A Dangerous Leap

by Sharon Calvin

  It would serve her right if he hauled her butt onto the tarmac in his arms. The guys would rib them unmercifully, but it would be worth it just to see her shocked expression when she saw their audience.

  Well, hell, why not? He unbuckled her from her jump seat and picked her up. Damn, for such a little thing, she sure was heavy. After an awkward shuffle and small jump out the door, a whooping cheer went up. Startled, he glanced up in time to see every flight ops, mechanic, swimmer and pilot trotting toward them holding a banner with Deuces Wild, the informal air crew-voted award, emblazoned in huge letters. Hell, her brother Matt was there too. What the…?

  Kelly roused but only had eyes for him. She slipped her arms around his neck and gave him a slow smile, her gaze heavy-lidded and sexy as hell.

  “Marry me, Ian Razzamenti. Marry me and give me babies of my own,” she said in a sleep-husky voice.

  He did a double take and damn near dropped her. “Marry you?” he asked with a shocked grin. “Hell yes, I’m going to marry you,” he shouted for the benefit of their growing audience.

  His answer was almost drowned out by another loud cheer. Kelly’s eyes widened and she jerked in his arms and he almost dropped her again.

  “Oh. My. God.” She turned her fiery red face into his chest and buried it there.

  Hoots of laughter were followed by shouts of congratulations from Matt, Joe, Tank, Caitlyn, Ryan and the other rescue swimmers. They’d all rallied for one of their teammates almost lost to the storm. Ian’s chest ached with all the emotional highs and lows he’d lived through in the last twenty-four hours.

  Ian gazed down at her shiny cap of hair and shook his head. Son of a gun, Kelly had been right all along. In the short time she’d been stationed in Florida, she’d given her all to the people she worked with and the people she rescued. The men and women, her fellow Coasties, were just as much a family as his blood relatives. He hugged her tighter. Maybe even more, since their family ties had been forged under the harshest conditions imaginable.

  He angled his mouth near her ear. “I love you. Wanna know why?” he asked in a whisper.

  She moved her head up and down but stayed hidden from view like a little child. He smiled and pressed his lips to her temple. “Because you’re the best of the best.”

  Epilogue

  Three years later

  Ian watched his wife in the pool, looking tiny and entirely too vulnerable in the arms of a hulking twenty-something rescue swimmer wanna-be. Knowing what she did was one thing, but seeing her in action was something else entirely.

  “Mamma!” Devin said from his perch atop Ian’s shoulders. He kicked his feet to let Ian know how much Kelly meant to him. That’s okay, buddy, I know exactly how you feel.

  “Uh-huh, that’s Mamma all right,” he agreed, his hands holding on to the child’s twitching legs.

  “Came to watch the show, huh?” Griffin asked with a grin. He was Kelly’s CO and the head instructor for the rescue swimmer’s school. He reached up and tugged on Devin’s foot. “You goin’ swimmin’ with Mom, big guy?”

  Ian felt Devin’s nod as the toddler’s body rocked with his assent. “Yeah, like his mamma, when he’s near water, he sprouts gills.”

  Violent splashing in the pool drew his attention. And a grimace. Kelly had not only managed to get out of the guy’s tow, she was now climbing up and over him like he was nothing more than a beefy stepladder. In the process, she dislodged his face mask and snorkel. Just as quickly, she came in from behind and took him to the bottom of the pool before he knew what hit him. As they watched, he floundered to the surface coughing and spitting pool water.

  “Where’s your survivor?” one of the instructors yelled at the young swimmer. “What the hell are you doing in the water? Aren’t you supposed to be saving someone? Hell son, what’s your job?” He continued his verbal abuse while the student searched the pool with frantic movements.

  Ian’s stomach twisted; knowing the drill didn’t lessen its impact at all. Kelly, wearing weights sewn into her swimsuit, was lying inert on the bottom, looking very much the unconscious survivor she was imitating. The student finally saw her and made a distressed sound before diving down to retrieve her off the floor of the pool.

  Her ability to stay under water for extended periods of time had always amazed him, but he’d never realized before what an asset it was during rescues. And now that she was an instructor, it had become even more useful in driving home important lessons to new students.

  Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. “She’s the best ‘worst case rescue scenario’ we’ve ever had. Add to that the reputation she brought from the field, and these guys go from cocky bastards to humble believers in one session with her.” He nodded to the pool. “And she doesn’t mind putting in extra hours with the guys wanting to practice on their own time. Hell, I think she gets a kick out of doing it, to tell you the truth.”

  Kelly surfaced with her student and Ian breathed a sigh of relief. Devin clapped his hands. She picked up where the other instructor had left off, finishing his verbal tirade about the consequences to the whole team when one swimmer screwed up. After the guy looked like he was going to cry, she dropped her voice and said something for his ears only.

  Whatever she said worked, because his expression sobered and he gave her a smart nod of agreement. She smiled at him and Ian could almost see the guy fall in love right before his eyes. He shook his head. Damn, she had no idea what effect she had on those poor guys. She gave her student a salute then looked over at Ian and her smile grew wider.

  “My favorite swim buddies,” she called. “Toss in my little rescue swimmer.” She rolled her hand in a come-here motion at Ian and Devin.

  Ian lifted a giggling Devin over his head and swung him above the water as he counted. “One…two…two and a half…”

  “Now, Daddy, now!”

  Kelly, a smile on her face and her eyes open, sank below the surface, still beckoning with her hand. Ian released Devin about a foot above the water. The toddler, as fearless and at home in the water as his mother, went head first after her, just like a little seal. They both popped up laughing while Kelly’s student looked on with shock. Yeah, he knew how the guy felt, but Devin came into the world hard-wired to swim.

  Kelly swam to the edge of the pool with Devin paddling by her side, a grin lighting up his little face. “So what was that cryptic text message all about?” Ian asked, squatting down to talk privately.

  “Remember how you said it was my decision if and when we should add to our little aquarium?” She avoided Ian’s gaze, concentrating on Devin’s splashing.

  Aquarium? They didn’t have an—oh. A grin split his face. She wanted another baby. He quickly smothered his grin, replacing it with a frown. “Well, that depends on who’s responsible for cleaning the, uh, aquarium. Seems like that little chore has been left to me a lot lately,” he said with feigned irritation. For some reason, Devin thought Daddy was better at potty training, especially when he had “accidents.”

  Kelly’s smile lit his heart. She’d been scared to death when she was carrying Devin, anticipating the worst because of her experience with Miranda. Thank God, her pregnancy and delivery had all gone smoothly.

  “Let’s just say I’m willing to negotiate that point. Your mom wants to take Devin for the weekend, so I thought maybe we could start on the expansion plan,” she said.

  Ian chuckled and skimmed his hand across the water’s surface, sending a spray over Devin. “So you’ve decided teaching and motherhood’s not such a bad combination, huh?”

  She still went on some emergency SAR missions, especially when they sent a flock of newly graduated students. In her last trimester with Devin, she’d worked alongside Ian in the base clinic. He’d never imagined being this happy. Or that she’d be so happy too.

  Devin settled
his butt on his mom’s stomach and she swam backward toward the middle of the pool. “What can I say? I am what I am.”

  Yep, she was the best of the best, and she was all his.

  * * * * *

  Look for JAYHAWK DOWN,

  the next book in the GULF COAST RESCUE series,

  coming from Sharon Calvin and

  Carina Press in August 2015

  Coming soon from Carina Press and Sharon Calvin

  What appears to be a normal rescue mission goes horribly wrong…

  Read on for a sneak preview of JAYHAWK DOWN,

  the next book in Sharon Calvin’s

  GULF COAST RESCUE SERIES

  Clearwater, FL, Saturday, 3 September, 2100 hours

  Lieutenant Caitlyn Stone raised an eyebrow at her aircrew’s boisterous entry into the briefing room. A gust of wind chased them as it rattled the huge rolling doors on the attached Coast Guard hangar.

  Her flight mechanic, Joe Peterson, held rescue swimmer Clay Thompson by the scruff of the neck. His terrier-like shakes while they squabbled about a baseball game didn’t seem to faze the quick-witted Clay.

  Thirty-year-old Joe was a known quantity, strong and loyal, but the twenty-two-year-old swimmer was still a mystery. The kid possessed a ready smile. Wiry and tanned to nut-brown, his dark hair contrasted with Joe’s buzz-cut blond hair and ripped muscles.

  A sharp crack of thunder interrupted Joe’s ongoing harassment. Clay’s face paled and his dark eyes widened. His rejoinder to Joe lacked its earlier bite, prompting a considering look from Caitlyn.

  As the helicopter’s commanding officer it was her job to ensure the crew was ready for duty. If they launched tonight, it would be the swimmer’s first solo mission since transferring to their air station three months earlier.

  “Clay, did you inspect the safety equipment on my helo?” she asked. Pretending to study the aeronautical chart she gave him time to regroup. If he concentrated on his job responsibilities he’d have less time to worry about the unknowns of a mission in a storm-tossed Gulf.

  “Yes, ma’am. Everything’s in order and ready to go. We’ll be fine,” Clay assured her with sudden bravado.

  Caitlyn looked up in time to see Joe punch the younger man’s bicep.

  “Don’t worry Clay, the lieutenant loves flying in this shit,” Joe said. “Besides, I haven’t lost a swimmer yet. If you go in the water, you’re comin’ out.” Joe winked at Caitlyn.

  Caitlyn relaxed. Joe ran the hoist that lowered and raised rescue swimmers and the people they saved and had a rep for mentoring new swimmers. If he had concerns over Clay’s performance, he would have requested a different swimmer be assigned.

  “Now, if it were terminally clear and calm—I’d suggest you hitch a ride with someone else,” Joe deadpanned.

  “Sheesh, Peterson, that landing only bounced three feet,” she said with mock irritation. “It’s hard to concentrate when things are too easy. But tonight—”

  A scramble alarm killed her explanation. Stunned, Caitlyn and her two crewmembers sat a second, then broke for the door like racehorses out of a starting gate.

  The cavernous hangar, smelling of jet fuel, sweat and burnt coffee, roared with the sound of the tropical downpour. Ryan Greeley, Caitlyn’s favorite copilot, bolted out of the radio room, joining in the sprint toward a helicopter camouflaged by sheets of rain.

  “Heard the Mayday. Boat down in heavy swells. Two men in a makeshift raft.”

  “Roger,” Caitlyn said as she slipped a poncho over her head without breaking stride.

  “Their signal’s bouncing from a circling C-130,” Ryan continued as they ran out the hangar door into a wall of water.

  “We’ll pick up coordinates once airborne.” She tossed out the words, already intent on the preflight check of her helo. Leaving Ryan to his own duties, she circled the hulking HH-60J Jayhawk, looking for anything that could endanger their rescue mission.

  Flying wasn’t a job. Wasn’t an avocation. Wasn’t even something she loved. Flying was encoded in her DNA as surely as her red hair and blue eyes.

  Caitlyn climbed aboard the helo and stripped off her poncho. “All right Fly-Baby, let’s go fishin’,” she muttered as she flipped switches and eyed gauges. Ryan, already seated to her left, recited their checklist.

  Forty-five-knot winds rocked the helicopter while its turbines spooled up, adding to the auditory assault. She keyed the intercom, or ICS, calculating possible abort scenarios. Caitlyn didn’t fear death. She feared screwing up. “You’ve got ten seconds to get locked and loaded.”

  Ryan stowed the checklist, adding his “roger” to Joe’s chopped affirmative from the rear of the helo.

  They were all charged up, just like she was. Except for the untried rescue swimmer, she knew and trusted these men without reservations. After tonight, she’d know about Clay.

  “We have liftoff,” Caitlyn called as she pulled up the helo’s collective and added power.

  Wind and rain smacked them around the sky. She tightened her grip on the cyclic and ignored the flicker of fear caused by a fifty-foot downdraft. A practiced sweep of instruments assured her she was in control. She thrived on control. Perversely, she preferred flying through chaos to get that control.

  Another slap of wind punched adrenaline through her veins. God, flying on the edge was an aphrodisiac. On nights like these, she loved everybody.

  “…her mojo’s risin’,” Joe’s deep baritone sang a refrain from the Doors’ “L.A. Woman” over the headphones.

  Ryan joined in with a slightly off-key harmony. She shook her head and sent him an exaggerated eye roll.

  “Careful, Lieutenant, our swimmer’s lookin’ a little green back here. I don’t think he appreciates your extraordinary flying skills,” Joe said.

  Ryan eased his hands away from the controls when Caitlyn swung the helo into a forty-five degree banked turn. She grinned at his hands-off posture. He knew better than to interfere unless she needed backup.

  “Damn, you mean we’re flying with a legend and Clay doesn’t even know it.” Ryan said, arms crossed over his chest, fingers safely tucked away.

  Caitlyn almost snorted. Yeah, right, a legend. She squinted through the rain. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t maintain a relationship. The men in her life couldn’t compete with her reputation. Should have canceled her Saturday night plans when she saw the weather report.

  “Roger, base. ETA ten minutes on our current course,” Ryan responded to a radio call from their air station.

  “Queen B, how was Dr. Golden Hands? Must be gettin’ serious. Wasn’t this your third date?” Joe asked over the ICS.

  Caitlyn did snort at that. Maybe they’d been crewing together a little too long. “Make that a last lukewarm dinner with Dr. Your Emergency Doesn’t Count.” Bastard. If she were lucky, she’d be on-call when his eighty-foot yacht sank. She’d throw the arrogant plastic surgeon a bucket and tell him to start bailing. Several blinding flashes of strobe-like lightning made her cringe. Even better, the rescue would happen on a night like this.

  Doctors were officially going in a do-not-date column—along with wealthy playboys and military personnel. She refused to have her love life aired on the Coastie grapevine, thank you very much.

  “What’s with this queen business? Is that a higher rank than lieutenant commander?” she asked. She’d found her rhythm, her eyes and hands reacting automatically to the storm’s yin and yang.

  “Trust me. Queen is much more exalted than lieutenant commander,” Joe said.

  “Hmm, queen.” Her mind already entertaining possibilities, she verified their heading and altitude over the black waters of the Gulf. “Instead of saluting, I’d have subjects genuflecting.” Oh, yeah, she’d enjoy a little bowing and scraping from her fellow Coasties.

  Vying to become t
he youngest lieutenant commander at the air station, she felt pressured to excel at everything. She smiled at Ryan. “Yeah, I like that. Queen BITCH.” The helo dropped and did a quick rumba before she stabilized it again.

  “But, ma’am, you’re not a bitch.” Clay’s voice cracked like a teenager’s. Three months out of Aviation Survivalist’s school, he sounded as green as Joe claimed he looked.

  Lord, wherever they were recruiting these kids, she wished they’d stop. They were making her feel old at thirty.

  Joe’s belly laugh rolled out of the ICS. “No, numbnuts, B-I-T-C-H, as in Boys I’m Taking Charge Here. Get it? It’s an acro—”

  A transmission from the circling C-130 surveillance plane interrupted Joe’s explanation. They were over the spot where the boat had gone down.

  Finding the survivors’ “raft” in the storm’s reduced visibility would be worse than spotting a hermit crab from a thousand feet. Caitlyn flew a tight grid. Two men were in twenty-foot seas somewhere below.

  Depending on them for rescue.

  “Got ‘em!” Joe called out. “Port side. Back ten feet.”

  “Roger. Keep a visual while I come around into the wind,” Caitlyn responded. She marked the location and checked wave height as best she could in the reduced visibility.

  “Drop lower.”

  She did exactly as Joe instructed. When he ran the hoist, she had to rely on his eyesight. She couldn’t see anything going on directly below or behind her.

  “Bait the hook and lower the line. Let’s see what we can catch tonight,” Caitlyn said.

  Joe directed the swimmer into position. The right-side door gaped, aerodynamics deteriorated, and Caitlyn fought the wind to keep the helo stable.

  “Swimmer deployed!” Joe called over the increased sound brought on by the storm’s move inside.