As she stared into the green eyes of the man who’d betrayed her love, memories of them together flooded her mind.
5 years to Thunderbolt
The late afternoon sun had filtered low through the sea mist like golden honey, its warmth still clinging to the sandstone cliffs surrounding Children’s Pool Beach in La Jolla. After a daylong swim, Cynthia laid back on a towel spread across a patch of sun-warmed sand. Shadows lengthened across the shoreline, blurring the once-sharp rocks into soft edges. The last of the tourists had gone, and only the hush of gentle waves and the distant barking of sea lions from Seal Rock remained. It was the kind of dusk that made her heart ache for something unnamed—timeless, suspended—something that lay beside her.
Her hair, still damp from the ocean, fell in tangled curls across her shoulder. Her skin glowed from salt and sun, bronzed and radiant. A teal bikini—thin straps and minimal coverage—clung to her like seaweed to rock, and she made no effort to adjust it, confident in her own power, sensuality, and the emptiness of the beach and the hopes of a glorious evening with the man she’d come to admire and to … love.
John Grady lay beside her, arms folded under his head, six-pack abs gleaming with the last sheen of seawater. His strong profile—square jaw, high cheekbones, and sea-glass eyes—caught the light. They had both just come back from a long snorkel through the kelp forests, weaving between reefs and sea lions, laughing at fish that darted between their legs. A perfect day.
“You lost your mask,” she said, turning toward him with a sly grin.
“I misjudged the wave.” He didn’t open his eyes. “It came out of nowhere.”
She laughed. “I also lost my top, if you recall.”
That got his attention. He angled his head toward her, his boyish grin spreading. “Yeah. Funny how you weren’t in much of a hurry to put it back on.”
She shrugged, unbothered. “No one else was around. Just us. And as I recall, you didn’t exactly help me to find it quickly.”
He leaned closer, his dilated sea-green eyes locking with hers. “I’ve always liked what I’ve seen, Cynthia. I mean, look at you. You’re a goddess to be worshipped.”
Her smile faltered for a heartbeat. She didn’t want to be worshipped, just loved. She fingered his arm, tracing the edge of a lingering scratch from the reef. “I like being yours today. I like … us.”
His silence wasn’t immediate, but it lingered just long enough to cause her concern. “You’re amazing,” he said finally. “I’ve had an incredible time with you.”
Something unspoken passed between them, something that pierced her happy bubble. A breeze chilled her shoulders. She pulled the towel around her, abruptly feeling more exposed. “So,” she said, working to sound casual, “what’s next for you, after finals?”
He hesitated, glancing away, but not before she saw his already tanned face redden. “I was going to tell you.”
Cynthia’s heart stuttered. “Tell me what?”
He sat up, brushing sand from his knees. “I’m leaving Tuesday for a post-doc fellowship, a two-year expedition. Scripps is sending me out with a deep-sea crew. We’re mapping volcanic fissures along the Pacific Rim in a state-of-the-art underwater prototype submersible. I’m so jazzed.”
She blinked, mouth dropping open. “Tuesday?” Anger and betrayal replaced her shook. How long had he known about this expedition and yet led her on believing they had a lasting relationship?
John had the audacity to look ashamed. “I know I should’ve said something earlier. I just … didn’t want to ruin this.” He gestured between them.
Cynthia stared at him. “Ruin what?”
“This. Us. The way we’ve had it. You know. Our relationship.”
“Had it?” Her voice cracked. “Had what, John? I thought—” Words caught in her throat like seawater inhaled too fast.
He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t think we were … I mean, we never talked about anything long-term.”
“Nothing long-term. You never let me talk about us long term.” She struggle to stand, sand clinging to her legs and back. “I gave you everything, John. My time. My body. My trust.”
He stood too, reaching for her. “Cynthia—”
She batted his hands away and stepped back. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.” She wrapped her towel around her like a shield.
A wave crashed just beyond the jetty. “I was ready to change my whole career for you. I thought maybe … maybe we’d build something together. Marriage. A family. And you were planning your exit this whole time? I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”
She felt used and tossed aside like a holey beach towel no longer of value. Damn him.
He ran a hand through his damp hair. “You’re incredible. But I knew I couldn’t be the man you want me to be. I need this. My work. Research. The ocean is … it’s who I am.”
She felt hollowed, as if the tide had pulled something essential from her and left her cracked open. “Then go,” she whispered.
“Cynthia, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll think of you out there.”
“No, you won’t,” she said flatly, picking up her gear. “You’ll forget. Because that’s obviously who you are. You forget the promises you make.” She turned before the tears could fall, walked barefoot across the sand, not looking back. Behind her, the sun dipped into the Pacific like the slow, burning promise of happiness with the man she’d grown to love, gone stone cold.
And somewhere deep inside, Cynthia had decided she would never let a man break her again.
18.5 hours to Thunderbolt – 3:30 p.m. Mountain
Cynthia blinked as the horrific memory receded, the weight of that last beach sunset tightening her chest. And now—here he was—Dr. Heartbreaker.
David watched her with concern on his face. Elena rolled her eyes. The air between them bristled with things unspoken.
“Cynthia?” John asked.
She shook herself and faced John, the man she’d spent the summer at Scripps with doing her postdoc on under ocean earthquakes. But she wasn’t the young stary-eyed postgrad anymore. She was a brilliant doctor, near the top of her profession in her field of seismology. “What do you think of our red dust?” You jerk!
John grinned that killer grin that used to cause earthquakes in her body. But no more. “Unusual for this time of year,” he said.
Cynthia chuckled. “Talk to my father. He’ll tell you exactly what it means.” She waved him over. “Dad, this is Dr. Grady.”
“Thee Doctor Grady, John Grady.” He eyed John like he was a cockroach that invaded the house. “Pleasure,” Manny said, shaking hands. “Now, about that dust…”
Cynthia turned away, watching Elena cling to David like a coat of paint.
Elena turned to her. “Why did you take so long getting to the limo? John said he saw you off the flight from Los Angeles.”
He’d been on her flight? At least she could be thankful she hadn’t known that. “I got sidetracked when I found Dad by the bar. David has invited him as his guest.”
“Mr. Blackstone won’t like that,” Elena flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder and nearly took David out. “But then, you always did know how to handle him, Cindy.”
Cynthia clenched her fists. She hated being called Cindy.
Elena smirked but sidled up to John. “Dr. Grady. Can I call you John? Cynthia’s husband and I worked together on the Colima volcano last year. A falling rock killed him, and he died in my arms.” She sniffed. “So tragic.”
Cynthia blanched and nearly took Elena’s head off. “You—”
Manny stepped between them, and put his hands on Cynthia’s shoulders. “Don’t let her get to you.”
Elena focused on David. “I missed you. You never call. Didn’t even tell me about your award.”
“We’re not close, Elena.” David’s voice was tight. “Our limited work was … work. Nothing more.”
Cynthia blinked. That surprised her. How did any man resist the charms of Elena Ruiz? Good for David.
Elena pouted.
David took a step back. “I heard you won another grant. How do you do it? You’re not even published.”
Elena scowled. “Oh, David, you do follow my career.” She kissed him hard. Cynthia gagged.
At least David had the decency to push the piranha away and wipe his mouth. Her respect for him ratchetted up. John watched the scene with detached amusement, but his eyes followed Elana’s movements like a hawk.
The captain entered the lounge. “Sorry, folks. FAA grounded all East-bound flights.”
Cynthia stepped forward. “We’re government-chartered. Can’t you get clearance?”
“Too risky. Though the dust has lessened, it’s harder to clean off than ash. We’re grounded.” He flipped around and headed back into the hanger offices.
She pulled her cell from her briefcase and called Mr. Blackstone. No luck.
David stepped closer to Cynthia. “May I?”
“Knock yourself out.”
He made a quick call. “Mr. Keys. We’re all here. Yes, I understand. Thank you.” He hung up.
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. “Well?”
He shrugged. “We wait.”
Minutes later, the captain returned. “I haven’t had a call like that since the CIA days. Let’s hope your friend convinces the tower too. The jet’s ready, at least as cleaned off as we can make it. I just hope we don’t suck in a boatload of that crap and fall from thirty thousand feet. Grab your gear and hold onto your butts.”
They all hurried outside on the tarmac and that awaiting Gulfstream.
The team was assembled.
Cynthia’s heart pounded as she ran, dragging her carryon and clutching her laptop case. Dad hurried beside her. What would Blackstone think of her father crashing the party. Guess the real journey was about to begin. Would they survive the day?
And the real journey was about to begin.
