Chapter 19
Triton
I OPENED MY EYES, THE darkness under our rowboat-turned-shelter competing with the light from the dawn coming from outside. From the amount of light and the way I could see color beyond the boat, it was just after sunrise, which made it the third day we’d been here.
And we hadn’t so much as seen a dolphin ripple in the ocean since we’d arrived. No fishing vessels, no pleasure cruisers, certainly no vessels of war, though I hadn’t expected any of those. I hadn’t even seen a commercial flight pass overhead.
But I had to keep vigilant. It would likely be either Japanese or Russian ships if I saw someone out there. And with either one, I could explain the situation to them and probably get us back to the States in a few days.
After two days had gone by, Ashley had suggested we move our camp to the cave we’d found on the side of the hill-mountain. But I knew we needed to be as close to the beach as possible, giving us the best chance to flag down a passing ship.
She’d also asked if anyone was going to come looking for us. Would my commander realize my team and I hadn’t responded? Would he send someone to look for us?
I had to be blunt, that, no, he probably would not. Our mission had been too much of a secret, too politically fraught, and if members of an elite US Naval force had been found on a contested island, the resulting tensions would be dangerous. I’d watched as the small light of hope had died from her eyes as she’d turned from me to stare out at the vast expanse of sea.
I hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up.
Secretly, I knew my commander. He would say one thing but do what it took to bring his men home, whatever the political cost. Whether he was looking for the rest of our team and me was debatable, but he might already have something out there.
But would anyone ever think to look at this island? I didn’t want to get her hopes up.
That said, life on the island wasn’t bad. Ashley made my stomach clench in ways I’d never felt before. Her bright smiles and laughter, the way she moved, unconsciously graceful, full of energy and life, and so many questions it made my ears ring. She must have been good at her job, but I certainly wasn’t used to the barrage of words coming my way.
Then again, at least it was noise in the endless stream of unpeopled quiet.
Did she talk this much at home when there wasn’t as much silence to fill?
Probably.
I also admired the creative uses she’d found for odds and ends on the island; the bamboo water pitcher, utensils, and plates, a makeshift dress out of some of the canvas from the boat she was wearing like some kind of sarong. We’d even hiked back to the other side of the island to gather some of the marshy reed grass. We’d returned with bundles in our arms, one of which she’s turned into a passable basket for pears after telling me she’d seen several women make them in a Southeast Asian fishing village. She was trying to make the other bundle into shoes or at least rudimentary sandals so our hikes for supplies wouldn’t be so hard on our feet. So far, she hadn’t had much luck.
However, she had managed to fashion a fascinating healing splint out of bamboo leaves. As she’d worked, laying on slightly bruised leaf after slightly bruised leaf, then securing it with more string from the blankets, she’d told me about several newly published papers she’d read that examined the benefits of bamboo for wound care. Having had to change my bandage and without a first-aid kit, I’d agreed to the experiment. Now, two days in, the pain was beginning to diminish, and the wound was starting to heal, thanks to her knowledge and careful ministrations.
But more than her surprising abilities, I found myself wanting to be with her. Whether it was because she was the only other human on his island, I didn’t know. Traditionally, I enjoyed being alone—it was my natural state and had been since my earliest years. Whenever I wasn’t on duty or with my brothers or my family, I was out in nature, fishing, hunting, and camping. I had no problem with silence, with being by myself—I preferred it. It meant I had no one to answer to, no one who had expectations I would keep up a conversation or do something for them. All I had to handle was myself.
But I found myself enjoying how Ashley could keep up a conversation entirely by herself, rambling on about her life, family, and work, which I frequently didn’t understand. I loved watching her move around camp or the way she unconsciously moved closer to me at night when she was still asleep. And the sex, well, I’d never experienced anything like it.
I didn’t believe in soul mates. I didn’t believe in any type of relationship, really. Women had always been like tissue paper to me—I used them and moved on. I’d usually attracted women who felt the same. A one-night stand was all they’d wanted, or maybe a few more intense days than that. Then I would leave, back on duty, and that would be that. I didn’t even have any of their phone numbers on my phone. Those who hoped for something more usually got the hint when I disappeared on a mission and failed to turn back up.
But there was something about this woman made me want to spend time with her and seek her out. And as time went on and we spent every minute of every day together, I didn’t think it was entirely the traumatic way we’d ended up together, either.
It was different. She was different.
My eyes sought her, my attention sought her, my hands sought her hands, her body, her touch. When she responded with a smile or twined her fingers in mine, it made something inside me feel brighter, more alive.
I’d never felt this way about anyone before, and I didn’t know what it meant. My mother would know, I was sure, smiling and making half-sensical comments that she thought I couldn’t understand or couldn’t hear. It would all be well-meaning and come from a place of love and wanting me to be happy. But I was perfectly fine on my own, to have the freedom to do what I wanted when I wanted.
So, why did the thought of living that freedom without Ashley in my life make my chest tighten?
The last of the night insects were dying down, a soft breeze ruffling the canvas that smelled of the ocean and sea grasses, and a line of bright light just under the boat's gunwale told me day would soon break.
Growing up, we had all risen with the sun, my father bellowing at us if we had the temerity to want to lounge in bed instead of seizing the day. The habit became ingrained, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in. Maybe the last time I’d been shot and had had to stay in the hospital. That was what it took to keep me down.
But, with Ashley still asleep and curled into me, I found myself unwilling to get up, and dozing, too comfortable to ruin the moment.
I was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when something startled me fully awake. I didn’t move for a moment, barely daring to breathe and I listened intently.
The sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, every muscle tensing. Somehow, I managed to slip away from Ashley and out from under the boat, padding down the beach towards the sound.
Ducking behind a rock, I was grateful that most of the beach, especially the part where Ashely still slept, was hidden from view when approaching the island from the water.
The sound, as I’d first suspected, was a boat—a black powerboat bobbing in the water just beyond the shore. And two men were swimming toward the island.
Instinctively, I knew they weren’t Russian, and they weren’t Japanese.
They were the terrorist cell, and they’d found us.