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BEN
Ben is proud of the years spent in service to his country. He’d spent his entire adult life fighting wars. Every tour had been someplace hot and dry.
Afghanistan. Pakistan. Iraq. Somalia.
If he’d been born two decades earlier, he’d have spent time in Vietnam like his old man. He remembers his father cursing the humidity and the swamps of the rice paddies.
Now, as he and the others follow Kate toward Humboldt Bay—ankle deep in murky marshland—Ben wishes he’d paid more attention to his old man when he talked about the rice paddies. No doubt his rants contained tidbits of info Ben might have found useful in his current marsh-filled situation.
“That’s the Fairhaven.” Caleb lowers a pair of binos, gesturing to a charter boat with a blue roof grounded half a mile east in the marsh grass.
“Fuck,” Ben grumbles. “There is no good way to recon that thing.”
Caleb gives him a tight look. “We’re going to have to get muddy.”
“No shit.” Ben huffs out a breath and looks at Kate. “You still gonna to let us recon before going in?” He says this just in case she’s thinking of changing the plan. Kate’s been known to do that.
Like the time she said they only had to run for two hours. Which was fine, but when she realized it was going to be a hot day, she moved the workout to the middle of the day. She had some long explanation about the importance of heat training. He would never complain in front of her, but that had been one of the shittiest workouts ever. He’d taken several large bottles of water into his room that night to rehydrate, and his piss had still been dark yellow the next day.
He looks into her eyes, waiting for her nod. It’s reluctant, but it comes.
Ben shifts his gaze to Carter and Jenna. “I don’t suppose either of you were science majors? Anything useful you can tell us about the environment that could help us on the recon?”
Jenna grimaces. “Sorry. Art and business major.”
Carter adds his grimace to Jenna’s. “I took a general science class that focused on local ecosystems. All I remember is that Humboldt Bay is responsible for more than half of the United State’s oyster production.”
The fact doesn’t do shit for their current situation, but he files it away for later. Oysters may be a reliable food source for them at some point, especially if they can ever get Arcata cleared to the point that travel isn’t so treacherous. Shit, he’d just love to get to the point where they could ride bikes instead of going everywhere on foot.
“Wait here until we give the all-clear.” Ben adjusts his rifle and drops into a crouch.
Caleb joins him. Ben would rather have anyone else with him on this mission, but Caleb is the most qualified. He resigns himself to running side by side with the younger, stronger man. Cold water sloshes around their ankles, soaking them up to the knees within seconds.
A hostile truce hangs between him and Caleb. They co-exist by avoiding and ignoring one another.
When they’re a quarter mile away from the charter boat, Ben drops to all fours. His elbows sink into mushy mud. Water laps across his torso, soaking his clothing.
All this to save a man supposedly stupid enough to get himself attacked by a shark.
“Do you think it’s a trap?” Caleb whispers to him, dropping into the water beside him.
“Yep.” He said as much in the beginning.
“You’re just doing this for Kate?”
Ben doesn’t answer. There’s something about that question that feels like a trap.
“For what it’s worth,” Caleb says, “I think she might like you.”
Ben draws up short, momentarily frozen by the younger man’s words. Caleb arches an elegant dark brow at him in silent question.
Ben snarls and turns away, refocusing on the charter boat. He can’t afford to be distracted right now.
What did Caleb mean by that statement, anyway? Ben knows what it means in the junior high sense, but he isn’t sure what it means with Kate. Most days they barely speak.
Charter boat, he reminds himself. Focus on the charter boat.
Fifty yards from the boat, he and Caleb draw to a halt. His body is already chilled from contact with the marsh water. From this distance, he can see the name Fairhaven scrawled across the side of the boat.
Caleb lifts the binos and studies the boat. After a few minutes, he passes them to Ben.
Ben has to prop both elbows in the water to hold the binos in place. There is no movement on the Fairhaven.
“Blood,” Ben murmurs. There’s a big smear of it on the side of the ship and part of the railing.
“From the guy who was attacked by the shark?” Caleb asks.
“Or the last idiots stupid enough to ‘help’.”
Caleb lets out a huff. “You always assume the worst about people. Not everyone is out for blood. I’m going to circle around the Fairhaven. Be back in five.”
Ben glares as the other man slips away. “Paranoia will keep you alive, motherfucker,” he growls under his breath, too soft for Caleb to hear. Paranoia had kept his team from blundering straight into a landmine field in Pakistan. Paranoia had kept his men out of a house rigged to blow in Afghanistan.
Caleb is young and stupid. He’ll learn. He’ll learn, or he’ll die. Ben doesn’t give a shit either way.
He keeps the binos in place, watching the ship. He tenses as a tanned woman with a messy red bun comes up on deck. Her face is drawn, her eyes exhausted. Blood is smeared on her cheek and neck. When she brings up a hand to brush errant strands of hair from her face, he spots more dried blood on her fingers and forearms.
Ben studies her face. He expects to see the eyes of a woman who’s set a cunning trap for softhearted idiots. Instead, he sees a woman who looks like she’s going to collapse from exhaustion. As he watches, she buries her face in both hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.
Dammit. Maybe her husband really was attacked by a shark. Maybe she really is as desperate as she’d sounded on the ham.
Caleb returns a few minutes later, crawling up beside him. Even the mud splashed on his face can’t diminish his pretty boy features.
“I saw the woman,” Ben says.
“Me, too. I think her message was real. I think she needs help.”
Grudgingly, Ben nods his head in agreement. “We go in together. Make sure it’s all clear before signaling the others.”
Caleb doesn’t argue. He and Ben rise out of the marsh, lifting rifles to their shoulders as they advance on the Fairhaven. They make just enough noise to alert anyone on the boat paying attention. They don’t want to board the Fairhaven in stealth mode and give the woman a heart attack. Or worse, scare her badly enough that she shoots at them.
Their splashing pays off. Her feet echo on the deck as she rushes to the starboard railing. She lets out a cry of joy at the sight of them.
Ben’s not sure what he thinks of a woman crying in joy at the sight of two men pointing rifles in her direction. Women make no sense. At least, not to him.
“I need help,” she cries. “My husband, he—”
“We received your distress call, ma’am,” Caleb says.
The young woman practically melts at Caleb’s words. “You’re here to help?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stares at them, her mouth hanging open. Tears stream down her face as she drops a rope ladder over the side of the vessel, no questions asked.
Ben trades his rifle for his handgun, making sure the woman sees the weapon. She does. And she shows no fear or trepidation. Either she’s stupid or desperate. Maybe both.
On board the ship, Ben spots more blood. Big smears of it that could only come from a severe wound.
“My husband is in the hold. Do either of you have first aid or medic skills?” She wrings her hands together.
“Ma’am, we need to assess your husband.” Caleb’s voice is strong and reassuring.
She flashes him a grateful smile and hurries first into the hold.
They follow her down. The smell of blood hits Ben. The metallic stench of it is strong in the small, dark space.
On the starboard side is a small table for two, a tiny sink, and counter for food prep. On the port side is a bunk and a tiny bathroom.
On the lower bunk is an unconscious man. His legs are wrapped in bloody clothing. Wads of bloody bandages and towels are piled in one corner. It looks like the woman used every scrap of fabric in this place to staunch the bleeding.
The man is in bad shape. Real bad shape. There is no deceit here, only miserable desperation. He finally understands why Kate made them come.
Ben turns on his heel, heading back to the deck.
“Where are you going?” the woman asks, voice heavy with desperation.
“To get reinforcements. We have a trained medic with us.”
The sob of relief that tears from her throat follows him upstairs.