That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the heck out of him while he was around. She leaned forward and set her mug on the deck with a solid click.
“Kelly? I’d like to ask you a personal question.”
Startled, she looked up. Dammit, even wearing a serious expression, the man could induce tachycardia. “Ask away, no guarantee I’ll answer, though.”
He shifted so he sat sideways to her and took her hand. “What was going on that first night I met you at the bar?”
* * *
He knew the minute the words escaped his mouth, she wouldn’t answer. Oh, she might say something flip, or even tell him to mind his own business, but the way her expression shut down, he knew he’d navigated into shark-infested waters.
Kelly pulled her hand free and gave him a cool, assessing look. “Maybe if you’re still around this time next year I’ll let you in on my darkest secrets. Otherwise, you’ll just have to—”
“Mayday! Mayday! Please, somebody help me!” a girl’s voice broke through the mundane background chatter of the VHF radio playing over the cockpit speakers.
Kelly vaulted from the bench seat and across the back of the captain’s chair to grab the radio’s handset. Before she keyed the mic, an authoritative voice came back on the radio requesting the caller’s location and the nature of the emergency.
Ian joined Kelly and waited for what felt like minutes, but probably amounted to no more than twenty or thirty seconds.
“M-my dad. I, I think maybe he’s having a heart attack or, or s-something.”
Not waiting to hear the location, Kelly flipped an instrument switch, the engine room blower on, and the windlass breaker. “I’m going forward to pull anchor. If she gives her location and we’re close, tell—”
“I’ll offer assistance.” He took the mic from her hand. “Go, I’ll start the engines when it’s safe.”
A Coast Guard dispatcher with a calm, controlled voice cajoled the girl’s location between sobs. Jesus H., she had to be in the bay just southeast of Kelly’s boat.
Ian keyed his mic. “This is Coast Guard Petty Officer Razzamenti. I’m on the Sea Dawg, a civilian boat. Our ETA is approximately five minutes. We have a paramedic and health tech on board and are heading in that direction.” As he spoke, he started the starboard engine. He heard the windlass whir to life indicating Kelly was pulling anchor and he fired up the port engine. In less than a minute Kelly called the all clear and Ian pushed the starboard transmission forward and pulled the port back, smoothly spinning the cruiser 180 degrees.
Before he had the boat up to speed, Kelly hopped back into the cockpit. She concentrated on reading the instruments she’d activated earlier. As the girl talked, an LED light glowed.
“She’s off our port bow thirty degrees,” Kelly told Ian. She looked up and squinted toward the shore. “If they were fishing, they could be along the shallows by the bridge,” she added, pointing to the far side of the bay.
Ian nodded. Of course Kelly would have a VHF auto direction finder, she had every other kind of gizmo on board. “I’ll swing east after I pass the shoals.”
“If you’re okay with the helm, I’ll go below and get oxygen and my first-aid kit.”
“Go for it,” he said. He jockeyed his way between several smaller fishing boats and listened to the dispatcher trying to calm the now hysterical girl. It sounded like her father had passed out and she thought he was dead. At least, Ian prayed the man had only passed out.
He kept an eye on the depth finder and the ADF. The Sea Dawg was on plane now and traveling at twenty-eight knots over the light chop on the bay. Once clear of the sandy shoals he immediately swung the wheel to port, lining their boat up with the intermittent LED signal that picked up the girl’s transmission, guiding them like a beacon to her location.
Kelly returned. “I’ll take the wheel, if you’ll put out the fenders and get lines on the mid and aft cleats.”
Thankful she kept her boat in the same kind of straightforward order she did everything else, Ian located the mooring lines and flipped the already secured fenders over the side of the boat. Kelly was talking directly to the girl now, taking charge in her usual fashion. Damn, he liked working with that woman.
The yellow and white Whaler was anchored just north of the channel that paralleled the bridge. Kelly slowed her larger cruiser to minimize their wake and expertly maneuvered it so they would come alongside the smaller boat from the stern.
“Ian, take the oxygen and first-aid over and get his vital signs while I raft the boats together.”
When they got closer, the girl, no more than nine or ten, ran to the railing waving her arms over her head. “Stand back, honey,” Ian instructed her, “I’ll be jumping onto your deck.” He stood on the teak rail waiting for Kelly to get into position and assessed the man crumpled on the Whaler’s cockpit deck.
Dressed in swim trunks and a T-shirt he looked to be in his mid-forties, average weight, his face bright red as if sunburned. Ian hefted the strap of the red nylon first-aid bag onto his shoulder and leaped onto the other boat.
“Sweetie, what’s your daddy’s name?” Ian asked as he checked for a pulse. Too fast, as was the man’s shallow breathing.
“J-Jimmy, Jimmy Carson. Is he going to b-be okay?”
Ian glanced up at the girl and gave her a quick smile. Poor baby, she was scared to death. He reassured her while he unzipped the bag then asked, “What’s your name?”
“Chelsea Carson.”
“Chelsea, that’s a pretty name. My name’s Ian. Did your dad fall?” As he talked he pulled on a pair of latex gloves.
“No, not really. He said he felt funny and kinda stumbled to the floor. Then he wouldn’t talk to me anymore.”
The boat shifted as Kelly dropped onto the deck and knelt on the other side of the man.
“Chelsea this is Kelly. We’re going to move your dad so he can breathe easier. I might need you to help me here. Think you can do that?” Giving the child something to do would help ease her panic.
“Kelly, you take his head, Chelsea and I will move his feet up onto the transom.”
Ian took one leg and Chelsea struggled with her father’s foot, but she got it into place next to the other one.
“I’m going to tube him,” Kelly said.
Great, that would freak the kid out. Before he could say anything to distract Chelsea, Kelly called the girl over to her side.
“I’m going to put this tube in your daddy’s mouth to help him breathe. It will look a little scary but it will make him feel lots better,” Kelly told the girl.
By the time she’d finished her explanation, she’d inserted the endotracheal tube. She then began describing what she was doing with the oxygen and Ian went back to assessing Jimmy.
His skin was cold and clammy to the touch, his pulse and respiration still indicating shock.
“Anaphylaxis.”
Ian jerked his head up. Kelly held a small medical alert tag in her hand. She turned to Chelsea. “Does your daddy keep any medicine in case he has a reaction to a bee sting? A shot of some kind maybe?”
Dammit, if they had their drug kit, they’d have the necessary epinephrine. “I’m confirming the need for a medevac,” Ian said and made his way to the helm. While he radioed the air station, he saw Chelsea scramble to the bow of the boat.
Even if the man had the requisite medication, he’d still need multiple injections and have to be monitored until his body recovered. That meant a trip to a hospital no matter what.
Chelsea ran past him on her way back to Kelly. “Here’s his dry bag. He puts his wallet and stuff in here when we go on the boat,” she said.
Ian ended his transmission and returned in time to see Kelly scattering the contents of the bag across the aft deck. He took over monitoring the oxygen flow. There wa
s definite angioedema developing around the man’s eyes and mouth, and a rash accompanied by marked swelling of his extremities.
“Yes!” Kelly said and pounced on the preloaded syringe. She tore off the cap and quickly injected it into Jimmy’s bare thigh.
It took only a minute for Jimmy to begin fighting the tube. Not fully conscious, but disorientated and combative, he struggled to get up. Kelly immediately sent a frightened Chelsea to the front of the boat to keep a lookout for the Coast Guard helicopter.
It took less than ten minutes for a Jayhawk to arrive from the air station. While Ian talked to the copilot over the VHF radio, Kelly directed the hoist operator to lower a litter using hand signals.
“Shoot, you guys don’t get enough excitement, you have to drum up rescues on your day off?” the copilot quipped over the radio.
“Nah, just wanted you all to come out and play. Didn’t want you to get bored back at the station or anything.”
“Yeah, right, Razz, you’re always thinking about us. Looks like you and the fem-swim have been doing some playing.”
Ian frowned. “Fem-swim?”
He turned around and saw Kelly steadying the rescue litter as the hoist operator began raising it. Her modest swimsuit with its high-cut legs emphasized her toned and tanned limbs, making them appear long and sexy—
“Yeah, you know, female swimmer. I didn’t realize you two had a thing going.”
Ah, shit, it would be all over the air station within the hour. Well, hell, no time like the present to stake his claim. “Yep, we do.” No need to elaborate, rumors would fly no matter what he said.
“So, does that mean you and Heather, I mean you’re not stringing both of them—”
Ian relaxed. It looked like Heather already had a suitor lining up. He assured the copilot the coast was clear as far as he was concerned—the rest was up to Heather.
Next Ian contacted Mrs. Carson on his cell phone, advising her of her husband’s trip to the ER and arranging for someone to pick up her daughter and boat. He waited topside for Jimmy’s brother and a cousin to come by while Kelly took Chelsea over to her cruiser for a visit with Mizzen. The child’s family showed up in a skiff about twenty minutes later.
Ian hopped across the railing to the Sea Dawg to retrieve Chelsea. When he went below he found Kelly and the girl sitting cross-legged on the forward bed. Mizzen lay on her back between them, soaking up attention. Chelsea, giggling, leaned forward, her dark hair attracting a playful bat from the cat’s paw. Kelly’s answering laugh zinged into Ian, ricocheting off his lungs and settling into his heart with a kick.
He froze on the stairway. He could be walking in on a scene from his future, his wife and daughter laughing together over something small but shared. Like spotting the bright orange of a lifeboat on the gray ocean, hope flared.
Kelly was the one—the reason no one else had ever mattered.
She was why his failed four-year engagement had ended without undo pain. She was the reason his last two or three girlfriends hadn’t evolved into serious relationships. She was the reason saying goodbye to Heather had been so easy.
While he hadn’t known it at the time, he’d been waiting his whole life for Kelly. The real bitch of it was he didn’t think she’d been looking for him at all.
Chapter Five
Joe’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened bar, while his ears picked up the Yankees game over competing TVs and a pop-country song wailing from the jukebox. He cast his gaze about for familiar faces. This was a Coastie hangout and he was bound to come across flight crewmembers he knew. Hell, he’d settle for water-bound Coasties if he had to. He just wasn’t in the mood to be by himself.
He made it as far as the first table before he heard his name called out.
“Get your ass over here! The Yanks are up to bat,” Allen yelled over the general bedlam of the bar.
Joe grinned and wove his way between more calls of welcome and haphazardly grouped tables to Allen’s. Two flight mechanic-cum-hoist operators, a couple of swimmers and a helicopter co-pilot made up the five-man crew holding down the table. Joe had flown with all but one of the men during his two years in Florida.
Joe plopped down on the padded chair Allen snagged from another table and a waitress appeared to add another pizza and pitcher of beer to the order she’d already taken. Joe heaved a sigh of relief. He needed this sense of normal after the horrendous medevac yesterday.
Allen poured beer into a mug and shoved it toward Joe. “I heard the ensign y’all hauled off the Navy ship didn’t make it.”
Joe gave a curt nod of agreement. He didn’t want to think about it. The stench of burnt flesh still clung to his nose like he’d snorted a line of death.
The mechanic to Joe’s left leaned forward and grabbed the pitcher. “Wasn’t that female swimmer on board?”
Joe shot him a glance and mumbled an affirmative. The guy concentrated on emptying the last of the beer into his mug and Joe waited for the inevitable talk to start. There were a lot of women in the Coast Guard—but he’d only heard of one or two others making it through RS school.
The swimmer they called “Rip” spoke up. “A buddy of mine crewed with Bishop in Alaska.”
Joe jerked his head around and smirked at him. “How bad was it?” He needed to know what he’d be forced to work with—at least until he could get Control Bitch kicked off the crew. No way he’d let her incompetence endanger his team.
Rip scowled in return. Before he could answer, the other, younger RS piped up. “Bad? That’s not a word I’d ever associate with Bishop,” he said with surprising heat.
Joe sat back. Uh-oh, one of her bed-buddies? He spread his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I just call ’em as I see ‘em.”
“What did your buddy in Alaska have to say about Bishop?” Allen asked, ignoring Joe’s irritated snort.
The swimmer addressed the table but looked pointedly at Joe. “He hadn’t expected her to hold up under the ass-kicking weather, or the pressure the other swimmers stoked on her. But when she left there wasn’t a guy, or gal, she worked with that wouldn’t be first in line to volunteer crewing with her.”
“Damn, she must be good in bed,” Joe said and took a swig of beer.
The younger swimmer he didn’t know swore at him and started to stand but the guys on either side pushed him back down.
“Can’t speak to that, but I do know the Coast Guard doesn’t award commendations for valor because of sexual favors,” Rip said.
Shit, she’d earned a commendation? Of course working in Alaskan waters tended to generate heroism—if you survived your tour of duty there. But, hell, she was just a girl. How could she have managed under those conditions, and gained acceptance from the most exclusive club in the Coast Guard? There were only like 300 rescue swimmers in the whole damn country.
Talk stopped as their waitress deposited three pizzas on their table followed by a waiter with two more plus a couple of full pitchers. “That keep you guys for a while?” the waitress asked.
They all nodded as hands grabbed pizza slices.
“You make it sound like she got more than one,” Allen said around a mouthful of pepperoni.
Joe wished they’d just drop the damn subject of Kelly Bishop. He didn’t need, or want, to hear anything good about her. His career in the Coast Guard damn near ended when he tanked out of swim school and his five-year marriage had gone down for the count. He swallowed the last of his beer and held his mug out for a refill. Shit, he’d recovered from both losses, hadn’t he?
“Yeah, she racked up three—one of them damn near killed her.”
Stunned silence greeted that news. Most Coasties wouldn’t come within sight of a commendation let alone earn one. And she’d taken home three? What was she, a damn prima donna chasing ribbons like merit badges?
�
�If it weren’t for Kelly, I wouldn’t have made it through RS school,” the young swimmer said quietly in the lull.
Joe grabbed another piece of pizza despite his waning appetite. He should have kept his damn mouth shut. These idiots were sounding like the Kelly Bishop fan club.
“Okay, you can’t drop something like that on us and not explain how a hundred-pound girl got you through swim school,” the copilot said.
The kid grinned, apparently pleased to have everyone’s attention. “She was in the class ahead of mine and hadn’t been given her next base assignment. The RS school instructors kept her on as a “victim” because she was so good in the water.” He looked around the table as if making sure they were all paying attention.
“And…?” Allen prompted.
“I was failin’ the multi-vic scenarios every damn time. She offered to help me practice. On her own time.”
Hoots and a few off-color comments abounded and the kid actually blushed. Joe pushed his half-eaten pizza away. The multi-victim rescue had ended all hopes of earning RS fins for him.
And a real-life multi-victim rescue was what got his best friend’s dad killed.
“Hey, there wasn’t nothin’ goin’ on between us—it would have been like sleepin’ with my sister!” the kid protested.
“You hear about her and Razz? Apparently he doesn’t think of her like a sister,” the copilot chimed in between chuckles.
“Bullshit!” Joe said. He sat forward, his elbows on the table. “Razz wouldn’t give up Heather for that little—”
“Watch your mouth,” Rip cut him off, eyes narrowed.
“Sorry to bust your bubble, but I was on the callout to a mayday Bishop’s cruiser assisted with this morning. She and Razz looked pretty damned cozy together. Regardless, he confirmed he and Heather were done,” the copilot said.
Joe went cold inside. His best buddy was sleeping with Control Bitch?
* * *
Brendan Razzamenti stifled a sigh and motioned for one of his waitresses to take over for him at the bar. He grabbed a cold Coke and settled on a high-backed stool next to Ian. The kid looked like he’d lost his best friend.
A Dangerous Leap Page 7