Page 98 of The SEAL's Duchess
Ryder didn’t answer. He swept the binoculars across the rig’s upper deck and helipad, searching for any sign of movement, any hint that someone was still alive up there. The structure listed hard to starboard, and over the rage of the storm, metal screamed from somewhere deep within. The sound cut through the wind like a knife dragged across bone.
The radio crackled with a broken transmission. “—platform integrity compromised…all personnel accounted for?—”
Ryder’s blood went hot. He reached over and killed the volume. Accounted for. Like she was a line item, not a heartbeat.
“They left her. And Jack.”
“Copy that.” Wyatt shot him a look.
The rig groaned again, longer this time, a dying animal making its last sounds. His gut told him Ivy was still alive. Had to be. Because the alternative wasn’t something he could let himself think about and still function. “Keep her steady, Wyatt.”
The boat surfed another swell. Visibility had dropped to fifty meters at best. Just steel and water and death in the space between them.
Then the sky tore open.
A red flare streaked upward through the sleet, so bright it burned afterimages into his vision and turned the rig’s skeletal frame blood-orange. Every shadow went black.
For a second, time broke—the world reduced to that single point of light.
“Contact!” Ryder pointed. “Port side—helipad!”
Two figures. One standing. One collapsed beside guttering flares.
“Jesus Christ,” Wyatt hollered. “They’re still up there.”
Ryder’s chest unlocked. Air rushed into his lungs as he staggered back a pace. “She’s alive.” He turned. “Get us in.”
A second flare punched into the sky, defiant.
She’s fighting.Of course she is.
Wyatt jammed the throttle forward, and the boat surged toward the Vega. The bow lifted as they hit the next swell, and a wave smashed against the windscreen hard enough to crack it.
Wyatt flinched. “Fuck.”
The boat shuddered—a deep metallic grind beneath the hull. The pitch changed, and the bow slewed sideways as a hungry undertow grabbed them.
Alarms screamed.
“Prop foul!” Wyatt barked. “We’ve lost steerage!”
The rig loomed closer, debris raining off the listing deck. If they couldn’t control their approach, the collapsing structure would drag them under.
“How bad?”
“Feels like cable or line in the screw.” Wyatt yelled over his shoulder, legs wide. “Starboard side’s chewing water.”
Ryder’s brain snapped into triage mode.Distance, current, risk. None of it mattered. Ivy was up there. “I’ll clear it.”
He clipped the safety line to his harness, checked the tension once, and shoved his knife into his belt.
Wyatt’s voice came from behind him. “Negative, don’t you fucking?—”
“No time. Keep tension on the line.”
Move. Cut. Get her back.
He went over.
