Public Secrets

should pray. The Act of Contrition floated dreamily through her brain.
Oh my God I am heartily sorry for having offended thee .
As she was sucked back, sucked down, the prayer faded and music seemed to fill her head.
Come together. Right now. Over me .
Panic stabbed through her. It was dark. Dark, and the monsters were back. Her efforts to reach the surface were only wild flailings now. She opened her mouth to scream and gagged.
There were hands on her, and in her terror she fought them, beat at them as the water beat at her. It was the monster, the one who had smiled at her, the one who wanted to kill her as it had killed Darren. As an arm hooked around her throat, red balls danced in front of her eyes. They faded to gray as she broke the surface.
“Just relax,” someone was telling her. “I’ll get you in. Just hang on and relax.”
She was choking. Emma started to drag at the arm around her throat before she realized it wasn’t cutting off her air. She could see the sun, and when she dragged in a painful breath it was air that burned her throat, not water. She was still alive. The tears started as much in shame as in gratitude.
“You’re going to be okay.”

She laid a hand on the arm around her. “I wiped out,” she managed.
There was a chuckle, quick and a little breathless. “Big time. But, man, you had a hell of a ride first.”
Yes, she had, she realized, and concentrated on not humiliating herself further by being sick. Then there was sand, hot and rough on her skin. She let her rescuer lay her down, but the first faces she saw were of her bodyguards. Too weak to speak, she sent them a furious look. It didn’t make them back off, but it kept them from coming closer.
“Don’t try to stand up for a few minutes.”
Emma turned her head, coughed up some seawater. There was music—the Eagles, she thought groggily. “Hotel California.” There had been music before, in the dark, but she couldn’t remember the words now, or the melody. She coughed again, blinked against the dazzle of sunlight then focused on her savior.
The boy in the navy trunks, she thought and managed a weak smile. Water was dripping from his dark hair. His eyes were dark too, rich deep gray, as clear as lake water.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” He settled down beside her, feeling awkward in the role of white knight. The guys would razz him for weeks. But he couldn’t bring himself to just leave her there. She was only a kid, after all. A great-looking kid, he thought—then felt still more awkward. He gave her shoulder a brotherly pat and thought she had the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
“I guess I lost my board.”
He shielded his eyes with the flat of his hand as he looked out to sea. “No. Fred’s bringing it in. It’s a nice board.”
“I know. I’ve only had it for a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you around.” He glanced back down at her. She’d risen up on her elbows and her wet curls tumbled down her back. Her voice was pretty, he thought, sort of soothing and musical. “You English or something?”
“Irish. For the most part. We’ll be here only a few more days.” She sighed as the boy named Fred dragged in her board. “Thanks.” Not knowing what else to say, she concentrated on rubbing the wet sand from her knee.
The boy in the navy trunks gave Fred and the others who had gathered around a friendly wave that sent them about their business.

“When my father hears about this, he’ll never let me surf again.”
“Why does he have to hear about it?”
“He always does.” She made a concentrated effort not to look at her bodyguards.
“Everybody wipes out.” Beautiful eyes, he thought again, then looked deliberately out to sea. “You were doing pretty good.”
“Really.” She colored a bit. “You’re wonderful. I’ve watched you.”
“Thanks.” He grinned and showed a chipped tooth.
Emma stared at him as memory came flooding back. “You’re Michael.”
“Yeah.” His grin widened. “How’d you know?”
“You don’t remember me.” She pushed herself up to sit. “I met you, well, it was a long time ago. I’m Emma. Emma McAvoy. Your father brought you to the rehearsal hall one afternoon.”
“McAvoy?” Michael dragged a hand through his dripping hair. “Brian McAvoy?” As he said the name he saw Emma take a quick look round to see if anyone had heard him. “I remember you. You sent me a picture. I’ve still got it.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced over his