Page 53 of Hot SEAL, Under Pressure

She took a second before she coughed out, “Stefan?” The goggles were obscuring her vision.

“You're okay. A lungful of water is scary. I know. Can you go on?”

She nodded.

“Good. I’m going to swim alongside you. Okay?”

“Yes.” Her reply was breathless and followed by a cough.

“All right. Follow me. I’ll set the pace.” He’d keep it slow and steady and adjust as necessary if she started to fall behind.

Just his presence seemed to calm her. They got into a rhythm as they swam parallel to the shore.

They were probably equally matched at this point. She had the wetsuit keeping her warm and buoyant. He did not. She had swim fins. He did not. She had goggles. Again, he did not. Not to mention he was being weighed down by his water-soaked cargo shorts.

All and all, it was a shitty swim—almost as torturous as anything the instructors had come up with during his training— and he hated every damn minute of it.

He was aware of the boat and camera crew nearby and barely resisted the urge to give them the finger for putting them through this.

One mile. That was all he had to get through. He found himself employing the same techniques he’d used in BUD/S. One stroke at a time. Then one more. Don’t look ahead. Just get through this one moment in time. Then the next.

The water was never warm here, but at least it wasn’t deadly cold this time of year. He most likely wouldn’t get hypothermia from not wearing a wetsuit for this mile. He hoped.

Fucking show.

His head chatter ceased when they reached the second buoy. And though the longest stretch of the swim was over, the hardest part was still ahead of them—getting back to shore without being bashed into the rocks by the increasingly rough surf.

He turned toward the shore. Shelly followed, changing direction.

About twenty strokes in, he felt it. The rip current fighting him. Pulling him out to sea, away from shore, no matter how strong a stroke he used or how hard he kicked.

Fuck.

He lifted his head and found Shelly. She was struggling too, already exhausted after a swim she was ill-prepared for.

They should have been training for this show—for all of the insane challenges—for at least the past month. Not thrown into them on no notice to fill a hole in a schedule.

His anger fed his adrenaline as he reached out and touched Shelly. She stopped trying to fight the current and lifted her head.

As they both bobbed, he pointed for them to keep following the line they’d been swimming in until the buoy and said, “Rip tide.”

She nodded, hopefully remembering his advice about swimming parallel to shore until clear of the current.

He was about to follow Shelly when he noticed a couple of the swimmers nearby struggling. He couldn’t leave them there like that. It was dangerous. Deadly. Insane.

With one more glance at Shelly, who seemed to be clear of the current just a few yards away as she turned toward the shore and swam freely, Stefan worked to get to the struggling swimmers.

It looked like for the moment he was coach to a few more. But that was by far preferable to being part of a search and rescue, or search and recovery if he didn’t help them and the worst happened.

Fucking show.

ChapterTwenty-One

Stefan wasn’t swimming beside her any longer. She dared to break her stroke and look behind her, trying not to panic. He was way back.

She couldn’t wait for him. Her muscles were tired and getting more so. Even just treading water now was exhausting as the grey water churned around her. Tossing her at will.

The knowledge that the ocean bottom was far, far below her and the shore even farther away was enough to have her heart pumping faster than the swim had.

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