Walker filled his lungs the second he breached the water’s surface. He pulled the small rectangular package holding the boat to his chest and breathed until the dizziness subsided. It was then he noticed no more shots were being fired. Looking around, he saw he had drifted further from the ship and was in the middle of a debris pile drifting away with the current.
Walker took an assessment of the situation. The smoke was clearing. He pulled his night vision down on his helmet and watched as Jud, standing at command in the darkness of the bridge, called the men together outside. Suddenly one man shot in toward Jud, but Walker couldn’t see what happened to Jud. The next thing he knew, a wave of bullets washed over the pirates from inside the bridge. Jud staggered from the bridge with his rifle in hand and kicking the guns away from the pirates who hadn’t fallen dead overboard. Jud collapsed to his knees and pulled two flares. He waved them at the drone Walker knew would be flying high above them, reporting their mission back to Lt. Commander Stephens. Walker had seen enough. He needed to get in touch with base before Jud. Because from what would be captured by the drone, it would look like Walker died before the smoke bombs covered the ship. And then the drone would report back with the clearing smoke, a now visible pirate shooting someone, and then Jud saving the day by killing all the pirates.
Tearing the compression sleeve from his arm, Walker wrapped it tightly around his leg, slowing the bleeding as much as possible. He took a breath and began the combat sidestroke as he swam in the direction of his ship and his commander. When he was in training, he had done a five-and-a-half-mile night swim. Only this time his leg was bleeding and the possibility of shark attack rose exponentially.
* * *
Walker looked back, and once he was out of sight of the cargo ship, he pulled the life raft from the valise and pulled the auto inflate. Tired and exhausted, he tried to compartmentalize the fact he’d lost his team, his best friends, and his brother-in-law at the hands of his team leader. He dragged himself into the orange raft and collapsed. He groped for his coms, but hope died as he saw his pack was riddled with bullets. Through the adrenaline of the moment, he hadn’t felt those shots lodging into his pack and bullet proof vest.
Walker sat near the opening of the raft’s canopy to keep a lookout for friendlies as he stripped off his gear. He had cuts and bruises, but his leg was going to be the major problem. He was lucky the bullet had gone through his thigh about six inches up from his knee, but it was bleeding badly, and he knew he wouldn’t last too long.
Walker grunted in pain as he dug through his things for his first-aid kit. He cleaned it the best he could, pressed quick-clotting gauze to it, and wrapped pressure gauze around his leg. It would do until he could get help. Only help never came.
2
It had been five days since the tragic events on the cargo ship. The bleeding had stopped, but an infection had set in as Walker’s life raft bobbed along the ocean waves. He’d heard no planes nor seen any helicopters. No one was looking for him, and he knew why—Jud. Jud’s plan had worked, and right now getting revenge was all that was keeping Walker alive as he battled the delirium that came with the infection and dehydration.
As day six came and went, Walker’s resolve did not waiver. He slept and he hallucinated, but he never gave up. He focused on keeping his wound as clean as he could. He used his knife and managed to catch a fish. In his hunger, he ate the thing practically whole, but it was enough to get him to day seven. And on day seven, everything changed.
* * *
Walker awoke the seventh evening to see his sister crying. She sat on the other side of the raft, cast in an orange glow from the almost completely set sun through the canopy door. Her knees were drawn to her chest as she wrapped her arms around her legs and cried. Edie rocked back and forth as pain contorted her face. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but strands were falling out and covering part of her face. She was in her NAVY T-shirt and jeans shorts with no shoes.
“Edie?” Walker’s dry voice cracked as his parched tongue tried to lick his split lips.
His sister’s electric blue eyes looked up from where they’d been buried against her arms. Tears streamed down them but didn’t diminish the brightness of her eyes that were almost identical to his.
“Are you alive?”
“Yes, Edie. I’m here,” Walker said, using all his strength to pull himself toward his sister.
“Don’t leave me alone, Walker. I’m so scared.”
“I’ll never leave you, Edie.”
“It’s getting dark,” she reminded him. “Turn on the lights.”
Walker looked around, his eyes landing on the flare. “I don’t have any lights, but this will be just like camping out. We’ll pretend to roast s’mores, just like we used to do when we went camping.”
“You always look out for me, Walker,” Edie smiled as she wiped her tears.
Walker looked down at the flare. “It’s my only one,” he muttered.
“Light it, Walker,” Edie demanded, her tone turning serious.
“But,” Walker started to say, but Edie shook her head.
“No, light it now. Now!” Edie screamed so loudly Walker fell back.
“Okay, okay. Move over so I can light it.”
“Light the flare now!” Edie continued to yell as she moved from the door so Walker could lean out the raft to ignite the flare. “Now! Now! Now!”
The spark lit and the flare glowed brightly in the quickly darkening sky. He turned back to Edie. “There, you’re safe now.”
Edie smiled and cupped his cheek. “Come back to me, Walker. Fight with everything you have. Promise me. Promise me you’ll fight.”
Walker nodded his head. “I promise. Now, come here and we can pretend we’re camping.”
Edie scooted next to him at the door as he held his hand holding the flare in it out over the water and lay down. He felt Edie’s fingers comb through his hair as his eyes closed.
When Walker felt the hands of a stranger on him instead of his sister’s, he reacted with instinct despite his condition. His knife was to the man’s neck before Walker even opened his eyes. When Walker did open his eyes, he could barely focus on the person who was leaning over a small boat rocking Walker’s shoulders.
“Who are you?” Walker croaked, but when the man answered he couldn’t understand him. “I don’t understand.”
“Help,” was the only word Walker finally understood as he gave into the sturdy pair of hands along with oblivion.
* * *
Walker’s eyelids felt like sandpaper rubbing across his eyes as he forced them open. He took in the lighting, the metal walls and ceiling, and the bed he was lying on. He was on a ship in what passed as a medical room. An IV was in his arm and an old man sat working at a desk ten feet away.
Walker continued to look around at the posters when it came to him. This wasn’t his ship. He was on a Greek ship. They must have rescued him. “Hello,” he said slowly, finding his voice was stronger than it had been the night he was pulled from the water.
The old man’s head snapped around to look at him. His skin was olive, his hair white and combed back, and he had a big smile on his face. Walker evaluated the situation quickly. He wasn’t in danger.
“Ah! Hello. Hello. Okay? Okay?” he asked as he shuffled over to Walker.
“Where am I?”
“Okay!”
“How long have I been unconscious?”
“Yes, yes. Okay, okay.” He smiled as he took Walker’s blood pressure and stuck a thermometer in his mouth.
“Do you speak English?” Walker asked around the thermometer and got an immediate reprimand in Greek. He didn’t need to understand it. Every kid heard it growing up. Don’t talk until the thermometer is done taking your temp.
The thermometer beeped, and the man took it out and his smile grew. “Yes, yes.”
Apparently Walker’s fever had broken. “English?”
The man nodded and pulled up the bed sheet.
Walker jumped. “Okay, okay,” he smiled as he checked Walker’s wound and frowned. Walker tried to say something else, but the man held up a finger, went to his desk, and picked up a phone. He spoke quickly into it before hanging up and coming back with a world map.
“Hello?” the man asked, pointing to England, Canada, and the United States before looking for Australia.
“United States,” Walker said, pointing to the map. The man smiled largely.
The man pointed to himself. “Costa.” Then he pointed to Greece.
“Walker,” Walker said, pointing to himself.
The door opened and the captain walked in. He was in his fifties with dark hair and a friendly smile. Costa began speaking rapidly, and Walker heard his name and country before the captain nodded and pulled a chair to Walker’s bed.
“I am Captain Kyrkos. We pull you from water three days ago,” he said slowly in heavily accented English.
“Thank you for the rescue. Where are we?”
The man nodded and Costa handed him the map. The captain pointed to the Atlantic Ocean. “Going to Char-less-ton, U-nited States.”
Home. Walker let out a deep breath. Shadows Landing was thirty minutes or so upriver from Charleston. Better yet, there was an Air Force base, a Coast Guard base, and a naval base all nearby.
“Soldier?” Captain Kyrkos asked and held out his phone.
Walker began to say no when Kyrkos pointed to his phone. It was on an international news site, and there was a picture of Jud Melville hailing help with the flares. Walker grabbed the phone and scrolled through the story. The story recounted Jud’s heroics, and there were even pictures from the drone of Melville taking out the pirates. Walker felt his jaw clenching and relaxed it as he noticed the captain watching him. All bodies had been retrieved from the ocean except that of Chief Petty Officer Walker Greene, who is presumed dead.
“You,” the captain simply said. “Walk-her Green-ey”
Walker didn’t bother correcting the pronunciation. “Have you called anyone?” Walker asked, setting down the phone. His mind was already planning an escape.
“I say to myself. Must be reason not looking for own man. I no call. I wait to ask you.” Captain Kyrkos looked him over closely as Costa began to speak. “The doctor says you need surgery on your leg. There’s a, um, tiny piece metal in it. But he no knows how to do it. You call for help?”
“No. Don’t call.” Walker handed the phone back as the captain looked seriously at the article before turning off the screen. He wasn’t going to drag his sister into this. His sister undoubtedly thought she’d lost her husband and brother in one horrific mission gone wrong.
“I see you need help. They try kill you, yes? What happened to you?”
Walker didn’t know how to answer the captain so he settled on the truth. “Betrayal.”
The captain nodded solemnly. “I have seen this in my life. I take you to Char-less-ton, but we will be boarded. Understand?”
Walker did understand. Customs would board first to see if they could unload and that’s if the Coast Guard didn’t decide to do a routine check. He needed to slip off the boat unseen before then. Jud, thinking Walker was dead, was the best thing that could happen until he could formulate a plan. “If your doctor can keep me well enough to swim, I’ll be off the boat before you reach the dock.”
Captain Kyrkos patted Walker’s shoulder. “You okay. You strong. You fight for life. Kyrkos and Costa will take care of you. We arrive thirteen days.”
* * *
Walker clenched his jaw in pain as Costa began to clean out the wound while pushing a steady dose of antibiotics into him. Kyrkos and Costa were the only ones who saw him. Walker worked on walking, doing pushups, crunches, and one-legged squats as Costa frowned on. Days passed as the image of Jud killing Shane and his team ran on a loop over and over again. He had a plan, but first his leg needed to heal. Walker had given it much thought over the last twelve days. He was going to sneak back into Shadows Landing and have his best friend, Dr. Gavin Faulkner, remove the shrapnel. Gavin would keep him hidden until he was healed. Then he would go after everything Jud stole before taking the life of the man who had taken the lives of the ones he loved.
3
Keeneston, Kentucky . . .
* * *
“Mom, I think I have enough clothes packed for a conference,” Layne laughed as her mother, Morgan Davies, brought in yet another bag of new clothes from the trunk of her car. “I’m going to be late if you don’t stop showing me gorgeous clothes. It’s a nine-hour drive, and I need to go.”
Layne’s mother didn’t seem worried, and as an only child, Layne was used to her mother’s ways by now. She didn’t have a sister or brother to take the attention of two very attentive and loving parents away from her. As a result, she had probably learned a lot at a young age. Her mother was a PR spin doctor and had brought Layne to work anytime she was home from school. Her father, Miles, was the CEO of his own company, and before that a team commander in the Special Forces. Which Special Force was up for debate. Her father had said Army Rangers, but Delta Force seemed more likely, although he never talked about it. He simply taught her how to kill someone with her pinky by the time she was twelve.
However, the smothering love of her parents was the reason Layne was so excited for the business trip. Normally she would be nervous about presenting a speech at a medical conference on the use of some of her new techniques in physical therapy to treat wounded veterans, but not when it meant she’d be able to spend four days in Charleston, South Carolina. She’d splurged and rented a beach house on nearby Isle of Palms and was looking forward to some Layne time.
“It’s Charleston,” her mother said, pulling out a beautiful bright pink sundress. “In the summer. You need something pretty and breezy. Those doctors won’t know what hit them.”
Layne rolled her eyes. “So, that’s why you bought all of the new clothes.” Layne let out a long suffering groan. “I’m not going there to meet a husband. I’m going there to escape the pressure of meeting a man. And maybe, just maybe, find a hot man, have crazy sex, and not have Dad scare him away in the morning . . . or before we can even have sex.”
Her mom dropped the bikini she was shoving along with the third dress and, admittedly, a cute pair of shoes, into Layne’s already packed bag. “Um, well. I mean, I know you’re twenty-nine and you’ve—” Morgan blushed under the same raven black hair as Layne. “And I know your father scares away all men, but I won’t scare so easily. Even with shock tactics. So, find a sexy man, bang his brains out, and then marry him.”
“I’m leaving,” Layne said, frustrated as she tried to yank her bag away from her mother.
Her mother let go of the bag, but not before stuffing another dress into it. “I love you. Have a great time, dear daughter.”
Layne leaned over and kissed her mom’s cheek. “I will. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Layne and her mother walked out of Layne’s small house in Keeneston as her little white Maltese dog, Fluffy Puppy, followed. The daughter of a family friend had named him when he was a little white cotton ball of a puppy. The description fit, so Layne had kept it. She called him FP for short. His long flowing white hair was pulled away from his eyes with a small camouflage bow as the rest of his hair brushed along the grass before he spotted her father, Miles, leaning against her car. Fluffy Puppy yipped with joy and bounded toward her father.
“I see we’re rat sitting,” her father said, trying to hide the smile he had for FP. FP, on the other hand, was on his hind legs dancing around in a circle for her dad. Miles took her bag and carried it around to the back of her SUV. FP followed adoringly and her mother laughed. The little dog loved her dad and her dad secretly loved the little dog. He would come over in the middle of the day to walk FP, or possibly plant a bug to spy on his daughter, all without telling Layne. But Layne was her father’s daughter and had her own spy equipment, which caught her father opening the front door and bending onto the
ground to catch a running fur ball in his arms. Oh, her father may be a super soldier who, even at his age, was still in fighting shape, but give him a fluff ball of a dog and he was all baby talk.
“Now,” her father said, coming to the driver’s door. “I want you to be careful. Let us know when you get there.”
“I will,” Layne said before leaning out the window and kissing her mom once more and then her dad. “Wish me luck.”
“You’ll be wonderful,” her mom gushed as Layne started the car.
“We’re proud of you, Layne.” Layne blew a kiss at her father before backing her car out of the driveway. When she looked back, her father had FP in his arms.
“Four stress-free days, here I come!”
* * *
Charleston was heaven. She’d woken to the sun streaming in her window and the sound of waves crashing along the shore. Inspired by the view, Layne had taken a run along the beach before exploring Boone Hall Plantation on her way into Charleston. That morning she was picking up her welcome package for the conference before going to a meeting with the board of doctors who had invited her to speak the next day. She’d follow that up with a little shopping on King Street and then spend the afternoon on the beach. And then dinner . . . oh, she was looking forward to dinner. Charleston was a town for foodies, and Layne wasn’t a woman who shied away from food.
“Can I help you?” a woman behind registration asked.
“Davies, Layne Davies.” Layne waited as the woman rifled through packets. She looked around the historic hotel’s conference area. There was a vendor selling gourmet coffee and a small restaurant on the side opposite the row of doors leading to various meeting rooms. The lobby area was filled with men and women wearing matching lanyards.
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