Page 58 of Shielding Instinct

He had used the first wave to make it to shore, and the others probably made that distance because they used the waves to their advantage.

But why were the crew at the second cove?

If it were Hawkeye, he’d have a sense of responsibility. He would have tried to make sure everyone was safe, tried to get to his coworkers.

Hawkeye bet that by the time the third wave hit, they decided they’d done what they could. And he bet they’d somehow angled differently.

If he was right, and the current pulled them farther south—not much farther south, but enough—then his search should be south, not seaward for this point.

When Hawkeye looked over his shoulder, Halo and Max were in view. “I’m turning here.”

Max was up on Halo’s shoulders. And, like Cooper, had his nose down, chuffing air, searching for the scent of a human under the water.

It was so strange to be in the pristine clarity of the water this morning and to have visibility change so drastically in such a short time.

As he turned back to the boat, Hawkeye saw that the anchor line was down.

“Halo!” Hawkeye called with a hand cupped around his mouth. The winds were high and strong, and he was covered in goose flesh. “Anchors down! Check to see if anyone is clinging to it. Bobbing into the water so they aren’t in the fire. Someone who can’t swim.”

“Wilco. Heading there now.”

Hawkeye could feel a shift in the water and wondered if they were now moving into low tide. And while that might help him get out to the boat, it would make getting back in that much harder.

Stilling for a moment to consider the position of the boat and the direction of the ripples, Hawkeye saw something in the distance farther out to sea.

He squinted at it using a technique from his days as a Green Beret when he willed his brain to make sense of a shape. It often brought something into relief. Hawkeye would swear there was a bobbing white cube—cooler?—with something dark draped over the top—person? It seemed to be floating away from them out to sea.

He spun his surfboard around. Halo was closest, but not in a direct line of sight. If he was checking the anchor, he might miss this. And the person might float past the horizon line.

“Halo!” Hawkeye bellowed, letting the water carry the sound of his voice. “Around the back of the boat, your eleven o’clock.”

“My eleven. Wilco!” Halo tucked his head, his hands stabbed into the water as he propelled himself toward the mark.

Cooper scrambled to Hawkeye’s other shoulder, whining and crouching as if to dive into the water. Hawkeye wondered if the smell of the fire and the burning chemicals was frightening him. Their surfboard might be as close to the inferno as Cooper could stand it.

Pressing his clawed paws into Hawkeye's back, Cooper released a series of barks that set Hawkeye’s limbic on fire.

His body was moving with purpose and power that came to him only in times of extreme need.

The tone of Cooper’s barks pressed Hawkeye’s throttle wide open, and he was gunning toward nothing obvious.

Chapter Twenty

Hawkeye

Up ahead, Hawkeye spotted the smooth curve of a man in a deadman’s float.

Hawkeye hoped like hell the guy was just conserving his energy and would turn his head to take a gasp of air.

How long had he been face down?

The boat rescue had been going on for a while now.

It could be that this guy had stayed upright and breathing most of that time.

Dead or on the cusp?

As he got closer, Hawkeye was debating best practices when, in fact, he had none.

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