At first I think I'm imagining things again, but Jones doesn't fade away like a bad dream. No. He's one hundred percent, hard to believe reality. He strides unerringly forward with another one of his goddamned bombs strapped to his neck.

"No wonder he took so long." Chloe shrinks back against me. "He was putting one of those things on. Why would he do that?"

He's only a few steps away now, close enough for us to see the gray pallor of his face in the spotty lighting. He looks about as good as I feel.

"What the hell are you doing, Jones?" He stops a couple yards away. I may want to throttle the life out of him, but I also have the innate urge to help him.

Jones' voice is calm when he speaks, despite how peaked he looks. "When I lost my wife, I had nothing left. You took everything from me."

Chloe opens her mouth to talk, but I wrap an arm around her waist and tug her even closer against my body, cutting off whatever she was about to say.

I keep my response level and calm. There is still the possibility he'll set off his own collar while standing just a short distance away from us. "I'm sorry, Jones. I swear, we did everything we could to save your wife."

Jones just shakes his head sadly. "If what you're saying were true, she'd still be here."

"I wish I could change what happened." The intense regret is causing physical pain. My chest is tight and my throat aches.

"I didn't bring you out here for you to do anything."

My brows furrow. "Then why did you go to all this trouble?" If it wasn't to kill me, to hurt me, then why the hell are we here?

"I want you to understand."

"Then make me understand," I bite out.

"That's the idea," Jones says, and he inches closer.

"Stop right there," I say, but he keeps coming toward us. To Chloe, I say, "If he gets too close, shoot him."

His hands are still up, but with the explosives strapped to his neck, I'm not taking any chances. If he weren't holding the detonator, I would have instructed Chloe to shoot him, but I can't. I'm no bomb expert and I'm not going to start pretending to be now.

As Chloe trembles against me, I wonder for the first time if I'd caused more trouble coming out here to save her than I would have if I'd let the sheriffs and F.B.I. handle the situation.

"What do you want me to understand?" I ask. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you how sorry I am—"

"I don't want your sorries," Jones says sharply. "I wanted you to know what it felt like to have someone you cared about taken from you because of someone else's callousness."

I double over in pain as Emily's face comes to mind. Without thinking about it, I squeeze Chloe tighter against me and press an absentminded kiss into her hair. I say a silent thanks for her thoughtless actions that kept Emily from this nightmare. If nothing else, I'm immeasurably grateful for her bravery.

"And now?" Chloe's hand finds my arm. Her nails dig into the skin, but I barely feel it.

"Now, he'll get to know the same callousness," he says.

My mind blanks with panic, thinking somehow he got to Emily without my knowing. It's the two-second pause that catches me off-guard. Jones uses it to his advantage and he rushes toward us. Chloe yelps and lets off a couple rounds in quick succession. One wings him, but the other two are off the mark.

Jones stumbles, but regains his footing and then he's within reaching distance. I can see the whites of his eyes, he's so close. Then he's throwing the device toward us and we reel back, letting him leap off the back of the ferry and into the dark water below.

Chloe screeches and catches the device with her free hand, fumbling a little. We both spin around and search the white caps for his head.

"There!" Chloe says, pointing at a slightly less black blob about twenty feet away. The boat is still anchored to the ocean floor, but the current is rapidly pulling Jones' body farther and farther away. It takes a few seconds until my brain puts two and two together.

"NO!"

"What?" Chloe asks. "What is it?"

"The device," I whisper. "He'll set off his bomb himself. The water is going to carry him outside of range. He's trying to commit suicide. "

Her eyes widen and her mouth parts. "No."

Knowing what's coming, I tug Chloe into a squatting position behind the railing. It doesn't take long; it couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes from when we spotted Jones to the sound of another explosion.

Chloe burrows into my side, whimpering, and I try to focus on her soft, sweet body and not the horror happening on the other side of the railing. The horror I'm responsible for.

I rock her gently, comforting us both. "Shhh," I say into her hair. "Shh, it's over now. It'll be okay."

"H-h-he..." she sobs. "W-why would he...I don't understand."

I swallow around the lump in my throat, but when I talk, my voice still breaks. "I-I don't know." I think she knows I'm lying, but she doesn't call me out on it.

There's an explicit emptiness in my chest and an iciness that has nothing to do with my wounds and blood loss. It doesn't take me long to piece together that the feeling is what Jones wanted me to understand.

Because it wasn't just his wife's blood on my hands. Now it's his, too.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Chloe helps me to my feet. She's talking to me in a soothing voice, but I'm not listening and I don't try to add to her one-sided conversation.

"Let's get you back up to the wheelhouse, then we can radio Tyler and see where the hell the backup is. They would have heard the explosion by now, they should be here."

The good thing about how I'm feeling is that I can't feel anything at all. Including my gunshot wounds. Before, I could barely stay conscious they were so painful. Now...nothing.

There's nothing.

Somehow she shoulders my weight until we get up the stairs and in the wheelhouse. Sensing my uselessness, Chloe deposits me on an empty chair and goes straight to the radio to call for Tyler.

My ears are ringing again, so I don't hear their conversation. The only thing I can hear is the sound of Jones' voice and the loud boom from the explosion that killed him.

Chloe's feet appear in my line of vision and I follow her legs up to her waist and finally to her concerned face.

"I'm fine," I croak out, but I don't think she believes that either.

"They're on their way. About ten minutes out. There were a lot of injuries from the last explosion and red tape to wade through. They haven't found the captain yet, but they'll send a search team out for him, too."

I nod, but I don't say anything. When the silence stretches between us, Chloe hops back up and says, "I'm going to see if I can figure out how to lift the anchor so we can meet them halfway."

I close my eyes. Try as I might, when I try to call up Sheila Langford-Jones' face, I can't.

And it's almost as bad as being responsible for her death.

I should remember her face. I have a vague recollection of a middle-aged woman, maybe dark hair? But aside from that, there's not much else wiggling free in my fuzzy memories.

What bothers me is what I can remember. The weather. I can barely recall the face of the woman who died, but I can remember the goddamned weather. The awesome force of the gale that swept her boat out to sea. I remember the search grid. I remember the people, all of them, who are assigned to my team.

Apparently I can remember all of the things that didn't matter, but the one supposed to be the most important of all, I don't.

"Shit!" Chloe's shriek breaks me out of my reverie.

I look up and find the wheelhouse empty. The hot lance of fear stabs through me so intensely, I'm up and across the room before a clear thought crosses my brain.

"Chloe?" I shout down the stairs. I take a few steps down and shout again. "Chloe!"

Her shadowed form appears at the bottom of the stairs. Her face is so white I can see it even though there are no lighted pillars near her.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

She opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but a choked sound is all that comes out. I start to go down the stairs to meet her, but she seems to shake herself out of it and she races up the stairs and past me.

"Chloe," I say again. "What's wrong?"

She doesn't answer me. Instead she fumbles with the radio mic again and keys it up. "Tyler?" She slaps an impatient hand on the console and whispers "C'mon, c'mon" beneath her breath. "Tyler are you there?"

A garbled sound answers her and I take slow measured steps toward her. I didn't think our situation could possibly get worse, but I should have known Jones wouldn't let me off the hook so easily.

"We have a major problem," she tells him. There's another garbled response and then her shoulders heave as she steadies herself. "You guys need to keep back," she says.

This time I can hear Tyler's response because I've been taking steps closer without even thinking about it. "Keep back?" Tyler says. "What the hell are you talking about, Chloe? We need to get you two off of there. Gabe needs medical attention."

"You can't come near us." She runs a shaking hand over her hair. "There's a huge bomb in the engine room."

"What the hell do you mean there's a bomb in the engine room?" Gabe demands, his pale face flushed red.

I flick a glance at him and then depress the button on the mic. "Tyler, you have to keep everyone away from here."

"Motherfucker!" Gabe exclaims behind me.

"What if we come up behind—"

"There's no time." I picture the small bundle of black I found in the engine room, it's red face flashing with menace. "There's a timer on the bomb. We only have seven minutes. I managed to get the anchor up so we can keep heading out to sea. I don't want anyone to get hurt."

"What about you two?" Tyler demands. "We have to get you off of there."

"Don't worry about—"

"No," Gabe interrupts. He leans heavily against the console and snatches the mic from my now ice-cold hands. To Tyler, he says, "Do you have any speedboats out there?"

"We've got whatever you need," Tyler says.

"Send the fastest one you've got, but be careful. Chloe's is going to jump ship and I don't want you to run her over." He meets my gaze and then says, "She's precious cargo."

"Do you—"

"We don't have time to debate," he tells Tyler. "Get them here now."

Gabe drops the mic and wipes his forehead. "We've got to get you out of here. Can you swim?"

"Can I swim?" I repeat.

Gabe cups my head with a hand and presses a quick, hard kiss on my stunned lips. "Baby, we don't have time. Need an answer now. Can you swim?"

"Yes," I say, dazedly. "I can swim." A wave of exhaustion crashes over me and I sway.

His head jerks up. "What?"

Tears burn, but I will them away. "I don't know how long I'm gonna be able to. Getting kind of worn out here."

Darkness flashes in his eyes, then a second later it's gone. He searches about the cabin and finds an orange life vest. With great care, he slips it around my shoulders and buckles it at the waist. "You promise me," he says, his attention completely focused on securing the buckles and tightening the straps. "Promise me once you're in the water you'll swim, fast as you can, away from this damn boat."

"What will you do?" His wounds aren't going to do well in the water and I see the reflection of my thoughts in his eyes.

He tucks the strap in and he threads his hands through my hair. When he speaks, his voice is gruff, detached, but I can intuit the lack of emotion is because if he were to betray any at all, neither of us would make it out of this alive.

"I'm gonna make sure no one else gets hurt. I've got to make sure this thing isn't going to drive straight into someone so I'm gonna point it far out to sea to make sure no one gets in its path."

"What about you? You're coming with me, right? We don't have much time now."

"You don't need to worry about me," he responds as he turns away to secure the steering wheel. "Go," he says gruffly. "Go now."

"I can't leave you," I say and it's true. My feet are glued to the ground. I couldn't leave even if I tried.

He slams his palms against the wheel. "Don't be stupid. Get the fuck off of this boat before the damn thing explodes."

But I'm shaking my head. "You'll have to throw me off the damn thing because I'm staying."

A pained expression flits over his face, breaking his calm facade. He strides over and takes me by the arm, but I surprise us both with a last summoning of strength. He grips my biceps with enough force to leave bruises and shakes me like a rag doll.

"Stop being so fucking stubborn!"

I ball my fists up and glare at him defiantly. "You didn't leave me," I spit back at him. "You're the one who's being stupid if you think I won't let you commit suicide. Either you come with me or neither of us are getting off of this boat."

"If you don't go now, you won't make it," he growls.

I meet his gaze. "Then, I guess you'd better get started, huh?"

He holds my eyes for a few seconds longer, then he bites off a curse and spins around. While he's working at the dash directing the ferry way out to sea, I take a quick search around the cabin. It's in shambles, but there has to be something here we can use.

First, Gabe needs his own life vest. With his wounds, he'll last even less time than I will. I find one in a drawer and set it on the table. Next, I need something to signal the rescue boats with. My heart is beating so fast I think I may faint, but I force myself to focus. After a few frantic seconds of searching, I find a flashlight on top of a set of filing cabinets.

When I turn back, I find Gabe locking the wheel with the forked back of a chair. He sees me standing behind him and he sighs.

"I was kind of hoping you'd come to your senses," he says as he crosses the room, his limp growing more pronounced.

I hand him the vest but keep the flashlight. "Not a chance." I glance at the clock on the dash and say. "We better get moving. We've got about five minutes left and I'd rather not be here for too much longer."

Gabe finishes buckling his life vest and then he cups my cheek. It may be the shock of all the traumatic events of the day. I could reason it away as some sort of reverse Stockholm syndrome where I start to have feelings for my rescuer. But whatever the reason, when he tips my gaze up to his, time stops.

"I'm gonna crank up the speed, it won't be much, but we need to put as much distance between us and this rig as possible. Once I do, we need to hightail it out of here, 'kay?" I nod and he heaves a breath. "Good," he murmurs. "Good."

He turns and puts the throttle wide out. When he turns back, I take my place under his arm and help him to the stairs. Our progress down them is a slow, arduous process and I can feel each and every second pass with slow, aching precision.

Gabe's face is tight with grim determination and by the time we reach the bottom, it's also ghost white. Fear, not for the bomb, not for me, but for him, burns through me, revitalizing my resolve.

I ignore the screaming pain in my legs and the blackness encroaching on my vision. Through sheer strength of will, I shoulder Gabe down the long length of the first floor until we're at the back railing where Jones threw himself overboard.

Pushing those thoughts from my mind, I carefully lean Gabe against the railing and undo the latch for the gate used to load and unload passengers. It squeals at it swings wildly out.

I turn to Gabe and give him a weak smile. "Are you ready?" I ask.

"Hell, no," he says, but he holds his hand out anyway.

"You need to go first," I say as I take it.

A shock of panic courses through me when he doesn't even argue with me. He's too tired to even talk back and that's when I worry he may be worse off than I thought.

Gabe inches to the open gate and his shoulders lift as he inhales deeply. He gives me one long, searching look before he throws himself off of the edge.

I rush to the railing just in time to see him disappear beneath the water. Without giving myself time to think about it, I hurl myself down after him. A scream tears itself from my throat as I go down, down into the freezing cold depths of the water.

The impact knocks the breath out of me and the water tosses me in every direction. I open my eyes to the sting of the water, but it's useless. I can't see anything. The vest tugs me upward and I swim one-handed, the other weighed down by the bulky flashlight. I can only hope it's waterproof as I surge to the top.

I gulp in air and seawater as waves knock me back and forth. Twisting around, I scan the surface for a sign of Gabe, but it's hard to see anything. With my free hand, I pull myself in a random direction. Behind me, the boat speeds off into the darkness, a flame on top of the water.

"Gabe!" I choke on water and spit it out. "Gabe!"

Remembering the flashlight, I flick the switch and am filled with relief when it illuminates a swath in front of me.

"Gabe!"

I scan the light over the surface, but the darkness makes it pretty impossible to see much. He could be anywhere. Spinning around in every direction, waving the light frantically, I'm overcome with the fear. If he succumbed to his injuries and gone under while I was searching, I'll never find him. Over the waves, I can hear the sound of a clock ticking down precious seconds.

My arms turn to cement from pulling myself through the waves and holding up the hefty flashlight, but I keep going. Finally, my light snags on a blob that doesn't match the water around it.

"Gabe!" By now my voice is hoarse, but I keep screaming his name hoping it'll rouse him. "Gabe!"

When I finally get to him, I nearly go under when I realize he's floating face down in the water and he's completely limp.