Page 128 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

“Hudson,” Caleb’s voice was calm. “I’ve got her, brother.”

Hudson looked at him. The man who spent his life pulling people out of cold water.

“Let me take her.” Caleb’s gloved hands closed gently over Hudson’s wrist. “I’ve got her.”

Something inside Hudson finally gave. His fingers opened, and Sarah slipped from his arms into Caleb’s.

The loss hit him like another plunge beneath the surface. But Caleb already had her. One arm beneath her shoulders, the other securing the rescue sling. He made a sharp signal toward the boat, and the recovery line came tight.

The crew hauled Sarah toward the boat, limp in the sling, her hair streaming through the floodlit water. Hands reached over the low recovery rail and lifted her onto the deck. Caleb followed, hauling himself over the rail.

Hudson couldn’t take his eyes off her.

The cold pulled at him. His legs were impossibly heavy. His head dipped as the cold relentlessly drained what little strength he had left.

Water rose over his mouth, his nose⁠—

Hands caught the back of his shirt and hauled him upright.

“Hudson.” Wyatt. “Stay with me.”

Wyatt slipped a second rescue sling beneath Hudson’s arms, secured it across his chest and gave the recovery line two sharp tugs. “Ready!”

The line tightened. Hudson barely felt it. His eyes remained fixed on Sarah as the crew hauled him toward the boat.

Don’t stop breathing.

Hands caught his shirt and the rescue sling, hauling him over the recovery rail. He hit the deck on his knees, water streaming from his clothes, his lungs fighting for air that refused to come easily.

The floodlights were blinding. Voices crashed together—radio calls, shouted orders, boots pounding.

Where’s Sarah?

He forced himself upright, wobbling on his feet.

Ten feet away.

Sarah lay motionless on the sleet-slick deck, her skin pale beneath the floodlights, lips tinged blue.

Ryder was beside her, two fingers pressed against her neck. He bent close to her mouth. “Pulse. She’s not breathing.”

Everything else fell away. The engines, the radios, the wind, the slap of the sea against the hull.

Gone.

Still dripping water, Caleb was already at her head, sealing a bag-valve mask over her face. “Ventilating.” Caleb squeezed the bag, forcing the first breath into her. Then another.

Hudson couldn’t drag air past the knot in his throat.

Sarah’s body jerked. A wet cough tore through her.

“She’s breathing.” Ryder rolled her onto her side as she coughed again, seawater spilling from her mouth. “Breathe, Sarah.” His voice cracked and his head dipped. “I’ve got you, sis.”

She coughed again. A ragged, desperate breath followed.

Hudson’s knees hit the deck.

She’s breathing.