by Zoe Dawson
When Neve returned, NCIS had already been briefed by the sniper, and they were satisfied with the outcome of the mission. NCIS informed CGIS but kept the sniper’s identity quiet.
But she missed Rock like crazy.
It was early morning, and the ocean here had a rough personality, choppy and as unpredictable as…love.
A coffee cup materialized in front of her, and she smiled and turned to find Nova, like Neve, dressed and ready for work. “Thought you could use this after your rough night.”
Nova knew it all. Neve wasn’t able to keep anything from her. When they had found themselves working out of the same air station, Nova used her knowledge of how to snag the best accommodations to get herself this wood and glass house that belonged to another Coastie who was on assignment in Clearwater, Florida. It was clear the two of them were involved. But Nova told Neve it was just casual and easily deflected questions about her love life to focus on Neve.
“Thanks.” It was second nature for each of them to know when the other was in turmoil. “You always know what I need.”
She nodded and hip-bumped Neve. “How are you doing? You’re looking out to sea, like your captain is never coming home.”
“Maybe running away from a situation isn’t always the best idea.”
“I think you’d better try to understand exactly what you want to do.” She leaned against the rail. “Tristan says he’s miserable, Neve,” she said softly.
“It hurts to hear that.” Memories of Rock assaulted her, and she searched her soul for the answers, but all she found were pieces of herself scattered around, too fragmented to pull herself together. “He is…steadfast, tough, freaking scary, with the kind of warrior skills that make you happy he worked for the US. He never gave up, and he saved my life and the lives of our family.”
“He did, Neve, and we’re all so very grateful for what he did, but especially that he made our business his business. Except I’m pretty sure his motivation to keep you safe had nothing to do with his deep friendship with Tristan. Take the time you need to make a decision. But”—she slapped her sister’s butt—“make one.”
Neve rolled her eyes, turning away from the turbulent ocean. “Thanks, sis. You’re such a big help.”
Nova smiled. “Anytime.” She pushed off the railing. “Ready to go?”
“Yes.” They bumped fists and left the balcony. After finishing off her coffee, she set her cup in the kitchen sink and got into Nova’s car for the quick trip to the station.
Her sister was a search and rescue pilot, and she flew one of the three all-weather, medium-ranged MH-60 Jayhawk helicopters. They were never allowed to fly together because they were siblings, and Nova could not have direct supervisory responsibility over her sister.
They arrived on base and walked inside the red, flat-topped building adjacent to the long stretch of blacktop that served as the heliport. During downtime, Neve spent her time in the swim shop, doing numerous tasks to support future missions. She was twining rope around two supports when her beeper went off and then the loudspeaker announced two surfers were caught in a cavern northwest of Tillamook Bay. Neve stopped what she was doing and headed to the locker room to get ready. Reaching her locker, she donned her dry suit, a bright orange.
When she climbed aboard the Jayhawk chopper, she greeted pilot Lieutenant Raymond Smalls, copilot Seth Mars and flight engineer Eric Sharp.
As they took off, Lieutenant Smalls made sure they were all on the same page. “Two surfers in the water in a cavern, both of them in distress. We’re not going to be able to drop you in the water, Michaels. Find a good spot to egress.”
“Roger that, sir,” Neve replied as they reached the destination and looked down to the swirling water below, the cavern off to their right. They were above Cape Lookout, the back of the cavern a sheer wall of rock that rose about four hundred feet above the surfers.
The flight engineer lowered Neve down to the ground. Unhooking the hoist cable from her harness, she saw two young men running up to her. “They got sucked in. We were surfing the gnarly waves from the storm. They’re back there.” He pointed to the rocky outcropping that formed the wall of the cavern. It arched away from the beach toward the ocean.
“Stay here and stay calm. We’ll do everything we can to save them.”
Neve pushed back her fear when she got within viewing distance inside the cavern and saw what she was about to enter. Her determination didn’t waver; there were two lives to save inside. She looked up at the hovering aircraft, confident that these men were here to support her, and they would do everything in their power to make sure they all came out of that churning hell alive. There was no doubt in her mind that she would survive and perform her duties to the utmost of her abilities, no matter the cost.
“Michaels,” a grave voice said through her radio. “We need to move as fast as possible. If the tide comes in, things are going to get even rougher. Over.”
“Copy that,” Neve said. As a matter of procedure, before they left base, she’d gone over the weather reports and estimated the tides and currents for the search area. She knew she had thirty minutes until the tide would roll in and increase the magnitude and power of the waves and currents.
This was dangerous, that wasn’t in doubt, but she didn’t hesitate. Her suit would protect her from the Pacific’s cold embrace and the threat of hypothermia. Armed with her gear and her determination to save these men, she moved to the entrance.
Walking along the rocks, Neve saw both men curled up on a small ledge toward the rear of the cavern, across two hundred feet of churning water. Toward the back was a spinning vortex to be completely avoided, a smaller opening that led to another tunnel. This area acted like a suctioning funnel, pulling in debris and then spewing it out with destructive force.
Observing the waves and their rhythm, she decided when to enter the water. She dropped into the sea between twelve-foot waves, flinching at the frigid temperature and the immediate turbulence. Aided by the heaving ocean, Neve swam along the rocky wall toward the men. She immediately checked the first man for injuries, then the second: mostly cuts and bruises. Both of them were dressed in cold water wet suits, which were staving off hypothermia. There were a couple of rips and tears here and there in the neoprene, but all and all they had been smart and gotten themselves out of the water.
“Hi, I’m Petty Officer Neve Michaels. I’m here to help you get out of here safely. You’re going to be okay.”
Worried eyes latched on to her. The trembling men nodded. One had big, blue eyes and short blond hair; the other one had curlier hair with a set of green eyes that were just a tad calmer than the other man’s.
“I’m Ben Compton and this is my brother, Mark,” the curly-haired guy said, his voice firm and telling her he was ready to leave.
Conditions were epic here. The sheer force of the water picked up debris and tossed it around. The air in the cavern whistled like the sound of a nor’easter through the cracks of the damp walls as it made way for the Pacific saltwater forcing its way in. The intensity of the surf was gearing up to get even nastier, the winds gusting to twenty-five and thirty knots while the tall waves broke at the coastline.
“They are conscious and in pretty good shape with cold-weather wet suits,” she radioed to the chopper. “Swimming out of here is iffy, sir. With the surging of the water and the backlash as it’s sucked out of the cavern, we’re going to get pretty battered.”
There was no answer from the chopper, and Neve looked over her shoulder to see the vehicle listing to the side. Something was wrong. The Jayhawk disappeared from view, and she took a breath.
Suddenly, she heard a female voice through the radio.
“Rescue swimmer, this is 6568. Tail rotor out on 6478, over.”
That was her sister’s voice. With the rotor out on Neve’s helicopter, Astoria must have deployed Nova’s chopper, since it was the only place in Oregon to send out another Jayhawk. Flying time from the air station was only fift
een minutes and it was imperative they get these guys out of the water as soon as possible. In light of the dire circumstances, it was preferable to allow her sister Nova to fly the mission. That information flashed through her mind like lightning, as Neve pushed everything but the rescue of the survivors out of her mind.
“Roger that, 6568. Repeating…swimming out of here is iffy. With the surging water and the backlash as it is sucked out of the cavern, we’re going to get pretty battered. Two, that is t-w-o, survivors, both conscious. Advise, over.”
“Standby.”
It seemed like an eternity before Nova’s voice came back through the radio. “We’re coming in. Basket drop, but you’ll have to get them closer to the entrance.”
“Roger that.”
Neve turned back to them and said, “We’re going to have to swim out of here to the center of the cavern, where they’re going to drop a basket. Listen to me—you’re going to have to swim hard and fast. These waves are going to push us back in. Stay with me.” She removed her vest and strapped the two of them together, instructing them to put their arms through the armhole and grab ahold of their waistbands. “I want you to lock elbows, and whatever you do, don’t give up. We stay together, we get out of here together.”
Neve turned around and caught her breath. Her sister was flying the chopper between the walls and below the top of the cavern roof. Her chest swelled with pride for her sister’s skill, thankful she was such a talented pilot.
Now comes the hard part, Neve thought as the two men slipped into the water. Immediately one of them let go and started to thrash. Neve punched him twice to get him under control, then she shouted in his face over the roar of the waves. “We’re not going to survive unless we work together. Now hook your brother’s elbow and don’t let go again. Kick with everything you’ve got.” She felt like she was channeling Rock, and the thought of him strengthened her determination to get out of this situation.
Mark nodded, his breathing harsh, exchanging a desperate look with Ben, who, still steadfast, gave his brother a return nod. “We’re going to make it,” he said. Mark took a shuddering breath, resolve settling over his features. He gave Ben another curt nod.
Slipping her arm underneath the vest, she got them into a swimmer’s carry. By this time, Nova had the whole helicopter inside the cavern, hovering above the water, keeping the vehicle so steady it was like they were standing still. Rolling waves struck them, and Neve yelled for them to kick. They were pushed back, then the backlash of the waves propelled them forward, but swamped them and they went under. With sheer force of strength, she pulled both men back up, bouncing to the surface.
Then it was as if she hit a wall that she couldn’t get through, like some crosscurrent was causing a solid barrier. Waves tossed them up and back, and they went under again, but the guys held firm as she swam back to the surface, the drag of their weight minimized by their strong kicking.
She figured the waves rolling in and the heaving ocean dumping out of the cavern were causing a pressured reaction. The combination of the crushing collision obstructed their forward momentum. There was only one course of action. They had to swim under it. She screamed at them to hold their breaths; they were going under. “Kick like hell!” She submerged. The breakers rolling above her, she swam, her flippers giving her strong propulsion and the survivors helping. She calculated she was past it when her lungs were bursting. Popping back up to the surface, she almost cried in relief when she saw the USCG lettering on the chopper’s underbelly.
Nova explained what they were going to do. The flight mechanic lowered a basket and two trail lines equipped with a simple loop called a strop that went over the head and was secured under the arms. She assisted Mark into the basket and settled her vest onto Ben. Then she grabbed the lead line, and as quickly as she could in the heaving seas, secured the loop around Ben, then put the second around herself. Wrapping her hand into the steel mesh, she instructed Ben to do the same. “Hang on.”
“Don’t let me go,” he said in a strong voice.
“I’ve got you,” she reassured him. She gave the flight mechanic a thumbs-up. Then she wrapped her arm around Ben.
Nova dragged all three of them out of the cavern, just high enough, their feet skipping over the waves like stones. Once they were clear of the treacherous swells, Nova lowered them back into the water as aid was deployed from the chopper. When Nova’s rescue swimmer hit the water and swam over to them, he clapped Neve on the back.
“That was freaking amazing! Good job,” he yelled. Though Neve was exhausted from the rescue, with his help, they got both men loaded into the Jayhawk, and then both rescue swimmers were hoisted up one at a time, with Neve first.
As soon as she hit the deck of the chopper, Nova turned around and lifted her visor, her eyes warm and relieved. “Welcome aboard.” Her sister’s voice was filled with the same pride that only minutes before had surged through her.
“Thanks, ma’am.”
Nova grinned, radioed into base and turned the chopper toward Astoria.
It had all been about teamwork. Back at the base, Neve helped the other rescue swimmer with the survivors until he insisted he check her out.
Feeling raw, as if some protective outer layer had just been peeled away, Neve closed her eyes and couldn’t stop the rush of tears. Crying was a result of release for getting herself and these surfers to safety, gratitude for these men and women of the Coast Guard and her pride to be one of them. It was all about teamwork and she finally got it. She didn’t have to prove anything to them or to herself. She’d already done that by making it into the elite rescue swimmer ranks and, with that, she realized she’d taken a new turn in her life, just like she had when she’d let Rock help her and even take the lead.
The majority of her tears came because she’d made her decision and it was an easy one.
Three days later, she was called into the commander’s office.
She faced him across the desk.
“Exemplary work, Petty Officer,” he said. “We’re awarding you the Coast Guard Medal for your heroism. Quick thinking, ingenuity, and teamwork got you through. You can now have your pick of assignments. Think about it when you get back to San Diego.”
Back home, she and Nova spent the evening together, and that night she couldn’t stop the tears. They were residual from the rescue, but most of them were for being a fool.
Rock had left her in Panama City, and she hadn’t stayed there long. The nightmares had started when she got home. Feeling so many times as if she were suffocating, she’d wake up, gasping with the memories of the fear, panic, and pain of being tortured by Ammon Set. She could only breathe when she focused on Rock. He was like a solid lifeline, and she reached for the phone so many times to call him just to hear his voice.
But each time she resisted, not sure what to say.
She’d buried the truth. She’d never been forced to recognize that, but she’d been doing it for a long time, burying the truth about herself.
The truth was, she was a coward. She had never seen herself in that light before. Because of the way she’d grown up and the things she’d done with her father, she’d always thought she had a fair amount of backbone. Proving herself, using her physicality and her steadfast vow to duty, was a way to avoid handling the emotional side of her life, especially when it came to those deep feelings.
Feelings she’d buried because of the horrible danger her father, then her two brothers, were in every day. It was easier to push the softer side away and hit head-on the things she thought would make her even tougher—mentally, physically, professionally.
She’d had feelings for Doug, her high-school boyfriend, but not as deep or as wide or as profound as she had them for Rock.
The truth was that hiding from him was easier than confronting him.
Nova was right. It was time to make a decision.
Shooting Range, San Diego, California
One month later
“You can’t
shoot worth hell,” Dexter said, and Rock laughed. Tristan was leaning against the partition, his gun by his side, the safety on.
“What are you talking about, man? His groupings were dead-on,” Tristan said.
Dex grinned. “I bet anyone in here could shoot better than you can.”
Rock laughed, fist bumped Tristan, and said, “Bring it on, little brother.”
Dex motioned to a slight figure next to them, most of her features and lithe body blocked by the partition.
Rock shrugged like he didn’t care who his opponent was. Truth be told, he was just managing to get back on track after leaving Neve in Panama seven months ago. He’d heard from Tristan how she’d rescued two men from a cavern off the coast of Oregon, and his chest swelled with his pride for her. They were awarding her with the Coast Guard’s highest prize for heroism.
He missed her like hell, but when he got back to San Diego and had faced Tristan, his heart felt like it was ripped to shreds.
He told Tristan everything, and his best friend had not only thanked him, but gave him a tight hug that had them both pretending they had something in their eyes.
Tristan negated the guilt he’d felt betraying him when he’d told Rock to go after Neve. Tristan said he couldn’t have wished for a better man for his sister.
Rock only said that they wanted different things, but Tristan only laughed at that. He told Rock to give her some time. That gave Rock hope, confidence that if Neve wanted him, she knew where she could find him. They hadn’t spoken about her since, but it was no secret that Rock was still deeply in love with her.
Dex dodged around the partition, and Rock gave Tristan an I’ve-got-this look. Tristan’s eyes twinkled.
Dex came back around and said, “She’s ready to go. She wanted to make sure you could handle being beaten by a girl.”
Damn, that sounded like something Neve would say.
He stepped up to the shelf and set his gun down, reloading it and getting it ready to fire. He looked over to the woman, only able to make out dark hair and a delicate jaw. He said, “Ladies first.”
