Page 46 of Shielding Instinct

The roar of approval from the boaters rode the wind to shore.

Hawkeye tried again, aiming his call directly toward the boat that was about to get broadsided and rolled. “Wave!” he hollered.

Roy started wheezing in a way that reminded Hawkeye of the death rattle he’d heard on the battlefield.

Hawkeye needed this wave to get to them fast and transport them quickly back to the shore, where he could find a hard surface if Roy needed CPR.

The guy on the jet ski did another fancy flip, but this time, as he lifted from the water, the wave pushed him impossibly high, adding enormous energy to the trick. The guy had to be at least two stories up when he lost his grip and fell toward the boat.

The boat rolled onto its side, flinging the passengers into the water.

Hawkeye was scrambling to turn his board facing shore in time. No small feat with Roy serving as an anchor in the water.

Looking over his shoulder to ensure he was in line with the wave, Hawkeye watched as the boat righted itself, just as the jet ski came down and hit.

There was an explosion. Flames shot out of the wheelhouse.

Shrieks of horror sounded from shore to sea.

Hawkeye held onto the surfboard with an iron grip.

And as the wave lifted and thrust them toward the sky, Roy blacked the hell out.

Chapter Sixteen

Petra

To Petra, it was like she was sitting in a movie theater as she watched the wave rolling in from the horizon.

She expected someone to cue the music, and at any moment, the symphony would play the ominous chords designed to get the audience’s blood thrumming, wondering how the hero could survive.

For sure, that was exactly what she was wondering.

And in this scene, she was the unfortunate hero.

On this terrain, running anywhere was impossible.

Petra’s brain flashed to the rip currents and wondered if that had fed into the enormity of this wave.

Right now, everything played in slow motion except for her thoughts.

Petra’s brain flailed for her best next action—a means of survival.

She hadnothinguntil she had something.

Suddenly, Petra was moving, leaping, grabbing—not back toward the cliff but southward toward a massive boulder.

As she found a wedge for her foot, Petra cleared her hands by shoving her phone down the neckline of her dress and under her breast into her bikini top.

She grabbed at the jagged protrusions, hugging her body to the surface as the wave crashed, sending a spray of water showering down on her.

The pull of the receding water dragged at Petra’s legs.

She strained against it, tensing her muscles and white-knuckle gripping the stone.

With a heart filled with gratitude that she was high enough in the rocks that the water only came to her thighs.

Suddenly, she was suffused by terror.

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