Page 179 of Her Reluctant Hero
He didn’t have time to question where she’d gotten it. Smoller’s crew wouldn’t have equipment to replace the damaged hoses, not unless they had some tucked away somewhere. They couldn’t follow Adrian’s crew into the water. Adrian and his people were free.
Now they needed to head for shore—they didn’t have enough air to wait around. Mallory had strapped two pony tanks Jacob had given her to her hips and a full-sized tank to her chest, which made her movements awkward as she swam toward him, motioning to his arm. He lifted it for a better look. The movement caused stars to shoot before his eyes. He lowered it again. Swimming the distance to the shore was going to be a bitch.
First, he had to stop the blood.
With his good arm, he pointed in the direction Toney and Jacob had already headed. She had to start swimming. Hanging around was too dangerous. Blood clouded the water. They were bound to get company soon, either human or finned.
Of course, being Mallory, she shook her head and motioned to his arm again. Her movements clumsy around the tank on her chest, she pulled off the pony tanks. She strapped them to his hips before she pulled free a roll of tape from the first aid kit strapped to her belt. Good girl. He hadn’t thought of liberating a first aid kit. She pulled off a strip of waterproof adhesive tape and wrapped it tightly around his arm, first his biceps, then his forearm. The tape closed the wetsuit up temporarily, sealing the blood inside and putting pressure on the wound. Adrian still wasn’t sure how far he’d be able to swim; the pain blinded him with each movement of his arm. Even though the knife was gone, he could still feel it rubbing against the bone.
But he’d be damned if he’d be anywhere in the vicinity when Smoller figured out they weren’t coming up.
Blocking out the pain and the limited mobility in his arm, he started swimming.
Mallory saw the first shadow about five minutes later. Years of diving experience told her exactly what it was, the flip of the tail, the twist of the body.
A shark, sensing blood.
They were about twenty feet down. The shark maneuvered between them and the surface, sunlight shining around him. The tension in Adrian’s body meant he saw it too. He didn’t have the strength to fight, though, if it came close. He didn’t have the strength to outswim it. She would be the first line of defense if it decided to investigate if they were injured.
She tried to recall what she was supposed to do if the shark came too close. Blow bubbles, though she didn’t remember why. Or punch the shark in the nose. She definitely didn’t want to try that.
She glanced at her husband, his usually strong movements limited by his injury. But if she had to…
He tried to maneuver between her and the shark. Damn him and his heroic behavior. When she swam above him, making herself the barrier, he tugged at her fin. She turned to see him scowling—a neat trick with a regulator in his mouth—and gesturing at the shark like she didn’t see it. She jerked her hand to him to stay below her. He didn’t have the strength but his damn stubborn gallantry kept him from listening.
While they were jostling for position, the shark spotted them.
Mallory swam to intercept it, took out her regulator and pointed it in the direction of the fish, a five footer, easily. The bubbles annoyed the fish and it twisted back the way it had come, clearly not interested.
She turned back with a triumphant grin but went on alert when Adrian pointed behind her, his movement frantic.
Her air tanks absorbed the blow, but she hadn’t gotten her regulator back in her mouth. The force of the hit knocked the breath from her. She twisted to see a different shark charging her. She fumbled with her regulator to bring it up to bubble in this shark’s face.
The method didn’t deter this one, a bigger one, a hungrier one. She shoved the regulator in her own mouth, took a fortifying breath before she popped the fish in the nose, its rough skin catching her glove. White teeth flashed as it whipped its head to circle about, not deterred. Damn. Adrenaline sped through her now, telling her muscles to flee, but Adrian couldn’t get away fast enough, and she wouldn’t leave him. The adrenaline made her shaky, made her fingers reaching for the stolen dive knife clumsy. But she was able to draw it out, thrust it under the shark’s jaw, terror giving her the strength to pull the knife free and plunging it in, again and again, finally killing the animal, watching it sink as she processed what she’d done.
Now she had to get away, fast, before other sharks came to devour their brother. She swam to Adrian, grabbed his good arm, urging him forward. He followed, keeping his eyes over his shoulder, waiting for the sharks to appear.
They didn’t, thank God and Mallory’s bravery. But the struggle made them use up more oxygen than Adrian had calculated. No telling how far they’d get now before they ran out of air. He would rather do calculations in his head than relive what he’d just seen Mallory do, the helplessness he’d felt as he watched her get attacked. She was so fucking strong, so fucking smart. He’d almost lost her by trying to save her.
Loss of blood was as disorienting as the narcosis. He could hardly kick his legs. Fatigue pulled at him as the adrenaline drained, but he continued to follow Mallory’s rhythmic motions. He wasn’t even aware how many minutes had passed when his alarm went off, signaling time to change the tanks. He tapped Mallory and gestured for her to turn around so he could check her tanks.
Too soon. They’d used too much air fighting and with the sharks. He handed her a pony tank so he could switch her regulator to the tank she held. She took the pony tank and motioned him to turn around instead. She wanted him to take the big tank.
That was ridiculous. He was more seasoned than she was; he could make the two pony tanks last longer than her big tank.
She gestured to his arm, mimed his inability to swim. Holding a pony tank would make swimming nearly impossible unless they taped it to his chest. If he had the larger tank strapped to his back, his arms would be free.
She was right, though it pained him to admit it. The pony tank would slow him even more. Now he was risking her life because she wouldn’t leave him behind. She lifted her eyebrows when he turned so she could help him switch tanks. The weight fell away, to be replaced with half as much. The pressure on his arm immediately lessened. He blew out a sigh of relief. She strapped the tank tightly to his back—pretty amazing with one hand as she held her own pony tank—then he was breathing again.
He nodded thanks and signaled for her to take it easy on the pony tanks. She rolled her eyes behind her facemask, and they started swimming.
He’d estimated that the shore was about a mile and a half from the site. They should be getting close. He was afraid to surface, didn’t want Smoller to stop them, but he needed to get his bearings. Again, he tapped Mallory’s leg and pointed upward, before he started swimming for the surface. She caught his ankle and tugged, then pointed at herself. He shook his head sharply. He was not going to allow her to expose herself. She jabbed her thumb at her chest, widening her eyes in exasperation, and motioned to his arm again.
He couldn’t let her win this one, not when he was perfectly capable of swimming, of seeing. He’d let her win the tank argument because it only made sense, but this—
But she was already gone. He could see her above him. No way could he catch her.
She returned in under a minute and faced him. She pointed to the shore, held up ten fingers ten times and pointed to her foot. A hundred feet? Not bad. They could do that. She signaled, palm out, for him to wait. But…
