Private 02 - Private Paradise

guests,” she murmured. She stepped back, apologizing profusely to the New York banker whose foot she stepped on. She pushed her way to the front of the cabin, stopping at the door that separated the helm from the main cabin and called for attention. “Everyone, I want to apologize for the inconvenience. I know you were looking forward to another lovely day on the beach, but unfortunately for us, mother nature had other plans.” A titter of nervous laughter rippled over the crowd. “The good news is we've arranged for accommodations for all of you at the Ritz Carlton in St. Thomas, and of course the remainder of your stay at Holley Cay will be comped.”
    “ Do you mind? That was my foot!”
    Carla winced at the annoyed voice, once again kicking herself for the decision to send the resort's other ferry to St. Thomas to be serviced. “I know it's crowded in here, but it's only forty-five minutes to St. Thomas so if we can make do until then, we should be just fine.”
    She tried to ignore the annoyed rumblings and after a brief consult with Ron, the ferry captain, who was a dead ringer for Bill Murray, she exited through the helm to the deck to cast off the moorings.
    Squinting against the steadily falling rain, Carla untied the thick ropes from the cleats mounted to the side of the ferry and felt the engines rumble to life.
    “ You okay out here?” Sam's voice called over the engine noise.
    “ Just cutting us loose,” Carla said as the boat started to pull away from the dock. She followed him to the cabin door, pausing to take a last look at the island, the white buildings and red tile roofs of the resort. Was everything she and her cousin had worked so hard to build about to be swept away in the storm?
    “ Everything will be fine,” Sam said as though reading her mind, his hand warm and reassuring on her shoulder. “No matter what happens, you'll get through this.”
    He stepped into the crowded cabin and held the door open for her. Just as Carla was about to step inside, the boat caught a swell and pitched hard to the left. Sam lost his grip on the door handle, and it slammed shut. Carla stumbled a couple steps back before she regained her balance.
    She caught the handle and unlatched the door, but before she could pull it open more than a few inches a violent gust of wind caught the edge and sent the heavy door flying open. The handle slipped from her hand as the heavy metal framed door slammed her hard in the chest.
    Pain exploded through her torso. Disoriented and gasping for breath, Carla staggered back, not realizing how close she was to the edge of the deck until her hip knocked into the railing and she went sailing over the side.

Chapter Seven

    Sam watched Carla flip off the back of the boat in slow motion, like one of those horrible dreams where you're trying to run but the ground feels like molasses, you try to scream but nobody can hear.
    The crowd gave a collective gasp as Sam struggled to get to the door, to get to her. He looked out over the railing. The ferry had picked up significant speed once it hit the end of the dock, and in the few seconds since she'd fallen, the boat had already traveled several hundred feet. He could just make out Carla's dark head moving through the water. Sam squinted into the wind, his knees going watery with relief as he watched Carla swim the short distance back to the dock and pull herself onto the wooden platform.
    “ Oh my God, we have to go back,” someone called.
    “ We can't stop,” someone else said. “The storm's getting worse. If we turn around we risk getting stuck at sea in the middle of a hurricane.”
    As cold as it sounded, he was right, and Sam knew it. Bryce, white-faced, froze with his hand on the door of the wheelhouse. “Tell Ron to keep going. I'll take care of Carla.”
    He kicked off his shoes and dove off the stern, felt the warm waters of the Caribbean close over his head. As his body sliced through the water he could hear the sound of the ferry's engine fading as it continued on its course.
    Within a few minutes he was hauling himself onto the dock next to Carla, who sat huddled against the wind, still looking slightly dazed.
    “ You idiot,” she said, with a weak punch to his shoulder as he sat to catch his breath. “You saw me get on the dock. You should have kept going.”
    Sam had always been careful to control his temper. Twenty-one years sharing the same space with an alcoholic on a hair trigger taught Sam countless