Damon’s eyes opened wide. Sensing trouble, he quickly retreated to relative safe distance.
“Are you going to answer me?”
“About what?”
“The Bergmann couple and Vin Diesel.”
“Sure,” she replied brightly.
Frankie puffed out her lower lip and squinted.
“Today?” he encouraged.
“I’m thinking about it.”
After four years, everybody had pretty much figured out which emotional buttons to push for the biggest reaction. Frankie was deliberately pushing his right this moment and it made him feel as though he’d been brained with a frying pan.
“Did I embarrass you?”
“No,” Gage flinched. He rubbed the ache between his eyes and glanced up in time to catch Frankie giving Quinton a sly grin. He was instantly enraged. “You were acting like a horny teenage groupie,” he snapped.
“You got a problem with horny teenage groupies?”
“Only when they affect the smooth running of this station.”
Her jaw clenched and spine went ramrod straight. Her slim nose shot up defiantly above a ripe mouth pressed sliver-thin. Big gray eyes sparked with anger.
“In what way did my behavior affect the smooth running of this station?”
Gage wasn’t ready to admit the truth. He knew she had more than enough information for the report but he wanted her to stew awhile longer. As the old saying went, misery loved company. Yet for some strange reason, raising her hackles wasn’t nearly as gratifying as he thought it would be. Air Station Harmony Bay had an unwritten rule. If an argument had the potential to turn nasty, those involved were left to work it out themselves. No intervention from the rest of the crew was allowed unless the fight escalated to bloodshed. Gage heard Damon clear his throat and knew the kid was about to violate the non-interference rule.
Just then, the VHF radio crackled and Coast Guard Station New Harbor hailed them with an emergency call.
Everyone sprang into action.
Gage momentarily blocked Frankie’s exit from the laundry room, towering over her. Frankie’s clipped words were frigid. “This is not finished, mister. Now get out of my way.”
* * * *
The call was a tragedy finished long before they arrived. Secret Beach was anything but a secret. Despite a plethora of warning signs, kids still plied their luck in getting down the steep shale escarpment to the isolated beach two hundred feet below.
Especially dangerous after a hard rain, sections the size of a house could shear off, plummeting to solid ground, carrying anything unlucky enough to be nearby. A local fisherman had seen the accident and radioed the Coast Guard.
Two lives had been snuffed out in a moment of seemingly harmless adventure.
Gage knew the dead girl reminded Frankie of her sister. Hell, they all knew, even though she never uttered a word about the resemblance. Frankie insisted on making the next-of-kin calls herself and then shut herself in the pilot’s quarters. She skipped supper and ungraciously told Damon to screw off when he tried to pry her out of the room with jokes, insults and an offer to share his pistachio ice cream.
Gage grabbed a book he had been meaning to read for months and relaxed on the recliner opposite her room. If she came out and felt like talking, he wanted to be there.
He needed to be there for her.
* * * *
Frankie took a deep breath and shook herself out of a brooding funk. Seeing the broken body of that young girl had been an emotional jolt that brought back too many heart-wrenching memories and she’d allowed herself the luxury of a good sulk in solitary confinement. For most of the evening she studied oceanographic charts and flight reports until her eyes burned. The distant memory of her sister’s voice rang true.
“Don’t dwell on it, sis. You can’t save them all.”
Her pilot’s quarters were nothing more than a large bedroom/bathroom and office alcove. A malevolent file cabinet lived under the office desk, its sharp edge at perfect knee-banging height. Frankie looked at the reams of government-issued papers scattered across the bed and decided she couldn’t sit in the room a moment longer.
She was suffocating.
It was time for some therapy...a long swim followed by a hot bath.
Her neoprene wetsuit hung in the closet. Frankie tugged it on, strapped a waterproof pager tight to her wrist and slung her diving bag over her shoulder. Slipping out of the room through a side door, she paused long enough to get Gage’s attention. His nose was glued in a book. She waved at him through the big windows and gave the hand signal to indicate her intentions. He nodded back and continued reading.
The air smelled fresh, clean. Harmonic crashing of waves against the shore called her forward. Like a black wraith, she skirted the wide swathe of trimmed lawn around the lighted helipad and found the long set of concrete stairs that led down to the sandy beach.
“It’s easy to get turned around at night,” she remembered the words of an old boyfriend. “Never lose track of the shore. The ocean can kill anybody dumb enough to think they can fight it, so use its power. Let it work for you. Conquer your fear.”
When she had first begun swimming at night, it was at the urging of an old lover. He’d been the first to show her a lot of things, all of them disappointing.
Except for swimming.
Stroking through chilly waters took her mind off her problems and slid everything into perspective. The terrible images assaulting her in Technicolor clarity began to disintegrate into clouds of dust. Minutes stretched and compressed until time lost its meaning.
* * * *
Gage finished the last chapter and slammed the book shut. He looked up at the wall clock and frowned. He was a fast reader, especially when the book was good. Front to back had taken almost two hours and he had been completely absorbed in the story. In the fireplace, a log snapped. He yawned, rubbed the kinks out of his stiff neck and listened to the house noises for a few moments.
Quinton was in the garage helping Damon retrofit his Ducati motorcycle. The sleek, black crotch-rocket had set the kid back a few grand.
Country music and the noise of male conversation filtered in from the open screen door. Damon made a bawdy comment about the female gender that should have incited a smart-assed response had Frankie overheard it. Quinton’s lewd reply was the only answer.
A sudden wave of dread swept over him.
Gage vaulted to his feet, all instincts screaming trouble. He crossed the living room floor in giant strides. Worry made his voice harsh.
“Is Frankie back from her swim?”
Damon and Quinton jumped at his outburst. They shook their heads in bewilderment.
“When did she leave?” Quinton asked.
“About two hours ago.”
Gage did a quick about-face, the other men were right behind him as they sprinted the distance across the house and flung open the door to her quarters.
“Frankie?” Damon called out.
The room was a mess. A picture of her sister sat on the bed beside an empty box of tissues. Gage took a few steps inside and panned the room. His gaze came to rest on a mahogany dresser. Under a loose stack of correspondence, he caught a flash of her titanium diver’s watch. Gage let loose an ugly curse.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Chapter 3
A NEW ATTITUDE
“Page her again,” Gage barked the order to Damon while he and Quinton suited up. “Page her every two minutes until you get a response and call New Harbor. Tell them we’re on divert due to a helicopter malfunction until further notice.”
“Affirmative,” Damon nodded.
Quinton grabbed a pair of night vision goggles.
“If New Harbor wants details, stall for time. Tell them I’m busy working the problem and will give an update as soon as possible,” Quinton said.
“Got it.” On the floor in front of the fireplace Damon began to prep a large sleeping bag with chemical warmers. “She’ll b
e mad as hell if she wakes up in the hospital.”
“Let’s find her first,” Gage advised. “We can worry about her temper later.”
He and Quinton raced out of the station, their long black-covered legs striding powerfully across the lawn. The sound of rubber booted feet taking the concrete steps four at a time reminded him of a horse stampede. Or maybe all that galloping was the pounding of his heart?
Frankie was upset, not thinking clearly. They had all been there at sometime during their career. Everyone who worked with her was aware that Frankie could function through hypothermia, unaware of its progression right up to the point she keeled over. She had let him know that she was going out for a swim. She had stood by the window and made eye contact with him and him alone.
They had to find her!
With each agonizing moment, Gage mentally beat himself up. A debriefing shrink had once told him there was a list of things that could stress emergency workers to the limit. The team was a family, their lives dependent on one another. Ranked in order of seriousness, the worst was to lose a member of your team in the line of duty. According to the shrink, the only thing making that loss worse would be if you thought his death was your fault. The doc had been right.
They paused at the base of the stairs while Quinton secured the night vision goggles to his face and began a grid-like scan of the beach and fog shrouded water.
Frankie normally swam a U-shaped pattern, taking advantage of the surf and currents to aid her movements. Quinton adjusted the search accordingly.
“Over there.” He pointed to something a hundred yards down the beach. Gage strained to see. A second later, the unmistakable tones of a pager echoed across the water.
Gage burst into motion.
Frankie had made it up the beach, partially shrugged out of her suit before she collapsed. Ice-cold and incoherent, curled in a fetal position, her hair was entwined with seaweed and sand. Gage dropped to the sand beside her. His big hand cupped her cheek.
“Frankie?”
She blinked and stared up at him, disoriented. Her bloodless blue lips opened to speak, closed and sputtered, “When’s the flight?”
“We’re boarding right now,” he answered nervously while rapidly running his hands over her, checking for injuries. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“Wake up, Frankie,” he urged. “Stay with us.”
“Stop yelling,” she mumbled.
“Only if you keep your eyes open.”
Quinton reached them and immediately bundled her into a blanket.
“Is she injured?” he asked.
Gage shook his head. “Just hypothermic.”
“I’ll carry her back to the station,” Quinton spoke.
“No, let me do it.”
Gage tossed Frankie over his shoulder and stood in one swift move. Together they sprinted back to base.
* * * *
“What’s she at now?” Quinton was in the kitchen heating a kettle of water.
Damon took Frankie’s temperature for the umpteenth time in an hour. It ran up and down like a yoyo. Each time they warmed her enough to give cautious sips of hot chocolate, her temp did an about face and plummeted. The fireplace was roaring. The decrepit brick furnace in the basement was cranked to the max.
“Ninety-four.”
“Damn it.”
Gage stopped his ferocious pacing and was perched on the edge of the sofa, watching from a grim world of self-persecution. They had stripped Frankie naked as soon as they got back to the station. Working in unison, they dried her off with heated towels from their blanket warmer and placed her in a toasty sleeping bag. Her alabaster skin was parchment gray except for the dark circles rimming her eyes. She mumbled a few incomprehensible words before she drifted off to sleep. Across the room, Damon’s cat Stewie gave her a malignant glare, unhappy with the amount of attention she was receiving.
Gage rubbed his bleary eyes and hissed out a curse. He knew that most of the body’s energy was spent in maintaining a stable inner temperature. When calculated in degrees, it was a narrow window of operation. He also knew that Frankie’s metabolism ran her a full degree hotter than the norm. Sludge-thick blood was oozing through his precious captain’s vital organs.
“I think it’s time for a Reuben,” Quinton spoke the words softly and stared meaningfully at Gage.
Damon’s head jerked up in confusion. “What are you talking about, man? You can’t feed her now,” he blurted. “Are you out of your mind? Look at her.” He ran an agitated hand through his tousled hair. “She can barely swallow.”
“Damon,” Gage answered quietly. “Strip off your clothes.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Gage was standing now, peeling his navy blue uniform right down to bare skin. “Take off your damned clothes.”
Damon blinked once, twice, and then his large brown eyes opened wide in understanding. He stood slowly and mimicked Gage’s actions. Together, the two men crawled inside the spacious sleeping bag and effectively sandwiched Frankie between the flesh of their warm bodies. She squirmed, twisted, frowned in her sleep and tried to push and kick Damon as far away as possible.
“It figures she’d be a bed-hog,” he groused, after taking a nasty punch in the ribs.
“Shut up and deal with it,” Gage ordered. He reached out and pulled her chilly body in close to his own. He could feel her cold muscles twitching uncontrollably. After a few moments of being tightly held, Frankie stopped flailing and relaxed against him. She was a perfect fit, curled up firm and tight against his hypersensitive skin. And when she moved against him, his primal response was hot and immediate. His eyes opened wide with realization. He wanted to fuck his precious captain. Right then, right there, as hard and deep inside her as he could get.
Frankie moaned in her stupor and gave Damon another sharp kick.
“Ouch!” Damon yelped. “The things I have to do in the name of teamwork.”
Quinton bent down. “Stop your bitching, mate, and behave yourself.”
“What do you mean behave myself? I’m the one getting clawed here.”
He squirmed and grunted. Quinton rolled his eyes and migrated over to the sofa. He picked up the remote control and started channel surfing.
“Damon, settle down and keep a check on your dick,” Gage snapped.
“What? Are you insinuating that I might try to slip it to her while she’s in a near comatose condition?” Damon asked imperiously.
Gage gave the younger man an over-the-eyebrow look. “Those scars on your back aren’t from Stewie,” he answered dryly, more than ready to strangle the kid if his hands wandered anywhere on Frankie’s body that they shouldn’t.
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Damon deadpanned.
Frankie stirred and began to thrash again. Gage wrapped his arm around her midsection, pulling her closer into the curve of his body. She exhaled a soft sigh and relaxed against him. Her small foot connected with Damon’s shin.
“Do I get hazard pay for this job?”
“Cowboy-up and move in closer. You’re too far away to do any good.”
Damon muttered something nasty under his breath.
“What’s your problem, mate?” Quinton demanded from across the room. His steely blue stare spelled trouble Damon didn’t need.
“My problem? Let me see, where should I start? How about with the fact that I’ve never been in a sleeping bag with a man before.”
“It doesn’t mean I want to have your baby,” Gage retorted, relishing the feel of her soft skin against him.
“Although you do have a nice ass,” Quinton heckled.
“He’s right,” Gage joined in. “Your ass is your best feature.”
Damon shivered. “Does the fact that I’m having some trouble lying next to this naked woman mean anything to either of you?”
“That you want to keep her from freezing to death?” Gage answered, trying hard to keep his voice stern and mind on the task despite Frankie’s incessant wriggling against his
groin.
Quinton piped up. “Knock it off, you wanker. She’s like your sister.”
“My sister does not have tits like this.”
“Shut up, Damon,” Gage ordered.
”I’m serious, LC. They’re a perfect handful! And those nipples? They’re big enough to hang my hat on!”
Gage let out a pained groan. He was well aware of what their youngest crewmember was yapping about. His fingertips had accidentally brushed against her erect nipple. He’d felt the jolt of that tactile surprise all the way to his aching cock. He tried to think about something else.
Anything else!
Damon kept on blabbing. “Did you see that little tattoo on her ass? What’s that about?”
Gage closed his eyes and tried to keep his mind on the sole task of warming Frankie’s core temperature. Please don’t let her slip away from me! His inner mantra was interrupted once again by Damon’s complaints.
“Quinton, please! No more reruns of the home improvement channel. I’m begging ya, man. I can’t take it anymore. Tune in to ESPN or a sitcom or something.”
Gage began to chuckle. “For once I agree with the kid,” he said.
Quinton let out an exasperated huff and began channel surfing again. Stewie ambled over to the big Aussie, jumped onto his lap and began bathing himself in earnest.
Damon let out a sudden yelp of pain. Gage was almost afraid to ask.
“What is it now?”
“Dude, that better not be your hand.”
“Damon, give it a rest.” He reached out and pulled Frankie’s hand away, intertwining her slender fingers between his larger, warm ones. Uncontrolled shivering still racked her body. Gage could feel every tremor.
“Why don’t you take her front side for awhile, LC? This isn’t right. It’s going to ruin me for life.”
Guarding the Coast Page 3