Chapter Twenty-Eight
REID
THE REST OF the week passes quietly. So quietly that Emery and Kayla somehow convince me on Friday to let them go into the marsh to release the rehabilitated turtles.
I’m not dumb enough to let them go alone though, so first thing Saturday morning, I borrow a larger boat from Tate at the marina so the three of us can fit and head for Blackbird Cottage.
When I pull up to Emery’s dock, they’re in the yard with carriers and research gear, sunlight catching in their hair, both of them laughing about something that makes me feel like I’ve walked in on an inside joke.
“You girls ready?” I call, my hand braced on the edge of the dock.
Emery looks lighter and something tugs at me deep inside. I like to think I’m the reason. The yard’s leveled now—thanks to my buddy’s landscaping crew—and next week another old friend will start rebuilding the dock. I’d do it myself, but leaving Emery alone after work doesn’t sit well. Not yet.
Emery and Kayla haul their gear over, their chatter like birds chirping in the breeze. When I help them both inside, Emery’s fingers brush mine, and it’s nothing, but it’s everything.
“This boat is so nice,” Kayla says, running her hands along the side.
“Yeah, it’s Tate’s, so don’t mess anything up.” I turn, giving them a teasing look as I back the boat away from the dock.
A laugh bubbles out of Kayla. “I’m not scared of Tate. He’s way nicer than you.”
“Hey!” I shoot back.
“Okay, okay,” Kayla teases. “I’ll admit, you’ve been way better since you two have started doing it.”
“Excuse me?” I turn briefly, frowning at her, before returning my attention to the marsh, desperate not to let my embarrassment show.
“Oh…uh—we’re not…” Emery stammers from her seat behind me.
“Oh, puh-lease.” Kayla exaggerates the word. “I’m seventeen, guys, I’m not blind.”
“Reid’s just keeping me safe. It’s been a little dicey lately.” Emery’s voice falters.
“Yeah, keeping you safe in his bed.” Kayla cackles.
I briefly catch Emery’s eye and smirk. “You caught us. We’re dating. Way more than just doing it.”
“Reid,” Emery hisses.
A smile twitches on my lips, but I keep my eyes on the marsh in front of me.
“Aww, you guys.” Kayla claps her hands dramatically. “I’m like your kid.”
“No,” I whirl around, laughing. “No, you’re not.”
Both girls burst into laughter, and I can’t help but join in. This is the lightest I’ve felt in a long time. It feels easy. Normal. Like this—sun on our faces, laughing out on the water—is what life’s supposed to feel like.
“So, where are we setting these babies free?” I ask, scouring the shoreline. “Same place as before?”
Emery stands, moving to my side. She shields her eyes from the sun’s glare as she scopes out the shoreline and the reeds. Her bare arm brushes mine, sending a spark down my skin. “Let’s try over there,” she says, pointing to a patch of reeds. Then she freezes. “Wait. I don’t like the look of that.”
“What?” I follow her gaze. The reeds are matted down, streaked with mud where something—or someone—has driven through.
“Let me get closer,” I say, steering the boat carefully so as not to get stuck in the muck.
“Tire tracks,” Emery says, her voice catching. “Why are there tire tracks out here?”
Kayla leans forward, her voice trembling. “Is your transmitter broken?” She’s pointing toward a bent pole half-submerged in the muck, its top sheared off.
“Sure looks that way.” Emery sighs, chewing on her lip. “We can’t leave them here.”
“Oh man. I thought this was over.” Kayla moans nervously. “What do you think it means?”
I scan the marsh, my SEAL instincts kicking in. The rippling grass, the sluggish water, everything feels too still.
“It means,” I say carefully. “That someone’s been here. Recently.”
The girls fall silent. Even the cicadas seem to hush.
Emery moves closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if someone saw us come out here?”
I feel for the weapon concealed in the back of my waistband—a habit I’ve grown used to since Emery’s been here.
My gut tightens. “Then we’re getting out of here. Now.”
I start the engine, my eyes sweeping the reeds one last time before turning us back in the other direction. The earlier laughter feels like it happened days ago.
As the boat picks up speed, I glance back at Emery. She’s cradling one of the carriers to her chest, her hair whipping in the wind, her jaw set with stubborn determination. I feel that tug again—desire, fear, something deeper I don’t have a name for.
“So, new spot?” I ask over my shoulder, trying to lighten the mood.
Emery points. “There. That stretch there by the cypress grove. The current’s mild there and it’s quiet.”
I guide us that way, the air heavy with brine and the buzz of the marsh.
When we reach water shallow enough for wading, Emery and Kayla hop out of the skiff, each holding a carrier and wading into the shallow murky water.
The tension bleeds off her little by little as Emery kneels by the waterline, coaxing each turtle into the shallows.
“Go on,” she whispers. “You’re free.”
They slip beneath the surface one by one, the ripples widening and fading. Watching her there, hair tousled by wind, soft smile on her face, I feel that old ache in my chest again. A sense that maybe there’s something worth fighting for in this godforsaken town after all.
When she looks back at me, eyes shining, it hits like a punch to the gut. I clear my throat and start the motor.
“Let’s head back before the tide turns.”
The girls trek back to the skiff, and I hold out a hand, helping each of them out of the muck and over the side.
Kayla flops back on the bench, sun-drunk and grinning. “That was actually kind of perfect.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, eyes scanning the horizon. “Almost.”
WE REACH THE marina just after lunch and the easy feeling fades immediately.
Docked two slips down is Dale Langford’s yacht, gleaming obnoxiously in the sun.
He’s leaning against the rail, a cigar hanging from his lips, talking to two men I don’t recognize and Atlas fucking Roarke.
Their heads are bent together, like old friends catching up.
Dale laughs at something Atlas says, clapping him on the shoulder.
The pieces click into place with a sickening certainty.
I don’t hear a word they’re saying. I don’t need to. The second Dale’s eyes land on us, the familiar smirk spreads across his face, the one that never means anything good. He dismisses the men, jogs down the steps of the yacht, and walks toward us at the end of the dock.
“Stay in the boat,” I tell the girls, my voice edged with irritation.
Emery bristles but stays put. Kayla’s chatter drops off.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the marine biologist and her bodyguard,” Dale taunts, sauntering closer.
“Don’t,” I warn Emery quietly. “Let me handle it.”
I kill the motor and step out, looping the rope to the cleat. And then Dale is in front of me.
“Busy morning, Morgan?” He sucks in a puff of his cigar and flicks the ash in the water.
“Just work,” I say flatly.
“Always nice to see people…getting their hands dirty.” He flicks his gaze to Emery, lingering too long for my liking.
I square my shoulders, without taking my eyes off Langford. “Go inside, girls.”
Emery hesitates, defiance briefly flashing in her eyes, but one glimpse of my face and she relents, nodding. She gives Kayla a gentle shove, and the two of them hurry toward the research center, disappearing inside.
Dale chuckles, low and knowing. “Protective, huh? Cute.”
I step closer so I’m in his space. “I’m done playing nice, Langford. You stay the fuck away from her. From both of them.”
Dale takes another puff of his cigar, inhaling long and slow. “I don’t make promises.”
“Yeah? Well, I do. And I can promise you this. If anything happens to either one of them, it’s not going to turn out well for you,” I grit out, my jaw clenched.
“That sounds like a threat, Morgan. I don’t respond well to threats.” Dale’s lips twitch, like this is all a fucking game to him.
“That’s too bad.” I step around him, bumping his shoulder as I pass. “See you around, Dale.”
THE WATER IS everywhere. Black and endless. And deep. It closes over my head before I can take a full breath.
The comm in my ear is dead, static burning my ear drums. The only sound I hear is the thump of my own heart. Erratic and ragged. Salt burns my throat. I blink through the murky water, the glow of my dive light illuminating my surroundings just enough to show the wreckage beneath me.
But I’m not in the Gulf. I’m in the marsh. The water is deep, thick and cloudy with sediment. The eel grass looks like hands reaching for me. Something flashes and then I see her. Her blond hair drifting like seaweed, eyes wide and unseeing. Emery.
“Em!” I shout, kicking down hard, my chest seizing. I reach for her, swimming as hard as I can, but the reeds twist around me, weighing me down. I can’t get to her. Panic engulfs me—the same panic I had in my last failed mission. When I swam toward the voice that never made it back.
Only this time, it’s her voice calling me.
“Reid!”
I reach for her fingertips, but I can’t quite grasp them. And then she’s gone.
Then, a light. The water brightens and a hull rises through the depths. Langford’s yacht. On fire. It’s burning under the water, glowing. The smoke curls, turning the surface red.
“Reid!” she calls again.
Then I see her, trapped in a dive cage, pounding on the glass. I push upward, pressure in my chest crushing me, desperate to get to her, to save her. Every kick is heavier than the last until I almost have her. Almost—
I bolt upright, lunging forward, an animalistic sound escaping me.
And then her arms are around my neck, hugging me from behind.
“Shh, shh. You’re okay. I’m here,” she soothes, whispering in my ear. She plants a soft kiss on my neck, and I feel my heartrate start to slow.
“Emery,” I rasp.
“Shh. You had a nightmare.”
It takes me a full second to come to—to realize I’m in my bed, in my cabin, with Emery naked, arms wrapped around me. The heat of her skin sizzles against my back. The fan hums overhead, the windows cracked just enough to let in a bay breeze.
I drag a hand down my face, and turn, planting my feet on the floor. Emery scoots next to me, clinging to my arm. My pulse is still pounding, a tremor I can’t shake.
“You’re sweating,” she murmurs, brushing a hand over my forehead.
I let out a grunt and move to open my nightstand drawer, checking for my pistol. I pick it up, feeling its heaviness in my hand for a moment before putting it back, momentarily soothed by its presence.
It was just a dream. But in that dream, my worst fear.
I couldn’t protect her.