her limp, unresponsive body under the arms and dragged her to the surface. Quickly, he swam to the ship.
Throwing her over his shoulder, he climbed the ladder. He lowered her to the deck and put his cheek next to her nose. She wasn't breathing. His fingers pressed into the icy skin at her throat. No pulse.
Dark horror clawed at the edge of his mind, threatening to tear away his reason. He ruthlessly shoved his clamoring emotions down. If he lost it, Tessie would die. He forced himself to view her crumpled body as nothing more than a training mannequin as he tore the ropes off her wrists.
On automatic pilot now, he tilted her head back, pinched her nose and gave her his breath. He began chest compressions, counting until he reached fifteen, gave her more breaths. He repeated, pausing to check her pupils. They were dilated—bad, but reacted to light—good. Again, he pressed his fingers to her ice-cold neck. No pulse.
He repeated the CPR cycle, checked again. Nothing. "Come on, baby!" he muttered. More breaths, more chest compressions. His arms trembled and his head spun. Exhausted from the search, he was also shivering violently from his too-long immersion in the frigid Pacific. But he wasn't about to give up on her.
Breaths, compressions, check pupils, feel for pulse. Over and over. Somewhere along the way he started to shout. "Breathe, Tessa! Come on, sweetheart, breathe, please!"
More breaths, more compressions. No pulse.
"Damn it," he roared. "Don't you leave me!" Beyond reason, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly.
She coughed, then wheezed in a slow, shuddery breath. Relief threatened to render him weak and useless, and he shut off his feelings completely, as he'd been trained to do in these situations. He couldn't help her if he didn't stay rational. He touched trembling fingertips to her throat and counted. Her pulse was thready, barely there. She was still unconscious.
He tore into the cabin to use the radio, then ransacked the room to locate a blanket and flare gun. He raced back to Tessa and checked her pulse. Her heart had stopped again.
He fired off the flare. He restarted the breathing and compressions, but couldn't get a steady heartbeat. He was doggedly performing CPR when the chopper arrived. As the aircraft hovered overhead, a medic dropped onto the deck beside him.
"I can't get her stabilized," he yelled over the rotors.
The medic motioned upward, and a woman landed on deck. Gabe continued compressions while the woman slid a ventilator tube down Tessa's throat. The man ripped open Tessa's blouse. He placed defibrillator paddles on her chest. "Clear!"
Gabe raised his hands. Tessa's body arched as the electric current charged through her body. The second the paddles lifted, he searched for a pulse. Damn it. "Nothing!"
They shocked Tessa twice more before finally establishing a weak heartbeat, then loaded her into the chopper. The medics stripped off her wet clothes and wrapped her in blankets. Refusing a blanket for himself, Gabe focused his entire being on Tessa, silently willing her to live. Her core temperature was so cold, the thermometer didn't register a reading. She flatlined twice. Twice the medics shocked her back to life. The twenty-minute flight lasted an eternity.
Seconds after the chopper touched down, Tessa was placed on a stretcher and hurtled toward the emergency room. When they reached the E.R., a gray-haired doctor took one look at her and turned to Gabe. The doctor's grim face spoke volumes. "You family?"
His pulse jackhammered. Unable to speak, he shook his head.
"Get her family here. In a hurry."
A nurse slammed the doors in Gabe's face. He forced his leaden feet to the phone where he managed to call Melody. He trudged into the packed waiting room, to two vacant seats under a wide bank of windows, and collapsed into a chair. He rested his elbows on his knees. Covering his face with his hands, he began to shake. No matter how hard he willed it, he couldn't stop.
He wasn't sure how much time passed before a small, warm hand touched his bare shoulder.
"Val?"
He looked up wearily and saw Melody bent over him. "The name is Gabe Colton. I'm FBI," he rasped. "Sit down." Wracked with violent tremors, he stared fixedly at the wall as he told her everything.
When he finished, Mel remained silent. Gabe didn't dare look at her. His control teetered on a razor edge. If she fell apart, he'd break down like a baby.
Her hand patted his shoulder again. "I'll be right back."