Gale Force

59

Court Harrington awoke suddenly, confused and disoriented. Heard the beep of machines beside him, someone calling on a PA system, and for a minute he figured he was on the Gale Force, in his bunk, waiting on Randall Rhodes to call him back to work.

But his bed wasn’t rocking with the motion of any waves. And the room was more spacious than his berth on the tug. And—geez—he wasn’t wearing any clothes, just a thin cotton gown beneath the bedsheets.

Also, his head hurt like a mother. It hurt to breathe, too. Heck, every part of him hurt. And his body was stiff and unresponsive when he tried to move. There were wires leading out to those beeping machines from underneath his gown, an IV in his arm.

He was in a hospital, he realized. He’d been here a while, he knew. But just why, he couldn’t remember.

Harrington tried to think. It can’t be that serious if you can’t remember, he thought. That’s how it works, right?

He’d been on the Gale Force—on the wreck, the Pacific Lion—he remembered that much. He’d been exploring the ship with McKenna Rhodes—because Randall was dead, long dead—and McKenna was giving him grief about the models he was running to right the ship.

He remembered that. He remembered that McKenna didn’t like him very much; she’d been pissed off with him ever since he boarded the tug in… Where?

Ketchikan.

Right. So he remembered that much. He remembered being belowdecks on the Lion with McKenna, and then the engine room had been locked and they’d had to retreat, and then…?

And then nothing. And then now this hospital room, wherever this was.

Harrington wiggled his fingers. His toes. Felt them move, hands and feet, so that was a plus. Next step, walking. Harrington pushed himself up in his bed, felt dizzy and blinked and closed his eyes until the dizziness went away. He pushed the blankets off his body, pulled the gown down to cover as much as it could, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the diodes on his chest pull as he moved.

The machines continued to beep. His head continued to hurt. But Harrington figured he needed a damage report.

He set his feet on the cold floor. Pushed his ass off the bed and stood, gripping the side of the bed to stay upright. Put weight on his legs. Slowly, cautiously, he loosened his grip.

Then he collapsed to the floor.

Instantly, there was a nurse beside him.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she asked Harrington, scooping him back up and helping him into bed. “How long have you been awake?”

“Damage report,” Harrington replied, his mouth dry. “I needed to— What the hell happened to me, anyway?”

“You had a fall,” the nurse said. “You broke a couple of ribs, and you have a serious concussion, and with it, a fair bit of memory loss. But frankly, Mr. Harrington, it’s a miracle you aren’t paralyzed.”

Harrington lay back on the bed. “I fell on the Lion?”

“Is that a ship? Because you fell on a ship.”

“Yeah, the Pacific Lion. What happened after I fell? Where am I now?”

“You’re in Dutch Harbor,” the nurse said. “You were airlifted here by the Coast Guard. They’re going to send you on to Anchorage now that you’re awake.”

“Yeah, but the ship,” Harrington said. “What happened to the ship?”

The nurse shook her head. “No idea. I just take care of you, Mr. Harrington.”

Harrington stared up at the ceiling. Couldn’t remember his fall, couldn’t remember anything after he and McKenna had found the engine room locked.

“I need a telephone,” he told the nurse. “I need to make a phone call, right away.”

THE PHONE in the wheelhouse was ringing.

McKenna sat at the chart table with Court Harrington’s laptop, trying to decipher the whiz kid’s models—or, barring that, find a list of genius friends Harrington may have had, classmates, anyone who could help her crack the code. They’d have the Lion anchored down in Inanudak Bay within a few hours, and McKenna wanted to have a salvage plan set by dawn.

Matt Jonas answered the phone, and McKenna only half listened, focusing her attention on Harrington’s screen. But then Matt was holding the phone out, telling her that the call was for her.

“Who is it?” McKenna asked. “I’m a little busy, Matt.”

But Matt was unswayed. “You want to take this, skipper,” he said. “I promise.”

McKenna looked at him. Matt shrugged. Held out the handset, and, after one more look at Harrington’s models, McKenna sighed and took the phone. “Captain Rhodes,” she said. “This had better be good.”

“Define ‘good.’”

A man’s voice. A Carolina drawl. McKenna recognized it, felt the breath sucked from her lungs. “Court?”

“You gotta get me out of here, skipper,” Harrington said. “They took all my clothes.”

McKenna didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“McKenna?”

McKenna blinked. Felt tears, and for once in her life, didn’t mind. “Yeah, I’m here,” she said. “It’s good to hear your voice, Court.”

“Yeah, I know it is. But you gotta fly me back.”

McKenna stared out the dark wheelhouse and over the Gale Force’s bow. Could see nothing but night, and the odd whitecap on the water ahead. She pictured Harrington in a hospital bed, banged-up and bruised but awake. Alive.

“Fly you where?” she replied. “Here?”

“I know you can’t save that ship without me,” Harrington said. “And you know there’s no one else who can do it. The way I see it, you have no choice.”

“You’re hurt, Court,” McKenna said. “They said you might never walk again.”

“Yeah, well. They were wrong about that. I broke some ribs and busted an ankle pretty good, got some new brain damage, that’s all. I’m fine, McKenna. I can walk, and if you tell them to wrap up these ribs real tight, I can sure as hell help you rescue that ship.”

McKenna shook her head. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, Court, but—”

“Who else are you going to get? Don’t tell me you’re going to try to work through my models yourself.” Harrington paused. “Look, I’m telling you, I’m fine. I want to help. Let’s get this ship right, and then I swear I’ll check back into the hospital, first thing. Just let me do this, please.”

McKenna closed her eyes. Tried to imagine what her dad would have done. Figured if her dad were Harrington, he’d have fought off the nurse and bought his own ticket back.

“You swear you’re okay?” she asked the architect.

“I’m fine, McKenna. It hurts to breathe a little, and I’m going to limp for a while. But I’m still the best architect that you know.”

Crap.

Somewhere behind the Gale Force, the Lion wallowed on the end of its tow, waiting for someone to plot a way to save her. McKenna figured she didn’t really have a choice.

“Damn it, fine,” she told Harrington. “But as soon as we’re done here, I’m taking you back to the hospital myself.”