Between one swell and the next, he spotted Jay. Face up. The automatic flotation device included in his tactical gear giving him the buoyancy he needed—and maybe—increasing his odds of survival.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jesus Christ.
With every last ounce of energy he possessed, he knifed his way through the water, and reaching Jay in under ten strokes, he flipped onto his back and pulled his lifeless buddy onto his chest. “Don’t you die on me. Not today. You hear me, asshole?” He thumped his fist over Jay’s heart, the exhausted assault having little impact. “Don’t you dare die!”
Already deployed, the rescue cable dangled nearby. He reached for it. Clasped on. The frozen metal of the heavy-duty carabiner stuck to his wet gloves as he struggled to hook the D-ring into the drag handle on the back of Jay’s ice-crusted vest.
Come on…come on, you bitch.
He latched on, forced the frozen spring to close, and gave a sloppy thumbs up. Job done, he lay back, and with the satisfaction of a man sacrificing his life for the greater good, he watched as Zander hoisted Jay’s rag-doll body out of the dismal abyss of Davy Jones’s locker.
Then the next wave hit him like a collapsing wall of a crumbling iceberg—and a set of gorgeous green eyes gave him peace—right before he saw nothing at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gone. In the precious seconds it took Cody and Zander to haul Jay onto the deck of the helo, Grant had disappeared into the vast expanse of the sea, and no amount of cussing, wishing, or praying brought him to the surface.
“We have to go!” His arm barred across Cody’s chest, Zander kept him from committing an act of mortal stupidity. “We have to go!”
“I’ve got a pulse!” Jamie yelled. “Weak and thready.”
Cody’s muscles went slack at the news, and Zander took advantage, shoving him back inside the cabin.
Jay was alive. Grant?—
Zander slammed the side door shut, closing them in and securing the final nail in their teammate’s watery coffin. “Door’s locked,” he said, double-tapping his fist against the metal in farewell to a fallen brother. “We’re good to go.”
“CO Mac?” Ryder asked, looking for confirmation.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Chase replied, his voice quiet but rock steady. The effect of having the lives of the rest of his crew dependent on his actions and decisions. “Take us back to base.”
“Roger that.” She lifted the Black Hawk into the air. No hesitation. No questions. No turning back.
Cold.
“Cody!”
The heroic bastard had to be so fucking cold.
“Cody!”
He blinked. Turned his head. Took in the chaos around him. On the floor, Jamie hovered over Jay, his hands ripping at the straps of his vest. “We have to stop his heat loss. Help me get him out of his gear.”
On the bench nearby, Rebecca hyperventilated, her shoulders rocking with the violence of her heaving breaths.
“Cody!”
Jolted from the pain of his grief, he pulled his tactical knife from its sheath and dropped to his knees at Jay’s feet. “We need thermal blankets!” he shouted, compartmentalizing his thoughts and setting aside his emotions before slicing through frozen black laces with a blade sharp enough to perform delicate surgery.
“Slow your breathing, Rebecca.” Without looking up from what he was doing, Jamie did his best to calm her. “Focus on your diaphragm. Feel the air lift your chest.”
Her wheezing went from bad to worse as Cody removed Jay’s boots and socks to reveal alarmingly blue feet.
“She’s gonna pass out,” Zander warned, tearing open the vacuum-sealed wrap on one emergency blanket after another.
“Best thing for her,” Jamie mumbled, carefully pulling Jay’s vest over his head. “Cut his shirt off. Pants and boxers too.”
Cody got to work slicing and dicing as Zander shook out the silver space blankets.
