Dangerous Tides (2 page)

Chapter One

THE wind moaned, a soft pitch that rose slowly into an eerie wailing cry, almost as if a voice summoned him. Waves crashed on the jagged rocks, foamed white and sent spray high into the air. The sound was deafening, big thunderous booms echoing along the cliffs. Heavy rain had left the cliffs unstable, but Drew Madison ignored the warning signs and climbed over the fence to slip and slide his way through the soft, crumbling dirt close to the edge.

The water churned and boiled, a dark beckoning brew far below the jutting cliffs. The sight was mesmerizing. As hard as he tried, he could not pull his fascinated gaze away or stop listening to the voices murmuring in the thunder—calling—calling. He wiped his hand over his face to clear his head. His skin was wet, but he wasn't certain if it was the drizzling rain or his own tears. The waves boomed again, this time the sound hollow to his ears, a lost soul as haunted as he was. A summons.

He forced his hands over his ears to drown out the mournful howl, but the wind struck at him, demanding attention, insistent that he listen. He stumbled back, shaking his head, slipped, teetering for just a moment.
Let go. Let go
. The voices in the wind urged him. Freedom was a step or two away.

"No!" He shook his head and felt behind him for the security of the fence. His fingers gripped the wood so tight his knuckles turned white. He stared down at his hands, forcing his gaze from the roiling water below. He had to tell someone, make them understand what was going on. But who was there to tell? They'd lock him up if he told them the tides were dangerous. Something lived there, and it was hungry.

HANNAH Drake stood on the captain's walk facing the sea. The wind beat at her with unusual fury, sending her long hair whipping across her face. Waves pounded relentlessly, and somewhere in the distance she thought she heard a cry of alarm. Hannah stepped closer to the protective railing and turned in the direction she thought the elusive sound had come from. Three times now she'd felt uneasy—and three times she'd failed to find the source.

She glanced at her home. Her sisters waited for her, their warmth and happiness filling up the cold emptiness, but she couldn't go to them yet. She had to make one more try. She threw her head back and stared up at the sky. Clouds partially obscured the moon, casting dark shadows over the light. Her breath lodged in her throat as she caught sight of the double ring around the moon—dark red to black.

"Hannah!" Libby Drake called. "Come save me. I'm getting picked on!"

Hannah drew her sweater closer around her and hurried back into the safe haven of her home. Trouble was coming very soon, but she didn't know where—or at whom—it would strike. She needed the laughter and camaraderie of her sisters to dispel the fear growing inside of her. Sometimes her gifts were a curse.

Libby slipped her arm around Hannah as they went down the stairs together. "You okay? You're shivering with cold."

"I'm fine. I'm looking forward to our get-together tonight," Hannah replied, hugging Libby close. Just touching Libby could soothe away her fears. She forced a smile as she joined her sisters, throwing herself on the floor in the warm circle. "So tell me why you're all picking on Libby." She glanced one last time toward a window and then turned away. There was nothing she could do, so she turned her attention to her sisters and the enjoyment they always brought her.

"All I said was, I'm tired of being Goody Two-shoes. I'm changing my image completely and becoming a bad girl," Libby announced.

"Libby, you crack me up," Sarah Drake said to her younger sister. "You don't have a mean bone in your body. You couldn't be a bad girl if you tried."

Libby scowled at Sarah and then glared at the circle of faces surrounding her. "I am not the Goody Two-shoes you all think I am."

"Oh, really?" Joley Drake raised an eyebrow from where she was sprawled out on the floor. "Name one person in this world you'd like to see take a flight to Mars. Someone you utterly despise."

Laughter rang through the living room. "No way is that possible." Hannah leaned over to kiss Libby on her temple. "We all adore you, hon, but you really don't have it in you to be a bad girl. Not like me—or Joley." She looked at the youngest sister. "Or Elle."

The laughter increased and Elle shrugged. "It's the red hair. I take no responsibility for my… er… interesting personality."

"It's way more fun to be bad," Joley said, unrepentant. "No one expects you to do the right thing and you're never really in trouble. Mom and Dad never expected me to be polite and kind when we were growing up. They spent all their time telling me to censor myself." She reached for a cookie and sat up to drink her tea. "I tried to explain I
was
censoring, that five things came into my head and I picked the least offensive, but they still weren't thrilled."

Elle grinned at Joley over her teacup. "They got used to being called into the principal's office at school. I was really glad I came after you. You paved the way for me. I argued with the teachers over everything and the counselor said I had problems with authority figures."

"They could never actually catch me at anything," Hannah said, breathing on her fingernails and polishing them with a satisfied air. "One or two of the teachers suspected I had something to do with frogs pouring out of the desks of girls who weren't very nice to me, but no one could actually prove it."

Libby sighed. "I want to be like that. I detest being the good girl."

"But you are a good girl," Kate pointed out, patting Libby's knee. "You can't help it. Even as a kid you had causes. You couldn't get into trouble because you were too busy saving the world. That's not a bad thing."

"And you don't think mean things, Libby," Abigail added. "It isn't in you."

"You're responsible," Sarah said. "That's a good thing."

Libby, sitting cross-legged on the floor, covered her face with her hands, groaned aloud as she tipped over to land with her head in Hannah's lap. "No. It's so boring. I'm just plain boring. I want to be bad to the bone. Wild. Unpredictable. Anything but good old steady Libby."

"I'll dye your hair for you, Lib," Joley offered. "Hot pink tips and streaks of pink and purple."

Libby peeked out around her fingers. "I cannot possibly have hot pink tips and streaks of pink and purple and be taken seriously when I go to the hospital to work. Can you imagine the reaction of my patients?"

Joley frowned. "That's the point, Lib. You want a reaction. Throw caution and good sense to the wind. Changing your hair color isn't going to make you less of a doctor. You're as respected as any doctor could get."

Libby dropped her hands from her face and reached for an all important cookie. She needed comfort food. "I'm scheduled to go on a run with the Doctors Without Borders. I can't go to Africa with hot pink hair."

"Sure you can. The kids will love it," Joley insisted.

"It's different with you, Joley. You're a musician. People expect you to be wild and crazy. I have to look a certain way."

"Why?" The plate of cookies was empty and Joley waved toward the kitchen. On cue, the plate rose into the air and sailed toward the kitchen where the aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted out into the living room.

"Joley's showing off," Elle said. "It took her forever to learn that."

Joley swatted at Elle with a rolled-up newspaper. "It did not. I could do that before you were born. Get with the program, Hagatha, we're trying to teach Libby how to be a bad girl."

"Talk about Hagatha," Elle defended herself. "I tried to wake you up this morning and you made rude noises and threatened to toss me off the tower into a sea filled with sharks."

Joley poked Libby. "See, hon? That's how to be a bad girl. Did I get up and do the vacuuming like her majesty wanted me to do? No, I slept in and she did it for me."

"As if." Elle snorted. "I didn't do your job. Libby did it so you could catch up on your sleep which you wouldn't need if you weren't up at all hours of the night."

A collective groan went up. "Libby, you didn't." Joley tried to sound disappointed but she only managed to choke on laughter.

Libby ducked her head so that her black hair fell in a cloud around her face and shoulders. "I thought you might need a few extra hours. It wasn't a big deal."

Sarah hugged Libby. "You are incredible and don't even realize it."

"No, I'm not," Libby insisted. "I want to be a Hagatha. I just don't want to color my hair. Sorry, Joley, thanks for trying, but seriously, pink hair isn't for me."

Joley grinned at her. "There you go, trying not to hurt my feelings. We need a school for bad girls. It would be the only time in your life you got less than an A."

Libby lifted her chin and glared at her younger sister. "I could get an A in bad girl class. I
always
get A's."

Joley shrugged. "I tried not to get good grades. Once you start, the mom and pop want it to continue. Then you're stuck."

Hannah nudged Joley with her foot. "Good philosophy. Wish I'd thought of it." She waved her hand toward the kitchen. "And you never stay on task. We might all perish without cookies."

"Did you do the ones with that butter frosting you make, Hannah?" Kate asked. "I love those."

"For you." Hannah smiled at Kate but turned to give Sarah a hard look. "But
not
for you. You sided with Jonas Harrington over the movie the other night. You're in the doghouse so no frosting on your cookies."

"Hannah," Sarah protested. "You can't deprive me for liking a movie you didn't like."

"I'm not depriving you because you liked the movie, you treacherous wench, I'm depriving you because you admitted it in front of the caveman and inflated his ego."

"I'm sure Sarah didn't mean to side with Jonas," Libby said.

Another round of laughter went up. "You're hopeless, Lib," Hannah said. "I'm showing you how to be Hagatha and you just can't grasp the concept."

A gust of wind blew through the house as the living room door opened, admitting a tall man with broad shoulders. Jonas Harrington, the local sheriff, slammed the door behind him and strode in as if he owned the place.

Hannah's gaze jumped to the huge window overlooking the sea, her heart pounding in sudden alarm. The fury of the wind whipped the dark clouds around, but failed to hide the blood-red circle slowly seeping into the blackened ring around the moon. Her hand went to her throat—a purely defensive gesture—as her gaze met her youngest sister's. Elle had the same knowledge of impending danger in her eyes.

"Hannah?" Libby ran her hand down Hannah's arm to comfort her. "Is something wrong?"

To distract her sisters, Hannah gestured toward the sheriff and groaned. "Speak of the devil. I swear, it's like you whisper his name and it conjures him up, just like a demon from hell."

Joley nudged Libby. "See, that's censoring. She was thinking way worse than that, right, Hannah?"

Hannah nodded. "You'd better believe it." She felt the instant shift of power in the room, the subtle flow of her sisters automatically helping her, keeping her from the curse of stammering or worse, having one of her panic attacks simply because someone other than a family member was with them.

"Baby doll," Jonas greeted Hannah, deliberately provoking her with a hated nickname. "It's impossible for you to teach Libby how to be a Hagatha. You were born that way. She, however, is nothing but goodness." He grabbed a handful of cookies as the plate floated by and expertly tossed his jacket on the couch without looking.

"Why don't your obnoxious guard dogs bite him?" Hannah asked Sarah. "The next time either of them wants food I'm going to remind them they failed in their most important job."

Sarah shrugged. "They like Jonas."

"They have good taste," Jonas said, smirking. He sat on the floor, wedging himself between Hannah and Elle. "Move over cupcake." He pushed his leg hard against Hannah's thigh. "I'm joining the family powwow tonight."

Hannah opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly, studying the grim lines etched around Jonas's mouth, noting the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. She knew, as did all her sisters, that when something went terribly wrong at work, Jonas sought the comfort of the people and the one place he called family and home. Hannah waved her hands in a graceful, complicated pattern toward the kitchen and at once the tea kettle whistled.