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turned to him, face an expectant blank, waiting for a direction, some degrees or an o clock,
but Tom s brain would not supply him with such detail and he could only swing the searchlight
round, throwing out its beam in silent gesture. There!
A buoy, or a fragment of wreckage. These possibilities rose up, frail shields, across the
fire of hope. There was a third one too. Tom swore inwardly, to a god he had lost under the
Afghan sun and rediscovered in the wreck of a Land Rover six days before, that he would not
leave Rob Tremaine to drown. More specifically, that he would not reach out, cut the cords of
his lifejacket, put a hand to the top of his head and shove him under to make sure. That he
would not allow Vic, who had fewer scruples and had never taken a do no harm oath, to do it
for him. The RIB clambered, motor roaring, to the top of the next wave, and there it was
again. No, not wreckage. A human shape. Flynn.
He was blue to the lips, his face serene. The seawater cradled him. Tom could not know
when he had stopped fighting it saw, in a kind of streaking slow-motion as he reached out
with Vic over the side of the raft, that his watch had stopped, blurred with water and steam.
But it had been half an hour when they had found the ASaC crew. Flynn had been in the wa-
ter too long.
Too long for life to be flickering still behind his peaceful mask. Everything Tom
knew about the sea, about human biology screamed out against it, and he thought, haul-
ing the poor lost deadweight into the lee of the raft, that he understood. Accepted. His own
heart was drowned inside him and it could not make a difference. His fists closed alongside
Victor s in Flynn s soaked flight suit. Together they dragged him far enough out of the water
for Tom to get hold of his belt. The sea, remorseless, even now not sated with what it had
taken, heaped itself up more and broke across them all, nearly sending the RIB under. Tom
sobbed, choking, heaving Flynn halfway on board over the gunwale tube, and Flynn beneath
his hands gave one enormous twitch and began to fight like a wildcat.
He was trying to finish a conflict whose beginnings Tom struggled to imagine, as he and
Victor pulled him in and pinned him down on the life raft s soaking deck. He was too water-
logged to get out more than a faint, rasped Rob, but the punch he threw was well aimed and
sincere. Tom caught his fist. Flynn. Flynn, love, it s me.
Rob& Bastard, let me go&
Hush. Easy. Tom heard his own voice, the shudder of laughter in it, the raw edge of
tears. Flynn, for God s sake, it s Tom.
Flynn fought out of his grasp, evading Victor s too, and bolted upright. The move threw
him into Tom s arms. Tom seized him tight, ignoring the convulsion that went through him. He
wrapped one hand around the back of his skull. His hair was tangled and rimed with salt.
It s Tom, he repeated, in a whisper against his ear, sealing the promise with a rough,
clumsy kiss, rocking him. I found you. Flynn, sweetheart. I found you. It s me.
Flynn went still. He stopped trying to tear himself out of Tom s embrace. Tom felt his two
fists, which had been balled against his shoulders, open suddenly up. Felt against his neck,
indescribably, the astonished waking gape of Flynn s mouth. The hands moved reading him
quickly like Braille, sweeping his shoulders, his hair. Tom.
Yes. You re okay.
No. I must ve died, Flynn stated calmly. Tom fought laughter. He sounded so sure of
himself, and unfazed, as if death, even his own, was just another aspect of rescue work to be
dealt with. That, or I ve got the cold-crazies, because&
I m sure you do have those. The raft lurched, taking on another rush of water. Peripher-
ally Tom saw Victor push upright and go aft. A moment later the outboard snarled, pushing
them forward against the swell. He kissed the side of Flynn s brow. But you re alive. Going
home.
No. Because you just see what you want. He paused, gasping, and Tom listened in con-
cern to the half-drowned rattle in his chest. He struggled back a little, far enough to look into
Tom s face, his eyes sea-green burning eerily. You just hear and you see what you want.
Tom s in hospital. Findlay said he d be all right, or I d never have left him. He frowned, putting
up an unsteady hand to brush Tom s face. I d never have left you. Oh, Christ. Tom.
That s right, Tom said in relief, as the hypothermic body he held shuddered back to real-
ity, at the same time registering at last how much water it had swallowed and inhaled. Flynn
sucked a noisy breath and began to cough. That s right, come here. Sit forward. Tom pulled
him up onto his hands and knees, held him tight against the boat s movement and his own ex-
pulsive spasms. When he could spare a hand, he tore off his jacket. It was soaked, next to
useless, but on top of Flynn s flight suit would give him at least one layer of protection against
the remorseless, leaching wind. He wrapped it round his shoulders, and saw that Victor was
shrugging out of his oilskin. Ta, Vic. He caught it as Victor threw it, and bundled that around
Flynn too. Okay, sunbeam. You done there? Your lungs clear?
Flynn moaned. Ought to be, he managed, on a faint wry rasp between fits of coughing
and retching. Be okay, Tom. Core temp s still over ninety. Organs are functional.
Oh, an expert patient. I love those. Come on. He hauled him upright, aware of his own
pain now only as background noise, a distant music he didn t need to hear. Your bloody or-
gans won t function much longer if they stay out here. Victor! You okay there?
Fine. Get him into the canopy. I ll take us home.
Okay. He paused, glancing at Flynn, who was on his feet but barely conscious, eyes flut-
tering closed. Vic. Keep an eye out for& the other one.
A vulpine grin lit Victor s face. Yeah. I ll be sure to do that.
I mean it. We have to. All kinds of reasons. The least of them was Tom s oath, or the
manslaughter by neglect a failure to search would amount to. Tom remembered a dream, in
which Flynn had sat by his hospital bed and dismissed Rob Tremaine for a reason that made
his heart heave with painful joy even now, but he couldn t be sure. Not of what had happened,
not what Flynn really needed. We have to try, for Flynn s sake.
Tom got him under the life raft s fabric canopy. It was a frail shelter, but the cessation of
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