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Tag rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.” Uncle Sam’s job description included plenty of high adrenaline jobs, including jungle and coastline extractions. And since the op called for breaking up a drug-running ring, there would undoubtedly be plenty of bullets and do-or-die moments. The South American coastline, particularly near Brazil, was also well known for its shark attacks.
Yet somehow, it didn’t seem as...something as before.
It was no contest that serving in the Navy was exciting work, plus it made a difference. He didn’t kid himself about that. Sure, he knew the three guys they’d just pulled from the water cared a whole hell of a lot about today’s rescue, as did their families, but in the end, they were just a handful of people. Heading down to South America, Tag had a chance to take a real blow at the drug trade. He’d be bringing home soldiers, and he’d be taking out part of a drug pipeline destroying tens of thousands of families right here in his own country.
And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Mia settling down here in her cottage with Sam, the orange-and-white cat. Putting down all sorts of permanent roots. He couldn’t imagine himself doing the same. Okay. Apparently he was doing so now, but it was an aberration. As soon as his boots hit the tarmac in San Diego, he’d remember exactly why he’d signed up for another mission. Staying put on Discovery Island was just a fun little fantasy.
Nothing serious.
* * *
MIA’S OFFICIAL WORK hours were flexible, but she liked starting the day at dark o’clock. She also liked being at the dive shop before things really got hopping. The search-and-rescue piece was more scintillating—when it didn’t involve crawling around under porches rescuing kittens—but early morning on Discovery Island was pretty. Since the dive shop was located on the boardwalk, she had an ocean view from the “office.” The marina was surprisingly busy, with commercial fishing boats and charters headed out for a day of deep-sea fishing, while divers hauled tanks and weights to waiting dive boats. The sense of excitement and going places appealed to her.
Tag had texted her last night that they’d been called out on a rescue job, so she was on her own this morning until they made it back. No worries. She had it handled. She popped open the folding sign announcing the special of the day—a particularly challenging site where the divers often spotted sharks—and placed it on the sidewalk. The nearby dive shop had a chalkboard with fancy curlicue writing and colored chalk. Meanwhile, Deep Dive...had a whiteboard, a black marker and block lettering.
Houston, we have a problem.
Or chalkboard envy.
Cal, Daeg and Tag had started out with the one dive shop, Deep Dive, but had recently expanded. Cal had purchased half of the neighboring dive business, Dream Big and Dive, which meant he was now in partnership with Piper. Deep Dive was gradually focusing more on adventure diving, advanced training, and search and rescue, while Piper’s dive shop handled more of the day-to-day dives. So they weren’t competitors. They were playing for the same team, and her competitive urge could stand down.
The woman working on Dream Big’s chalkboard turned around and waved hello. She was a pixie, brown hair piled up on top of her head in one of those gravity-defying twists Mia had never mastered. She also had a coffee can full of colored chalk that she was using to write out the day’s specials.
“You must be Mia. I’m Carla—the assistant manager at Dream Big and Dive.” Carla held out her hand, looked down at her pink-and-green fingers and hesitated. With a shrug, she wiped her hand on her jeans and tried again.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Discovery Island’s a small place.” Carla flashed her a grin. “There’s no keeping secrets here. For example, I hear our last resident bad-boy rescue swimmer is officially off the market. Congratulations.”
Since the truth of their fake engagement was one secret she needed to keep, the island grapevine wasn’t welcome news. Somehow, everything seemed more complicated now that it wasn’t just the two of them facing down Ellie Damiano. The old woman had been funny. And sweet in a crazy way. But this was way more than she’d signed on for...
She stared at her whiteboard while Carla added an orange shark to her own chalkboard. Then she looked down at her black marker, which was not cutting it in the bling-and-flash department. She needed color. Out of space, Carla ambled over and stood next to her. Streaks of pink chalk decorated her cheek and her jeans. She examined Mia’s sign and the neat block lettering.
