Page 139 of Tate
The ocean had turned choppy as the morning drew out, but it worked to her advantage as she towed her victim to shore.Keep me planed in the water. Scissor kick.
Ford’s voice filled her head as she swam, her strokes even, her hip under her victim to keep him afloat.I like you in my ear, what can I say?
She heard the other trainees—two women, seven men—shouting at her from shore.
You look amazing, by the way.
Oh, brother. But still, the memory of him taking her hand, weaving his fingers through hers…
Shefeltamazing.
Her feet hit the beach. She dragged her instructor through the waves, pulling him all the way to the beach, then collapsed beside him, dragging in hot breaths.
A shadow cast over her. Another of her instructors. He wore a Navy hat, shorts, and a sleeveless shirt and gave her a hard look.
Please—
“You passed, Petty Officer Hathaway.”
She rolled over in the sand, onto her elbows, wanting to weep. Her victim bounced back to life.
“Who taught you how to get out of the swimmer’s grab?” Peters said.
She climbed to her knees. “My teammate.” Probably it wouldn’t be prudent to addmy boyfriend.
No, that sounded weird.
But what if…maybe it was time to do something crazy. To cut the white cord.
To release her hope in a happily ever after.
She walked over to a nearby picnic table where she’d left her gear. The other trainees were getting their times, talking with the instructors. She picked up her towel and wiped her face with it, then wrapped it around her shoulders.
Chief Petty Officer Peters came up to her, holding a water bottle. He rinsed out his mouth and spit onto the ground. “There’s an opening in the upcoming rotation to Rescue Swimmer School in Pensacola. It starts next week. I can get you in, if you’re interested.”
Next week. She nodded.
“Good job today.” He gave her a smile and headed over to the group of instructors.
Next week. And then she’d get her RS certificate, move on to aviation training and…
No more sitting on the sidelines.
Overhead the sky was clearing with the morning, blue with a scattering of clouds that looked hand-stirred from the heavens. A few beachcombers wandered the shore picking up shells, seagulls cried overhead. A dog barked, running to catch a Frisbee.
“Hey, Hathaway, want to catch breakfast?” One of the trainees called to her from the gathering nearby.
“Nope. I have other plans.”
Like calling Ford with the good news. Maybe cajoling him over for some very unhealthy Cap’n Crunch.
Taking him up on that desire she’d seen stirring in his eyes when he dropped her off at home last night, after their debriefing with the FBI, who’d shown up way after the firemen put out the fire and bagged the body of the bomber. Thankfully, Ford had seen the altercation between them and defended Tate’s actions to the police.
Ford had walked her to the door, the gentleman he was, as if they’d been on a crazy, high-action date, and stood on her doorstep like he had nearly a month ago when he’d offered to road trip her to Idaho. When he decided to walk into her heart and stick around like he meant it.
She’d perched on the step above him, almost eye level with him. He’d pulled off his tie and coat, rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing his powerful, tanned forearms, and propped one foot on her step. “Thanks for…well, you saved my life, again.”
She laughed. “Pick one? Really?”
