“Aw yeah! You’re going down, Fish!” Bea crowed, moving her head back and forth tauntingly.
“Talk about letting off some steam,” Joaquin said, moseying over and taking a long-necked bottle of beer from the cooler behind me.
I automatically glanced over my shoulder at the water. Tristan was out there, floating in a kayak alongside Teresa, their oars resting over their laps as they conversed with heads bent as close together as they could get in separate boats. I was sure Tristan was talking to her about his recovery and Pete’s condition. I hoped she had only good news on both.
“Bea’s pretty good, huh?” Joaquin said, gesturing at her with the bottle before popping it open on the lip of the cooler’s lid.
My skin warmed at his nearness, and I sipped my water. “She’s good,” I agreed.
“You should see Krista play. She kicks everyone’s ass.” Joaquin stood next to me with forced casualness, his bare feet planted wide in the still-damp sand, one hand in the pocket of his jeans. I felt a zip of attraction and focused my gaze on the volleyball net.
“Krista? Really?”
He nodded as he took a swig of beer. “She played in high school. Coulda played in college if she’d made it that far.”
Huh. Guess you could never tell everything about a person just by looking at them.
“Where is Krista, anyway?” Joaquin asked, glancing around. “She lives for this crap.”
“She’s cleaning up the playroom and then coming down,” I told him. “Apparently the mayor’s all over her to get their house back to normal now that the kids are gone.”
Bea served the ball, and Fisher bumped it to Lauren, who barely got it over the net. The visitor boy on Bea’s side set it up for her, and she was just going up for another spike when Fisher stood up straight, his eyes trained on the water.
“Not again.”
The ball hit the sand. Everyone turned around. At the water’s edge, Tristan and Teresa were just tugging their brightly hued kayaks up the sand as the fog rolled in behind them, thick and fast. I gasped, and Tristan’s eyes met mine, homing in on me as if making sure he’d be able to find me once the gray mist gobbled him up.
“Who’s supposed to be ushered?” Bea whispered just as we were overtaken by the billowing cloud.
I whipped around, disoriented. The fog was so thick I couldn’t see more than a foot in any direction. Her voice had come from off my right shoulder when I had thought she was standing to my left.
“Bea?”
“Yeah?” she replied. I jumped. Now it sounded like she was directly behind me.
“Okay, nobody move. Just for a second.” I took a breath, my pulse throbbing. I’d forgotten how terrifying the fog could be. Someone moved past nearby, the mist swirling just to my left. But there were no shadows, no shapes, no shades of light. Only fog.
I had no idea how long I stood there in silence. The fog had a way of erasing time or making it speed up or making it stop. Within it, everything was suspended. Everything except my fear.
Suddenly, someone grabbed my hand. I let out a strangled gasp.
“Tristan?” I hoped, turning around.
Joaquin appeared out of the mist, pulling my hips against his and holding me there.
“No. It’s just me,” he said huskily, studying my face. “I figured this might be my last chance to do this.”
He leaned down and kissed me, parting my lips with his tongue, holding me against him with his strong arms. My pulse skipped erratically in exhilaration and happiness and guilt and fear. I knew in the back of my mind that I should probably break away, but my heart—my stupid, sadistic heart—demanded otherwise. I closed my eyes and gripped the back of his shirt with everything I had in me. Whether it was a good-bye or just a desperate plea for understanding, I kissed him right back.
“Ho. Lee. Crap,” Fisher said.
I opened my eyes, my stomach twisting, knowing already what I would see. The fog had cleared out and Fisher was standing maybe five inches to my right, still shirtless, slowly tugging his mirrored glasses off. Joaquin released me and I stumbled backward a step, looking around. Tristan had stopped midstride, only three feet away, his face slack with devastation. I opened my mouth to say something, to explain myself, but I didn’t get the chance. Our walkie-talkies crackled to life, and Dorn’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“Be advised: Pete’s awake.”
I looked at Joaquin.
“Go,” he said, the underlying meaning clear. He would handle Tristan. Whatever that meant, I’d find out later. Right now, I had a family to save.