Page 1 of Ensnaring the Siren
Chapter
One
Reid Kruetz didn’t fear the ocean.
It was a brutal, deadly force to be reckoned with, yes, but no matter the danger, it had always called him to its cold, unforgiving embrace. Tonight was no different.
Helicopter blades whirled overhead, drowning out all sound, save for a steady stream of radio chatter inside the cockpit between Reid’s aviation team and sector command. There was a fishing boat sinking sixty miles offshore, its emergency beacon pinging them with its location. Word, too, was that it was going down in hostile mermaid territory, and they should proceed with abundant caution.
Sharks, mermaids, whatever the danger, he had a damn job to do. Save lives if he could, recover those lost if he couldn’t, and get the hell out of there.
Sky and ocean joined as one in their inky blackness as Reid and his team raced in the dead of night to rescue the boat’s crew, their stark white and orange helicopter the only splotch of color in a canvas of nothingness.
The Jayhawk was a standard flight vehicle for U.S. Coast Guard search and rescue missions. It had a range of 300 nautical miles and could hold their aircrew of four, plus an additional six people, more if they pushed it. And they’d have to push it; the boat’s registered crew numbered eight, including the captain.
Rescue swimmer gear triple-checked—helmet, mask, snorkel, fins, and safety harness—Reid threaded his fingers over the collar of his orange dry suit, overlain with silver reflective tape, ready to go at a moment’s notice. He’d trained hard for this job, and surviving the grueling Coast Guard Aviation Technical Training program and its high attrition rate was step one. Serving out of Cape Cod and handling its high case volume, step two. That he’d been tapped for the brand-new aircrew detachment out of Haven Cove Airport was no small thing, and the brass were watching. They had a reputation to build.
Potential mermaid complications aside, everything tonight was normal.
Maybe not a piece of cake, but at least familiar.
“Kruetz,” said Alejandra Perez, their pilot, over the radio. “Get ready to drop.”
Activating the strobe light attached to his dry suit, Reid nodded to the dropmaster, who opened the door, salty sea wind buffeting them both. The strobe light blinked on and off in a steady rhythm, the only piece of equipment that’d keep him visible if he swam beyond the helicopter’s spotlight and into the dark.
Hatcher, the dropmaster, crowded the open doorway and peered over the edge, instead of skirting to the side so Reid could get through. It was like the man had forgotten how to do his damn job. “You gotta get them out of there.”
That was the whole point.
“Get back.” Reid roughly pulled him out of the way, not waiting for compliance. Not when every second mattered. “Get your head on straight.”
Below, the helicopter’s spotlight illuminated five out of the eight fishermen, each frantically waving up at them. He hoped the other three were somewhere nearby, clinging to debris, and not trapped inside the sinking boat. There was nothing he could do for them then.
With a quick assessment of the water, Reid stepped over the edge, fifteen feet down into the choppy waves. A basket lift would be lowered next to hoist survivors.
As the dark ocean rose to meet him, the worst of its icy temperatures were warded off by the dry suit he wore. Bobbing to the surface, Reid swam for the nearest fisherman, who was already doggy paddling toward him. Shouts rang out, some muffled by the beating helicopter blades, others as clear as day. Most were a variation of help! and get me out of here!
Hoisting one survivor at a time was the best they could do, given their equipment’s limitations, but patience was hard won when fear was involved.
As Reid cut through the water in quick, measured strokes, he hoped no one climbed on top of him in a panic. While he never enjoyed knocking folks out, he wouldn’t be rescuing anyone if they accidentally drowned him first, and necessity and survival sometimes demanded the harsh tactics drilled into him from “A” school.
“Coast Guard rescue swimmer, I’m here to help!” he yelled, reaching for the first fisherman, but before he could make contact, the man suddenly vanished, body jerked violently beneath the waves. There one moment, gone the next.
Reid lurched back, hand going to his diver’s knife.
Screams coming from behind had him whisking around.
Another fisherman blinked from sight, then another. Lithe, streamlined creatures darted beneath the water at startling speeds, illuminated only by their blue, green, and amber bioluminescence, glittering like fireflies. If it weren’t for this distinctly dire situation, they’d be pretty. But Reid had seen the news, had read the papers and scientific articles published over the last three years. Only one thing could be snatching these men so swiftly.
Radio crackling, Alejandra’s voice barked, “Kruetz, what’s happening down there?”
“Something’s yanking them under, fast.”
“Hatcher, drop the winch,” she ordered. “We’re getting him out of there.”
“Winch descending.”
A fourth fisherman vanished into the abyss; his startled cry sharply cut off.