Thane caught her just as she slid behind the wheel. She couldn’t figure out why she was crying when she was so angry at the same time.
“Thanks for the invitation, but I’m not staying,” she said, yanking the door closed. Pulling onto the street, she didn’t stop as Patrick appeared from the side yard and tried to run in front of her car. Half of her considered running him over.
She didn’t feel like going home so she drove to the Strand and past the base, to the long beach that stretched from Coronado to the Mexican border. Tourist season had waned and not many cars sat in the parking lot. She threw the car into park. The fact that Patrick could move on to someone else so easily bit deeply and the truth sniffed at her open wound. He was like any other guy, not someone special. Not someone who thought she was special.
Looking across the water and into the orange sun that blazed on the horizon, she remembered why she’d moved to San Diego. To start anew. Put her own footprints in the sand without her parent’s intervention. So far so good, she’d just chosen the wrong people to hang out with.
Ten minutes later she was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. When her phone rang, she answered. She’d called Grams earlier just to say hi.
“Where are you?” The low voice rumbled at her.
“At home,” she said, pressing her pillow under her chin. “In bed.”
“Don’t tease me. Can I come over?”
“No. Why?”
“Wanna talk.”
“You’re in your car? Drunk?”
“Not yet. Just a second.”
Marg heard mumbling in the background, and then a door closed.
“Thane, what the heck are you calling me for? You’ve got a party going on at your place.” She sat up and crossed her legs.
“Pat had too much to drink. Never seen him drink like that before. When he got here, he opened one beer, and hasn’t stopped. He’s going to be a sorry-ass motherfucker in the morning.”
Marg sat forward. “Is something wrong?”
Thane grunted. “You’re what’s wrong.”
“It’s not me, Thane.”
“I think I need to lock both of you in a room until you settle this.”
She ran her hand through her hair and shook her head. “Nothing to settle. I saw his face. He was enjoying himself. I don’t need to know any more than that.”
“Yeah, you didn’t see his face when he realized you’d seen a snapshot of what was going on. Bad timing, Marg.”
“You are so full of shit,” she growled, ready to hang up. “Thanks for playing matchmaker, Thane. It’s just not going to work with some girl’s hand down his pants. Maybe he will turn out just like his father.”
“He won’t.”
“Time to get on with our lives. I need to call someone. Take care, Thane.”
“Who? Your father’s mini-me?”
“No, a photographer. He’s doing a shoot on a yacht, and I’m invited. See ya around, Thane.” She paused. “Take care of each other.”
She hung up and waited for a minute before picking up the phone and calling Gary. He said to meet the other models at Seaside Marina. A shoot on a big yacht sounded fun to her. A day at sea would wash Patrick from her mind and put her concentration back on modeling.
* * * *
By Monday afternoon, the yacht swayed in the building seas. Marg gripped the bottle of water before it toppled from the table onto the deck. Her shoot had finished an hour ago. Miles from the San Diego shore, the ninety-foot vessel drifted a quarter mile from a small island. The day had started out warm and tranquil, but as the afternoon waned on, she watched the clouds gathering into a thick, grey blanket above her head. The wind had picked up, and she felt bad for the other five models still in their bikinis and trying not to let their teeth chatter. Graphic artists would be air brushing a lot of goosebumps off their skin with this set of photos.
Marg had changed into a pair of shorts and a blouse. Not waiting for an invite, she scrummaged around the elegant cabin and found a stash of blankets under the couch. It had been hard to keep smiling today. After the disastrous BBQ, Thane had called her twice last night. By the second call, he’d had a few too many. The fucking guy is in love with you, he just doesn’t know it yet, Thane had said.
He told her to give it time. She had time. Lots of it, but none left to spare for Patrick. If he liked strawberry blondes better than brunettes, he had what he wanted.
Marg tossed her new cell phone from one hand to the other. Gladys, her agent, had met the girls down at the dock, wished them a good shoot and gave Marg the phone, saying the company would pay the bill. She didn’t really know how to use it yet.
The captain of the ship spoke to his first mate inside the cabin behind her. “The weather report says there’s a storm coming. I think we’re on the leading edge of it. I want to head back in.”
“Sure, Captain, think they’re done. The girls look like they’re half frozen to death.”
“Put on some hot beverages and bring them inside.”
“Yes, sir.”
Protected from the wind behind a half wall, Marg heard the voices of the other models.
“I need to change,” Barb said, rounding the corner first.
Tricia followed. “Are we heading home?”
Marg wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and tucked it around her legs. “I just heard the captain say we’re heading back soon.”
“Where did you find that blanket, Marg?”
“Inside the back cabin. There’s two more. Left them on the table.”
“Oh, God, thanks. I’m freezing,” Barb said, heading into the back cabin.
Marg heard the engines turn over somewhere below her feet, but not catch. They turned over again. Silence followed. Her brow furrowed. Gary the photographer sat down at her little table and unhooked the camera from his neck. The engines rumbled for a second and then cut out again.
“Do you think something’s wrong?” Marg asked.
Gary stood up. “I’ll find out.”
One of the crew members dashed past her and threw open a hatch on the back deck. Marg wrapped the blanket tighter and stepped to the opening. A set of steep stairs led into the clean engine room below. A large wave drove itself against the yacht and she lost her footing. She backed up when the water came over the edge of the vessel. The seas looked pretty darn big to her. An island sat within swimming distance off their left side. Maybe they could go there and wait.
After twenty minutes huddled with the other models in the back cabin and gripping the furniture as the seas got higher, she made her way toward the wheelhouse. As she approached, she heard the captain on the radio.
“Pan Pan, San Diego Coast Guard. This is the Morning Marlin, over.”
What did Pan Pan mean? The Coast Guard answered, and asked him to go ahead.
The captain gave his position as off San Clemente Island and how many people were onboard, then said they were adrift, unable to start their engines. He reported the sea and wind conditions.
Marg gripped the handrail to stop herself from being thrown onto the floor when another wave struck the side of the yacht. This was not good. Not good at all.
Gary gripped the doorframe. “Marg, come back and sit down.”
She staggered toward him. “Is somebody coming to help us? I heard the captain say he can’t start the engines.” A deluge of rain pattered at the windows.
“We’ll be fine, Marg. Nothing to worry about. This is a big ship.”
“We’re drifting toward that island,” she said. “Maybe someone can help us from there.”
Gary darted a nervous look her way. “Hope so. It’s surrounded by reefs. If the captain can’t start the engines, he can’t keep us off the reefs surrounding San Clemente.”
The other models huddled around them as they watched the building seas and the rain pounding onto the deck. Marg pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
* * * *
Patrick parked his bike by
the entrance to Marg’s complex and looked around. A guy in a business suit walked back and forth. Patrick doubted Marg would let him up, and he didn’t want to explain himself on the intercom with the guy pacing like a caged lion, but if that’s what he had to do, he’d do it.
Once he’d sobered up last night, he wanted to come over here, but Thane thought he should give her some breathing room. He needed to explain what happened at the BBQ. What she saw was a girl putting on some moves at the worst possible moment. Thane had told him that Marg would be coming, and he started drinking to build up some nerve. Whether it was to resist her or beg her to forgive him for being such a dick, he wasn’t certain. The more he drank, the less he cared about anything. His old man’s approach to life.
Patrick walked to the front door. Even though someone had come out, the other guy didn’t make a move to enter. Pat stopped, and they shared a look. The guy momentarily stopped pacing, his expression wrought with worry. Pat buzzed Marg’s condo. Before he’d released the button the guy stood beside him.
“Why are you looking for my daughter?”
Pat cocked his head sideways and took a closer look. The man’s eyes were the same as Marg’s. Tall and well put together, he had to be related to her. “Because I need to talk with her. I’m Patrick Cobbs.”
The guy gave him a severe gaze. “She’s not home.”
Marg hadn’t answered, he’d assumed the same. “And you’re…?”
“Alex Stines-Foster. Marg’s father.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
“Do you know where my daughter is?”
“On a modeling shoot. Least, I think she is.” Somewhere in his fuzzy memories of last night, Thane had mentioned Marg would be on a yacht today. He assumed it would stay in San Diego harbor, not go out to sea.
Marg’s dad rolled a cell phone in his hand and then let out a huge breath. “She’s late. I called the modeling agency she works for and they told me she’s out on a boat.”
The storm had already rolled in. The rain hadn’t started, but it was going to be a big blow according to the forecaster.
“How late is she?”
“Hours. The name of the yacht is Morning Marlin. I’ve called every marina and finally found where it’s berthed, but it’s not back yet.” He rolled his shoulders and shook his head. “It’s a big yacht. They told me even in heavy weather, it should be fine.”
Pat shrugged. “Did they say where they were headed?”
“Somewhere around San Clemente Island. Do you know it?”
He did, and not with any fond memories. Phase Three of his BUD/S training took place on San Clemente. He’d nearly given up, and almost got himself killed by ending up underneath a Zodiak in a current and torn to pieces against the rocks. “San Clemente is seventy miles from here. I did some training there.”
“What type of training?”
“SEAL training.”
“You’re in the military?” His expression morphed as if the words caused a bad taste in his mouth.
“No, sir, Navy.” Maybe he shouldn’t have corrected the man, but according to Marg, his own father was a SEAL. He should know the difference.
“Her agent said she’d given Marg a new phone this morning, but I can’t get through to her. She probably doesn’t know how to use it.”
“Sir, could I borrow your phone? I have a couple friends in the Coast Guard.”
Rather than dismiss him, which he looked like he wanted to do, Marg’s father handed him his phone. He put a few feet between them and stared up at the ominous sky.
Pat called the Coast Guard station and hoped his friend, Tate, would be on duty. They’d been friends since high school. Tate had almost convinced him to join the Guard, but he’d opted for another direction.
When the base answered, they connected him to Tate. “Hey, man, it’s Pat. What’s up?”
“Just going out on call. Gotta talk later, Pat.”
“Listen, I’m looking for my friend. She’s out on a vessel called the Morning Marlin.” The line went silent. “Tate, you there?”
“Yeah, man. She close to you?”
Pat stopped his own pacing. “Why?”
Tate answered, “We’ll bring her back.”
“You telling me it’s the Morning Marlin you’ve been called out on? How bad is it?”
“They were in heavy seas and adrift. They went aground on a reef near San Clemente. Yacht got thrashed on the rocks. We’ve been tasked to find survivors.”
“What the fuck,” he yelled. Pat’s nerves jumped into action. “Let me come with you.”
“I can’t do that man. You know that.”
“Screw the rules, wait for me.”
Pat heard running and knew his friend was about to hang up. “I’ll call you when I know something. What’s your number?”
Marg’s father had moved closer. “What’s the number on this cell?”
“Why?” he said, his brow a tight knot of worry.
“What’s the goddamn number?” Pat relayed it to his buddy. “As soon as you know something, Tate. The second you know.”
“I will.” The call disconnected.
“What the hell is going on?” Marg’s father looked ferocious and scared.
If he told her father the truth, he’d be a mess. He didn’t look good now. “The Coast Guard is heading out to the vessel.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I have to go.” He’d grab Thane and the guys. If the search drew out, they’d need help. The Navy often responded to civilian calls for assistance. He had to convince one of the instructors at the base to help him. “My friend, Tate, is one of the officers on the cutter heading out to assist the Morning Marlin. He’s going to call on your phone when he knows more.”
“Where are you going? You’re not telling me everything.”
Pat mounted his bike. “I’ll bring her home.”
“I’m going with you.”
“You can’t, Mr. Stines.”
“I sure has hell can. I’m Alex Stines-Foster. Whatever you need, I can get.”
Unless he could back up time, a man like him didn’t sway the Navy. “Sir, I’m wasting time.”
Patrick put the bike into gear and headed straight for Thane’s place. Sporting a hangover from last night wouldn’t stop Thane from helping. He hammered on the front door when he reached the house. Within twenty minutes, Thane and five guys from their class had rallied at the base. Stingray turned the gain up on his radio. The cutter hadn’t reached the island yet. Even at thirty-five knots over ground, she had a ways to go.
As a group, they nearly tore down the door to Lt. Baker’s office in the BUD/S training building.
“What the hell?”
“Sir, need your help. Need a helo,” Patrick said, stepping ahead of the other men.
Lt. Baker turned a narrowed eye at him. He was the meanest son-of-a-bitch on the training squad, but on graduation night he’d told Pat he respected him. Divulged how he knew Pat would make it from the first day.
“What the fuck for, Cobbs?”
“Sir, there’s an incident going on off San Clemente. A large yacht went adrift and has gone aground.”
Baker rose to his feet. “I don’t think I need to remind you that falls under Coast Guard’s responsibility.”
“Yes, sir. I know that.”
“Then why are all of you cramping my office space?” Lt. Baker rounded his desk as if he didn’t want to listen.
Pat stepped up, not ready to give in. Not with Marg’s life on the line. “Training.”
“What?”
“Training mission. I don’t give a damn what you call it, sir. Just call it.”
Baker looked from face to determined face. Thane had pissed Baker off more times than any instructor. He’d hated Thane’s cocky mouth. He’d done his worst, and Thane took it and served it back up with a red bow.
“Sir, the last report said the yacht is on the reef. The passengers don’t have a chance if we d
on’t get there now. The cutter won’t arrive on scene for another thirty minutes at least,” Thane argued.
Baker began to nod his head. “Coast Guard has helos. I’m sure they’ve dispatched them.”
“But not SEALs. They don’t have SEALs,” Thane fired back.
“We know those waters. We just spent hours in them. Sir, talk to Base Command. They can authorize a tasking for humanitarian reasons,” Pat argued.
Baker squared a look on Patrick. “And whose humanity are we saving?”
“A friend,” Pat admitted. “They won’t make it without us.”
Baker picked up the phone and spoke quietly into it. He hung up and grilled them with a look. “Base Command has been monitoring the incident as well. We have to standby.”
A very long minute ticked by as silence reigned supreme in the room. A couple of the guys took a seat, but Pat remained standing, staring at the phone. Marg was a good swimmer. If she could stand the cold water, she might have a chance, depending on what side of the island they went aground. The phone rang and his pulse nearly tripled.
“Go,” Baker barked into the phone. He paused. “Roger. I’m taking a squad of BUD/S graduates. Put the helo on the beach. We’ll rendezvous in fifteen minutes.” Baker hung up the phone. “Coast Guard has three taskings, their resources are thin. Command has approved our assistance. The Morning Marlin is the farthest away. Coast Guard informed Base Command there is no further comms from the vessel. She went down off the west side of the island.”
“Fuck,” Pat hissed and shot a look at Thane. Worst side of the damn island.
Baker nabbed his jacket from the hook on the wall. “Load up, light. Dive gear only.”
“Yes, sir,” Patrick said and followed the men who bulleted from the office.
Their lockers sat beside each other. As Thane’s crashed open and he hauled out his gear, he said, “I know nothing is going to stop you from coming, but maybe you shouldn’t.”
“She’s not dead.” Patrick slammed his locker closed.
“How the hell do you know that?” Thane said, running beside him as they headed for the beach pickup point.
Code Name: Forever & Ever (A Warrior's Challenge series Book 5) Page 17