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  Title

  Copyright

  Caught in the Surf

  Also By

  CAUGHT IN THE SURF

  By

  Jasinda Wilder

  Copyright © 2015 by Jasinda Wilder

  CAUGHT IN THE SURF

  This title originally appeared in the short story collection Summer on Seeker’s Island, published by The Indie Voice.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Characters or settings from Summer on Seeker’s Island used by permission of the original copyright holders of the respective characters or settings.

  Cover art by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations. Cover art copyright © 2015 Sarah Hansen.

  Kailani Kekoa groaned into the pillow of her sweat-slick arms and wished she could pass out again. Unfortunately, now that consciousness seemed to have gotten a hold on her, it was refusing to let go. The problem with being awake, especially at that particular moment, was that it included not just the ever-present heartache, but a whole new kind of awfulness that Lani hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

  She was hungover. Or, actually, if the persistent wavering and blurring of the world past her squinting eyelids was any indication, she was still drunk. Still really, really drunk.

  The first order of business was to sit up. She could do this. Seriously. If she could ride the barrel of a thirty-foot swell with one arm in a bag-wrapped cast and win a national championship in the process, then surely she could manage to lever herself upright.

  Oh, god. That hurt. Movement, even twisting her head slightly, sent lances of pain shooting through her skull. Once she was upright at last, the next order of business was to figure out where she was, and why.

  Maybe finding out when she was would be an even better place to start. Lani peered blearily around her: rows of cracked plastic chairs bolted to threadbare carpeting, an abandoned podium bearing the logo of an airline she’d never even heard of, dirty floor-to-ceiling windows. Darkness hung thick and impenetrable beyond those windows.

  Something niggled in the back of Lani’s brain. The darkness boded ill, somehow. It shouldn’t be dark out. But why not?

  Digging in the purse at her feet, Lani withdrew her cell phone and pressed the “home” button to bring up the screensaver and the clock. 9:40 p.m.

  9:40 p.m.?

  Awareness filtered into her throbbing head and then struck like lightning, and was accompanied by a blistering bolt of actual lightning from outside, followed by a crack of thunder so loud and so close it rattled the windows.

  Her connecting flight had been at 6:15 p.m., and had been the last plane out of this godforsaken postage stamp of an airport until the following day. And by godforsaken, she meant totally remote. Miles and miles from anything, anywhere—that kind of remote. No hotels, no bars, nothing. Just a single-strip runway a stone’s throw from the Pacific Ocean, a glass-walled hut containing a ticket counter, a single row of chairs that had probably been ancient in the seventies, and a four-foot-long slab of sticky laminate counter in the farthest corner of the lounge area, behind which had been a tired, silent, well-used sort of woman with pale dishwater-blonde hair and lonely, exhausted brown eyes. The woman hadn’t said a word, but she’d served Lani enough mai tais render her unconscious. And, considering Lani’s diminutive size, it had taken a shocking amount rum to do so.

  Shit.

  Now she was stuck here in this hell-hole of an airport until morning. And she appeared to be completely alone. As in, all the lights had been turned off. As in, even the runway lights had been turned off.

  Shit.

  Lani stuffed the cell phone back into her purse, stuffed the purse in turn into her backpack, and stood up. Which might have been a mistake, since she swayed like a hurricane-blown palm tree and then fell back onto the chair. Which hurt, a lot. All this, of course, only made her head throb even worse.

  Lani let a pained “fuck me” slip out of her mouth, stood up more carefully, and this time stayed standing. Her backpack made it onto her shoulders without mishap, and she even managed a dozen steps in a straight line toward the bar before she stumbled. The bar was empty, of course, but there was a stack of rocks glasses on a web of black rubber behind the counter, and a soda gun. Lani reached over the bar, snagged a rocks glass and poured water into it, drank, and then filled it again. She repeated this procedure about six more times, at which point her mouth no longer contained balls of cotton, but her stomach was rebelling the treatment and sloshing noisily.

  “Probably wishing you had a Tylenol about now, I’d think,” came a rough male voice from somewhere off to her left.

  Lani squeaked and jumped. “Holy shit!” She spun in a circle, looking for the source of the voice.

  There, in the shadows near a window and a cracked-open door. The faint orange glow of a cigarette being dragged on.

  “How long have you been there?” Lani demanded, striding closer to the voice.

  “Long enough. Too long.”

  The voice was odd, Lani decided. There was a definite Southern twang, but there was also a kind of burr, almost Irish. It was a deep, slow voice, and something about it seemed to hit Lani between the shoulder blades and stroke down her spine.

  “That’s not an answer,” Lani retorted. “And yeah, I would kill for a Tylenol. Or some codeine. Or morphine. Or a shovel between the eyes.”

  “Ain’t got none of that, sorry to say.” The voice seemed to be rising upward, and the orange glow followed.

  Up, up, up. The cigarette tip stopped about a foot and a half above Lani’s head, and then glowed brighter, crackling. A stream of smoke was visible for a moment, then was sucked out into the sky beyond the airport.

  Now that Lani was conscious, she smelled the rain and, layered beneath it, the ocean, along with the faint acrid whiff of the cigarette smoke.

  “If you didn’t have any Tylenol, why’d you bring it up?”

  The man grunted. “Icebreaker, guess you could call it. There’s probably some kinda painkiller in the first aid box under the counter, though.”

  Lani circled around behind the bar and squatted. There was a battered white metal box with a red cross painted on it. Rusty metal clasps held it closed, sort of, and Lani flipped these open. Sure enough, there were several packets of generic pain reliever. Lani took several packets and replaced the box.

  “Thanks,” Lani said, ripping one open and shaking the pills into her hand.

  “Yup.”

  Lightning flashed just then, and the man was cast into silhouette. He was gargantuan. Well over six feet tall, maybe even closer to seven. Shoulders and arms so thick he might as well have been carved from a koa tree.

  “Why are you here?” Lani asked, chasing the pills with more water.

  “Waiting for the storm to pass,” the man said, and reached out to crush his cigarette into an ashtray on the bar. “You?”

  Lani hesitated. “Passing through.”

  The man laughed, a short rumbling chuckle. “Think you missed the ‘through’ part of that, don’t you?”

  “Looks that way,” Lani said, ruefully.

  “Got a plan?”

  Again, Lani hesitated. She didn’t. Not at all. Not even remotely. “No,” she admitted. “I have absolutely no clue what I’m going to do.”

  “Well, your options are limited.
Stay here in the airport, or walk to town.”

  “How far is town?” Lani asked.

  “Ten, maybe fifteen miles.”

  “I don’t suppose a cab would come out here, would they?” Lani figured she might as well ask.

  “A cab?” He seemed amused by the idea. “Not sure the town, if you can even call it that, has one.”

  “So, basically, my only option is to stay here.”

  “Seems so.”

  “Alone, in a dark, closed airport. In the rain.”

  “Yep.” A stool creaked in protest as the man sat down.

  Lani filled her rocks glass with Coke and sipped it. “When you said you were waiting for the storm to pass, what did that mean?”

  A long silence. “Well, just that I’m hoping the rain will let up on the sooner side of eventually.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. I meant why. Why are you waiting?”

  Another silence. Lani got the idea he was avoiding answering. “Probably ’cause I’d like to get home before it’s tomorrow.”

  Lani cursed mentally. Getting a straight answer from this man was like pulling teeth. “And where’s home?”

  “Seeker’s Island, I guess. At least as close to home as I’d call anything.”

  “Seeker’s Island? What’s that? And how are you getting there?” Lani’s head was throbbing violently still, and she had to work to contain her temper.

  “Seeker’s Island. It’s…an island. A tiny little place a few miles out thataway.” He pointed to the west, toward the ocean. “And I’m gonna fly there.”

  There was a brief metallic scraping-grinding noise, and flame spurted into life, revealing a striking face made of sharp features, hard lines and angles and planes, deep-set eyes.

  “In what?”

  He blew smoke out. “An airplane. A seaplane, to be exact.”

  Lani’s heart leapt. Or, well, it shuffled excitedly. No part of Lani would be doing any leaping until the world stopped wobbling and her brain stopped trying to gouge a hole in her skull via her eyeballs. “Could you take me with you?”

  A pause, tobacco crackling, a long exhale. “Could. For eighty bucks, one way.”

  Lani just gaped. “You’re going anyway. How you gonna charge me?”

  “If I wasn’t the one flying, I’d charge myself. Gas is expensive. Plus, it ain’t gonna be a pretty flight.”

  “Nothing you just said made any sense.” Lani pinched the bridge of her nose. “Like I said, you’re going to this island anyway. I don’t understand why you can’t just take me with you. I won’t be any trouble. I won’t even talk. I don’t take up much space. I’ve only got the backpack.”

  “I ain’t concerned about the space you’d take up. Shit, you’re so small I could probably stow you under my seat.” He stood up and slid down a few seats until he was next to her. Suddenly, he seemed to fill the entire airport. “I’m concerned about the fact that I’m flat broke, darlin’, and I’m on the end of my gas tank. An economics lesson for you: I’m the supply, you’re the demand. I’m your only way to get anywhere, and that’s my price. Take it or leave it.”

  Lani just stared at him. “That’s…that’s screwed up in so many ways I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “How about eighty bucks or ‘no, thank you.’”

  “How about, ‘you’re an asshole’?” Lani slammed the last of her Coke like it was a shot.

  “Fair enough. It’s not personal, though. I need the money, and you need the ride.”

  Lani considered. She had a pair of hundred-dollar bills in her wallet, and that was it. That was all she had to her name. But she really didn’t relish the idea of sitting here alone in the dark all night.

  “Fine,” she said, sighing, “but you’re still an asshole.” She dug through her backpack and purse to get at her wallet, handing him one of the crisp $100 bills.

  “All day long. Got no change on me,” he said, exhaling smoke. “But I’ll get it for you once we hit the island.”

  Lani shrugged as if she didn’t care. “What’s your name?”

  The orange glow brightened, and he blew out a long spume of smoke. “Casey. You?”

  “Kailani.”

  He nodded, peering at her through the dim gloom and the pall of his smoke. “Kailani, hmm? From Hawaii?”

  Lani nodded. “All my life, brah.”

  “Spent a good bit of time on the islands, myself. Had a run to and from the Big Island for about two years. Made good cash, too.”

  “I lived town side Oahu,” Lani said.

  Casey just nodded again. “Old army buddy lives town side. Right near Diamond Head, I think. Haven’t seen him in a while, though. Might’ve moved.” Casey stood and poked his head out of the cracked-open door. “Looks like the storm’s mostly over. We should go now.”

  Lani stood and slipped her backpack on her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

  Casey pushed through the door, held it for Lani, and then kicked the wedge of wood away so the door latched behind them. Lani dragged in a deep breath of the tropical air and the rain-thick humidity. After a month of couch-hopping with friends all over the mainland, Lani was glad to be somewhere that even remotely resembled home. Even if she was nearly broke, alone, with no plan.

  It wasn’t raining anymore, although the air did hold a dampness in the form of a thick mist. Casey’s long-legged strides took him across the tarmac swiftly, and Lani had to run to catch up to him. Even after she caught up, she had to trot two steps for each of his.

  “Slow down, would you?” Lani snapped. “Not all of us are a thousand feet tall.”

  Casey didn’t answer, but he did slow his stride so Lani could keep up without having to run. She suspected he was smirking, but it was too dark to tell. He led them across the tarmac to a path leading toward the beach and a long pier, to which was tied a single-engine seaplane bobbing in the post-storm surf.

  Lani stood on the pier, staring skeptically at the bucking airplane. “You sure it’s safe to fly like this?” She said the last phrase la’dis.

  “Like what?” Casey untied the plane and stepped easily from the dock to the float of the pitching aircraft.

  She gestured to the choppy water. “I wouldn’t take a boat out in this. Too rough.”

  “It’s now or wait till morning. The storm’s broke, but it may not stay that way. Do I like it? No. Am I worried? Not much.” He yelled the last phrase from the cockpit.

  “‘Not much’? Is that supposed to comfort me?” Lani timed her step from the dock to the plane, but hadn’t banked on a swell knocking the plane upward.

  She found herself balanced with one foot on the float of the seaplane, fighting for stability. Her lifetime of surfing was all that kept her from ending up in the black brine, and as another wave sent the plane bobbing even further, she knew she wouldn’t last much longer. She was too far back to be able to grab the sides of the plane, and her foot was slipping on the slick edge of the float.

  A hot, hard, huge hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward. Before she had time to react, she was crushed against a massive, rock-solid chest, the scent of sweat and cigarettes and engine oil and sea salt filling her nose. His hand was spread across her back, spanning from between her shoulder blades down nearly to the small of her back.

  It was only a split-second, but Lani felt in that instant as if she had been caught by a riptide of sensation, pulled out and sucked under and tumbled until disoriented by the tide of his scent and his miles and miles of muscle and his billowing heat.

  Reality hit her like a rogue wave.

  “Get off me.” She pushed away, harder than necessary.

  Casey didn’t respond, but she felt his eyes and the unspoken questions. She’d nearly succumbed to his embrace. A random stranger in an airplane. A freaking giant nearly two feet taller than she was.

  She set her backpack down and took the seat next to Casey, who was pushing buttons and flicking switches. She fitted the earphones to her ears and adjusted the mic. After a mome
nt, the engine sputtered, coughed into deafening life, and Lani felt the rumbling buzz in her belly and her bones.

  She refused to look at him, the huge man folded into the tiny cockpit, his head brushing the ceiling, knees splayed sideways, bear-paw hands on the wheel. She refused to look, but she couldn’t help seeing him, feeling his enormous presence. A stolen glance out of the corner of her eye showed him to have reddish sandy-blond hair cropped close to his scalp, rough and craggy features that managed to be somehow handsome in a ferociously masculine way. His shoulders were thick and round, straining against the plain gray T-shirt, and his arms were nearly as big around as her waist. Under the dim glow of the cockpit lights, his skin was fair and freckled and weather-beaten.

  He caught her looking and grinned. “I’m six-seven.”

  “What?” Lani flushed and glanced out the window, seeing little but dark water and thick gray-black clouds.

  “I’m not a thousand feet tall. I’m six-foot-seven. Just sayin’.”

  “Oh. Well…you’re still a freaking gorilla.”

  “I’m more of a bear than a gorilla, if you’re comparing me to animals.” He let his gaze rake over her body. “And you’re a—”

  “If you call me a midget, I’ll stab you in the throat with your own pen.”

  Casey lifted his hands briefly in a gesture of innocence. “Not what I was going say. I’m friends with a little person, as matter of fact, so I wouldn’t say nothing like that.” He adjusted the throttle, and the engine picked up tone. “I was going to say you’re a pixie.”

  “Excuse me?” Lani twisted in her seat to glare at him. “A what?”

  He flashed a grin at her. “A pixie, like an elf or a fairy or something.” He eased the plane away from the dock and twisted it into position toward the open water. “Tiny…and magical.”

  Lani wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I’m not that tiny. I’m over five feet.”