Danger In The Deep. Karen Kirst

kids’ whispers carried through the carpeted tunnel, and he wondered how long it would be before the sugar and excitement wore off. He shifted onto his side and became engrossed with the sea turtle who, because of buoyancy issues resulting from his accident, swam with his tail pointed to the ceiling. The turtle had captured the group’s interest, and they’d peppered Olivia with questions. She’d been a wonderful host...patient, friendly and composed. He’d picked up on subtle signs of her distress—a flash in her eyes, a tremor in hand—only because he’d known what to look for. He had to give her credit for holding it together.

      His lids fluttered closed, only to pop open at the sound of a terror-filled scream.

      “Did you hear that, Captain?” Michael, bedded down a couple of feet away, scooted deeper into his sleeping bag.

      “Stay put. I’m going to check it out.”

      Grabbing his flashlight from his pack, Brady instructed everyone to remain in place. Norman left his spot at the tunnel entrance and paced among the now quiet kids. Brady hurried through the space, expecting to encounter Olivia. But when he reached the end, he saw that her cot was empty.

      Dread winged through him. He jogged through the hallway and poked his head into the women’s restroom.

      “Olivia? You in here?”

      Not a single sound interrupted the socket lights’ buzz. A sense of urgency gripped him. Calling her name, he continued down the hall and rounded the corner into the escalator area. The space was open to the second story and, thanks to the wall of glass, afforded an expansive view of the River Expedition building and waterfront. Striding beneath the twin escalators, he approached the doors.

      A reflection in the glass diverted his attention. Pivoting, he probed the space with his gaze and realized the out-of-place shadow wasn’t a trick of the light. It was a person, sprawled at the bottom of the steep escalators. Long black hair fanned across the shiny floor grate. A ribbon of dark liquid glistened beneath her cheek.

       Olivia.

      She wasn’t moving.

      Could she be—

      Derek had been like that, too, his face locked in forever sleep.

      Brady forced his leaden feet into motion. At her side, he fell to his knees and felt for a pulse. The breath whooshed from his lungs. Not dead.

       Thank you, Lord.

      “Olivia, can you hear me?” He searched for the blood source and discovered a deep gash behind her right ear.

      She reacted to his probing fingers with an agonized moan. She flinched away from him, her pupils dilated in fear.

      “It’s me, Brady. I’m here to help.”

      Her forehead pinched. When she attempted to sit up, she hissed and cradled her arm against her chest.

      Brady reached out but didn’t touch her. “What happened?”

      Glancing at the floor above, she grimaced. “Someone pushed me.”

      Moving to shield her from further threat, he gauged the distance of her fall. Anger bubbled beneath his skin. “Did you see who did it?”

      “No.”

      Questions piled up, but he tabled them. She’d suffered a terrible fall and likely had a concussion. The prospect of internal injuries worried him. “Where else do you hurt?”

      “I’m sore all over, but my arm aches when I move it.”

      “I’m going to call for an ambulance. In the meantime, we should wait somewhere more secure. Do you think you can walk?”

      “No ambulance.” She attempted to get up and faltered.

      Brady gingerly placed his arm around her waist and helped her stand. She weaved on her feet and sank against him, her breaths coming in uneven bursts. His worry ratcheted up a notch.

      “You’re going to the hospital.”

      With her cheek pressed against his chest, she murmured, “Police and EMTs will end the kids’ night on a sour note.”

      “There’s no getting around that, Olivia,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual. Her concern for the kids in this moment meant a lot.

      “I’ll answer the questions and fill out a report, just not here.”

      That she was continuing to lean on him was testament of her distress. Perceiving his unspoken wishes in the initial weeks of their acquaintance, she’d been careful to keep her distance. He hadn’t noticed the differences in their heights before—the top of her head came even with his chin—or the sweet scent clinging to her skin. Or was it her shampoo?

      Brady’s hold on her tightened.

      “I’ll take you in my truck.”

      She straightened and edged out of his sheltering embrace, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. “The kids—”

      “Norman and Dana will contact their parents to let them know what’s happening. The field trip will be cut short, but they’ll be safe in their homes. Maybe we can try this again at a later date.”

      He texted instructions to Norman to bring his pack and Olivia’s phone, which she’d left on her cot. Brady guided her to a wooden bench and sat down beside her. Was her attacker hanging around to discover the outcome of his actions? The unknowns frustrated him. In real-life military missions, his objectives were clearly laid out and his adversary established. He had no idea if this person was aiming to scare Olivia or end her.

      Despite the comfortable temperature inside the aquarium, a chill washed over him, raising the hair on his arms.

      He extracted a clean cotton T-shirt from his pack and held it up. “This will stem the bleeding.”

      Not waiting for her response, he gently swept her hair behind her shoulder and placed the folded material against her wound. Her lips pressed together. “I know it hurts,” he murmured regretfully. “I can’t tell how deep the gash is, though.”

      She lifted her uninjured arm and held the material in place. “I hope this wasn’t one of your favorite shirts.”

      “I’m not particular about what I wear.” Growing up, he hadn’t had the luxury of caring what he wore. His grandmother had purchased his scant wardrobe from the local thrift shop because that’s all she could afford. Thanks to his career, he was either in flight suits, military-issue PT gear or dress blues. “Mind if I use your phone to call the guard?”

      She told him where to find the contact information and listened as he relayed the problem. By the time Norman located Brady’s pickup truck in the parking lot and drove it to the entrance, the guard was already there. This wasn’t the same one who’d tried to evict him. Olivia introduced him as the head of security, Don Welch. With a broad face and heavy jowls, he reminded Brady of an English bulldog, the Marine Corps mascot. His eyes snapped, and lips pulled back over his crooked teeth.

      Before they left, Norman reassured him that he would call all the parents and ensure the kids got home safely. Brady thanked him and assisted Olivia into the crisp night. Once she was settled in the passenger seat, he leaned in and fastened her seat belt, careful not to touch her injured arm. The forearm area looked pink and swollen. A quick glance at her face revealed her struggle to manage the discomfort.

      Compassion, an emotion his parents’ abandonment and military training had almost managed to mute, lodged in his chest. She didn’t deserve this.

      “I’ll try to avoid the potholes and speed bumps.”

      He hurried to the driver’s side and turned on the heater full blast. Despite his vow, he couldn’t avoid every rough road surface. Relief flooded him when the hospital sign pointed