The Paper Swan(28)

Because if you call the authorities, you know they’ll put him away.



Don’t be a f*cking idiot, Skye. Make the call!



I stumbled to the radio, my stomach dropping every time the boat fell into a wave. I fiddled with the controls until I figured out which one I pressed to talk. I had no idea who was out there, in Mexican waters, or what the proper procedure was for a distress call.

“This is Skye Sedgewick. Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

Nothing.

“This is Skye Sedgewick. I am the missing daughter of Warren Sedgewick. I’ve been kidnapped, and am somewhere off the Pacific Coast of Mexico. Our boat is caught in a storm. We need urgent help. Please respond.”

I closed my eyes and held my breath. The contents of the cabin were spilling everywhere—books, charts, cushions, pens.

A garbled message came from the other end.

“Hello?” I prompted. “Are you there?”

More static, and then a man’s voice. He said something about not being able to receive the message clearly, and then I heard the word ‘phone’.

“Hold on,” I said.

A key was sticking out of the drawer that Damian kept locked. There were three things inside: a rusted metal box, a revolver, and a satellite phone.

“I have it!” I grabbed the phone. “What’s your number?”

I jotted down what the man told me and called him. My hands were shaking as I explained the situation.

“Where is the man who kidnapped you?” he asked.

“He’s hurt. He passed out.”

“Can you give me your co-ordinates?”

“I don’t know how to read the panels.”

I listened as he guided me through it, and then I read the numbers back to him.

“Is the boat on autopilot?” he asked.

“How do I tell?”

He talked me through it and had me set the course so we could meet his boat faster.

“We’re not too far. Hold tight. Don’t panic. Help is on the way.”

“Thank you.” I let out a deep, shuddering breath.

It was happening. I was getting rescued. I was going to make it through this dark tunnel of hell and high water; I was going to make it back to three kisses; I was going to have more Pancake Sundays with all the toppings I could dream of. Suddenly, I was filled with a deep longing to hear my father’s voice again, to let him know I was alive.

I dialed his number and waited.

“Hello.” He sounded groggy and tired. It must have been late where he was.

“Dad?” I wanted to weep, but I didn’t want to alarm him, so I clenched my throat to choke back the sobs.

It was so quiet at the other end—stillness—when everything around me was rolling and churning.

“Skye?” He fumbled. I knew he was looking for his glasses, as if putting them on would make my voice more real.

“Skye? Is that you?” He was completely alert now, completely awake.

“Dad.” I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking.

“Skye.” This time it wasn’t a question. He grabbed on to my name like he’d been flailing around for a lifeline and now he’d found it.

“I’m okay, Dad.” I sobbed.

Neither of us could find the words to say anything else. I’d never heard my father cry before.

“Tell me where you are,” he said.

“I’m on a boat. I don’t know exactly where, but I’m being rescued. I’ll be in touch whe—” The call got cut off before I could finish.

“Hello.” I paused. “Hello?”

The battery was dead. I hugged the phone to my chest, knowing my father was still at the other end.

Stay with me.

Stay with me just a little longer.

The wind had died by the time I put the phone away. The storm was starting to pass. The dinghy had held, but the waves remained strong. Damian was still out, his body rocking with the motion of the boat.

I grabbed the first aid kit from the deckhouse. Then I went back and got Damian’s gun. I cleaned and dressed his wound, with the gun tucked firmly in my pants. I wasn’t taking any chances. The cut was deep. Damian needed stitches, but all I knew was the basics, so I covered it up with thick gauze. It didn’t take long before the blood had seeped through. I held a towel to his head, hoping the pressure would slow it down.

We were drifting on autopilot when the radar started beeping.