Baited (Bering Sea Crabbers #1)

1. Henrik

ONE

HENRIK

Maybe it’s just her.

Stepping out of the wheelhouse, a frigid, salty spray covers me as my heart thumps in my chest. Goose bumps cover my too-tight skin, reminding me I’m only in a t-shirt.

It’s October and a brisk twenty degrees.

Not horrible weather for the Bering Sea.

Since I’ve always run warm, this weather doesn’t bother me.

No, what’s making me uncomfortable is a heady, bring-you-to your-knees, pent-up sexual tension worming its way through every atom of my body. Not the place. Not the time.

Pulling off my beanie, I tug my hands through my reddish-blond hair. I can’t handle this. It’s entirely unwelcome and unnerving. Usually, when I’m out on the sea, I’m relaxed and free. Unhindered. Right now, though… I’m on edge. My mind’s overwhelmed with images and thoughts of her.

Who is she?

I don’t know. She’s a mystery. Even now, days later, I feel drawn to her.

Before we set sail and said goodbye to Kodiak Harbor, I watched her blonde hair blow in the breeze.

I wanted to touch it. See if it was as soft as it looked.

As if back in that moment, my thoughts of her consume me.

She was so close I could almost reach out and touch her.

Instead, I stood by the railing of the boat, with my fingers wrapped around the cool metal, until my knuckles turned white, my gaze fixed on her lonely figure.

She was standing by the edge of the dock, gazing out at the frigid water.

Her arms wrapped tight around her middle.

I didn’t know if it was because of the chill in the air or for another reason, but I wanted to know.

I longed to see her eyes up close, to discover if she was as sad as she appeared.

When I was about to return to the wheelhouse, she glanced my way, and my heartbeat picked up, but I noticed she looked more confused than unhappy. I didn’t understand.

“Cap.” A shout from my relief captain, Kai, comes from the deck below, disturbing my recollections.

Before I holler back, I take a minute to refocus my thoughts on what’s important at this moment. Crab fishing. “Yeah,” I finally answer.

“Everything is set for when we get to the fishing grounds. I’m about to put a pot of coffee on.

Do you want a cup?” Grunting is my only reply, and a gigantic smile spreads across his face.

He’s used to my surly attitude. We’ve worked together for a decade.

Other than my best friend, Eirik, the captain of the FV Emilie, no one knows me better.

“You’re grumpy already? Shit.” Kai’s teasing tone and laughter ring out before he disappears out of sight.

The rest of my crew will be on deck shortly, checking and readying our gear so as soon as we arrive at our spot, we can get to work.

They’re like a well-oiled machine. Working together for years, that’s just how we operate.

Just like my dad before me, I run a tight ship.

It’s not all bad. We know how to relax and rest when it’s appropriate.

But working long, hard hours is what’s required of us.

Our goal is to be both safe and effective while doing it.

The plan is always the same. It never changes.

Once we arrive at our fishing spot, we offload pots and we fish.

Catch our quota. Sell the catch at the processor.

Head home safe and sound. This year I’m adding to that plan.

Figure out who that mystery woman—my siren—is.

Leaning forward, I rest my hands on the steel rail and look out over the vast sea.

She’s relatively calm, unlike my heart. Restless, it thumps behind my breastbone.

Between the distraction of my siren and this being my first season as captain of the FV Brina, I’ve got a lot on my mind.

Having been my dad’s second for years, I watched and memorized his moves and decisions and learned a lot.

My most important job this season is to fill the big boots my dad left.

My dad, Anders Berg, had been the captain for twenty years before handing the Brina to me.

He took it over from my grandfather. Since my late twenties, I’d been his co-relief captain with Kai.

I started working on the Brina when I was fourteen, always while she was docked in the harbor.

I didn’t go to sea as a crew member until I was seventeen, when I tendered in the summer.

I didn’t fish for crab until I graduated from high school.

During my tenure, I’ve held every job on this boat.

The worst one was my first. I was on the bottom rung of the ladder as a greenhorn, the butt of all the jokes, and the designated task boy.

The other deckhands never missed an opportunity to harass me.

But the joke was on them. Crab fishing was in my blood.

There wasn’t a task or challenge I wouldn’t tackle.

Growing up a third-generation crab fisherman, I was born with thick skin and seawater in my veins.

While other greenhorns took days to adapt to the sway and bob of the ocean waves, I came out of the womb with my sea legs intact.

Nausea wasn’t anything I worried about. No, the only thing that made me nervous was the swing of an 800-pound steel crab pot as the hydraulic crane maneuvered it around the deck.

If it was moving, it was being launched, unloaded, rebaited, or stacked.

Any time equipment was being moved on the deck, you had to be one hundred percent focused and on your toes.

If not, it could mean your life. Folks didn’t call crab fishing in the Bering Sea one of the deadliest jobs without reason.

Returning to the wheelhouse in front of the helm, I settled in the new, comfortable captain’s chair. It was the only modification I made to Brina after my dad handed over the keys.

“Here,” Kai says from behind me while approaching with a large black coffee.

Reaching over my computer, I take the steaming cup from him. I take a large gulp of the potent brew. “Thanks. I needed a pick me up.”

He shakes his head. “How? We haven’t even started fishing yet.”

Setting down my mug, I pull my beanie farther down my forehead and grumble, “Just got a lot on my mind.” I have her on my mind.

I won’t be admitting that to anyone, though, including my second-in-command.

I need to focus on my maps, coordinates, and the good ole’ Berg instinct rather than daydreaming about her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him pull his hat off, and I frown.

He narrows his dark-brown gaze on me, thick eyebrows pulling down as he observes me.

Then he nods his head subtly. I can’t guess what he’s thinking, and to be quite frank, I don’t have the time to guess.

My mind is already on the million other tasks ahead of me, but his response makes me curious.

Living this life, I’ve developed a healthy balance of fear, respect, and understanding of what I need to accomplish when I’m out at sea.

Maybe I’m just a cocky S.O.B., but I read the moods of the ocean better than I do people.

Frustrated with his silence, I glare at Kai, waiting for him to speak or leave.

Kai merely rolls his head and shoulders, tousling his chin-length brown hair before hiding it back under his hat. Then he smiles, knowing he’s getting under my skin.

“I bet you do have a lot on your mind. This is your first year as captain.” He pauses for a moment.

Maybe he has some words of wisdom to share.

Instead, he smirks. “You, my friend, have crab to find.” Thanks for the reminder, asshole.

I’m well aware. I nod my head. Failing isn’t an option.

It would affect so many people, not just me.

Groaning, I pull up my map and click on the area of the fishing grounds I’d been studying with my dad before we left. “Kai, I need your opinion, man. What do you think about heading farther west? We haven’t fished these grounds in years, and no matter where I plot, I’m always drawn back there.”

I’m trusting my instinct. He gives me a knowing smile. “Won’t hurt to run a test string and see what we pull.” I nod my agreement and take another sip of coffee. “It looks like we’re almost there. I’m going to get the crew ready,” he says before turning back to the galley.

The radio crackles with static. “FV Brina, over. This is FV Emilie. Do you copy?” Eirik’s cheerful voice sails through the high-frequency radio.

“Copy,” I answer.

Eirik laughs. “Dude, you sound grumpy already. How is that possible? How are you?”

Rolling my eyes, I answer, “I’m fine. I just need more coffee.”

“Did you find your spot?” he asks.

“I think so.” Short and sweet. It was one of Dad’s first lessons about being a captain. Even though Eirik and I are best friends, crabbing is still a business. Like him, I’m trying to catch my quota to support my family and crew. “How about you?”

“I did. When assisting NOAA this spring with their survey, I marked some new ground to fish,” he replies.

I look at my computer and see where he and the FV Emilie are headed but realize they’re not too far from us.

“Hey, I meant to ask. Did the researchers ever hint at whether they’d be opening opie season this year?” I ask, referring to the opilio snow crabs season, which closed last year.

“Shit, I don’t know. At one point, after we’d pulled several promising-looking pots, I tried to cozy up and charm one researcher. After some flirting and kissing, she snubbed me and I got nothing.”

I laugh because the thought of that is hysterical. In all the years we’ve been friends, I can count on one hand the number of girls who didn’t fall for his good looks and smooth words.

“She must have talked to someone on my crew because her exact words were ‘you may play pinch and tickle with almost every girl you meet, but I know all about you, and the best thing you can do for yourself is to stay out of my way and let me do my job,’” Eirik grumbles.