Risky Rescue

  A Christian Romantic Suspense

  Finnegan First Responders

  Laura Scott

  Readscape Publishing, LLC

  Copyright © 2023 by Laura Iding

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Scorched Secrets

  Chapter One

  Sami Lopez, a.k.a. Angelina Morales, threw a worried glance over her shoulder. She couldn’t see anyone following her, but the dark clouds rolling in made it difficult to be sure. She was still reeling over the events that had taken place on shore. Her cover had been blown, in the worst way possible.

  The strong scent of gasoline wafted toward her. Not an unusual scent while out on a low-slung speedboat, but strong enough to give her pause. She’d spent her teenage years on the water and in boats, but there was no denying that while she was speeding across Lake Michigan—a lake that was over twenty-two hundred square miles across—the inability to see either shoreline was unnerving.

  She was literally in the middle of the lake where the depths could reach over nine hundred feet. The wind kicked up, the dark clouds swirling fast along the horizon, bringing another rush of concern. The gasoline scent grew stronger.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  As a Drug Enforcement Administration agent working undercover, Sami had long since learned to trust her gut. Bad enough things had spiraled out of control when she’d left Cambridge, Michigan, and now this? The situation had gone from bad to worse.

  She wanted to take a closer look at the large Mercury Marine engine on her boat’s stern, but the impending storm would not make that an easy task. Cutting back on the speed, she fought hard to keep the bow of the craft pointing west. Her ultimate destination was the small town of Shady Lane, located about fifty miles outside of Milwaukee, along the Wisconsin shoreline.

  At least, that had been the plan. Now, she’d take just about any city along the coast of Wisconsin, as long as she made it there alive.

  “Come on, come on,” she whispered, the wind making it impossible to hear her own voice. “You can do this!”

  The boat engine abruptly sputtered and died. Without the engine to power the craft, the wind took control, buffeting the low-slung boat from side to side, threatening to dump her up and over the edge.

  She wore a life jacket with a rope and buoy attached as an extra safety measure, but there were no other boats around as far as she could see. The average temperature of Lake Michigan in the summer, even in July, was 72 degrees. How long would she be able to survive in the water before hypothermia claimed her?

  No, don’t think about it. Grabbing the radio, she flipped the switch to call for help.

  There was nothing but dead air. Not even static.

  Alarm skittered across her skin. A huge wave almost knocked her off the boat, but she clung to the wheel and bent over, trying to troubleshoot the radio. Droplets of water stung her eyes, making it difficult to see. The bucking up and down of the boat didn’t exactly help either.

  Using her fingers, she checked the connection, reaching all the way up into the console. The sharp ends of two wires stabbed her fingertips. It took a moment for her to realize the wires had been cut.

  Her radio had been sabotaged!

  The scent of gasoline was even stronger now, deepening her sense of apprehension. If the radio had been tampered with, she had little doubt that the engine had been too. She needed to get away! Without hesitation, she kicked off her shoes, stepped up onto the captain’s chair, and jumped off the rocking boat, propelling herself as far from the craft as possible and into the white-capped waves. Water closed over her, giving a brief reprieve from the wind.

  As she broke the surface, she gasped for air. The waves were much higher than she’d anticipated, crashing over her head and dunking her deeper into the depths of the second largest of the Great Lakes.

  Swimming was her strong suit, she’d won several medals in high school and college, but that was in long Olympic-length pools, not choppy lake water in the middle of a storm. Still, she had confidence in her ability. Sputtering, she quickly pulled the chained buoy toward her. Tucking it under her chest, she used it to keep her higher above the water level as she did her best to swim away from the boat, silently praying for Jesus to keep her safe from harm.

  She hadn’t gotten very far when a loud explosion rocked the air. Sami instinctively turned onto her back, lifting her arm to protect herself when a chunk of fiberglass sailed toward her.

  Pain exploded in her head. Then there was nothing but darkness.

  “Lieu—Finnegan? We—report of an explosion—roughly twenty nautical miles—your location.” The voice over the radio was occasionally broken up by static. The storm on the horizon was wreaking havoc with the transmission. “Requesting—on scene to determine—rescue. . .”

  “Ten-four,” Quinn Finnegan said curtly, understanding the garbled message. “Unit twelve responding.” He pushed the throttle of the Coast Guard cutter forward, sending the boat leaping over the choppy waves. An explosion was hardly a normal call, although much of the summer months were spent in rescue efforts.

  Boat engines didn’t just blow up. Every one of Quinn’s senses was on red alert. Was this some sort of trap? The Coast Guard was a highly competitive branch of the military, one he proudly served. But over the past few years, more and more boats were being used to transport drugs. And no one hated the Coast Guard more than drug runners.

  The feeling was mutual.

  He reached for the radio again. “Dispatch? Who called in the report?”

  “The captain—charter fishing boat,” came the response. “They saw—heading back to shore.”

  “Ten-four.” Quinn decided he’d have to size up the situation once they got there. His junior partner, Callum Jenkins, came up to stand beside him.

  “What was that about an explosion?” Cal shouted above the wind.

  “Report was called in by a charter fishing boat.” He didn’t glance at his junior ensign, his gaze glued to the horizon. In the distance, he could see a ball of orange bobbing in the water.

  Was that their target? The wind buffeted their Coast Guard cutter, but he didn’t slacken his speed, using all his strength to hold the wheel steady, keeping them on course. If there were survivors in the boat or in the water, they were likely injured.

  Or dead.

  Having been raised as a Christian, attending church with his eight siblings when he wasn’t scheduled to work or deployed by the Coast Guard, he was very familiar with the concept of forgiveness and redemption. That didn’t mean he had much sympathy for drug runners. He despised the poison they spread, especially to the younger generation. Deaths from fentanyl were on the rise among teenagers. The synthetic drug was easy to make and cheap to buy. It made him sick to know the occupants of the boat might be involved in that. Yet who these people were or what they did wasn’t the point. His job was to rescue anyone in need.

  Besides, he could be wrong. The boat might belong to a couple of kids who thought it would be fun to take a joy ride despite the impending storm.

  Yet that wouldn’t explain the explosion. In his experience, boat engines didn’t just blow up. Not without help.

  The ball of orange grew bigger and brighter as they raced toward it. Quinn scanned the surface of the lake, searching for survivors. He didn’t see anything, but in water this choppy, he would need to get closer to know for sure. Even if the victims were wearing life jackets with a flashing reflector, finding them bobbing beneath the waves wouldn’t be easy.

  Based on the velocity of the wind, calling for the Coast Guard chopper wasn’t an option. He and Cal would just have to haul any possible survivors in by themselves.

  Adrenaline surged as the cutter drew closer to the wreckage. He could see that the stern of the boat was engulfed in flames.

  No one was behind the wheel. It was possible the captain had been knocked unconscious during the explosion and was lying along the bottom of the vessel.

  “I don’t see anyone, do you?” Cal asked.

  “Negative.” The moment the word left his mouth, he spotted something bobbing in the water on the opposite side of the craft. It wasn’t the usual reflector on a life jacket, but it was definitely a person. “There, do you see it? One victim overboard. Keep your eyes peeled for others.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quinn pulled back on the throttle, bringing their speed down. Cranking on the wheel, he made a wide berth around the damaged boat to approach the victim. He didn’t dare go any faster, lest there be other victims floating nearby. But he didn’t see anyone else.

  When he was roughly forty yards away from the bobbing person in the water, he throttled back, putting the cutter in reverse for a moment to slow their momentum. The victim didn’t wave or acknowledge their presenc

e, giving him a sense of dread.

  Was he already dead?

  “Cal, man the wheel.” He waited until the young ensign stepped forward to take his place, then shifted out of the way. “I’m going in after him.”

  “Sir?” Cal sounded alarmed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Someone had to jump into the lake, and Quinn had five years of experience over the younger man. Even though he was only thirty-one years old, there were times he felt downright ancient. “Your job is to hold her steady, understand? And search for other survivors.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The kid looked overwhelmed, but Quinn trusted Cal to follow orders. The Coast Guard was a competitive branch of the military. They only took the best of the best. The fact that this kid was with him now meant he’d already passed rigorous training.

  Still, they’d been riding together for the past two months without ever experiencing a rescue like this.

  After hitching himself to a safety line and double-checking his life jacket and rescue gear, Quinn moved to the aft side of the vessel. Up ahead, he could see the victim still bobbing in the water, head tilted to the side as if the person was unconscious. On one hand, he was glad to be hauling in someone who didn’t fight you with every stroke.

  He just hoped the victim was still alive.

  As he prepared to jump overboard, the skies above opened, sending a deluge of rain down upon them. The wind kicked up, the rain stinging his eyes, making it hard to see. The rain would help keep the boat fire under control even if fueled by gasoline, but it would have the opposite effect on his rescue efforts.

  The wind and the rain would make it much more difficult to get to the victim before he drowned.

  Quinn jumped off the edge of the cutter, steeling himself as the cold water enveloped him. He was already drenched from the rain, but the lake water was chilly against his skin. He took a moment to gather the rope with the red Coast Guard life preserver ring attached to it. Then he struck out in a side stroke in the direction of the victim.

  Between the water pummeling him from above and the waves crashing into his face, he was breathless by the time he managed to get within fifteen feet of the boat passenger. Tossing his head to get water off his face, he eyed the victim.

  Dark hair was plastered around a face with dainty features. A woman. A dark gash over the left side of her forehead indicated she was injured.

  Or worse.

  He kicked his legs, propelling himself closer. His training was such that he knew it wasn’t a good idea to get too close to a victim. Drowning people had been known to drag their rescuers down in a surge of panic.

  But the way the rain pounded her face, without any movement from her, made him think that wouldn’t be a problem. “Hey!” he shouted against the wind. “I’m Lieutenant Finnegan with the Coast Guard! Can you hear me?”

  She didn’t move. Didn’t lift her head or acknowledge him in any way.

  He continued swimming closer, noticing the wide section of fiberglass floating a few yards away from his victim. After several powerful kicks, he finally managed to reach the woman’s side.

  She’d been smart enough to have a buoy clipped to her life vest. The small beacon on the vest, though, was broken, maybe a result of the explosion. Or the fiberglass wreckage. He had no idea what had transpired before he’d arrived.

  He quickly searched for a pulse, silently praying she wasn’t dead. With the rain getting in his eyes, he couldn’t see her clearly to verify that she was breathing.

  Her skin was cold and clammy beneath his touch. A large wave rolled over them, making him sputter. His fingers found her carotid artery, and he was reassured to feel the faint beat of her heart.

  At least he wouldn’t have to do CPR while hauling her back to the cutter. Relieved, he turned the victim so that her back was facing him. Blinking against the rain, he fought a momentary surge of panic when he didn’t immediately see the cutter.

  There! He swallowed hard, realizing it was almost fifty yards away. Maybe Cal didn’t trust himself to get any closer.

  Quinn took a deep breath and began swimming again, slowly bringing his female victim along. It didn’t seem possible, but the waves were worse now, crashing over him and the woman with such velocity he feared they wouldn’t make it. The high waves forced him to glance back at her, to make sure the woman’s face was clear and not submerged in water.

  The fact that she didn’t cough made him worry she wasn’t breathing. And if that was the case, her pulse wouldn’t last long. He kicked his legs again and again, but the cutter didn’t seem to be getting any closer. He tried tugging on the line to get Cal’s attention so the younger officer could haul them in.

  Out of nowhere, a second explosion rocked the night. He instinctively ducked his head while reaching behind to pull the woman’s head and upper torso closer to his body to protect her from falling debris.

  Bits and pieces of fiberglass and boat parts pelted the lake water around them. Something hard struck his arm, sending pain zinging through him.

  They weren’t going to make it!

  As soon as the thought entered his mind, Quinn shoved it out. They would make it. Failure was not an option.

  Please, Lord Jesus, keep us safe!

  The silent prayer brought a sense of calm, soothing his nerves. When he was convinced that they were clear of any more flying debris, he shifted the woman back into a rescue hold. Then he struck out swimming again, pushing himself harder than ever, kicking with as much strength as he could muster.

  He had to get this woman to the cutter!

  Quinn had no idea how long he and his victim had been in the lake, or how much water he’d swallowed, but soon the lights of the cutter came into view. Cal must have finally began pulling on the line as the going was easier now. He was relieved to have the kid’s help in bringing this victim in.

  “Lieutenant!” Cal shouted. “Should I send down the skid?”

  The skid was a long flotation device they used to bring unconscious victims into the boat. Fighting the waves and the wind had sapped his strength, but Quinn didn’t think he needed to use the skid. The woman didn’t weigh that much from what he could tell.

  “I’ve got her.” Three more powerful kicks brought him to the edge of the boat. He reached up and grasped the ladder, holding it for a moment to catch his breath. The waves continued to batter him, slamming him up against the side of the cutter. He tightened his grip in sheer determination.

  He could do this!

  Getting his feet under him, he propped them on the lower rung of the ladder. Then he used one arm to pull himself upward, holding on to the victim with the other. He drew the woman up with him, one rung of the ladder at a time, until he was close enough to the top where Cal waited.

  “I need you—to grab her,” he said between panting breaths.

  “Yes, sir!” Cal bent over the side, grabbed the woman’s life jacket, and hauled her the rest of the way up and into the boat.

  Thank you, Lord! Relief washed over him as he managed to climb the last few ladder rungs to get to safety. He almost fell on his face, his legs giving out from exertion.

  The rain continued to pelt him in the face, though, so lying on the deck wasn’t an option. He rolled to his knees, took another deep breath, and pushed himself to his feet. Thankfully, his muscles seemed to cooperate by supporting him. His shoulder throbbed, but he ignored it. Shivering, he hobbled over to where Cal had carried the woman into the cabin of the vessel to protect her from the rain.

  Grabbing a towel from the stack stored on every cutter, he swiped it over his head and face, then draped it over his shoulders. Blood ran down his arm, so he used a smaller blanket to stanch the flow. Then he knelt on the other side of the woman as Cal removed her life jacket and buoy.

  Alarm raised the hair on the back of his neck. “Does she still have a pulse?”

  “Yes, but she’s not breathing.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21