back. Her voice was

pretty, he thought, sort of soothing and musical. "You English or

something?"

"Irish. For the most part. Well be here only a few more days." She

sighed as the boy named Fred dragged in her board. "Thanks." Not

knowing what else to say, she concentrated on rubbing the wet sand from

her knee.

The boy in the navy trunks gave Fred and the others who had gathered