Tsunami Blue Read Online Free PDF Page A

black eyes, eyes I couldn’t read.
    Fed up, I flipped the knife, throwing it hard into the cedar floor just beyond his reach. The blade sank deep into the wood in front of his face, and I hoped the message was clear. But just in case, I delivered it personally.
    “But I’m a tougher girl, big guy, just in case you thought otherwise. And”—I walked over, yanked the blade up by the hilt, tossing it high in the air, only to catch it right in front of his nose—“I have the knife.” He said nothing, just raised that dark brow.
    Okay, now I was pissed. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I did know one thing: I wasn’t going to do it naked.
    I turned to collect my clothes, jeans, a tee, socks; where was my bra? I only owned two, one held together by a knot. Man, it was time to go shopping. I needed lots of things: coats, bras, ammo. But considering it was sixty nautical miles to Seattle, where most of the city was underwater and shopping at the mall entailed a wet suit, scuba gear, and a lookout, well, let’s just say two bras were good for a while longer. But I had to go soon. Salt water is hard on, well, everything.
    “Looking for this?”
    I sighed and my shoulders slumped. I knew what was coming. I’d thrown my clothes off last night and in my hurry I didn’t know or care where they might have landed. That is, until now. I turned around. Well, so much for the tough-girl image.
     He held out my bright pink bra with his long, tan fingers. Good grief, even the guy’s hands were sexy. I shook my head, walked over still gripping the blanket, and held out my hand. He tossed the bra my way and neither one of us smiled.
    The weak morning light and the absence of warmth in the cabin made for a downright depressing atmosphere. We both knew only too well that this situation could—that is, most likely would—end badly for one of us. And I desperately didn’t want it to be me.
    I called for Max, who had been sleeping soundly in the corner. Guess all those doggy kisses had worn him out. Traitor. I gathered my clothes and headed for the door.
    “Gabriel.”
    My hand paused at the doorknob. “Excuse me?” I turned slowly and met his dark gaze.
    “Gabriel. My name.”
    I paused, hearing but unbelieving. Gabriel . The dark angel, the fallen angel. My fantasy angel from the night before. But this man before me, stretched out naked in my old sleeping bag, handcuffed to an ancient stove, this man was no fantasy. He was flesh; he was blood; he was real. Hell, I’d seen him bleed.
    “Gabriel?” I crossed my arms, still holding the knife, and bunched the clothes to my chest.
    “Gabriel Black.”
    Oh, come on. Gabriel and Black? Dark angel? What were the chances? Had I been talking in my sleep? Not possible. Was it? Then again, I could talk to the sea. I could predict the waves. Why not guess a name, or at the very least come close? But Gabriel? A name almost as beautiful as the man himself? I didn’t believe it.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    He shrugged.
    “Fine,” I said, bitterness lacing through my voice. “What’s a name in today’s world anyway? Come on, Max.” I turned to go.
    “Not much,” he said softly behind me, “unless, of course, it’s Tsunami Blue.”
    My hand froze on the doorknob. So he knew who I was. I turned to face him. “You’re a genius, aren’t you, tough guy? What gave it away? The shortwave equipment?” I motioned to my radio in the corner and was amazed to see it covered with a blue tarp. I guess in my frenzy last night I had thought to try to conceal my identity. So how had he known? As if he’d read my mind, he pointed to the old cupboard, where, pinned on peeling paint, was a yellowed and frail newspaper clipping. The headline could still be clearly read: Angel of the Beach Saves One Hundred Lives .
    “You’re her. You’re the angel.” He said it without emotion, as if asking, Please pass the salt . He shrugged at my glare. “The tat helped, of course.”
    “I’m