Shielding Instinct, page 11
“That’s true and rather an unusual subject of conversation.” Jenny scanned the area until she found Herb on a stone, slathering sunscreen on his beer belly. He positioned his things in a place where he couldn’t possibly see the children. And he looked like that was where he planned to stay. That left the kids to Jenny alone.
“He asked me what I did for a living,” Petra explained. “I told him I was an author.”
Jenny suddenly looked interested. “Have I read something you’ve written?”
“I write in a different genre. But I have a friend who’s fairly successful, Holly Smokes.”
“Reverse harems with SEALs and Delta Force operators. She’s talented.”
“Amazing at what she does.” Petra had never actually read Holly’s work, so she needed to move the conversation in a different direction. “I brought Holly up because your husband says you do adventure racing. I was wondering if you knew her from that?”
“I didn’t know Holly was an adventure racer. And there aren’t a lot of women who compete at my level.” Jenny turned in Herb’s direction.
He was sliding a ball cap protectively over his receding hairline.
Then Jenny scanned for her children. The water wasn’t deep. There was no current here. There were plenty of family-looking adults. She seemed satisfied that all was safe.
Jenny slid her sunglasses on. She looked like she wanted to lie back and end the conversation.
Since Petra was only talking to learn the story of the matching necklaces, before the “go away, please” vibe got too strong, Petra ventured, “On the way here, I noticed Herb was wearing a necklace with such an interesting design. And now I see that you and the children are wearing the same. They must be meaningful.” Petra had no reason to be nervous, but she found herself stimming to self-soothe, rubbing the ends of her hair between her fingertips.
Jenny’s gaze swept over her children, then up to Herb, who was staring out at the adjacent cove, paying zero attention to his family. Her gaze moved back to her middle child, the daughter—Petra didn’t know if any of these relationships she had mapped were correct. They seemed right, though.
And that middle daughter scowled back at her mother with ferocity.
Their eyes held for a long time.
The child wasn’t giving in, and Jenny looked away indifferently.
“Yes, well. Our family had a ceremony, a renewal of vows kind of thing, and we wanted the children to be included and have a remembrance that they kept with them, telling them they were loved and part of a bigger happy family.”
The oldest child, a boy—probably eight, maybe seven—turned his head to his mom with his brows knit and a tilt of his head that Petra read as a sincere question about why his mom would say something that wasn’t true.
Jenny purposefully didn’t look his way.
And Petra found that odd.
But before Petra could ask more questions, Jenny pulled a paperback from her bag and leaned back to read. She was done conversing.
For the rest of their hour in the tidepool, Petra ruminated. And watched.
When Beans finally called out that they would start back across the cliff’s edge in ten minutes, Jenny finally roused from the plotline. After pulling the children’s clothes from the bag and folding her towel, Jenny stood and caught her daughter’s eye, then signaled her in.
The daughter scowled at Beans and glared at her mother. Then suddenly, she flicked a glance towards her dad and ran behind a large rock. Leaning back, Petra could see that the girl reached up, grabbed her necklace, and yanked it violently time and again until it finally broke, leaving a red welt along her neck.
Gripping the chain in her fist, the girl lifted her arm over her head and, with a mighty heave, flung the necklace toward the sea. She seemed satisfied with herself as she scrambled toward her mother.
Was it her mother? That was a leap that Petra had made. It could be anyone.
The whole thing was odd.
Something was off.
Petra had watched the necklace land. She made her way carefully down toward the water’s edge, where she gathered the chain until the pendant lay on her palm. Taking her first clear look at the design, Petra felt something unsettling mix into her bloodstream.
But in her brain, Petra could sometimes know she knew a thing—a name, a definition, a fact, or a statistic—but that thing would hide from her.
If Petra chased after it, working hard to remember, it was like a child on the playground calling, “Come catch me!” and then racing away. A better strategy was to leave the thought alone and move on to something else. Eventually, the information would pop out enough that she could snatch it up.
Why did her brain do that?
Petra had no clue, but it came with her diagnosis. She knew it didn’t just happen to her.
For now, she’d just slide the necklace into her pocket.
“Miss Armstrong?” Lucky was calling her. “Where are you?”
“Here, taking a photo.” Petra pulled her phone from her pocket and pretended to snap an image. “I’m coming!”
But as Petra picked her way back to the group, her head spun toward the sea, where shrieks of horror rode the wind.
Chapter Fifteen
Hawkeye
Hawkeye had memories of vacations near the Pacific Ocean when he went west as a child to visit his grandparents.
As an adult, he’d come up through the Army, to the Rangers, and then the Green Berets.
During his time in the military, they drummed into him the rudiments of staying alive in river water.
But he wasn’t a SEAL like Reaper and some of the other Iniquus operators.
He hadn’t trained for saltwater survival or rescue.
That was the reason Team Charlie was down here in the islands to get the land operators up to the proper skill levels.
Which meant that as Hawkeye leaned over the nose of the borrowed surfboard, plunging his hands into the water and dragging his arm back to his side, he was plowing ever forward toward some kind of crisis that he’d meet with the only thing he had—seat-of-his-pants strategy and enormous will.
As the team rounded the finger of land and could see into the next cove, each man popped up on his board, coming up on their knees to give themselves a moment to make sense of the chaos and to catch their breath before their next burst of effort.
Nobody liked that. It felt all kinds of wrong to stop the forward momentum.
But, like in any emergency, the first rule of rescue was not to become part of the problem.
Even before Ash pointed and called out his findings, Hawkeye had spotted the problem. By the look of the water with two deep blue lanes and foam cutting through the pale turquoise, those had to be two sections of rip currents that had caught people up.
At least those on the shore knew better than to dive in without a floatation device and try to swim out and help.
That could just double a family’s grief.
As those on the shore spotted the team, their screams turned from terror and anguish to hope, from gripping their heads as they knelt along the surf to leaping in the air with pointed fingers.
One woman came to her senses.
Thank goodness for that woman.
She rallied those around her, and as a group, the chant went up, “Six. Six. Six.”
“Six in the water, boys. Call them out when you see them,” Ash yelled to the team.
Here, where the sea was comparatively smooth, the men balanced with arms wide as they stood on their boards, working to gain perspective.
With hands shielding their eyes from the glitter of sunlight reflecting off the water's surface, they scanned with eyes well-practiced in searches.
None of the teammates called out a find.
Had the victims already gone under?
Hawkeye cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted toward the woman. “Find them! Show us!” He repeated this three times so that if the wind was snatching his words, someone could piece the message together.
The woman rallied the people around her again.
A moment later, groups ran to different positions on the beach. There were two, sometimes three people at each station, and every arm pointed at the swimmer they were marking.
It was brilliant.
“I have number six. The one on the far side,” Hawkeye called. “Once I have them, I’ll paddle south until I reach that boulder. It looks like it’s past the rip current. That’s where I plan to turn to shore.”
“Go, Hawkeye. Go! Go!” Ash called.
As Hawkeye threw himself down on his board, he heard Ash issuing orders behind him, “Levi takes five. Halo takes four, then three. I have the shortest paddle. I’ll go for one, then two, and see if Halo needs an assist with three. Get to shore and reassess.”
Hawkeye’s breathless “Wilco!” joined his teammates as he drove his board forward.
The lip of land had brought them out just far enough that they were past the current. There was a clear demarcation that Hawkeye tested before he pressed on.
He couldn’t risk being caught in the current, too.
First man out, his brothers would be watching his progress to see if that line of travel was safe.
So far, he wasn’t battling a cross pull out to sea, so he powered on.
It was tough as hell to pass the people in the water. He thought about the scenes at Quantico that Petra had described. In theory, it made rational sense.
In practice, it hurt like hell.
Hawkeye had to fight his instincts, trusting that his brothers were roaring onto the scene behind him.
That last guy, number six—his guy—he had the least expectations of being saved.
As Hawkeye drew parallel to him in the calmer waters just ahead of the man, his face was etched with surprise, exhaustion, hope, and pain.
From here, all Hawkeye could do was cheerlead. He couldn’t paddle his board toward the man in the rip current any more than that man could swim for shore. “Sir, let the current bring you to me.” Hawkeye rolled off his board. “Try to relax into it. Float. It’s pulling you right to me.”
The pain on the older gentleman’s face worried Hawkeye. He couldn’t account for it.
A cramp?
There would be time to assess once they reached the shore.
“You’re going to be okay,” Hawkeye encouraged. “I’ve got you. What’s your name?”
There was no answer. The man made guppy lips as if trying to sip in some air.
Hawkeye felt his assessment turn from awareness to a clenched gut. This wasn’t anything he’d seen before. “I’m Hawkeye. Sir, your name?”
“Roy,” he croaked out.
From the sound, Hawkeye began to suspect Roy had swallowed too much salt water.
But if yesterday with Petra taught him anything, it was never to assume. “You’ve got this, Roy. You’re not fighting the current. You’re using the current to bring you to me.”
The guy attempted a lazy side stroke in Hawkeye’s direction with just enough effort to keep his head above water.
His pallor was gray.
Really gray.
Seconds felt like minutes. But, from the expression on the guy’s face, Hawkeye knew the exact moment when Roy reached the edge of the rip current, and there was some relief from the power of the sea’s energy.
Hawkeye pushed his board toward Roy so the guy could grab hold while maintaining a safe distance between himself and this guy until he was sure Roy wasn’t panicking.
If Roy grabbed Hawkeye, they could both drown.
As Roy reached out one hand to clasp the edge of the board, he clutched at his chest with the other.
His mouth agape, Roy’s breath was shallow and had the cadence of a freight train.
“I’ve got you, sir. I have you.” If Hawkeye was guessing, this grandfatherly, overweight man was having a heart attack from fear and exertion.
Hawkeye needed to get him to shore stat.
While culling through videos from the Iniquus library in preparation for this training evolution, Hawkeye had seen a couple of surfboard rescue techniques demonstrated.
There was a way to get an unconscious person onto a board, but to get them back to the shore, the rescuer basically had to lie on top of the victim to paddle.
Hawkeye didn’t think Roy could survive the pressure.
On the plane, when Hawkeye and Levi carried Petra to the ambulance, they hadn’t trusted she could stay conscious on the stairs. Better to get her configured safely in advance while they had her cooperation.
And now, Hawkeye didn’t think Roy was going to make it far without passing out.
Better to get him configured for that potential rather than trying to get him moved in an unconscious state.
Running through memory files, Hawkeye recalled viewing another technique—a much more complicated technique—that kept the victim facing upward and the rescuer facing down. If Hawkeye could figure out how to get himself into the right setup, that might be the best option here.
But truth be told, Hawkeye was winging it.
Rounding the board until he was within arm’s reach, Hawkeye kept his voice loud but calm. “Sir, I’m a retired Green Beret. I’m here to help you. If you follow my instructions, I’ll get you back to the shore and get you the medical help you need.”
The man bobbled his head.
Hawkeye turned onto his stomach, spread his legs, and backed toward the man until his knees were on either side of Roy.
“I’m almost in place, Roy. Do me a favor. Just keep your hand on the board. You’re doing great. Now, I need you to turn and face out to sea. I’m going to keep talking you through this. You’ll know every step. Okay, Roy?”
Roy didn’t answer, and if he made a gesture, from Hawkeye’s position facing the shore, Hawkeye missed it.
“You’ll feel my legs positioning on either side of you.” Hawkeye used the board to slide his thighs along the outside of Roy’s ribs. “You should feel my legs around you now. You’ve seen the rescue harness that the Coast Guard uses? That’s what I’m going to do with my body. I’m making a harness for you with my legs. We’re going to work together, Roy. And together, we’re going to get you to shore. I’m in place now. I’m bending my legs at the knee to bring my feet toward the sky to make that safety harness. Your head leans back and uses my ass as a pillow. Put one arm over my thigh. Good. I’ve got you. You won’t go under. I need you to let go of the surfboard now.”
Roy didn’t comply.
“Roy. I’ve got you. You’re safe. The sooner we get you in position, the sooner I can get us to shore. Let go of the board.”
After a moment when Hawkeye could feel the man’s inner fight to obey Hawkeye’s command, Roy let go.
“See? Like I said, it’s like a Coast Guard safety harness. You just hold onto my shins. You’re doing great, sir. I’m going to cross my ankles over the top of you. That’s right, hold onto my calf. Don’t reach for the board. I’ve got you.”
Hawkeye pulled the board along until he had it heading parallel to the shore.
“This next part, Roy, I need you to be really still so I can focus on keeping us out of that current.”
Hawkeye reached to either side of the board and gripped tightly as he pushed the back down into the water and heaved himself up and over the end. Reaching forward and pulling hard, Hawkeye edged his torso on, then his hips, and with this last effort, he was able to get a bit of his thighs on board.
With his head resting back on Hawkeye’s butt, Roy’s body stretched out in the water.
Getting a man this size far enough south that they could safely tack back to shore was going to be a trick.
The sound of a jet ski gunning its engine pulled Hawkeye’s attention seaward.
Someone with a motor would sure make this event easier and safer.
Were they close enough that he could signal for help?
Sweeping his gaze along the horizon, Hawkeye spotted the white pleasure boat he’d seen earlier, the one with the joyful red flags.
Not too far away, considering how sound travels over water. Laughter brewed amongst the group on the deck, but they were all facing away from him.
A guy on a jet ski circled the yacht, popping out of the water and doing a few quick tricks.
The jet skier had his eye on the audience, watching as they cheered him on.
What he didn’t see was a monstrous wave rolling over the sea's surface.
With his weight on his elbows, Hawkeye cupped his mouth and yelled, “Wave!” to give his teammates a heads-up.
That swell was so big that Hawkeye changed his plans and decided to ride the crest to shore. It had to be stronger than the rip current. And Roy was struggling to breathe.
“Jeezus! Wave!” Levi called.
“Wave!” Hawkeye could hear the message passing from one brother to another.
The person who didn’t hear the warning was the guy on the jet ski wrapped in the cloud of his revving engine noises. The rider pulled up on the handles as he stood and arched backward to make the jet ski flip through the air.
It was a spectacular sight.
The roar of approval from the boaters rode the wind to shore.
Hawkeye tried again, aiming his call directly toward the boat that was about to get broadsided and rolled. “Wave!” he hollered.
Roy started wheezing in a way that reminded Hawkeye of the death rattle he’d heard on the battlefield.
Hawkeye needed this wave to get to them fast and transport them quickly back to the shore, where he could find a hard surface if Roy needed CPR.
The guy on the jet ski did another fancy flip, but this time, as he lifted from the water, the wave pushed him impossibly high, adding enormous energy to the trick. The guy had to be at least two stories up when he lost his grip and fell toward the boat.
The boat rolled onto its side, flinging the passengers into the water.
Hawkeye was scrambling to turn his board facing shore in time. No small feat with Roy serving as an anchor in the water.
