Chapter 1

The wetsuit outlined the curves of Navy SEAL Leaper Lefton’s muscles. His body was lean, steely, and powerful, with arms that could hold someone tight and safe for hours on end. He was humble and most often quiet, and he definitely didn’t fancy himself the James Bond type. But one might think he was, given his occupation. With a hood encasing his head and neck and the breathing apparatus and mask obscuring most of his face, his attire was ideal for covert drops, but at night, with additional gear and unknowable predators and random factors in enemy waters, the dive was doubly dangerous.

In his opinion, brains, not brawn, were the key to locking out of a submarine in the Pacific Ocean. With less experienced newbies, it was an especially hard task. Lights on their masks illuminated very little in the pitch-black water, and everyone was hustling to get clear of each other and the giant nuclear sub.

Being the last one out of the torpedo tube had advantages and disadvantages. Knowing that no one was left behind was the primary advantage, but being unaware of what your Teammates could see was the disadvantage. Hell, no matter how many times one practiced this maneuver, there was still a certain amount of unpredictability and chaos. Any problem meant that this mission would be scrubbed, and no operative wanted to see that happen. So that meant everyone was looking to Leaper, Mission Leader.

Checking left and right as he cleared the giant submarine, Leaper eyeballed his Teammates, counting heads. There were several squeakers on the mission—newbies—and Leaper looked at them first. Sure, they’d practiced locking out of subs at this depth, but being on a mission made it fresh, gave them an adrenaline rush, unlike anything an ordinary soul might experience. For all the wisdom garnered in practice, it never prepared one for the racing heart and the pumping blood that happened in the heat of the moment.

Though some might say practice makes perfect, Leaper did not believe completely in the adage. He put his trust in awareness rather than pure repetition.

Christ! His gut was churning. Something felt wrong. He counted again, physically touching each Teammate on a limb as his blood ran cold.

Someone was missing. Shit, shit, shit.

Ambient noise traveled to him slowly, like taffy being stretched and pulled. His ears picked up on something—a rumble in the water.

Hydroacoustics were tricky. Water carried sound in the strangest manner, depending on the depth, the surrounding landscape, and the proximity to everything else around them in terms of marine life. When one was suspended in the air, as in a skydive, and had just pulled the ripcord, there was an absolute silence, an indescribable hush. It was the total absence of sound. When one was in the water, it was like someone yelling at you down a long, wind-filled tunnel; the sound went out in waves that dissipated, depending on how far away you were.

In other words, it was nearly impossible to distinguish sounds clearly. Here’s where experience paid off, and he had spent years familiarizing himself with this world.

Leaper turned slowly, sourcing the sound. His senses told him to move to the right.

In his periphery, he could see the sub moving farther into the darkness.

C’mon, Hissop! Special Operator Alvin Hissop. Where, the fuck, are you?

With no time for prayers, Leaper signaled with his hands—for those close enough to see it—and made a series of arm taps for those whose light could not follow as he relayed the message to his Teammates to wait near the reef.

They acknowledged him and moved off as ordered. They were quick, careful not to generate any extra current. Losing someone in the darkness was a significant and real danger.

One man stayed by Leaper’s side: his swim buddy on this mission and the second-in-charge, Jollen Bell. As he came alongside Leaper, the two men retraced their steps from the origin point of their escape.

That’s when they saw him. Hissop was suspended sideways, as if he were dangling on wires. Darkness framed his body, and the light on his mask flickered briefly and then went out.

Leaper was in motion before he could think.

Blood and guts surrounded Hissop’s midsection, and his arms were open and welcoming. A long cut sliced down his suit where the submarine screws had cut him. The blades were so sharp, they’d sliced through the bones.

Something rushed Leaper from the side, and he didn’t need to figure out what it was. He knew instinctually that it was a shark. A glance showed her to be a Great White female, at least twenty-five feet long. Leaper threw a punch at her nose. It landed, but she wasn’t deterred coming back with a quick turn. That was unusual. A shark’s chemosensory abilities were incredibly keen and sensitive.

Grabbing his Ka-Bar, Leaper prepared for the next pass. This time, he dug his knife into the closest target, the Great White’s eye, slicing until the creature fell away. It wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.

Leaper’s jaw tightened as he secured his knife. He turned back to his Teammates: Bell and Hissop. One man guarded and the other fought. Nothing would take Hissop from his Team. They would all fight to the death to return Hissop home.

Bell passed Hissop’s body to Leaper and began his swim to the waiting group.

As Leaper pulled Hissop into his arms, he couldn’t stop himself from searching the man’s face, wishing against all logic for signs of life.

Nothing. As the current picked up, it drove the body forward and Hissop’s face came closer until it was inches from his. Those normally attentive brown eyes bulged, and his mouth was open as if he had been screaming, an expression of horror frozen on his face. This man had felt pain and terror, and it had been horribly brutal.

Leaper swallowed a knot of pain. He hated the idea that his brother had been so alone.

Reaching for Hissop’s mask, Leaper stopped himself, knowing instinctively there was only death there, but he could still wish for a different outcome. He was human after all, and the one who would bear witness to this tragedy.

The death scarred his spirit and his mind in ways that would never heal. How many bodies had he held, whose lives had departed too soon? Taken ruthlessly, and so completely out of his control. He couldn’t process it all now. But his brain still spun with one big question: How had Hissop gotten nailed? Surely someone would have seen him get hurt and helped.

Closing Hissop’s suit as best he could, Leaper cradled the man against him. Rigging his belt into Hissop’s so he could move a bit faster, he swam forward. He knew it would be a long, painful ascent for the entire Team. He just needed to keep everyone focused. More mistakes happened when heads were full of grief.

With determination, he headed for his Team. They were waiting for him.

Leaper nodded at Bell. He pointed to his gauge and then to the surface.

Bell nodded his head in agreement. Signals were passed through the men until they were moving slowly upward.

The death of a Teammate was the worst grounds for scrapping a mission. And they had to be on the surface to use the fucking radio.

It was one of the longest swims of Leaper’s life. Emotionally, he wanted to rocket upward and take the Team with him, but given their depth, ascending too quickly would allow nitrogen bubbles to gather in their bloodstreams. It would essentially poison them, painfully damaging and possibly killing them all on top of it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Leaper saw unusual gestures from one of his Teammates. Arms and legs flailed, and the person’s head jerked up and down.

He saw one of the guys moving erratically; avoiding the bends was a serious priority. He assessed Special Operator Koal Richter and decided that Richter’s telltale panicked movements were manageable with guidance. He gestured at Jollen to partner with the eager beaver, watching as his second-in-command swam up to Richter and jerked the newbie to attention. The other man responded with instant obedience. They communicated with hand signals and then the two men slowly continued their ascent, side by side.

Leaper looked back down at the man tied to him. If only his actions could change the equation and he could breathe life into Hissop.

He bit back his frustration and pain at not being able to prevent this tragedy; it made him angry beyond words. He shouted into his mask, knowing that it would stay here in the dark waters. They were bringing up the rear, and he watched as his Teammates broke the surface of the water.

He reined in his emotions as he pulled his mask off and breathed in the salty night air. The tang of copper hit his nostrils, and Leaper pulled Hissop tighter against him.

The night sky was full of stars, one of them shooting toward the horizon. Was nature mocking him, or was that Hissop saying his final farewell?

Christ, help.

Leaper watched Jollen contact the submarine for pickup.

Pain nearly shattered Leaper’s heart as he thought of Hissop’s young wife. What would he say to her? They trusted him—all the wives, kids, and families did—to bring their men home alive.

Tears streamed down Leaper’s face, mingling with the salt water. A thousand tears could never ease this pain. Death was and always would be merciless in his world. If only he could prevent it, or give his life for theirs, but fate was cruel that way. He always survived.

* * *

Time was an odd form of measurement. Go through hell, and the days were torturous and the nights were blobs of inky “painmares.” Exist in a heavenly or blissful moment, and time rocketed by faster than you could hold on to it. In between those extremes, hours stretched on like an endless TSA line.

The Op was long over, and Leaper was back on duty rotation—yet the loss of his Teammate was still fresh in his mind. No one from that night saw the devastation, and the death had been ruled accidental. It didn’t change the heartbreak of it.

The boat rocked from side to side as the water lapped at the sides. Stationary, stagnant, this felt a bit like his life right now. Leaper was a half mile off the coast of the Amphibious Base in Coronado, California. Sitting here and doing nothing might just lull him into boredom.

This was Leaper’s first week back after a month of psych evaluations. Talking about the last, horrific operation was not something he wanted to do. Leaper did his best to play the part of a good sailor and give the docs what they needed, but let’s get real—no one got out of battle or training unscathed. It left an indefinable mark. Few operators shared the nitty-gritty, because what happens in the Teams stays in the Teams.

“Let’s get you back out there,” Admiral George had said. “We need you leading a deployment. It’s just six months. Not a lot going on. You’ll manage the operations from the base. Just keep everyone in line and the Teams rotating through running smoothly.”

“No offense, Admiral, but I’m barely functioning. Find someone else,” Leaper had replied. With that, he’d walked away from the outraged man, only to be tracked down by his Commanding Officer and told that he was going to be helping out in a different capacity for now.

Regardless of how little Leaper had shared, the Navy couldn’t afford to bounce him, even if several shrinks noted that Leaper’s mind had locked down the pain and he wasn’t “necessarily fit.” Too bad. That didn’t stop Command from keeping Leaper in the game. According to the docs, Leaper was still functioning on the basic levels, but until he was ready to face the intense tragedy of Hissop’s death, there was nothing they could do to assist the situation. So they stuck him on the sidelines. His current rotation was as an instructor, to teach, lead, assess, evaluate, test, and assist.

Assist. Hell, ass was the correct word. Leaper felt better in the field. On land, he fucking floundered like a fish out of water. Besides, most of those doctors were useless. So what! He wasn’t ready to face Hissop’s death, and that was life. Maybe when he was seventy-five and drinking a beer with his cronies, he’d deal with it. Until then, they could fuck off. Leaper didn’t mind the fact that he was running on a single gear setting, and that mode was slow roll. His internal engine would crank up if it was needed.

A substitute instructor for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S), and for Special Warfare Combatant-Craft (SWCC), if need be—that was their answer. He’d performed this role at least a dozen times over the past twenty years. The training tended to overlap in certain areas, especially in terms of tactical intensity, gun and knife skills, and proficiency of boat maneuver skill sets. He was meant to focus on one specialty, but it wouldn’t happen that way. Once you signed on as instructor, you ended up working in pretty much every area.

A ton of everything at once, and he’d do it right or not at all. That was his manner in most things—100 percent or nothing.

Leaper decided to roll with it. This duty assignment as an instructor would have to be okay for the present. Hell, he could yell at and cajole the recruits with the best of them, though it was hard to see these sailors as anything but wet-behind-the-ears kids. If he had his druthers, he’d wrap each of them in cotton padding and put them on a shelf to keep them away from the action. That wasn’t an option, and certainly not what any of these sailors wanted. They were begging for opportunities to get in the fight and were working their tails off to prove that they had what it takes to survive and succeed for themselves and their Teammates. Leaper knew he needed to step up and prepare them for the worst, despite the pain of loss in his heart. He’d start with the basics, where he could, and coach them along further with what he’d learned from his two decades in the Teams.

The boat underneath him rocked abruptly. The current shifted, pulling the boat in a new direction as the waves grew more aggressive. They beat heavily against the sides of the boat, spraying the occupants with each thump. Leaper looked at the men in the boat with him and took control. He knew exactly where he wanted to go.

The boat slid into gear, and soon Leaper was driving it at top speed. This was one of four Reinforced Inflatable Boats, or RIBs, carrying BUD/S trainees on another phase of their training, along with four instructors. Leaper Lefton was pretty sure the BUD/S boys never imagined he would be a substitute instructor and the one leading the aquatic charge, but at the end of the day, they’d be grateful for the skills he’d teach them. Christ, he hoped it saved lives.

Murmuring voices sounded briefly behind him. Leaper looked over his shoulder and saw the other boats slowing and then stopping. He circled around and then stopped some distance away from the others.

“Listen up,” Leaper said, studying the trainees. He wasn’t one of those men who taught untried techniques or theories. Rather, he used his own experiences to speak about what worked and why. Being an operator with more Ops and tours under his belt than most active-duty sailors, he was pretty blunt, and his sense of humor was definitely dry, an acquired taste. His swim buddy, Declan, used to tease that if someone needed real-life input or someone to call bullshit on a situation, Leaper was the man for the job. From funnyman to leader, his honesty was legendary. There was a lot of brass who most certainly wished Leaper had had more tact training, but it was hard to criticize a man with that much sea cred. “I’m going to give you a few useful hints. You can ignore them or you can take them to heart. Your choice, but I’ll only share them once.”

“Yes, Instructor,” the men said in unison.

Reaching his hand into his pocket, Leaper pulled out half a dozen neon bandanas and handed them out to the trainees. “Tie it around your wrist.”

The trainees didn’t question the order. They quickly did as Leaper bade and waited for further instruction. Eager eyes gazed steadily at him.

“Be prepared to swamp on my command,” said Leaper. “Make sure the gear doesn’t sink.”

The men scrambled, grabbing loose fins, masks, and bags. The boat rocked as they moved hastily.

“Slow down, guys. Let’s consider your actions before you take them. Make each movement count—unnecessary movements can cause harm. Water has a reaction for each action, and that’s useful to know. It can be advantageous or harmful, depending on how you use it. For example, if your starboard man jumps before your port man knows, guess what’s happening next?” Leaper eyed the trainees. “And I’ll give you another hint on the gear. If you don’t have utility belts, or any other type of belt, use something else to secure gear in a handy fashion. I always carry a bandana. Black, brown, or something that blends in with whatever outfit I’m sporting.” Leaper waited for the trainees to crack smiles. Nothing.

Damn. These recruits are too serious. Young, hungry, and scared shitless too.

“Tough crowd,” he murmured. He cleared his throat and then spoke louder. “These bandanas are yours to keep, to remind you of this swamping lesson. Now, center yourselves, and let’s go slowly and thoughtfully through the process.”

The boat stopped rocking as the men calmed down. The gear was secured.

“Swamping in three, two, one.” Leaper cut the engine and dove over the side. Cool water rushed over his face and body. It was refreshing, and relief filled him. He surfaced faster than he preferred, but he had a job to do. He swam five feet away to gain a better vantage point.

On cue, pairs of men eased into the water. First to enter the cold Pacific water were the ones on his left. Leaving two on the right, these men grabbed the rungs on the side of the boat. They dithered for a few seconds, checking that all gear was secure, and then counted off together and jumped in. In one smooth movement, thanks to the two men from the right, the rubber boat flipped into the water. The small outboard motor propeller spun slowly in the air, as if it didn’t realize it was supposed to stop moving. Eventually, all movement ceased as the men moved under the boat and breathed air together in the small, dark confines.

Leaper smiled. He swam closer and slipped underneath. He could practically feel the men grinning. They knew they had performed well. This wasn’t their first rodeo. “Good job. Now, let’s flip it, make everything shipshape, and get back underway.”

“Aye, aye.” Six acknowledgments echoed quietly inside the RIB before the trainees disappeared on the other side, righted the boat, and climbed back in. These agile men were so young. Had he ever been that shiny and new…that hopeful? God, he felt old. Was this how his old instructor, Gich, had felt about him? Damn. Well, Leaper had passed the big 4–0 three years ago.

Where had time gone? Maybe he should settle down like Declan, marry someone and have babies. Who the hell would ever love a fuckup like me? Whoever it was would have to be a lunatic like him. If there’s a woman out there like that…

Leaper looked up. The sun was high in a cloudless sky.

He hoisted himself over the side of the boat. Looking down, he could see fish swimming below. The ocean was crystal clear. God, he’d rather be out swimming, fishing, kayaking, surfing—anything, other than teaching. Fuck, it was time to retire. Wasn’t it?

“Secure. And if I can add, that was cool, Instructor,” said Seaman Willie Watson. The rest of the BUD/S trainees looked on exuberantly, obviously jubilant over the ease of the experience. If there were any chance he could teach these kids something, anything, to protect them from harm…well, hell, he’d stick it out a while longer and see how he could help the next generation. They seemed like good kids. Shit, he was already calling them kids.

“Good to hear.” Leaper nodded toward the other boats. “I’ll bet they aren’t having as much fun in those boats.” He didn’t agree with scaring the crap out of the recruits and making them so flustered they couldn’t find their asses with a magnifying glass. Different folks had different strokes, when it came to training.

Leaper could hear several of the instructors shouting their heads off on the other boats, and one of the engines had obviously gotten loose and sunk. Bummer. Those recruits would be on the Goon Squad until graduation. Not that doing extra physical training (PT) was a negative thing, for it often had a positive effect by helping recruits make it over the hump by developing a do-or-die determination to succeed. Leaper remembered his days of running extra miles and doing hundreds of push-ups, as well as long laps around the bases and the Obstacles course. Those were the days…when his optimism was strong and his direction was crystal clear. Damn, but he was a jaded son of a bitch now.

Leaper hid his smile. “Uh, you’ll notice that I depart from the regular curriculum. What I’m going to teach you are useful techniques that at some point could be lifesaving. Knowing what each person is doing—having that agreement among yourselves before you even leave the beach or the dock—will save you time. I noticed that several of you were slow to respond as the swamping began. This planning will aid you. Who is responsible for which gear or which tasks, and having a few carabineers, bandanas, and a knife with you, will be more useful than you can imagine. For example, if you’re going to be MacGyver, you need to pick useful items to MacGyver with…”

Gesturing at the other two boats, Leaper added, “A few friendly tips to get you to Hell Week. Don’t be a know-it-all. Share the knowledge I’m giving you. Teammates are for the Team, not the individual. If something works for you or a Teammate, pass on the wisdom. This is what the Teams are about: helping each other to the goal. We succeed as one, or we fail as one. But failure is…”

“Not an option. Thank you, Instructor,” finished Watson. “Shit. Those guys in the other boats are diving for their gear. Has to be over fifty feet.”

“It’s forty-two feet. Another thing that’s useful to know is depths. Study the charts. There have been more than a few occasions when combat swimmers have taken advantage of the topography of the ocean floor. Think of our underwater demolition teams, our Frogmen ancestors, who would swim into beaches, disposing of mines and booby traps, clearing the way for our troops to safely land on beaches. These guys would have grease pencils and clear plastic boards to note the landscape of the bottom of the ocean—depths, debris, etc. This is one type of war we’re fighting, where all the areas of the globe can become battlefields. Just because you’re on top of the water driving a boat doesn’t mean you can be oblivious to what’s below you. In reality, it means you need to be doubly aware of everything above you, below you, and around you. Awareness, preparation, and planning means always having several contingency plans.”

Leaper waved to one of the boats and gestured to another instructor.

Receiving a thumbs-up in response, Leaper engaged the engine on the boat and turned it away from the others toward a group of birds diving into the water. In the distance was a small island. Farther on was San Clemente, a training outpost they’d be visiting in the near future. Boy, these trainees were going to hate the next stop! His first foray into this exercise had made him wet his pants. Luckily, he’d been in the water at the time, and no one had been the wiser.

The sound of the screeching birds grew louder as they neared a fish-feeding frenzy. Leaper cut the engine about one hundred feet away. “There’s a school of fish below, and most likely”—Leaper’s words were cut off as the boat rocked suddenly—“dolphins.”

The trainees looked eagerly over the side, almost tipping the boat.

“Easy, there. These are wild dolphins, and they are not necessarily friendly. Let me share a story about my time in Greenland. My former swim buddy, Declan, and I were practicing with a new type of rebreather when we met up with a pod of dolphins—mothers and their wee ones. Let me tell you, those mothers were protective…” Leaper paused as he craned his neck to the right. “What’s that? Over there, I see something. Hey, is that a figure bobbing around out there?

“I’m afraid our next lesson will have to wait. This looks like an emergency. Stay put. If something happens and I go down, return to the group. Do not follow me into the water.” Leaper didn’t wait for their response. He dove over the side and swam with quick strokes to the figure he’d spied. He could feel the school of fish changing direction and moving around him. A few not-so-subtle snout bumps on his leg signaled dolphins, though sharks were known to give a not-so-subtle rub, to “taste” their prey. Fuck it—he could get rough if he needed to. Whatever came his way, he’d deal with it.

As Leaper neared the figure, he could see it was a woman—a rather pretty one too. Her movements were slow, and she looked very tired. His buddy Declan would love this. He was the chivalrous “lifeguard” type, but Leaper had pulled his fair share of men out of the drink. This could be his first time rescuing a woman. “Hey, are you okay?” When there was no answer, he added, “Uh, my name is Leaper. What’s yours?”

“Kerry,” she panted. Her large brown eyes were frantic. Her honey-blond hair was matted to her head. “My dolphin. Have you seen her? I need to secure her.”

“Your dolphin? Did you ride her here? Is she pocket-size?” He moved toward her slowly. Is she delusional? Her gaze is steady. She seems to be on the level. Or is she a good liar?

He’d seen more than one good friend almost drowned by an emotional victim. Besides that, a person in the ocean spouting tales of owning a dolphin was worth doubting. There was a possibility this lady was unbalanced. He hoped for the best, that she was sane and easy to rescue. If not, well, here was another life lesson for the recruits.

“No. What? Are you nuts?” She spit water out of her mouth as she kept herself afloat. “I have a boat.”

“Okay. Where?” He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see one. Did it sink?”

Kerry spun in a circle. “Crap! I must have swum farther than I realized. It’s back there, near the far side of that island. Close to the inlet with the small rocky beach.”

“That’s, like, four miles away. The current must have caught you.” He swam closer to her, holding at an arm’s length away. “Can we give you a lift?”

“Sure. I just…need to find Juliet.” She smiled as she looked down. “There she is.”

A face bobbed up in front of them. The dolphin nudged Kerry gently.

“SeaWorld? Wild search and rescue? Or are you a member of the Marine Mammal Program?” Leaper nodded. “I’ll bet the latter.”

“Ding ding ding. I usually have two techs who come out with me, but there was an emergency. Juliet and I were already in the boat, so we broke protocol and ventured out alone. Normally, it’s not a problem. We’ve done this before. But something spooked her, and she veered away from the boat, and then those guys found her.” Kerry stroked the dolphin’s back. When the dolphin rolled onto her side, Kerry rubbed her fin. “Wild male dolphins lure away our females. These hooligans corral our females and get them pregnant before they return them to us. The problem is, right now, there are several fatal illnesses that the males can pass on to our females, so we discourage their coupling by bringing the females quickly on board a boat, but when I’m so far from mine, well… So sometimes I just shout at the predators. Not that any wild creature is going to listen to me. Luckily, Juliet is one smart cookie, so I’m guessing she’s probably avoided their advances so far. She’s a very crafty and swift swimmer.”

“And if she gets cornered by a group of males, what does she do, cross her fins?”

“Pffft. You’re an idiot,” Kerry said, splashing him.

“Glad you noticed. So, um, are you okay or what?” He was pretty close to her now. He could take hold of her, bring her safely to the boat.

“Honestly”—the lines on her brow deepened—“I’m getting pretty tired.”

“Sorry to hear that. Ah, crap, did you ask for Juliet’s friends to join us?” Leaper pointed to several fins. “They’re coming.”

Kerry tapped Juliet’s belly and she rolled right side up. Kerry held her hand possessively on the female dolphin’s back.

Swimming closer to Kerry, Leaper felt several hard bumps along his leg and back. “We need to get you both out of the water. Can you swim beside me?”

“Yeah.”

The female dolphin moved protectively between Leaper and Kerry. It was a decent position for Juliet to be in, though it put the human beings in the line of fire. A dolphin’s snout was a serious weapon that could cause severe pain or damage to a shark. Leaper had experienced broken and bruised ribs from the Greenland pod and didn’t want to go down that path again.

His fingers brushed the hilt of his knife. With the school of fish so close, he didn’t doubt additional predators lurked nearby too. But he’d didn’t want to aggravate the situation, so he was going to hold off on wounding or killing one of the aggressors as long as he could.

Leaper waved at the boat and signaled to the trainees to use their paddles to bring the boat closer. They saw his signal and immediately complied. Good souls! He would be buying these trainees burgers tonight.

A young male dolphin rubbed his body along Leaper’s leg. Great. Leaper froze until the sensation passed. If he pushed the male away, it would give the dolphin an excuse to respond. No one wanted to mess with a horny male dolphin!

“Don’t shove the dolphins if they lean against you.” Kerry advised softly. “They will meet every action with added aggression.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve encountered pods before, though not males, per se. I count four of them. What do you think?” Leaper did a breaststroke so he could look around while still moving. When Kerry didn’t answer immediately, he asked, “Are you doing okay over there?”

She gulped air. “Yeah. Four. I’m just…spent.”

Leaper came back to Juliet, put his arm over her, and gave Kerry something to rest on. “Hang in there. The boat is close.”

The wild dolphins shoved their snouts against Leaper. They wanted that female. He resisted the urge to respond, though his ribs were definitely taking a beating.

His eyes continued to scan their surroundings, but the moment the boat was close enough, he hoisted Kerry in with one lift and then practically propelled Juliet on board and onto a bed of life vests and shirts. The male dolphins were highly displeased and came at him quickly with open mouths. Leaper wasn’t looking to sport any scars, so he hustled himself aboard and spun his finger in the air.

Seaman Watson engaged the engine, put the boat in gear, and headed at top speed toward shore.

“Head for the mouth of Glorietta Bay,” ordered Leaper. He sat up and shook the water out of his hair. Droplets of salt water flew off his head in a short barrage.

“My boat?” asked Kerry.

He pursed his lips. Though he believed she truly wanted it, the woman was totally spent. He couldn’t let her operate a boat on her own. “We’ll drop you off and go back for it.”

“Thank you, Leaper.” She put her hand on top of his. She held it there, the same way she held her other hand on the back of the dolphin. It was…nice. The way her clothes clung to her wasn’t lost on him: a pair of black swim shorts hugged her shapely legs, and a bright-pink swim shirt was stretched over her breasts. Perky nipples pushed through. Probably cold. There was nothing dry on board the boat after the swamping. Otherwise, he would have offered her something to wear.

Strange, he noted. I’m usually the “love ’em and leave ’em laughing” type. But this lady seems different—sweet and grateful, and sexy.

As she looked up at him, he noticed heat in her gaze too—or was he imagining that?

“My phone number is 555-0122, in case you need to reach me about the rescue, or the boat.” She smiled up at him, suddenly aware that her hand was still on his. She jerked it away. “Sorry. You’re…very warm.”

“Hot-blooded, I suppose,” he said, and then decided that was the lamest statement ever. Christ, he was out of practice with women. When you spent all day, every day with men…you tended to lose touch.

It wasn’t long before they reached the Marine Mammal area. Actually, the time had felt very short indeed. Down from the Point Loma Submarine Base and currently hidden at the back of an obscure Marine base, this place was a well-kept secret. Given that the dolphins and sea lions were mostly rescues—well protected and cared for—Leaper wouldn’t mind coming back as one of these mammals if there were reincarnation. Having someone like Kerry take care of him would make life pretty interesting.

Several people waited on the docks, a swift blur of movements as they coordinated moving the dolphin into its pen. Juliet seemed pretty happy as she waved back at them with a flipper.

Kerry looked exhausted. Her face was pale, and her legs were a little wobbly as she walked, but she held herself upright as she moved about the dock and conversed with her coworkers.

Leaper couldn’t hear the conversation, but he figured it wasn’t a pleasant chat. He checked his watch. It was almost time to wrap for the day, so he stepped off the boat and walked to her. Pulling her aside, he said, “I need to get going. We’ll grab your boat and drop it off, and then I need to get these trainees home. Touch base tomorrow?”

She reached up and hugged him abruptly. It almost threw him off-center, but he caught her to him and held her tight. “Is that a yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you.” Just as quickly as she’d embraced him, she let go and headed back to the far side of the dock. The lady didn’t look back, but Leaper could still feel the imprint of her luscious curves against his chest and the silk of her hair as it brushed against his neck.

Huh, he was giving her a lot of thought. Interesting. He watched her for several more seconds, and then he headed back to the boat. The moment he was on board, a voice challenged him.

“Shall we set up a smooch alert?” asked Watson.

Leaper raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to join your friends on the Goon Squad?”

“I’m just kidding.” Watson sounded worried. Scratch that—he sounded scared. “Please, don’t…”

“No shit, Sherlock. Hey, I like that! That’s your new nickname: Sherlock.” He waited for a reply. Again there was nothing. “Listen. Warriors have thick skin. What’s life without teasing? Hell, it’s how we show affection. I like the fact that you felt bold enough to give me shit.” Leaper patted the trainee on the back. “Don’t be so scared of Goons. I did it. My brothers did it. If you let something make you stronger, it will. If you allow it to weaken you, then you’ve made that choice too.”

He turned to the boat, speaking to all his trainees now. “Seek strength. Make choices that benefit you and your Teammates.” With that, he pointed toward the horizon, in the general direction of Kerry’s boat, and said, “Let’s round up that boat. Heave ho.”

His knees creaked as he sat. “Damn,” he murmured to himself. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

No one said a word—not one smart-ass reply. Chicken shit, he thought. I’ll get them speaking. The Teams don’t need a bunch of yes-men. These recruits all need to be leaders who know when to follow and when to stand up and voice their opinion. They’re young, but they’ll learn. Even if I have to drag them one by one over that damn finish line.