A Dangerous Leap
Authors: Sharon Calvin
A Dangerous Leap
By Sharon Calvin
Book one of Gulf Coast Rescue
Raised by navy parents, Kelly Bishop learned how to pack light and say goodbye at an early age. She’s earned her Coast Guard rescue swimmer stripes in some of the toughest waters out there, outperforming men along the way. Now she’s ready for a new start in Florida, eager to prove herself as the best of the best.
What she
isn’t
ready for is the spark between her and fellow Coastie Ian Razzamenti.
Ian knows what he wants and he knows how to get it. And what he’s always wanted is a stay-at-home wife—someone who can take care of their children while he’s out on missions. The attraction he feels for Kelly is intense, but is it worth giving up his big-family dreams?
Life-or-death situations leave little time for distraction—or doubt. When a tropical storm becomes a hurricane and a dangerous enemy reveals himself, their air station springs into action, and Kelly and Ian may not have the chance to decide whether they want to take the leap…
71,000 words
Dear Reader,
Social media can be dangerous, fun and inspiring. While I was
writing this month’s letter, I mentioned on Twitter that I was a bit stuck in my
opening. Who can blame me after writing over forty letters? So author and reader
@AudraNorth
challenged me to make this one different by creating a Carina Press
April Fools fill-in-the-blank letter (there’s a name for it but it’s trademarked
so…fill-in-the-blank letter it is!). Challenge accepted and the game is afoot.
We’ll go back to your normally written letters in May. In the meantime, I hope
you enjoy our bit of fun and please visit our
@CarinaPress
Twitter account in
April for a contest associated with this month’s letter. We’re offering up free
books and a gift card from Carina Press!
April is a __________(adjective) month for Carina Press since
we have four new debut authors in our lineup! First up, I’m pleased to _______
(verb) debut author Sharon Calvin with her romantic suspense title,
A
Dangerous Leap
. USCG rescue swimmer Kelly Bishop is used to dangerous
situations, but when Ian Razzamenti demands she risk her _______(noun), she’s
not sure she has the courage. Then disaster strikes and they both must face
their worst fear—_______ (verb) each other.
Katherine Locke debuts in the contemporary romance new adult
category with
Second Position
. Four years after a career-ending car
accident, ballet dancers Aly and Zed risk their _______ (adjective) recoveries
for the _______ (noun) they thought they’d lost. Don’t miss the prequel to Aly
and Zed’s story,
Turning Pointe
, available as a free read on
CarinaPress.com
.
If you’re a fan of the male/male genre, be sure to pick up j.
leigh bailey’s debut new-adult romance,
Nobody’s Hero
. Bradley Greene’s
family rejected him for being gay, leaving him financially and emotionally
adrift—until he meets Danny Ortega. Brad becomes Danny’s _______ (noun), but can
Brad handle being responsible for someone else’s _______ (noun)?
Also debuting with us in April is mystery author Brenda
Buchanan. In
Quick Pivot
, the first of the Joe Gale Mysteries, a
newspaper reporter’s dogged investigation of a 1968 murder threatens to expose a
Maine mill town’s _______ (adjective) secrets, making him the _________ (noun)
of a killer who once thought himself too clever to be caught.
Joining Brenda in the mystery category is Daryl Anderson with
Death at China Rose
. The search for a long-missing woman brings PI
Addie Gorsky to China Rose Fish Camp, a _______ (adjective) resort in a hidden
corner of north Florida. Addie begins a _______ (adjective) hunt through the
wilds of China Rose, surrounded by _______ (adjective) gators, killer _______
(noun) and a _______ (adjective) two-legged killer.
In the historical romance category, Caroline Kimberly brings
another fun historical adventure with
An Inconvenient Mistress
. In a
desperate attempt to flee her_______ (noun), Isabella North hijacks captain
Phillip Ashford from a Jamaican prison and tricks him into _______ (verb) home
to England. But will she be able to keep herself from _______(verb) him even if
she despises the handsome, arrogant privateer?
Last this month, we wind up Angela Highland’s _______
(adjective) fantasy romance trilogy. When the Voice of the Gods breaks free of
magical enslavement and rampages through Adalonia, the lost sword Moonshadow is
the only hope of stopping Her—and Faanshi, Julian and Kestar must join _______
(noun) to find it and _______ (verb) the realm in
Victory of the
Hawk
.
Coming May 2015: Marie Force’s Fatal series is available in
mass-market print in retail stores, Stephanie Tyler (aka SE Jakes) delivers a
new Defiance romance and Joely Sue Burkhart brings _______ (adjective) fantasies
to life in her erotic thriller—is he a serial killer or the man who will meet
all her deepest needs?
I hope your month is full of _______ (adjective) books that
make you _______ (verb). Please visit the
blog
at
CarinaPress.com/blog
to participate in our fill-in-the-blank contest and win
free books and prizes!
Happy Reading!
Angela James
_______ (job title), Carina Press
Dedication
First and foremost, this book is dedicated to the men and women of the US Coast Guard. They secure our waterways and ports, oversee our domestic and international fishing laws, protect our environment and conduct search and rescue missions, often in unimaginable conditions. A special shout out to Air Station Clearwater, the largest and busiest air station in the Guard, and home to my fictional heroes and heroines.
And to Pat Giagiacumo Clay (3/14/39–6/29/14), my critique partner for ten years. She passed away before I “got the call” but I have no doubt she was celebrating from her very special place in heaven.
My heartfelt prayers go out to any parent who lost a child to a birth defect or disease, and I hope that one day soon no parent has to face that kind of loss.
To my husband, Bill, who probably knows my characters as intimately as I do. As a pilot, he plotted flight plans, determined weight limits and fuel burn for aircraft, provided maps and charts, but most of all, he always believed in me and my stories.
Acknowledgments
Jim Bonck, a former Coastie, who inspired me to write about the smallest armed service branch in the US. His experiences fueled a lot of “What if” ideas and became the inspiration for Joe (however, I take all the credit, or blame, for Joe’s negative thoughts and actions toward Kelly!). I took a few liberties with flight crew protocols and added purely fictional awards to fit my story because, hey, it’s fiction!
I named Kelly after Kelly Mogk, the first woman to qualify as a rescue swimmer. That Kelly went on to become an officer and helicopter pilot.
Todd Wean, FLWG AMO, provided aircraft mechanical support and fictional ideas for downing my DC-3.
Rossella Re came to my rescue with the Italian line for Ian’s father.
My critique partners, conference roommates, and brainstorming confidants, Laurie Cooper and Sandy Moffett Parks, who have provided unflagging support through all the ups and downs of this crazy writing and publishing life. I wouldn’t want to take this journey without you both!
Chapter One
Rescue Swimmer Kelly Bishop sat in the open doorway of the Coast Guard Jayhawk helo, timing the rough water’s rise and fall beneath her dangling swim fins. Green waves spouted white foam like an Irish street party gone wild. Her stomach heaved with each pitch and drop of the Florida-based helicopter.
She clamped her mouth closed, then her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to be on duty for another twenty-four hours. But the mayday came in, her new crew was ready, and despite her hangover, she’d do her job.
New base, new crew, new chance to make a family from her fellow Coasties. Once again she had to prove herself—past accomplishments meant zip here. Kelly knew all about starting over—she’d spent a lifetime doing just that.
The helo dropped suddenly and she grimaced. Right now she needed to empty her stomach before she jumped into that water, or she’d be in worse shape than the man she was supposed to rescue. She leaned forward, her body held in place by a gunner’s strap, and forced up her late lunch, vomiting into the Gulf between her fins.
“Hell, she’s afraid!” Joe, the hoist operator, yelled behind her.
Kelly didn’t need headphones on to hear the taunt over the roar of the helo’s engine. He signaled her release with a too sharp jab to her chest and she unclipped the safety strap. Then he signaled her jump by pounding his fist three times on her shoulder with more force than necessary. If she weren’t battling a destroyer-sized headache, she’d plant her elbow in his gut. Instead, she gave him a sweet smile accompanied by a one-finger salute before securing her face mask with one hand and crossing her other arm over her chest.
Distracted when the next wave came up, she jumped a beat too late, free falling toward the now receding ocean. The shock of not hitting the wave registered only seconds before her fins made contact. The trough between waves had left her an extra ten feet of hang time, sending a jolt from feet to aching head with lightning speed.
Instinct and training took over as the water closed above her. She surfaced and raised her hand over her head, palm forward, signaling her safe entry to the hoist guy with the ‘tude.
Careful, Kel
. He could get her kicked off the crew faster than anyone save the pilot. Stupid squabbles had a way of mutating into career-ending mistakes.
The Coast Guard was the smallest of the five armed forces, and as such most Coasties performed multiple jobs beyond search and rescue. SAR was their oldest charter and for Kelly, the one she preferred doing most of all. Even when she had to work with someone who clearly did
not
want to work with her.
The helo moved off to minimize the rotor wash and she orientated herself to the floundering sailboat and set about the rescue. With strong, sure strokes, she swam through eight-to twelve-foot waves. She needed to collect the survivor before the building storm overtook them. From the air she’d spotted one adult male—drunk, seasick, or injured—hanging onto the sloping deck of the twenty-seven-foot Hunter. It would be just her luck if he were all three.
Swimming closer, she spit out her snorkel and hailed the boat. A hoarse reply told her she’d been heard.
“Are you hurt?” she called while keeping an eye on the rise and fall of the boat’s stern. She winced at the grinding of fiberglass on rock. What a waste of a beautiful little cruiser.
The man staggered into view along the railing. He wore a black Speedo and a thick gold chain around his neck, like a middle-aged beach slug. One hand pressed a bloody towel to his head. His wild unfocused look and jerky movements would complicate the hell out of her approach. A large wave slapped the boat up against the rocks and he pitched headfirst over the railing without a sound.
Anticipating the worst, she closed the distance by half before he hit the water. Shit, an unconscious man could drown in seconds and she wasn’t about to let that happen, not on her rescue, dammit.
Circling his desperate splashing, Kelly came in from behind, speaking calmly, “Relax, I’m a rescue swimmer. You’re safe now. You’re not going to drown.” She slipped her arm around his chest. He stiffened momentarily, then dead weight sagged against her. The movement of his chest confirmed he was still alive, but unconscious again.
Kelly glanced over her shoulder and gave a thumbs-up to bring the helicopter in for pickup. When the pilot brought the craft in lower, she propped her survivor against her chest so she could raise her hand straight up, palm forward. She then crossed her other arm above her head and touched her fingers to the elbow of her straight arm. This signaled Joe to deploy the rescue litter.
He lowered the folding litter into the water and Kelly expertly maneuvered the still-unconscious man into the stainless steel stretcher and covered him with one of the accompanying wool blankets. She secured him with the straps and gave an all clear for his hoist up to the helo. After the survivor disappeared into the Jayhawk, Joe leaned out and signaled they were leaving.
She blinked, confused. Leaving? He gestured again, pointing to the helo, indicating an emergency. She signaled her understanding even as her heart beat frantically. Treading water, she watched the helo move steadily away.
It didn’t happen often but she’d been left before. And every time panic whispered in her ear. What if they didn’t return? What if the helo went down and—
Stop it. Just. Stop. It.
She ignored the sound of the Jayhawk growing more distant as it headed toward shore. Besides the boat’s VHF radio, she had her own waterproof backup. And a C-130 circled above providing communications coverage. She wasn’t alone—not really.
She spun around. One quick check of the boat for additional survivors, then she’d wait for her ride back to the air station. From the increasing wave size, the sea appeared anxious to take its latest victim home. She kicked toward the sailboat, stopping about five yards out to determine the best way to board.
A wild keening sound erupted from the boat, chilling Kelly down to her soul.
Something, or someone, was still on board.
* * *
“We’re diverting to pick up one of our swimmers,” the pilot announced over the crew’s headsets. Ian Razzamenti groaned from his jump seat in the back of the Jayhawk. Five minutes from their air station near Tampa and now they had to head out to sea again. The pilot relayed what had happened. The poor bastard’s helo had developed an oil problem and he’d been abandoned near a rock outcrop ten miles offshore. Ian looked out at the white caps below and shook his head. Poor bastard was right. Why would anyone want that job?
A couple minutes later, the pilot’s voice broke into Ian’s thoughts with an update. The report made him sit up, his earlier fatigue forgotten. “Son of a bitch,” he said without thinking. Thankfully, his mic wasn’t hot.
After evacuating a male survivor, a second survivor had been found on board the sinking sailboat. This survivor, a young girl, had been left along with the swimmer. And from the exchange he’d just heard, she’d been a victim
before
the boat ran aground.
The atmosphere in the Jayhawk became charged as the crew absorbed the news. The young female had been discovered bound, apparently drugged, possibly sexually assaulted.
Ian mentally geared up for dealing with a potentially hysterical girl in a decidedly testosterone-filled environment. Poor kid. Having a fully rigged rescue swimmer find her had probably scared the bejesus out of her.
Preparing for the worst, Ian set about getting ready for his patient. As a Health Services Tech, he’d take over for the standard EMT-rated swimmer. Hopefully, in his flight suit he wouldn’t look as intimidating as the guy in a wetsuit, face mask and snorkel. If only Caitlyn were flying. Having a woman on board, even as the pilot, might help ease the girl’s fear.
The next ten minutes the crew worked with minimal chatter and experienced efficiency. The hoist operator deftly swung the basket with its precious cargo aboard and Ian quickly took in the girl’s pale skin, glazed eyes and rigid body. She was dressed in a sweatshirt, now stretched past her knees from the water, and an inflated flotation device.
Ian leaned close to explain what he was going to do over the roar of the helicopter’s engines. Her wild look and sudden scramble to get away forced him back on his heels.
“Whoa, honey.” Hell, he had to get her out of those wet clothes and into something warm without scaring her. He took a quick inventory and searched his brain for a solution. Blankets—maybe they could be used to give her some privacy.
“Look, sweetie, I need to get you warmed.” He picked up a stack of blankets and held them out to her, trying to look as harmless as possible. “I can hold one of these up as a screen, and you—”
A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. Shock drowned irritation as he saw the distinctly diminutive swimmer discard his—check that,
her
—mask and snorkel. She gave him a dismissive look and immediately took charge of his patient.
He bit back a snort. She epitomized Caitlyn’s crazy BITCH acronym: Boys I’m Taking Charge Here. He scooted back to his jump seat with relief. He’d let her do just that. Here was most definitely a situation where being female held a distinct advantage.
Ian glanced at the hoist operator, certain his own face mirrored the dumfounded look he saw. He’d heard about a new female rescue swimmer joining their air station. Hell, his buddy Joe had talked—no, complained—about it all week.
Stupid really, Joe was a damn good hoist operator and flight mechanic. Besides, Ian had reasoned, any chick that made it out of swimmer’s school probably weighed two hundred pounds and could bench-press the likes of Joe. He eyed the female swimmer again. Nope, he doubted she’d tip the scale at a hundred pounds soaking wet.
The swimmer’s gentle but firm movements calmed the girl, while her less patient gestures to him were obviously commands meant to be followed. Hell, he didn’t mind playing Nancy-nurse under the circumstances. Her short cap of mink-dark hair, slicked back from the water, exposed the delicate bones of her face.
He narrowed his eyes. Something about her looked familiar.
The pilot announced their approach to a local medical facility and Ian retreated to one of the bulkhead seats again and strapped in, his mind spinning. Could they have met outside of the Coast Guard?
Like a one-two knockout punch from a ringer in a fight, air escaped his lungs. He turned his attention back to the efficient fluid movements of the swimmer as she settled into the seat beside him. With an absent motion he’d seen before, she tunneled her fingers through her closely cropped hair.
Oh yeah, he’d seen her before all right. Hell, he’d been lusting after her.
She’d been drunker than a skunk. Kelly. That was the name she’d given him. No last name, and he hadn’t asked. He assessed her actions more closely.
Nothing in her demeanor gave any hint of the incapacitated state he’d last seen her in. Lines of tension around her eyes could be caused as much by a world-class hangover as stress from the rescue.
He’d spent half the night wondering why she’d looked so damn sad. And drank enough to be fried in short order.
Ian had a hard time meshing the two very different images of her. The woman who moved with utter control sitting next to him now, to the one who’d had tears swimming in her eyes when he’d bundled her into a cab after refusing her blatant invitation to go home with her.
Hell, and now they’d be working together. Thank God he hadn’t given in to pure male instinct.
* * *
Kelly rolled her shoulders and sipped the last of the slightly burnt coffee, sitting in the mostly empty break room near the air station’s hangar. She was dead on her feet but still jumpy. Maybe a couple ibuprofen would ease the drive to the marina where she lived.
The familiar sound of aircraft taking off and landing made her feel at home. She’d grown up on and around naval airbases all around the world. And she’d been working on Coast Guard air stations for the last four years.
A glance at her dive watch made her wince. Not even seven o’clock and she wanted nothing more exciting than to curl up in the stateroom of her boat and fall asleep. An unwanted memory of a smaller fur-lined V-berth, littered with obscene-looking sex toys, surfaced in her weary brain. If that boat had broken up when it hit the rocks, the girl could have drowned—
“Hey Bishop, no frowning. You done good out there.”
The deep voice made Kelly jump, knocking over the empty foam cup. A large hand grabbed for the cup when she did, completely smothering hers and making her jump again. But the shock was of a more basic origin. Heat spiraled through her before climbing her neck. She snatched her hand out of his obvious hold.
Kelly found some consolation in his sudden look of discomfort. Maybe the touch had been as confusing to him as it had been to her? She blinked and sanity returned. Ha, not likely. From his dark good looks he was probably used to charming anything that wore a bra. More likely her blush had surprised him. After all, most guys didn’t see her as a woman—just a buddy they could talk to about their girlfriend problems.
“You okay?” His voice softened and he settled onto the chair across the table from her.
Dark eyebrows arched over Caribbean-blue eyes—a color unexpected with his olive skin tone and almost black hair. A color not easily forgotten…
Kelly frowned. “Have we met before?” Maybe they’d crossed paths at a training facility. She’d heard someone mention his status as a Health Services Tech, so they’d both spent time training in Petaluma, California.
Now it was his turn to look rattled. Holy turbine failure, did she see a blush staining the hard edges of his cheekbones? Just how many beers had she—
no, oh, God, no
. She slammed her eyes closed on the insidious vision that rapped gleefully on her pounding head.
They’d met, all right. And not at some long-ago training facility. No, more like just last night during her almost-meltdown. She lowered her head till it rested on the cool Formica of the table. “Shoot me, or go away. But do not, I repeat, do not be sitting across from me when I raise my head from this table.”
