Wyatt pulled the locker open. Fall arrest harnesses. Lanyards. Carabiners. Rope. “We’ll need this.”
Jen unsealed the access hatch for the ladder. Wind and rain blasted through the opening, funneled upward from the churning water. Below, the maintenance ladder descended toward the transmitter housing, about twenty feet down. Or it should have.
Three rungs were missing. The metal ends were weathered and rust-streaked. Not recent damage. Just neglect.
She closed her eyes, sucking in a slow breath. Of course, just climbing down on actual rungs would be too damn simple.
“What?” Wyatt took a knee next to her after a quick glance over his shoulder searching for threats.
“There are rungs missing. Gap’s about six feet.” Wind whipped her hair into her eyes. “These ladders aren’t priority for safety checks. They’re almost never used. I should have—I should’ve known?—”
Something flickered across his face. It wasn’t pity. Recognition.
“Can we reach it another way?”
She forced herself to think past the guilt and visualized the platform structure. The transmitter housing sat isolated on its mount. No alternate access. No other ladders. Just this one route.
“No,” she said. “This is it.”
Wyatt studied the gap. The wet metal. The drop to the ocean below if either of them slipped.
“Okay. We adapt. Come on.”
She followed him back to the safety locker.
He’d laid out all the kit on the platform grid.
“Only one harness.” His hands settled on his hips.
“What?” She dropped to her knees, sure he was wrong as she rummaged through the kit.
He was right. One harness.
How the hell?
“So we take turns? You go first, secure the bottom, send it back up?”
“Nope.” He bent and scooped up the harness, already unbuckling it. “You wear it. I’ll free climb with the rifle sling as backup.”
“That’s not?—”
“Not negotiable.” He held it out to her.
“I can free climb too. You’re bigger, heavier—if anyone needs the safety equipment?—”
“Step. In.”
Something in his voice stopped her. No raised voice. Just absolute command.
She took the harness. It was a full-body fall arrest system—straps that went around the waist, chest, and between the legs. Industrial safety equipment built for men twice her size.
She stepped into it. “Let me?—”
“Stop.” Wyatt stepped in front of her. “You’ll rig it wrong.”
“I’ve used harnesses before?—”
His hands went to the buckles at her waist. “If the fit’s off and you fall, this thing will snap your spine or crush your pelvis. So hold still and let me do it right.”
