by Dani Pettrey
Rissi bounced her leg.
Why wouldn’t he get in the raft?
“Max must be trapped in the copter.” Mason inhaled and exhaled a few rapid full breaths.
Rissi tensed. “Wh . . . what are you thinking?” He wasn’t seriously about to . . . ?
“Going down to look for him.”
“He’s not in the copter!” Chase yelled. “He was thrown out the side window upon impact. I tried to grab him, but it all happened so fast. He’s not in there, dude.”
Mason swam away from the raft, moving out of Rissi’s reach.
“He’s down there somewhere.” Mason took another round of quick inhales and exhales. “I’ve at least got to try.”
Rissi’s chest burned. Don’t do it.
Mason dove under the water, the soles of his shoes the last thing she saw before he disappeared beneath the surface.
Chase shook his head at Rissi. “That guy is crazy!”
Rissi swallowed. During their time together as teens, he’d always looked out for others. Even if it was to his detriment. She loved that about him, but it unnerved her all the same.
Please bring him back to me. Warm tears tumbled down her cold cheeks. And, as impossible as it seems, let him find Max.
Trevor’s beams landed on Chase with Joel, still unconscious, wedged against his chest, and then over Bob, his eyes wide, arms still flapping.
He maneuvered the raft to idle beside Chase and Joel.
Trevor and Nate pulled both men in and then moved for Bob.
Chase lay in the raft taking deep breaths as Trevor stopped the raft beside Bob, who was finally holding still.
Once in the raft, Bob released a large sigh—one quickly drowned out by the approaching thwack of copter blades.
The Coast Guard helicopter hovered above them, and the side door slid open. A woman stood gripping the hold bar. Rissi narrowed her eyes. It was too far and too dark to tell for sure, but the woman’s build and long, dark hair definitely looked like Brooke Kesler’s.
Relief swept over Rissi until she looked over the side of the raft and could no longer see Mason’s floodlight. How deep had he gone?
Caleb paced the office, where they’d all decided to hang out after leaving Dockside. No one wanted to be out of the loop when the call came in that Rissi and Mason were safe. There was no other option. He couldn’t fathom the possibility that—
He cut that line of thinking off.
He sniffed, shaking off the suffocating fear strangling him.
“What’s taking so long?” He needed to do something—anything—to help.
“Sweet Home Alabama” sounded, and Noah jumped to answer his phone. “Rowley.”
Finally. Caleb held his breath, watching Noah’s expression for any sign that the call was positive. It had to be positive. She had to be safe. And Mason too. While he wasn’t a fan of the obvious bond the two shared, he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to Mason. He was part of the team.
Noah turned his back to them. “Yes,” he said. “And?” His shoulders dipped a fraction of an inch. “Okay. Thanks for calling. Please keep us updated.”
Hanging up, Noah turned to face them. Caleb was the only one besides him standing. The rest of the team sat on the couches facing the case board. Finn’s girlfriend and Noah’s sister, Gabby Rowley had joined them after hearing the news. She and Rissi had become very tight since Gabby’s arrival back in town.
“Noah!” Gabby blurted. “Speak.”
Caleb inhaled. Only the boss’s sister could get away with that, but he was thankful she was pressing. Anticipation thwacked in his chest, strumming in his ears.
Noah strode over to the sofas, taking an at-ease stance in front of them. “Coast Guard rescue has arrived on site.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Emmy said.
“Thank you, Coast Guard rescue,” Logan added. Surely, he wasn’t choosing this moment to counter their faith in Christ with his stout unbelief.
Emmy glared at him.
“I’m just saying I’m thankful Coast Guard rescue is there. I swear,” Logan said. “Now is not the time to point out the flaws in your belief system.”
Caleb couldn’t take it anymore. “Is Rissi okay?” He shook his head and added, “And Mason?”
“Brooke saw Rissi safe in a civilian raft when they arrived.”
“And Mason?” Finn repeated, scooting to the edge of the couch.
Noah swiped his nose. “He wasn’t in the raft. We don’t know more than that. Brooke radioed in as soon as they arrived, knowing we’d be worried. We should know more in the coming minutes.”
Caleb exhaled. Please let it be good news for all involved.
Two rescue swimmers jumped from the copter, smacking into the water. A rising plume sloshed across the raft in their wake, soaking Rissi anew.
They swam for the raft.
“Everyone okay?” Jason asked. “Ris? Man, I was worried.”
“I’m okay,” she said.
“You’re not injured?” Brad asked.
“I’m all right, but we’re missing two. One who didn’t surface after the crash—the pilot, Max—and CGIS Agent Mason Rogers, who went down to try and find him.”
“I’d say that’s crazy, but that’s Mason,” Jason said as he climbed into the raft and knelt beside the still-unconscious Joel Waters.
Rissi’s brow pinched. “You know Mason?”
Jason nodded as he felt for Joel’s pulse. “I served with him in Kodiak before I got transferred here.” Jason sat back on his heels. “Ok, we’ve got a pulse. He’s breathing, but it’s raspy. We better get him in the copter, let Brooke start treating him.”
So it was Brooke in the copter. Joel was in good hands.
“Not to distract you,” Rissi said, “but Mason’s been down there more than two minutes.” Her knee bounced. Where was he?
Brad circled his finger, communicating with Brooke. Soon the basket lowered, swaying over the thrashing ocean waves. “Mason swam with us the last two mornings at 0500 for an hour of rigorous training,” Brad said. “He’s a strong swimmer. Knows what he’s doing.” He looked over at Jason. “I’ll make a sweep for him while you get Joel and this one”—he gestured at Bob Staton’s gashed leg—“loaded up.”
“Roger that,” Jason said.
As Brad was about to jump off the raft’s starboard side, water sloshed behind Rissi. She turned to find Mason sucking in air. Thank you, Jesus. Adrenaline released, burning through her cold limbs.
“Dude. That had to be at least three minutes,” Chase said. “You’ve got serious free-diving skills.”
“Any sign of the pilot?” Jason asked.
“Afraid not.” Mason shook his head as he heaved himself up into the raft.
“So the stories Jason tells about you are true?” Brad said.
Mason arched his brows as he settled beside Rissi. “Dare I ask what stories you’ve been telling?”
“Just some of our Kodiak tales,” Jason said, moving quickly on. “There’s a cutter en route, but we’ll take these two in the basket.” Jason lifted Joel’s lids and shone a pencil-thin light in his eyes. “Brad, you want to take this guy?”
“Sure.”
“Careful on the way to the basket. We don’t know what he’s damaged.”
“Roger that.”
Brad jumped out of the raft and hovered at its side as the basket swayed just above the ocean’s surface—the waves bubbling through the openings with each rise.
Jason lifted Joel, moved him to the edge of the raft, and arched him over the side. Brad wrapped him in a choke hold and swam backward toward the basket as Jason prepared Bob Stanton for the exchange. “The cutter should be here for the rest of you within fifteen minutes.”
“We’re running supplies and a change of volunteers out to the Freedom,” Trevor said, thumbing over his shoulder at a forty-foot vessel now fully in sight. A row of concerned people lined the starboard side. “They can come on our transport boat while they wait for
the cutter. It’ll be warmer and more comfortable than the raft.”
Chase’s water-beaded face pinched. “You’re with the Freedom?”
“Yes.”
“Great.” He lolled his head back. “We’re with the environmental nuts.”
“We’re scientists,” Trevor snapped.
“We’re a marine research vessel,” Nate clipped out.
“Who’ve been hassling Dauntless ever since it arrived on site.”
“Wait,” Trevor said, swiping rain droplets from his glasses. “You’re with Dauntless?”
“Dang right I am.”
“Great.” Trevor pushed his still-moisture-speckled glasses up his broad nose. “We just saved our enemy.”
“Whoa. ‘Enemy’?” Rissi said. “I think that’s too strong a word.”
“Please,” Chase scoffed. “They’ve been protesting into all hours of the night, trying to disrupt the rig’s work, inciting trouble . . .”
“We’ve been inciting?” Trevor’s pitch rose. “That’s rich.” He turned to Rissi while pointing at Chase. “They’ve done the inciting.”
Chase’s shoulders tensed. “Don’t try and feed me that load of—”
“That’s enough!” Jason said. “We need to get these men to medical assistance. You two can argue all you want once we’re out of here.”
“Right. Sorry.” Chase held up his hand in apology.
“I apologize as well,” Trevor said. “And we need to be on our way to the Freedom to . . . continue our research.”
Chase coughed. “To continue to badger Dauntless, you mean.”
Jason arched a brow as he offloaded Bob Stanton to Brad, and both sullen men dropped the argument. Once Brad had the injured man strapped in, Brooke pulled the basket into the copter bay.
“Is the Freedom anchored near Dauntless?” Rissi asked.
“Yes,” Trevor answered hesitantly.
“Could you give us a lift to Dauntless?” Rissi asked.
Trevor’s chin dipped. “You’re with Dauntless too?”
“Mason and I are with CGIS. There’s been a fatal event aboard Dauntless, and we’re headed there to investigate.”
Trevor looked at Nate. “A fatal event?”
Nate exhaled. “I’m sorry to hear that, but sadly I’m not surprised.”
“A man’s dead,” Chase said. “Show some respect.”
“Respect for that plague on the environment? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No. Respect for a man’s life lost.”
“Denouncing the platform that killed him is not disrespectful. If anything, it’s the opposite,” Nate countered.
“Enough,” Mason said, glancing at the water, his jaw tight. “More than one man has died tonight. This is not the time to be in each other’s faces.”
Trevor and Chase shut up, but neither apologized this time.
Nate rubbed his eyes and looked toward the transport boat. “No need to bring the cutter all the way out here. We can take you to Dauntless.”
“Are you sure?” Jason asked. At Nate’s nod, he turned to Rissi and Mason. “You should at least let us check you for injuries before we head out.”
“I’m fine,” Rissi and Mason said in unison.
Jason shook his head. “Of course you are.”
“I’m fine too,” Chase added. “Karl, the rig medic, can check us all out if needed.”
Jason exhaled after a moment. “We’ll call the cutter off if you’re sure you’re okay?”
Rissi opened her mouth to speak, but Jason cut her off with his palm held up.
“Never mind.” He shook his head, whistling on an exhale. “I already know the answer.”
He might find her and Mason exasperating, but she really was fine—only a minor cut where she’d nicked herself while loosening the seat belt, and a slight one on her shoulder from exiting the sinking craft.
She shifted gingerly . . . and a tender side. She could easily bandage the cuts. Worst-case scenario, she had a bruised rib. Undertaking the investigation as quickly as possible, before the elements affected the evidence, was their first priority.
EIGHT
The wind shear of the blades as the helicopter flew away blanketed the water into long, spread-out sheets of white.
The small rescue raft smacked against the choppy water, spraying gushes of saltwater over the bow, before they idled up to the forty-foot transport vessel’s dive platform.
A woman in her thirties with curly brown hair pulled back in a loose, low ponytail bent to greet them. “You poor things,” she said, reaching her hand out to Rissi.
Rissi clasped hold. The woman’s hand was slender and cold.
Mason rested his hand on Rissi’s back to steady her, and she winced. Maybe she had hurt her back more than she realized. She stepped onto the metal dive platform, and Mason followed.
“I’m Gwyneth,” she said as Chase, Trevor, and Nate boarded the boat. “Let’s get you all warmed up.”
A few minutes later, with a cozy blanket draped over her shoulders, Rissi took the speckled, camping-style mug of tea Gwyneth offered.
“Thank you.” Wrapping her hands around it, she let the warmth spread through her trembling limbs.
She looked over at Mason, and her eyes widened at the cuts across the tops of his hands. “What happened?”
He looked at them and shrugged. “Just from the crash.”
From when he’d shielded her during the windshield explosion.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
She looked to Gwyneth. “Do you have a first-aid kit on board?”
“Of course.” Gwyneth turned her attention to the lanky lady entering the ship’s narrow galley. “Sarah, could you grab the first-aid kit for them?”
Sarah nodded, her blond braid slipping over her shoulder.
“Really, I’m fine,” Mason said.
She ignored him. “Thank you,” she said, taking the kit from Sarah.
“You’re welcome to use the lower cabin.”
“Thanks,” Rissi said, clutching the first-aid kit.
“Down the stairs at the end of the hall,” Gwyneth said. “It’ll give you more space and privacy. We should reach the Freedom . . . and the Dauntless”—she named the rig with obvious disdain—“in a half hour or so.”
“Thanks.” Rissi got to her feet and waited for Mason to join her. He had to know when she made up her mind . . .
He exhaled a long sigh but stood.
She climbed down the steps and strode to the door at the end of the passageway. Sliding open the wooden accordion-like door, she stepped in and felt for the light switch, finding it on the third swipe.
The room had two desks built into the ship’s walls, two chairs, and two laptops. Charts of stingray migration routes were pinned to a corkboard over the port-side desk.
“That could have come in handy a little while ago,” she said.
“No joke.”
She pulled out one of the chairs. “Take a seat.”
“I’d argue, but—”
“It’d be useless.” She smiled as she slid the other chair over to face him.
She pulled the supplies she needed from the first-aid kit—antibiotic cream, alcohol swaps, and Band-Aids.
“Okay, if you take care of my hands now, you don’t argue about seeing the medic aboard Dauntless. Deal?”
She pulled out the first alcohol swab. “Let’s just focus on you for now.”
She started with his left hand. It’d grown since she was a teen—his handspan wide, his fingers long. She wanted to linger there, but she had a job to do.
“This might sting,” she said of the alcohol wipe.
“I’m good,” he said.
Of course he was. After the beatings he’d taken at Hank’s hand in their hell-house of a children’s home, a sting must feel like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing.
She ran the square white cloth over his cuts with care, looking to be sure no small shards of glass remained. As minute as the
pain might be for him, she instinctually bent and blew across his hand to lessen the sting and—
He cleared his throat.
She looked up. His green eyes were heady. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he said, his voice tight.
She moved on to the antibiotic cream and finished with the Band-Aids. “There,” she said, putting the leftovers back into the kit.
“Thanks,” he said.
“This was quite a change.”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“Me taking care of you instead of the other way around.”
His face softened, his gaze locked on her, the air between them heavy. “You took—”
“Knock, knock,” Sarah said from the open doorway. “Everything okay in here?”
“Yep,” Mason said, not taking his eyes off Rissi.
“Gwyneth made you each a fresh cup of tea. Come drink it while it’s hot. It’ll warm you up.”
Despite the still-wet clothes, cold was the last thing Rissi felt.
As they entered the galley, Gwyneth turned to them. “I radioed Dauntless to let them know we have three of theirs.”
“They aren’t ours,” Chase said, his frown deepening along with the creases at the edges of his eyes. He cast his gaze at Rissi and Mason. “They’re outsiders.”
Mason cocked his head. “Now, that makes it sound like you don’t want us aboard?”
Chase lifted his cup of coffee. “Infer what you will.”
NINE
“What do you mean she’s not coming back?” Caleb struggled to keep his voice even.
“You know Ris,” Finn said. “She’s fiercely independent.”
Gabby bumped her hip against Finn’s. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Finn smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Not a bad thing at all, but it does bring risk and danger into the picture.”
“So you’re saying I’m risky?” Gabby smirked.
Finn intertwined his fingers through hers. “That’s one word for it.”
She cocked her head. “Dare I ask what the other word for it is?”
“Come on!” Caleb grunted. He was all for their happiness. Really, he was. But he had no patience for Finn and Gabby’s lovey-dovey stuff tonight.