‘Sunday night. The beach was busy. One bundle of clothes might well go unnoticed. An entry at eight, she’d be a lot further north by now. And if it was a mistake she’ll be fighting.’

‘Her mother’s sure she’s suicidal.’

‘How much does your mother know about you?’ Riley demanded.

‘I’d hate to imagine,’ Cordelia retorted-which was a lot of speech for Cordelia. She was quiet at the best of times, but tonight her head cold was making her miserable.

There was a moment’s pause while they all thought this through. Then: ‘I guess it’s worth a shot,’ Harry said, and hit the radio. ‘Assuming an eight o’clock entry,’ he asked Bernie in their control room, ‘can you rework the expected position?’

They did two more unsuccessful sweeps before Bernie was back with a location.

‘Half a kilometre north and closer to shore,’ Harry relayed. ‘Let’s go.’

It’d be so easy to slip under.

There will be no headlines. Not.

She was so tired.

The light. Had it turned? Was it coming?

She was imagining it. Her mind was doing funny, loopy things. The stars, the fluorescence of the waves and the roar of the sea were merging into a cold, menacing dream.

If this light wasn’t really in her head she should raise her hand. If she could summon the energy. She could just…

Maybe not.

She must.

‘Something.’

The Squirrel banked and turned almost before Riley barked the word. Harry was good.

So was Riley. His eyes were the best in the business. But still… the water was so choppy. They were in by the cliffs; any closer and they’d be victims themselves.

‘Sure?’ Harry snapped.

‘No. Ten back. Five left. Hover.’

They hovered. The floodlight lit the water. The downdraught caused the water to flatten.

There…

‘Got it,’ Cordelia snapped.

They both had it. And what’s more… There was a hand, feebly raised.

‘She’s alive,’ Riley said, and he didn’t try to keep the exultation from his voice. ‘How about that? Suicide or not, it seems our bride’s changed her mind. Hold on, Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham, we’re coming.’

The light… the noise… It was all around her. She couldn’t think.

She also could no longer make her feet tread water.

A shadow was over her. Someone was yelling.

She was so tired.

Do not slip under. Do not.

Please.

Something was sliding into the water beside her. Someone.

She was too weak to clutch but she didn’t need to. Arms were holding her. Just… holding.

Another human.

She was safe. She could let go. She had to let go. She could slip into the darkness and disappear.

‘Don’t you give up on us now, Phillippa Penelope Fotheringham,’ someone growled. ‘I’ve got you.’

She made one last effort. One massive effort because this was really, really important.

‘I am not marrying Roger,’ she managed. ‘My choice, not his. And my name is not Phillippa. I’m Pippa.’

CHAPTER TWO

THERE were sunbeams on her bedcover. She woke and the sheer wonder of sunlight on linen was enough to make her want to cry.

Someone was standing at the end of her bed. Male. With a stethoscope.

She was in hospital?

Of course. The events of the night before came surging back-or maybe only some of the events, because there seemed to be gaps. Big gaps.

Water. Dark. Terror.

Then in the water, someone holding her, yelling at her, or maybe they were yelling at someone else.

Someone fastening her to him. Large, male, solid.

‘You’re safe. You don’t need to hold on. I have you.’

Noise, lights, people.

Hospital.

‘Hi,’ the guy at the end of the bed said. ‘I’m Dr Riley Chase. Welcome to the other side.’

The other side.

She surveyed the man talking to her with a certain degree of caution. He was… gorgeous. Tall, ripped and, after the nightmare of last night, reassuringly solid.

Beautifully solid.

She took time to take him in. Detail seemed important. Detail meant real.

His face was tanned and strongly boned. His deep blue eyes were crinkled at the edges. Laughter lines? Weather lines? Weather maybe. His near black hair-a bit unkempt, a bit in need of a cut-showed signs of sun-bleaching. That’d be from weather. He was wearing cream chinos. His short-sleeved shirt was open at the throat-this guy was definitely ripped-and his stethoscope was hanging from his top pocket.

Welcome to the other side?

Gorgeous fitted the other side description, she decided. Doctors didn’t.

‘Doctors aren’t in my version of heaven,’ she said, trying her voice out. She was vaguely surprised when it worked. Nothing felt like it should work this morning.

‘It’s definitely heaven,’ he said, smiling a wide, white smile that made him look friendlier-and more heart-stoppingly gorgeous-than any doctor she’d ever met. ‘In the other place the pillows are lumpy and we’re big on castor oil and leeches.’

‘And here?’ she managed.

‘Not a leech in sight, we reserve our castor oil for emergencies and there are two pillows for every bed. And because you were soggy the angels have decreed you can have more.’ He waved an expansive hand around her not-very-expansive cubicle. ‘Luxury.’

She smiled at that. She was in a two-bed cubicle that opened out into the corridor. The nurses’ station was on the other side, giving whoever was at the station a clear view of her bed. Luxury?

‘And heaven also means your medical care’s totally free,’ he added. ‘Especially as your documents say you have travel insurance.’

Her documents?

There was enough there to give her pause. To make her take her time about saying anything else. She looked at Dr Riley Chase and he gazed calmly back at her. She had the impression that he had all the time in the world.

‘Dr Chase?’ a female voice called to him from the corridor. Maybe he didn’t have all the time in the world.

‘Unless it’s a code blue I’m busy,’ he called back. He tugged a chair to her bedside and straddled it, so he was facing her with the back of the chair between them. She knew this trick. She often wished she could use it herself but it was a guy thing. Guy thing or not, she appreciated it now. It gave the impression of friendliness, but it wasn’t overly familiar. She needed a bit of distance and maybe he sensed it.

‘You’re on suicide watch,’ he said bluntly. ‘We have a staff shortage. Are you planning on doing anything interesting?’

She thought about that for a bit. Felt a bit angry. Felt a bit stupid.

‘We’re struggling with priorities,’ he said, maybe sensing her warring emotions. Feeling the need to be apologetic. ‘Olive Matchens had a heart attack last night. She’s a nice old lady. We’re transferring her to Sydney for a coronary bypass but until the ambulance is free I’d like a nurse to stay with her all the time. Only we need to watch you.’

‘I don’t need to be watched.’

‘Okay, promise I have nothing to worry about?’ He smiled again, and his smile… Wow. A girl could wake up to that smile and think it had been worth treading water for a night or more or more to find it. ‘You need to know you’re at risk of that cod liver oil if you break your promise,’ he warned, and his smile became wicked. Teasing.

But there was seriousness behind his words. She knew she had to respond.

‘I wasn’t trying to do anything silly.’ She tried to sound sure but it came out a whisper.

‘Pardon?’

‘I was not trying to suicide.’ Her second attempt came out loud. Very loud. The noises outside the cubicle stopped abruptly and she felt like hauling her bedclothes up to her nose and disappearing under them.

‘Your mother’s frantic. She’s on her way to Heathrow airport right now,’ Dr Chase told her. ‘With someone called Roger. Their plane’s due to leave in two hours unless I call to stop them.’

Forget hiding under the bedclothes. She dropped her sheet and stared at him in horror. ‘My mother and Roger?’

‘They sound appalled. They know you’re safe, but you’ve terrified them.’

‘Excellent.’

‘That’s not very-’

‘Kind? No, it’s not. My mother still wants me to marry Roger.’

‘This sounds complicated,’ he said, sounding like he was beginning to enjoy himself. Then someone murmured something out in the corridor and he glanced at his watch and grimaced. ‘Okay, let’s give you the benefit of the doubt, and let Roger and Mum sweat for a bit. What hurts?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You know, I’m very sure it does.’

She thought about it. He watched as she thought about it.

He saw more than she wanted him to see, she decided. His gaze was calm but intent, giving her all the time in the world to answer but getting answers of his own while he waited. She could see exactly what he was doing, but there was no escaping those calm, intelligent eyes.

‘My chest,’ she said at last, reluctantly.

‘There’s a bit of water in your lungs. We’ve X-rayed. It’s nice clean ocean water and you’re a healthy young woman. It shouldn’t cause problems but we’re giving you antibiotics in case, and you need to stay propped up on pillows and under observation until it clears. Your breathing’s a bit ragged and it’ll cause a bit of discomfort. We’re starting you on diuretics-something to dry you out a bit. There’ll be no long-term issues as long as you obey instructions.’

‘My arms…’

‘Harness,’ he said ruefully. ‘We try and pad ’em.’

‘We?’

‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid.’

There was an echo-the way he said the name. Some time last night those words had been said-maybe even on the way up into the helicopter.

‘New South Wales North Coast Flight-Aid, ma’am, at your service.’