“I got it,” I say, stepping forward.
I brace one hand against the rail and lean across the gap, grabbing the line to secure it properly before the next surge pulls it loose.
“Hold her steady,” I call back.
“Doing my best,” Estrada answers.
Another swell rolls under us, lifting the rescue boat sharply before dropping it again. The fishing vessel tilts in the opposite direction, the two boats shifting out of rhythm.
I pull the rope tight and begin looping it around the cleat.
“Almost—”
The wave hits harder than the last.
The fishing boat jerks sideways as the swell crashes against the hull, the deck tilting suddenly beneath my boots. For a split second, everything moves at once, the line snapping tight in my hands, the rescue boat lifting, and the rail slamming against my hip.
My footing slips on the wet deck.
The world tilts.
And then I’m gone.
Chapter 38
For the first time in ten bloody days, I wake up without an alarm dragging me out of bed.
It takes a moment for the quiet to register properly. No radio chatter from the station, no pager buzzing on the nightstand, no voice in the hallway calling my name because someone needs another set of hands. Just the soft gray light of morning filtering through the curtains and the rare, unfamiliar feeling that the day doesn’t belong to the job.
I lie there staring at the ceiling for a minute, letting my shoulders sink deeper into the mattress while the dull ache from the last stretch of shifts slowly fades into the background. Ten straight days of cold water, rough surf, and barely enough sleep to function settle deep into your bones. Knowing I’ve finally got a day off makes the soreness easier to ignore.
Eventually, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and make my way to the kitchen, throwing together something quick to eat while the coffee brews. Nothing fancy. Just enough to start the day.
With nowhere pressing to be, I take my time moving through the morning, throwing a load of laundry into the washer before opening the back door, knowing the scruffy orange cat that’s been visiting lately will already be on the porch like he’s the one paying the mortgage.
I set a little food out for him and lean against the counter with my coffee while he eats, pretending not to notice the way he watches me.
By the time the coffee’s gone cold in my mug, the stiffness in my shoulders is starting to loosen up a bit. I grab my gym bag and head out the door, figuring a workout might shake the rest of it loose.
The air carries that familiar coastal bite, cool and damp with the ocean somewhere just beyond the cliffs.
I toss my gym bag onto the passenger seat and climb into the truck, starting the engine before pulling out onto the road.
A few minutes into the drive, my phone rings through the truck speakers.
García.
I frown slightly and tap the answer button on the steering wheel.
“Didn’t think you knew what a day off was,” I say.
Normally, he’d have something sarcastic ready for me, but today, there’s nothing like that on the other end of the line.
Instead, his voice comes through tight.
“Finn, you near town?”
The change in his tone has my attention sharpening immediately.
