Page 126 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

“Sarah!”

Gunner blasted past in a blur of black and tan, cleared the gap, and hit Sarah’s attacker full force. Owen’s shouts were muffled by the roar of blood in Hudson’s ears.

He tore off his jacket, holster and plate carrier, leaving them scattered across the boards as he ran. Six feet across. The water churned with splintered timber and shattered decking.

“Hudson, NO!”

He dove.

The cold hit him like an explosion.

His chest locked and his muscles convulsed so violently he almost lost the dive before it had begun.

Black water slammed over his head. No sky. Only freezing darkness crushing in from every side. His body knew this place long before his mind did. The cold. The pressure. Silt thick between his teeth. For one savage heartbeat, he was back beneath another black sea. His scarred lungs clenched in remembered terror, every instinct screaming to fight for the surface.

Training took over before panic could.

Orient.

Search.

He kicked deeper.

His good hand searched ahead while his injured arm lagged a fraction behind, heavy and burning. Barnacles rasped across his fingers, tearing his skin. A piling. Something solid. He pulled himself along it. Broken wood swirled, striking his shoulders, scraping across his forearms, snagging at his clothes.

Ignore them.

Find Sarah.

His lungs blazed now, every heartbeat driving needles through old scar tissue. The pressure to breathe was alive inside him, clawing at his lungs, demanding air.

His fingers closed on fabric. Canvas. Her jacket.

Sarah.

He followed the sleeve to her shoulder, then her neck. His hand slid into her hair until his palm finally found her face. She drifted toward him without resistance.

Boneless.

Her head rolled against his palm, and when he drew her face near, her eyes were closed.

No.

The word ignited somewhere deep inside him. His blood was icy sludge. His vision narrowed to a thin tunnel.

Not yet.

Airway.

Entanglement.

Surface.

She was caught on something. He reached for her leg with his good arm, ran his hand down it until he reached her ankle.

Corroded wire. It had cinched tight around her boot, every kick drawing it tighter.

He forced feeling back into fingers that barely belonged to him. The cold drained them one nerve at a time, turning precision into clumsy instinct.