Gem stepped forward. “I can answer that, since I called them.”

Linda Kane swiveled toward Gem, a boldly arched auburn eyebrow rising. “Really. And who would you be?”

“Gillian Martin. I’m head of the research team here at the sanctuary. This is a protected area and with the storm coming, we need to secure the coastline.” She nodded toward the FEMA trucks. “Standard procedure under these conditions.”

“And of course, with the oil spill—”

“At this point,” Gem said, “we’re a lot more worried about the storm than something that might happen. The hurricane is not theoretical.”

“I guess we’ll all find out about that together, then,” Linda said jauntily, as if they were all going to the same cocktail party that evening.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Gem said, “I need to get these people organized.” She turned her back on the reporter and headed toward the lead FEMA van. “Bill?”

A slender, handsome young African American stepped forward, hand outstretched. “That would be me. Our command vehicles are setting up in town. Where do you want the sand?”

“There’s an access road behind the building,” Gem said, returning his handshake. “Take that down toward the beach. I’ll meet you there and we can get started.”

“Good enough.” He herded his people back to their trucks. “Saddle up, everybody.”

Within a minute, the parking lot was empty except for the news van. Gem ignored them as she strode after the FEMA vehicles.

Austin caught up with her on the path. “Thanks for having my back.”

“I wasn’t. I just wanted to keep the record straight.”

“Well, I appreciate it, all the same.”

“You’re welcome,” Gem said, cutting her a glance. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d make myself useful and fill some sandbags.”

“I think that’s a little below your pay grade, isn’t it?”

“I want to help, and right now it’s a waiting game out on the rig. There’s nothing I can do out there. So if it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay.”

Gem let out a breath. “All right, as long as you promise to keep those news people out of our hair.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“Actually,” Gem said, thinking back on all the things she’d once wanted from a lover and never thought to have, “I think I’m finally beginning to.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Gem dragged a bag of sand to the barricade and heaved it on top. Pressing a hand to the small of her back and stretching her shoulders, she squinted down the beach to survey their progress. The mountain of sand dumped from the FEMA truck still looked like a mountain, but it must be smaller, because the line of sandbags stretching along the high-tide line was higher. She couldn’t fool herself into thinking it would be enough if the surge came ashore ten feet high, but even then the wall would be a deterrent to the coastal washout and the overwhelming flooding in the marshes. A quick look at her watch told her they’d been at it much longer than she’d realized—in another hour they’d be working under floodlights. Some of the FEMA crew were rigging them now. As long as they had power, they’d be able to keep erecting their puny physical barrier in the face of one of nature’s most violent ambassadors.

She grabbed another empty bag, hefted her shovel, and started back to the sand hill. Halfway there she made the mistake of looking where she had been trying not to look for the past few hours, and a glimpse was enough to stop her in her tracks.

Fifteen feet away, Austin stared out to sea as she talked on her phone. She’d shed her jacket and stood, legs spread, in rolled-up shirtsleeves, dark hair blowing in the wind, one arm resting on the handle of her upright shovel. She might’ve been standing on the quarterdeck of a three-masted sailing ship, for she looked like nothing less than a pirate captain, with an aura of loosely chained power warning she could spring into action at any moment. She certainly didn’t look like anyone’s mouthpiece or any of the slick talking heads who so often handled PR at times like this.

Austin didn’t have to be out here in the driving winds with a shovel, bagging sand. There were no cameras, at least not this close, and none of the dozen volunteers filling bags paid any attention to her beyond an appreciative glance now and then from a woman or man. She wasn’t bending her back for good PR, but she was earning it from Gem all the same. Just watching her made Gem want to touch her, and a whole hell of a lot of other things she couldn’t think about now.

Gem should have turned away when Austin tucked the phone into her pants pocket, but she was too slow. They hadn’t spoken since they’d reached the beach and started work, and when Austin caught her gaze and held it, Gem couldn’t look away. They might’ve been alone on the windswept coast. When Austin shouldered her shovel and strode toward her, a wave of longing as potent as pain unfurled deep inside her.

Gem forced a casual smile and ignored the sudden tremor in her legs. “Any news?”

“That was Tatum—he’s the incident commander on the rig.” Austin ran her fingers through her hair, leaving it sexily disheveled. “He’s making some progress running an exterior column down the well shaft to contain the oil.”

Gem tilted her chin toward the two large ships and a smattering of smaller ones that had been moving up and down along the coast for the past few hours. “But you’re going ahead with the booms all the same.”

“We have to, considering the storm coming. If we wait until we see oil, we’ll be too late.”

“That has to be costly for your bosses.”

Austin shrugged. “Not nearly as costly as the oil reaching shore.”

“In more ways than one,” Gem muttered, thinking of the news vans that had set up residence behind the line of FEMA trucks. The camera crews had shot some footage of the sandbag operation and then headed back to the cover of their vehicles. They were here for the oil story, not what happened to the refuge.

“How are things looking from your end?” Austin asked.

“We could use a few dozen more people, but if we keep going as long as we can, we’ll make a difference.”

“When will you evac to the mainland?”

“My team isn’t leaving. We can’t risk being cut off from the island. Time is critical in rescue operations, and if we end up dealing with oil on top of storm damage, we’ll already be behind.”

“Three days of heavy rain closed the causeway before,” Austin said. “You might not be able to get back out here even if you stay.”

“The Coast Guard will get us here.” Gem grinned. “I’ve got an in with them.”

“You’ll be in for a rough ride,” Austin said, her tone cautious.

“This coming from someone who spends her time on top of oil wells out in the middle of the ocean.”

Austin grinned, her rakish expression making Gem’s stomach tighten. “It’s a little like riding a bucking horse. You just hold on and go with it.”

Hold on and go with it. Could anything in life really be that simple? Climbing aboard the roller coaster, strapping into the rocket ship, setting sail without a map? Gem had made a choice to ride the whirlwind when she’d kissed Austin first, when she’d taken her hand and led her upstairs, knowing they’d end up in bed, when she’d abandoned her self-imposed exile from passion. She had followed her desires, and she had surely ended up at sea without a chart. “I made a choice.”

Austin regarded her intently, that dark probing gaze gliding over her face in a silent invitation Gem was finding harder and harder to resist. “What was it?”

“To acknowledge my attraction to you…my desire for you. I wanted to feel what you make me feel. I was a willing partner.”

“I should have stopped you,” Austin said, “but I couldn’t. I wanted you then. I want you now.”

The familiar heat erupted in Gem’s chest, flooded her throat, and rolled lower in a liquid rush of desire and need. “This is the wrong time, the wrong place—just about everything is wrong.”

“Maybe after this is all over—” Austin said instantly.

“Maybe,” Gem said, hesitating while every instinct urged her to abandon caution. She might have, if her feelings hadn’t been so intense, so much larger and more frightening than anything she’d experienced in her life.

Austin must have sensed her uncertainty and smiled wryly. “Not like we have any choice.” She hefted the shovel. “We seem destined to spend our time together in the middle of a storm.”

Gem laughed. No calm center when Austin was involved. Being near her was like standing on the shore in the heart of the hurricane, buffeted by lashing winds and driving rain while lightning flashed across the sky. The wild unbridled beauty filled her, and she had no desire to escape to where it was safe and warm and ultimately passionless. “I don’t mind a little weather.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Gem said, almost ready to dare the whirlwind again. “When—”

“Hey,” Emily called, jogging down the beach toward them.

Gem sent Austin a wry look and turned away. “Hi, Em. How’s it going?”

“I posted the evac roster as requested. Everybody knows where they need to be and what they need to do.”

“Thanks.”

“You ought to take a break while you can,” Emily said. “By my count, you’ve been out here six hours. Did you have any lunch?”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s going to be a long couple of weeks.” Emily propped her hands on her hips, her tone gentle but unyielding. “That means everyone has to take care of themselves, but especially you. Go. Get something hot to drink, some food.”

Gem knew she was right. She’d skipped lunch, and breakfast had been coffee and a bagel at the center at seven that morning. The early briefing with Austin seemed like it’d been days ago. “All right, I’ll take a lunch break.”

“Make it a long one. I know where to find you.” Emily glanced at Austin. “You should go with her. You’ve been out here as long as anyone.”

“I’m—”

“The FEMA guys have a food truck just over that rise.” She made shooing motions. “Go. Go. Both of you.”

Gem stowed her empty sandbag and shovel and gestured for Austin to join her. “She’s right. Come on.”

“If you’re sure—”

Gem laughed. “I can’t remember the last time I was sure of anything.”

“Then maybe I—”

“Come on,” Gem said, heading up the slope. “It’s only lunch.”

❖

The windows on Gem’s cabin were boarded up, making the interior dark and cave-like. Feeling awkward, Austin halted just inside the door while Gem lit lamps. She glimpsed the alcove and the bed, remembering lying naked there with Gem, a million years ago. Before everything had changed. She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “If I told you why I was coming in the car that day—”

Gem turned, resting her hips against the counter in the tiny kitchenette. “I get why you didn’t. At least, I’m assuming GOP doesn’t want any press around incidents like this unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“That’s pretty much right.”

“And who decides when it’s necessary?”

“There are laws that spell out at what point notification is required and other agencies get involved.”

“And that’s when you get to take the stage.”

Austin grimaced. “I’d rather not be onstage at all, but it’s part of my job, yes. The other part is to coordinate, like I’ve been doing here. And the company likes to have a direct line to what’s going on in the field. That’s me too.”

“Quite a lot of hats to wear. How do you find time to work on your comics?”

“Fortunately, emergencies at the level where I’m required aren’t all that frequent.” Austin rubbed her face with both hands. “Although lately, they seem to be. The more global drilling expands”—she shrugged—“the more ground we need to cover.”

“I think we’ve established your reasons for holding back why you were coming. We don’t need to go over that ground again.”

The remote chill in Gem’s tone made it pretty clear the issue wasn’t really over, at least not to Austin’s satisfaction. Apologies had been made, and accepted. She got that. But a chasm still yawned between them, wide and dark and echoing hollowly in the center of her chest. “If you’d known, would any of this”—she gestured toward the bed—“have happened?”

Gem turned, opened the boxed lunches they’d grabbed from the FEMA truck, carried them to the tiny table, and set them in front of the two chairs. She sat down and opened hers. “Probably not.”

Austin joined her and pulled out a sandwich she had no appetite for. Unwrapping it, she took a bite and chased it with lukewarm bottled water. “Then I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you, even though I wish we were at a different place right now. I’m not sorry about what we’ve shared.”