Chapter 1

Chapter One

J ulianne Scott didn't want to drive into the city, especially on a beautiful July morning in northern California. She usually spent the time before her shift jogging on the beach, or walking through the park. Since summer break had started, the playgrounds would be filled with two of her favorite things, happy kids and smiling moms. Her attorney, however, insisted that she and her husband attempt one last sit-down before they went in front of a judge.

The conference room for the meeting looked cramped and dusty, and smelled like disinfectant spray, dry-rotted carpet and, oddly, candy apples. Julianne tried to ignore the stink, but she'd always hated being stuck indoors. Places like this made her skin shrivel, too, as if invisible spiders were about to drop down and crawl on her. Everyone who had come here to bicker over their stuff had probably left lots of bad vibes.

My stuff, she reminded herself. Not ours. Not his. Mine.

"One of my investigators told me that lifeguards make six figure salaries down in LA County." A thin, nervous man with silvered brown hair, Paul Whitley wore a nice navy-blue suit that didn't quite fit his scarecrow frame. "Why are you working for so little, Ms. Scott?"

Although he knew she was different, the attorney never talked down to her. Once people realized she had limits, most didn't even try to be that nice.

"After this is over I'll get a better job." If she didn't end up living under a bridge, Julianne hoped. "How long do you think it will take to settle everything?"

"Counsel has already advised me he will be filing three motions on Monday." The lawyer pushed his thick horn-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. "It seems we're in for a fight. In your situation, it's probably better to give Mr. Fumagalli what he wants sooner rather than later."

What he meant was the only thing she had left to her name, which she had promised her parents that she would not give up for any reason. "How is that better?"

"I'm the cheapest attorney in Napa County, which is why you hired me," Paul said. "We've worked out installments for my services, but settling the disputes in a contested divorce can be very expensive. Even if we win, you'll likely be forced to sell your land to avoid bankruptcy."

"Why don't I buy the farm?" Mitchell Fumagalli said as he came into the conference room, smiling as if he were filming a toothpaste commercial. He sauntered over and sat down across from Julianne. "Not that I mean I'll die for you. Sorry, honeybuns, but I plan to live forever."

These days her soon-to-be ex-husband dressed like a wannabe mobster. He evidently bathed in his cologne lately, too; the expensive stench of it rolled across the table in such a thick cloud it made her eyes water. This morning he'd slicked back his curly hair with an oily pomade, stuck a big diamond stud in his left ear, and added a red silk cravat with his gray sharkskin suit. If Julianne had passed him on the street she wouldn't have recognized him.

Had he been this tacky before they'd gotten married? she wondered.

The Mitchell she'd dated had been a big, robust outdoors type who had smelled of soap and lived in jeans, knit pullovers and hiking boots. He'd claimed to be a nature lover, too, and seemed happy just to hang with her. Had he done that just to fool her? Had their romance been some sort of con job right from the start? Why hadn't she seen that?

You really are the dumbest blonde of all time, Julianne.

"How about I give you ten thousand cash?" Mitch said, still grinning. "You can rent yourself a nice trailer. Maybe even a double-wide."

Since Julianne had left her husband, he spoke to her as if she were nothing but a trashy idiot. She should never have told him about how much she'd struggled with handling everything after her parents had died. He'd used that and everything else he knew to make her out to be a gold-digger.

"I'm not selling my land." She started gathering her paperwork so she wouldn't jump across the table and punch him in the nose.

Her ex looked over at the door as an expensively-dressed, older man came in. "Hear that, George? Julie doesn't want to sell me the land she said I could have for free."

She clenched her teeth to keep from responding to his lies, and instead added to her list of new nicknames for Mitch. Cheater. Liar. Poser.

"That is regrettable," George Armstrong said as he sat down across from Paul Whitley. "My client is willing to settle this entire matter amicably, as long as Ms. Scott does not renege on her agreement with him on compensation for his many expenditures on her behalf."

Con man. Money-hungry sex-crazy jerk-face.

For the first time in her life Julianne imagined herself killing someone and herself at the same time. The fastest way would be to run down Mitch in the street before crashing her van into a telephone pile. That way she could end all her troubles and stop him from cheating another woman in the future. The only thing that kept her from trying was a strong suspicion that she'd swerve at the last minute before crashing, and end up brain-dead but on life-support.

If he pulled the plug. Making money mattered more than anything to her ex.

"Focus, Julie." Mitch slapped his hands on the table, making a loud sound that startled everyone but Julianne. "I don't want to drag this out any more than you do. Quit being greedy and give me what I'm owed."

What he was owed… Wait. He was calling her greedy?

"You took the house, my car, my phone, all my clothes and shoes, and every cent we had in the bank," Julianne reminded him. "I got the sixty-one dollars in my wallet and what I was wearing. How does that make me greedy?"

"Come on, honeybuns, you know I footed the bill for most of that stuff. What was left I had to sell to pay for my father's funeral, and treatment for the syphilis you gave me." He used the nail of his pinky finger to pry something out from between his front teeth, and then flick it onto the floor. "I regret every dime I wasted on you while you were using and abusing me."

Just when she thought he couldn't get more disgusting, he did.

"You've been blowing your paycheck for the last year, Mitchell," Julianne said, trying not to shout the words. "Also, I've been checked by the Health Department, and I'm clean. You got the clap after I left you."

"My therapist says that's because you turned me into a complete sex addict, you heartless slut," he said, smirking.

"Mr. Fumagalli, please." Paul cleared his throat and glared at George. "Advise your client not to shout or use verbal abuse toward my client, Counselor."

"It doesn't matter. He's not interested in talking, and I have to go to work now." She got to her feet, glad again that she stood two inches taller than her ex, and regarded her attorney. "Mr. Whitley, I'll call you tomorrow about the court date. Have a nice day, Mr. Armstrong."

She almost made it to the parking lot before her ex caught up with her.

"Give it up, Julie," Mitch said, stepping in front of her. "I've got the best lawyer in the state, Dad's life insurance, and all the time in the world. I can make this go on for years."

"I have nothing else to say to you." When she tried to go around him he grabbed her arm to stop her. "They'll take pictures of my bruises at the police station when I go to report you, and we can use that in court."

He held up both hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. "Don't beat me again, baby cakes. I thought you were going to trip."

"Just quit with the lying, will you?" Julianne wished she'd parked closer. "I'll never give you what you want."

"I figured that out on our honeymoon." He uttered a snorting laugh that grated on her nerves as much as his cologne. "How does an airhead bombshell turn out to be a dried-up fridge?"

"I'm a fridge because I wouldn't get my nipples pierced for you, or dance on amateur night at that raunchy strip joint you love, or let you make a sex tape of me touching myself." She nodded, happy to own her prudery. "So why do you think anyone will believe I addicted you to sex and had affairs with your college friends?"

"You mean the revenge sex? You planned to drive away all my buddies so I'd have no one to support me through this terrible ordeal of leaving my abusive wife." Mitch beamed. "Anyway, that's what my guys will tell the judge if you accuse me of infidelity, honeybuns. It's a shame you don't have any friends to lie for you. Even that dyke from Sacramento bailed after we got married, didn't she?"

She'd already guessed he'd screwed around on her, but being reminded of the loss of Eva, her bestie from high school, was like being kicked in the heart. "Enough already, Mitchell."

"You never should have left me," he said, leaning close to whisper. "You have no idea what I can do to you, you stupid bitch, but you're going to find out."

Julianne realized in that moment that he was doing all of this not only for the money he'd make selling the farm, but because she'd hurt his pride. He'd thought she'd be too dumb to see who he really was. It had taken a while, but once she'd realized just how much of a selfish ass Mitch was, she knew it was over for her.

For a control freak like him, that must have been the absolute worst.

Despite all the rotten things he'd done, Julianne still wished he'd accept it was over. She had managed to get through her entire life without hating anyone, and it made her happier than most people. That wasn't the case for Mitch, obviously. He'd always liked being smarter than her, and he'd probably counted on her being stupid enough to do what he wanted. Going after her parents' farm was his way of punishing her for that.

"We loved each other once," she said softly, knowing that at least that was true on her part. "Please, let's just end this and move on."

"Then I'll see you in court," her ex said. "Unless you want to have break-up sex with me. There's a motel right across the street, and I just got my third shot, so I should be clean." He openly rubbed his crotch. "You never know. A reverse cowgirl might make me change my mind."

He really did hate her, Julianne thought. "Good-bye."

"We're still married, remember," Mitch called after her. "If that junker you're living in suddenly catches fire one night, I inherit everything."

That unsubtle threat almost made her trip over her own feet, yet somehow Julianne managed to keep going until she reached the decrepit cargo van she'd borrowed from a co-worker. After checking her watch she pulled out the cheap burner phone she was using and called the office to explain why she'd be late.

"It's okay," David Gonzalez told her. "Melanie called in sick, though, and I've got my daughter's ninth birthday pizza party tonight. If I don't show, I'll need to borrow your lawyer for my own divorce."

Since the three of them were the only lifeguards working at Marson Beach, that meant there would be no one to relieve Julianne. Melanie had also been the one to lend her the van.

"No problem," she told David. "I'll work Mel's shift and mine." She thought of the last thing Mitch had said. "I just need to make a stop before I come in."

After she hung up, Julianne rested her arms on the top of the steering wheel and sniffed hard until she was sure she wouldn't cry. In the rearview mirror she could see the bright pink blow-up pool mattress on which she would be sleeping tonight, and the duffel bag with the clothes she'd bought at a thrift store. She could still shower at her gym, but that membership would end in four months. All she had left to eat, a couple of granola bars sitting in the pocket of the bag, might have to last her another three days until she got paid.

"Could be worse," she told her reflection in the rearview as she touched the locket she wore, the little gold heart giving her some reassurance. "You could still be sleeping with that greedy, lying sack of STDs."

The pale, wan image gave her a wistful smile, as if she knew worse would come.

At the office supply store Julianne found a last will and testament form that was legal in all fifty states. Pulling out her last emergency twenty, she paid for it and sat in the parking lot to read and write it up. She usually needed help with stuff like this, but luckily all she had to do was fill in the blanks with names and dates. Tomorrow she'd get it notarized at the bank, and then the farm would be safe. The fact that she even needed a will now seemed ridiculous. Was the universe punishing her for how she'd been before she'd met Mitchell Fumagalli?

Julianne still longed for the days when she had lived with her parents on their little farm just outside Napa, where they maintained a small but productive orchard of fruit trees and acres of vegetables and berries. Highly prized by chefs and gourmets all over the state, their organic heirloom varieties and baby primeur produce commanded top dollar, especially as the demand always outweighed the supply. Instead of expanding their operation, Jack and Sarah Scott had been happy to grow just enough to feed the family, and sell the rest to pay the bills and save a little for the future.

"It's because you're hippies, right?" Julianne asked her father one afternoon while they were picking the last of the season's peaches. "You can't get into the rat race because you're discounting culture. It's your like mission in life to do it simple, right?"

"I think you mean counterculture, sweetheart," Jack said. Although he was tall like her, he had massive arms and a muscular build that didn't quite match his soulful eyes, giving him the look of a lumberjack poet. "Your mother and I came after the hippies, like Disco and Star Wars and Skittles."

She sighed. "Okay, but why did you go from doing the hustle to organic farming, then?"

"As soon as we adopted you, Mom said we needed to raise you where you could grow up in the sunshine and fresh air," her father told her. "Your Aunt Klee did the rest."

"Your aunt said we needed to get away from the highway shootings, riots, and genetically modified vegetables," Sarah corrected as she joined them. Petite and black-haired, she was as tiny as her husband was huge. "None of which were healthy for my little girl."

Since she stood two feet taller than her dainty mother, Julianne had to press her lips together for a moment to keep from laughing.

"I don't get it. Until you moved here from the city all you grew were houseplants," she said. "Weren't you scared? Didn't you think you might fail at farming, and end up living in a tent in the park and eating church hand out meals?"

Her parents eyed each other before they both burst out laughing.

"We didn't come here unprepared, my darling," Sarah said at last, wiping her teary eyes on her sleeve. "Klee spent the first three months helping us get settled in, and she taught your father everything he needed to know in order to manage the orchards and fields."

Julianne groaned. "You know Auntie Klee is a dingbat like me, Mom."

"Stop saying that." Her mother put an arm around her. "She's different like you, that's all—and she grew up on a farm in France. Or was it England? Anyway, she's got so many green thumbs she can shove a burned stick in the ground and make it sprout leaves."

As Julianne drove to the park visitor's center that served as the lifeguards' office, she recalled the last time she had seen Aunt Klee, who had shown up at her high school graduation before leaving for India, the latest stop in her vagabond life. Her mother's ditzy, happy older friend had always loved her, and had kept tabs on them even from across the planet. Klee had been the first one to call after the news broke about the wildfire that had swept through the valley, so fast that her parents hadn't been able to escape.

Do you need me there, child? I can be on a plane this afternoon.

Julianne had refused, as making the older woman take a twenty-hour flight simply so she could hold her hand through the funerals seemed selfish. Maybe that was why she'd been so ripe for Mitch's con; when he'd come along six weeks later Julianne had been so stressed and depressed she'd practically hurled herself into his arms. He'd told her that the pain would pass in time, that he was there for her, and all the other things she'd needed to hear. Now she wondered if he'd always known about her parents' property, which was worth millions to developers and even more to the valley's seventeen hundred vintners.

David hailed her from his office inside the center, and after clocking in Julianne went to see what her day looked like. Her Latino boss appeared short and skinny next to her, but he swam just as fast and stayed calm no matter what was happening in the water.

"The surf's too rough, so we closed the road and put out the blackball," he told her, referring to the yellow and black warning flag they raised when conditions grew dangerous. "Stay on the tower until sunset, just in case some fool surfer sneaks in and tries to drown himself while trying to impress his girlfriend or boyfriend. Why do you look like you just got your ass kicked?"

"Maybe because my ex has been kicking it again." She shrugged. "Don't worry, I'm fine." She took out the ten she had left after buying the will form, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Buy your girl some ice cream to go with the pizza."

"Then I don't want to hear any crap about the stuff I brought you," he said, smiling, patting his pocket "Maria said to leave the containers in the fridge here so they don't spoil."

After her boss left Julianne changed into her work uniform, a red one-piece under a black wind breaker and sweat pants. She usually wore a wet suit while on duty, but with the beach roads closed and a hefty fine waiting for anyone who ignored the warning signs, she probably wouldn't see another soul. She then went to the supply cabinet to grab a blank envelope, in which she put her will, and tucked that away in her locker. Once it was notarized then Mitch would be out of luck; if anything happened to her then the farm would go to Aunt Klee.

"Kill me, and you won't inherit anything, Jerk-face," Julianne muttered.

On her way out of the center she grabbed her gear bag and stopped to peek inside the fridge, laughing out loud as she saw the bulging bags of fresh fruit, veggies and a stack of containers with sandwiches that she suspected David's wife Maria had made for her.

"Maybe I should leave the farm to you guys." Gratefully, she tucked a bottle of water, a sandwich, and a pear into her bag before she hung her whistle around her neck and headed out.

The white-painted wooden shack where she would spend the rest of the day rose on sturdy stilts some twenty feet above the sand, and featured wide eaves over the angled windows of the boxy structure. To signal the tower was occupied by a lifeguard Julianne first raised the American flag, and then hung in prominent view her red can, the flotation device she would use during a rescue.

Inside the tower she picked up the wash bucket, climbing back down to fill it from the tank under the tower's base before she kicked off her shoes and used the water to wash off the sand from her feet. Finally she went back up, grabbed the clipboard where she would make notes throughout her shift, and took out her binoculars, using them to scan the water from one side of the beach to the other.

"Okay, Aunt Klee, let's have a nice day, huh?" Saying that out loud was a little silly, but she had a habit of talking to her aunt when she was alone. "Or just a boring one."

From the size of the waves coming in and the way in which they were breaking, Julianne knew her boss had been right to close the beach. She counted at least a dozen spots where holes had probably formed in the ocean floor. Such anomalies, while common, spawned rip currents. The fast-moving streams of water grabbed swimmers and moved them as fast as eight feet per second, often sweeping them out to deep water before they realized what was happening to them. Most casual swimmers also didn't know how to react properly and tried to fight their way through the current, which quickly exhausted them.

"At least no one will drown on my shift," Julianne murmured, lowering her binoculars and leaning against the rail as she made her first entry in the log sheet on the clipboard.

Because of TV shows featuring lifeguards, most people didn't understand that she was a first responder with a very dangerous job. Panicking victims were capable of injuring or even killing her, as could predators attracted by blood from an injured swimmer or simply the commotion in the water. Over a typical holiday weekend Julianne and her colleagues performed dozens of rescues, some under very risky conditions. Yet whenever she wondered if it was worth her life to do the job, Julianne would remember the victims she had pulled from the water to safety, their terrified friends and family sobbing with relief and joy. She then thought of the dozen pale, still faces of those she hadn't reached in time.

She was never going to cure cancer, reverse climate change or get people to live together in peace, but someday she might save the life of someone who would.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten all day, and she went inside to grab her lunch. The sandwich turned out to be chicken salad, and tasted so good she wanted to wolf it down in three bites. Instead she let herself have only one half along with a little bottled water. Too much food was almost as bad as not enough, and she didn't want to throw up the best sandwich she'd ever tasted.

"It's just because I'm starving," she told herself as she put the rest back in the container, and then stopped as she realized what she'd said, and took in a hitched breath. "No, I'm not. I've eaten something every day since I left him. I know I have."

Had she gotten so good at lying to herself that it sounded like the truth?

She thought back over the last few months, and the affect Mitch's hateful behavior had had on her. She'd lost twenty-five pounds after giving up her healthy, organic diet to live on cheap microwave burritos and mini pizzas. As her money ran low she'd only bought food when she'd gotten dizzy with hunger. Julianne had been so busy trying not to think about what Mitch was doing to her that she'd ignored her own starvation.

How did it get this bad?

After the unhappy honeymoon Mitch gradually stopped pretending to be the tender, caring lover she thought she knew, and instead showed more of his true character. He went out to party with his friends more often than he spent time with her, sometimes disappearing for days. He squandered his pay so quickly Julianne had to use all of hers for their bills and expenses. He kept trying to talk her into having a baby, which he already knew she had never wanted. His demands in the bedroom went from raunchy to repulsive. Finally she moved into the guest room, which had ended their sex life.

Toward the end all her ex seemed to care about was getting as much money as he could. When she refused to sell the farm he accused her of being a gold-digger and only marrying him for money. He called realtors to show her property behind her back. One night she'd caught him practicing her signature on a sheet of paper, which he'd said he was only doing for fun.

After months of alternating between silent indifference and loud, angry fighting Julianne had figured it would never end, and told Mitch she wanted a divorce. He'd surprised her by agreeing, and promised he wouldn't make any trouble.

She should have known then that he had already made plans.

When she came home the next day from work, Julianne discovered her husband had changed all the locks. Mitch had showed up a few minutes later with the police to serve her with a restraining order that had a residence exclusion, which the cops told her meant she could no longer live in their home. He'd then cut off her cell phone service, and that night her car had disappeared. A detective came to inform her that Mitch had reported her for stealing the car. Since the lease had been in his name she could have been charged with auto theft.

"Get yourself a good lawyer, lady," the detective, who was familiar with such tactics by ex-spouses, told her. "This is only the beginning of the party."

By the next day she discovered Mitch cancelled her debit and charge cards, and emptied and closed all their bank accounts. He called their friends to tell them that he'd kicked her out after catching her having sex with two of his friends. He'd also called the Sonoma County Parks and Recreation Division to report that she was using meth and had given him syphilis, and she should be fired before she hurt or killed someone. That wasn't true, and David had been apologetic about the mandatory tests Julianne had to take because of the reports, but until the Health Department and the police cleared her she'd been unable to work. By the end of the week she had been rendered homeless and friendless.

Because of the restraining order she could only speak to Mitch in the presence of their attorneys. Just as he had today, he always played the victim.

Because he'd taken all of her money and savings, Julianne had been forced to live on the sixty-one dollars and eighteen cents she'd been carrying in her wallet, which in the high-priced world of northern California didn't stretch very far. She'd checked out of the motel after one night, and borrowed the van from Melanie, which became her home on wheels. It would be a year or more before she could save up enough to pay the deposits required for an efficiency apartment. She could have pawned the gold locket she always wore, but it contained the only photos she had left of her parents. Her aunt had made a fortune with her herbal cosmetics business, but asking Klee for a loan was the same as admitting that Mitch had won.

"He hasn't." Saying that again made her straighten and square her shoulders. "I can still ride the waves. I'll get a second job, and find a room and a used car. I'll eat better, too. I just have to keep moving forward, like always."

A faint commotion drew her attention back to the water, where she saw someone struggling where the shallows dropped off. Shedding her jacket and sweat pants, she grabbed her rescue float and climbed down to the sand, keeping her gaze locked on the victim as she sprinted for the water.

Hold on, my idiot friend. I'm coming for you. Julianne took a few seconds to orient herself and strap on her swim goggles before she dove into the cold water and began swimming in that direction.

The Pacific buffeted her with its relentless currents, and promised to leech all the warmth out of her if she didn't keep moving. Since her training days Julianne could outswim every other lifeguard pitted against her and even on the coldest days never suffered hypothermia. That was a combination of her steam engine metabolism and sheer dumb luck. Anyone who stayed in water forty degrees colder than their body temperature risked unconsciousness, which in the water meant automatic death by drowning.

Move, move, move.

Because a person could drown in less than sixty seconds she needed more time than she had to reach the victim. Every fourth stroke she lifted her head to check her position, until she finally got within a few yards of the swimmer. Seeing that he was a big, strong man didn't matter; everyone was the same when they were in trouble in the water.

She decided to take a rear approach, and dove down before surfacing behind the man and pressing the rescue float against his lower back. She then curled her arms around his, dragged him back against her.

"You're safe now, sir," she told him as he coughed out some water. "Just relax and let me get you back to–"

A huge wave struck them, knocking the man out of her arms and dragging Julianne into a ferocious rip current. Her rescue float ripped out of her grasp and vanished into a swirl of churning sea water. The man grabbed her ankle as she was pulled out into deeper waters, and she reached down to take hold of his hand, bringing him to the surface with her.

"Don't fight it," she told him as they were pushed away from the shore. "We'll swim along with it, and then work our way back, okay?" She put her hand on his cheek. "I know this is scary, but stay with me. I've got you."

He raised his head and looked at her with gray eyes so dark they appeared black, which matched the heavy sleeve of gorgeous, intricate tattoos on one of his arms. His uber handsome, Gucci-perfect features made her wonder if he were a model or celebrity. Not with that pain in those sad eyes, Julianne decided, her heart clenching. He'd been through hell, and not just today.

"My lady merrow," he said, in a voice with such a thick accent she almost didn't understand him.

Another wave doused them, but Julianne locked her fingers through his to maintain her hold. The next time she surfaced he remained limp in the water, and she had to roll him onto his side and wrap her arms around his chest to give him a sharp jerk, which make him choke out the water he'd breathed in. She then turned him to face her as the current whirled around their legs, and tucked an arm around his neck. For some reason her breasts flashed with a tingling heat so much like sexual excitement she almost choked on her own breath.

"Don't let go of me," Julianne told him, and pulled him against her just as they were sucked beneath the surface.

The rip current grew even stronger as it drove the two of them toward the irregular cluster of sea stacks beyond the underwater trench channel. The churning action of the waves, fueled by the power of the incoming tide, made it impossible to swim parallel to the current. As soon as they surfaced again Julianne knew they were running out of time. Then they were slammed into a submerged rock, sending a huge jolt of pain through her right thigh and hip, and that leg stopped working. If she couldn't swim, then they weren't going to make it back to shore.

"I'm sorry," she told the man after she looked for any other way to get him out of the current. "I can't save you. We're trapped."

"Then we go together, my beauty." He yanked a chain from his neck and pushed the silver ring hanging from it onto her finger. "I'm Shaw MacMar. Wed me."

That he would give her his ring in their final moments made her melt a little inside. The beautiful stone, a jade or pale emerald, seemed to glow even brighter than the sun on the waves. This was definitely the way she wanted to die, like the happiest girl on the planet. Why couldn't she have met this darling guy instead of Mitch?

"In my next life, I will, Shaw." She leaned in to press her lips to his.

As the current sucked them beneath the surface, Julianne kissed the man in her arms with all her heart. It didn't matter that they now spun together like a helicopter about to crash. He was warm and alive and tasted like some darkly decadent chocolate. Oh, she could have kissed every inch of this man, he was such a gorgeous sexy beast. She hoped he would die knowing he had been loved, if only for a few moments.

Do you wish live? a deep man's voice asked inside her head.

That sounded like the guy she was kissing, Julianne thought, and closed her eyes. I'm a lifeguard. What do you think?

A soft chuckle came, along with a lighter female voice that asked, Do you wish live so you may guard his life?

Julianne thought of the terrible sorrow in the tattooed man's eyes. Despite all of her own problems, seeing his agony had cut through her like a huge knife. Yes.

The furious sound of the sea quieted as green and blue lights sparkled around them. For a moment she wondered if she had drowned along with the man, for she couldn't move or breathe. Then the terrible force of the water vanished, as if they had somehow escaped the rip current. Her injured leg suddenly seemed perfectly fine as she kicked her feet. The water surrounding them was far too warm for the Pacific, however, and the light was wrong.

What the heck is this?

Keeping a firm grip on her guy she swam up toward the light. The moment they broke the surface Julianne took in a huge, mountainous white-beached island surrounded by shoals, islets and a wall of mist. She looked at her rescue, who was staring back at her wide-eyed. With the sunlight pouring over him he looked like something out of an erotic dream.

"My lady." he said, putting his hands on her waist as they both treaded water. "We're saved."

"Looks that way." Julianne gave him another smacking kiss before she nodded toward the island. "Come on, let's hit the beach."