Page 97 of The SEAL's Duchess
Still nothing.
Ivy’s chest seized. They’d come so far—escaped the container, crossed the rig, carved their way here through ice and betrayal. And now the flare wouldn’t light?
No.
“Here.” Ivy left the gun. She wrapped her trembling, bloody fingers around Jack’s. Her palms screamed with pain. “Together. On three.”
Jack nodded.
“One. Two. Three.”
They struck as one.
The flare caught. With a vicious hiss of sparks and heat,it ignited— white-hot light cutting through the dark like salvation. The pain in Ivy’s hands vanished in the blaze of holy hellfire and relief.
The flare stank briefly—cordite and bonfires—before the wind whipped it away into the maw of the storm. Jack wedged it upright into a deck cleat. The flare roared, wind slashingsideways through the flame — but it held, the glare carving harsh shadows on Jack’s face.
They lit two more, crawling on hands and knees together to spread them out.
Then Ivy raised the flare gun, aimed at the sky, and pulled the trigger.
Recoil kicked her flat onto her back.
A red comet tore upward, ripping through the storm. It burst high above, blooming into a slow-falling parachute of fire.
Ivy rolled over, reloaded with shaking, dead fingers.
Fired again.
Another streak. Another burst.
Three flares burned hell-bright on the pad while two parachute flares drifted over the ocean. Five points of defiance screaming into the dark.
Ivy wrapped a foil blanket around Jack, pulled another over her shoulders.
The older woman huddled against Ivy, both of them shaking. Jack’s voice was a bare croak. “We did our best, kid.”
Ivy held her tighter, eyes on the burning sky.
Please. Someone. See us.
36
The sea wanted him dead.Might succeed too.
Ryder braced against the boat’s console, one hand white-knuckled on the rail, the other clamped around the binoculars. Black water boiled around the Vega’s failing legs, and spray slashed sideways through the spotlights, turning the air into a misty wall. The deck pitched hard to port, snapped back. His boots slid on wet fiberglass before he caught himself.
He’d fought worse.
But not with Ivy out there.
Wyatt battled the helm, shoulders hunched and jaw set. The engine whined against the current’s force, a high, desperate sound that meant they were pushing the limits. Six-foot swells slammed the side every eight seconds. Ryder had counted.
“That’s as close as I can hold without risking the hull,” Wyatt shouted.
Ryder nodded his agreement.
“She’s listing fifteen, maybe twenty degrees. Any closer and the suction’ll take us with her.” Tendons strained in Wyatt’s neck.
