Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“Glad you weren’t on that,” I said, not that the pup could hear me over the noise of the helicopter.
Beachman brought us in, pausing his constant gum chewing to smile wide under his helmet when he saw the dog. “All passengers are aboard.”
“Roger that. We’re headed back to base,” Ortiz responded from the pilot’s seat.
“Heavy one canine,” Shadrick added from the cockpit, looking back over her shoulder and flashing a grin.
“Heavy one canine.” I nodded, then got myself into a seat and more practical footwear—my boots—while Beachman wrapped a blanket around the puppy. Now that we were out of the water, it was easy to see the size of her paws. She looked about seven, maybe eight months old. He quickly handed me the sodden bundle so he could see to her keeper, who stared out the window with a glazed look I’d seen too many times throughout my career.
“Cape Cod station, this is echo six-eight,” Ortiz said over the wide channel. “Incoming with one passenger in need of medical attention. Hypothermia suspected.”
Dispatch responded as I held the puppy against my chest. She struggled to keep her eyes open, even when I rubbed her down to keep her circulation moving.
It was a twenty-minute flight back to the Cape Cod air station, and to my relief, she was still breathing when we got there. Beachman and I got the guy out and headed off the tarmac toward the waiting ambulance, while the pilots ran the aircraft down. “She looks to be about seven months old?” I shouted over the decreasing noise of the slowing rotors once we were far enough from the bird.
“Something like that,” the guy responded, clutching the corners of the blanket around his neon-green polo. “Can’t remember.”
“What’s her name?” I adjusted her in my arms as we approached the medical team—and our commanding officer. Captain Hewitt usually carried an air of annoyance, but today he looked pissed.
“Sadie,” the guy muttered. “Ex-girlfriend named her.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “Any chance we can salvage the boat?”
Was this guy fucking serious?
“No. She’s long gone,” Beachman answered for me before giving the paramedics the rundown on the patient. “There’s a reason this place is called the graveyard of the Atlantic.”
“You risked an aircrew over a dog?” Captain Hewitt asked me, furrowing his bushy silver brows and crossing his arms across his perfectly pressed uniform.
No doubt I was in for yet another lecture on my recklessness, but I’d learned long ago that it was far better to risk myself and come back with a survivor than not.
“Zero risk to the crew. We made it in five minutes shy of Ortiz’s deadline,” I replied before handing Sadie off to the paramedic. Anger reared its ugly head when the patient completely ignored the pup. “She needs a vet.”
The paramedic nodded.
“You outran your fate, little girl,” Beachman said, scratching her head as he walked by. “Or outswam it, I suppose.”
Captain Hewitt’s sigh gave the rotor wash a run for its money. “Any particular reason it’s always your name on my desk, Petty Officer Ellis?”
“Always seem to be in the right place at the right time.” I shrugged. It was my biggest blessing, and sometimes a curse.
“Luckiest bastard I’ve ever met.” Beachman knocked on my helmet. Eric and I had transferred to Air Station Cape Cod around the same time three years ago, and the Californian was my closest nonlocal friend.
Captain Hewitt rolled his eyes. “Get dried off. See you both back in twenty-four.”
Hell yes. A whole day off before we were due back for another shift. “Yes, sir.”
“You coming out tonight?” Beachman asked as we walked back toward the hangar, tucking his helmet beneath his arm and running his hand over his short brown curls. “In case you need the reminder, Jessica’s sister is dying to meet you.”
“I’ll think about it.” And I did, until I opened my locker and saw the text message from Caroline.
Two hours and a change of clothes later, I carried two bags of groceries into my parents’—scratch that—Caroline’s kitchen, coming in through the unlocked side door. My older sister had bought the place off our mom and dad five years ago when they left her the café and moved inland, but I couldn’t seem to stop thinking of it as theirs.
“I’m here!” I called out over the classical music blaring from upstairs and set the bags on the linoleum counter of the island, along with my keys.
The kitchen hadn’t changed since my junior year in high school, when Mom had a serious thing for apples. Apple wallpaper. Apple curtains. Little red-apple drawer pulls. Caroline always talked about changing it, but never did. This place was frozen in time, and I’d felt like an anachronism since coming back three years ago. Nothing fit quite right anymore.
“Thank you!” Caroline hurried into the kitchen, shoving pins into her blond hair to keep it behind her ears. “You’re an absolute godsend, Hudson.” She smashed a kiss on the side of my cheek and tucked in her white button-down embroidered with The Ellis above her heart.