Storm Watch(3)

AS LIZZY MANN TOSSED aside her cell phone and drove through winds that were jarring her little Honda around like it was nothing more than a Matchbox car, she wished her sister would call again. Not that wishing had ever gotten her anywhere with Cece.

Ever.

“Evacuations are beginning,” the deejay announced through her radio, and Lizzy tensed.

“The Santa Rey bowl is filling up, starting at Main,” he said. “All the way to the high school.”

“Don’t say Eastside,” she murmured, glancing at the radio as if she could actually affect the report. “Please. Please, don’t say—”

“And all of Eastside, starting at Second.”

Naturally, and for Lizzy, the storm took a right turn from nasty into Hell-ville. Because Eastside was where she had to go. Of course it was where she had to go. Because this wouldn’t be a Cece situation if it didn’t put Lizzy in danger or jeopardy.

Not fair, Lizzy reminded herself. Her sister had changed. She really had. Yes, growing up after losing their parents meant that Lizzy had always been the mom, the one in charge, but now they were both adults. And what might have started out as a New Year’s resolution, a slightly drunken one, had become a new life’s resolve for Cece. Her baby sister was getting her stuff together, turning things around. No more drinking, drugs, lying and, especially, no more wild men. No more men period.

Actually, they’d both made that vow.

Since then, for the past six months, Lizzy had watched Cece bloom into a determined, independent twenty-four-year-old, which had been amazing to witness.

But that was about to be tested, because her sister was alone in this storm, and given her lifelong fear of them, she was also most likely terrified. And an alone, terrified Cece was never a good thing.

Sure, they’d talked earlier, at Lizzy’s midnight break at the hospital, where she worked as an E.R. nurse. Cece had sworn she was fine. But now she wasn’t answering her phone.

Lizzy was well aware that this was all her hang-up, that Cece was smart enough to evacuate, but Lizzy had been the mom for so long she couldn’t rest until she knew for certain.

Especially now that Cece was pregnant…

Unfortunately Lizzy’s car wasn’t equipped for driving in these conditions. Her tires were shot, and with the roads under a few inches of water, there was no way she could get to Third Avenue, where Cece had moved shortly after her transformation six months ago.

She’d called her neighbor, an ex-cop named Mike, but he hadn’t picked up. She’d left him a message to keep an eye on her place, and let her know if anyone showed up there. Her next call had been to Dustin. They were friends from the hospital where Dustin, an EMT, often delivered patients. She had a whole group of friends from the hospital who would have helped, but for proximity reasons, she’d tagged Dustin as her best bet. He could get to Third in the storm with his SUV. All she had to do was find him. She knew he wasn’t scheduled to work at the firehouse today, and he wasn’t at Cristina’s place—she’d checked.

Which meant he had to be home. Hopefully.

“Going to get more than twenty-four inches of rain,” the deejay said. “Crazy.”

Two feet of rain, Lizzy thought, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Two feet in California. It boggled her mind. On a good day, Santa Rey was a sweet, little, quirky, fun beach town, with tourists filling the unique downtown streets, enjoying the outdoor cafés, shops and art galleries while skateboarders and old ladies alike vied for the wide oak-lined sidewalks.

Not today.

Today, Lizzy was alone on the roads, the beach void of the surfers and tan seekers.

She turned onto Dustin’s street, water spraying up on her windshield from the already flooded curbs, blinding her for a second. The only car in his driveway was a Jeep she didn’t recognize, but Dustin had a huge garage. If he was home, and she hoped like hell that he was, he’d be parked inside. Pulling up the hood on her thin hoodie sweatshirt, she opened her car door.

And stepped into several inches of water.

The icy wetness seeped up into the hospital scrubs she hadn’t taken the time to change out of, the thin cotton clinging to her calves and sucking the breath out of her lungs. She eyed Dustin’s house, which, like her own, was on a raised foundation, as were most of the other houses on this street, and therefore elevated off the ground. Hopefully, the concrete footings would be enough to keep them from flooding.

Unfortunately, Santa Rey sat squarely between a set of low, gently rolling hills on the east and the Pacific Ocean on the west, in a little nature-made bowl of a valley.

Now with fifteen-foot swells threatening to rise even higher, and the heavy rainfall steadily sliding down the mountains with no growth to stop it thanks to last year’s tragic wildfires, that bowl was filling up.