Some wrecks are meant to stay buried. Some secrets refuse to drown.
A year ago, the Vigilant vanished off the Oregon coast during a classified mission. All hands were presumed lost—until Coast Guard officer Saylor O’Conner was found days later, half-frozen and barely alive in a battered Zodiac. She survived, but her memories of what happened aboard the doomed vessel remain fractured, obscured by trauma and fear.
Now, she’s trying to rebuild a quiet life in Raven’s Cliff, where the fog conceals more than just the coastline. But someone hasn’t forgotten what happened at sea — and they’ve just found her.
Zain Everett, former Army Ranger turned SAR specialist, knows what it’s like to carry guilt that won’t let go. His last mission cost lives — lives he couldn’t save. And now, with danger closing in on Saylor, he can’t afford to miss a single sign.
She stirs something in him he thought long dead. And as threats close in, and old ghosts surface, Zain and Saylor are pulled into a storm far more treacherous than the one that nearly claimed her life. Because someone is willing to kill to keep the truth buried — and this time, they’ll make sure she doesn’t survive it.
The Vigilant.
US Coast Guard contract research vessel.
Classified mission off the Oregon Coast.
Footsteps.
Tapping along the metal corridor. Fast, but controlled. The kind that generally proceeded a raid. Stopping and starting, what sounded like rusted hinges echoing in the spaces between. As if they were checking every hatch — searching for something.
Someone.
Lieutenant Commander Saylor O’Conner staggered to her feet, clutching her head as pain pulsed through her temples, ricocheting across her skull and into her chest. She took a step, tripping against the wall when everything shifted — left and right until she thought she’d puke.
She palmed the handle of her weapon, her mind scratching at the emptiness where her memories should be. Some explanation as to why she’d entered the researcher’s storage room. Why the thought of those men opening the door sent a shiver down her spine when she suspected they were part of the crew. Teammates she’d worked with for the past week.
Another creak.
Closer. Maybe two rooms over. Barely enough distance to get it all straight in her head.
She drew herself up and pushed off the wall when that tone sounded again. The same one that had caused her to tumble onto the grated floor a moment ago. Louder, this time. Deeper. Rattling through her head, splintering any remaining thoughts. She took a breath, blacked out for a second, until those footsteps started up again.
The hatch to the room next to hers opened, the telltale screech of metal-on-metal making her eye twitch. She drew her gun, hands shaking, vision nothing more than a pinhole centered on the door when shouts erupted in the corridor.
Everything froze, an eerie silence weighing down the already thick air until it shifted — sped up. A lone reply, then gunfire boomed through the hallways, pinging off the metal walls, drowning out everything but that damn tone, echoing through the hull. Exploding inside her head like a frag grenade.
Men yelled outside the door. Footsteps raced down the corridor. The sounds all mixing together until they faded into the lingering strum vibrating through the walls. The underlying thrash of her pulse in her head.
Saylor blinked, rousing god knew how much later. Her ass once again planted on the metal grates. Her weapon resting against her palm. Hints of smoke and diesel hung in the air, a motor humming in the distance. She crawled to her feet, the floor still tilting beneath her as she pressed her ear against the hatch.
Nothing.
No murmurs, no tapping. Just the hull groaning against the surge of the ocean. The ship listing sharply to port.
She took a breath, then inched open the door. Deep shadows filled the corridor, the odd, dull emergency light glowing amidst the darkness.
Had they been attacked?
Suffered some sort of catastrophic failure from the inbound storm?
Or had she imagined everything? The voices. The sharp bursts of semi-automatic gunfire. The fear of being discovered.
The Vigilant rocked, slamming her against the wall. Pain sparked through her shoulder, clearing some of the fuzziness. She took a step, found her balance, then shuffled down the corridor. She glanced into the open rooms, frowning at strewn papers and abandoned tech. Drops of blood trailed along the metal floor, a bloody handprint smeared across the stairwell frame.
That helped her focus. Had her winding her way up the stairs to the next level. She’d check the crew’s quarters, first, then make her way to the bridge. Either the captain or the rear admiral would have the answers. She just needed to stay coherent long enough to sweep the ship.
Another pulse derailed those efforts. Had her bent over, her hip pressed against the wall, her hands braced on her knees. She concentrated on drawing air in, then pushing it out. Anything to keep the dots from eating up the rest of her vision. Dropping her where she stood.
The tone lasted longer than before, ringing through the hallway until it finally faded, only a deep vibration lingering in the air. Hovering just out of sight. She did her best to stumble the rest of the way, checking each room until she reached the far end. Distant voices traveled down the stairwell, the ghostly sounds mixing with that faint echo.
Another bloody handprint had her clearing the adjoining stairs before slowly climbing them. Dragging her shoulder along the wall in case the boat tilted — tumbled her over the rail.
Reaching the upper level without falling two flights seemed like a shining success until she tripped onto the deck — took stock. Thick, dark clouds filled the horizon, heavy rain cutting down the visibility to some ridiculously small margin. Thunder rumbled in the distance as lightning danced across the waves, each flicker providing a snapshot of the storm’s progression.
Another violent surge impacted the hull, tossing the massive ship amidst the towering swells. Water crashed across the bow, spreading the width of the deck, tumbling down the stairwell, then retreating over the edge.
She stumbled onto the walkway, gripping any available surface like a lifeline as she picked her way toward the bridge. She got halfway to the front stairwell when another deep pulse boomed beneath her. The force knocked her onto her ass as the ship’s lights surged, glowing twice as bright before exploding in a shower of glass and filaments — plunging the Vigilant into utter darkness.
Pain clouded her vision, every thought quickly crushed by the endless humming inside her head. Thunder bellowed around her and pressure cinched around her chest as she fought to draw in a hint of air. When her head had cleared enough, she pulled herself upright, legs shaking, her vision a mix of blurry gray bulkheads and black dots. Deep shadows engulfed the ship, any hint of light extinguished along with her sanity. But she managed to unclip her flashlight from her belt and grope her way along.
Were those lights flashing in the distance? Red and green? Slowly getting closer?
She blinked, nearly fell, then scanned the surface.
Nothing. No lights. No boats. Just endless cresting waves curling across the ocean.
Saylor gave herself a mental shake, then tumbled through the hatch and into the stairwell. The Vigilant tilted with the next wave, staying slightly off-kilter, this time, as lightning flashed beyond the windows. She staggered up the short flight, her stomach threatening to empty from the constant bouncing of the small beam, as she reached the bridge. She took a breath, shoved open the door, then peered inside.
Shadows filled the room, the helm aimlessly turning with the current. She stepped across the threshold, falling against the rear bulkhead when the ship tipped up, cresting a huge wave before dropping off the other side. Water sprayed across the glass as the vessel bobbed aimlessly along the surface.
They should be moving. Making a run for the coast before the storm cracked the damn ship in two. The welds on hull were already singing. An eerie tone she knew preceded the catastrophic failure she’d been thinking about. The kind legends were wrought from. Except where she couldn’t quite remember how to get the ship going. Which levers to push. How to activate the beacon.
Had they lost power?
She scanned the instruments, trying to get a single thought to take hold, when she spotted someone sprawled across the floor. She tripped her way over, then stopped dead.
“Captain Baker?”
Blood pooled beneath his body, his eyes open, unseeing. Saylor went to her knees, felt for a pulse. Cold skin greeted her fingers, the mere press of it roiling her stomach. She grabbed his shoulder — turned him onto his back.
Three hits.
All one grouping. What looked like a single pull from a semi-automatic.
Had she heard gunfire?
She glanced at her weapon. Had she fired?
Another pulse.
Stronger than before. As if it lived in the air around her. Had taken on a life of its own. A few sparks erupted from the navigational panels, a tendril of fire brightening the darkness. Destroying any hope of using the radio.
She stood, attempted to puzzle it all out, when the unforgiving truth hit her hard. Based on the sounds, the emptiness, the crew had either abandoned ship or been taken hostage. Likely by the men she’d heard. But hadn’t they been Maddox’s men?
More pain arced through her temples, the cold bite of reality driving home. Either she stayed and went down with the ship, or she headed for the stern — prayed the Zodiac hadn’t been compromised.
The next massive swell got her moving. Stumbling her way back down the stairs and onto the deck. She grabbed the railing with one hand, her weapon still gripped in the other, then started moving. Slowly. Each step harder than the last. She passed where the starboard lifeboat should have been, noting the empty lines, then kept going, tripping her way to the stern.
The thirty-foot Zodiac hung several feet off the deck, the side closest dipping at an odd angle, the broken line from the rigging snapping in the wind. It wasn’t her first choice as an escape vessel, the overhead canopy barely enough to protect from regular rain, let alone the deluge falling around her. And the mix of fiberglass and inflatable tubing might not withstand the sheer force of the surging waves, but it beat dying on the deck of the Vigilant.
The harness console was dead, but she managed to access the manual override. The wind whipped ocean spray and rain across her face as she worked the lever, inching the boat lower. The Vigilant continued to thrash, each pounding wave tipping it a bit more. A few more massive hits, and the ship would surrender.
A hint of movement startled her, and she spun, weapon sweeping the deck, her ass braced against the console. A lone figure stood in the shadows, hood pulled up over his head. He turned, froze, staring at her until a flash of lightning illuminated his face.
She inhaled, nearly tripping onto one knee when the deck rose sharply, hanging at a forty-five before slamming back down. She grabbed the broken line, using it for balance as the man slowly closed the distance between them.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, her pulse pounding in her head. “Maddox?”
Rear Admiral Maddox stepped into the small beam of light, mouth pinched tight, his skin almost ashen. He looked her up and down, shaking his head. “Saylor?”
She took a step, stumbling back when the line pulled her off-balance. “You’re alive?”
“Where the hell have you been?”
She frowned, wondering if she should reach out and give him a hug or apologize for not finding him sooner. “I’ve been searching the ship. But I couldn’t find…” She swallowed, gagged. “Baker’s dead.”
Maddox gaped at her, his hands fisted at his side before scrubbing one down his face. Looking at her as if he’d seen a ghost. “I thought…”
She startled at the next boom of thunder. “We have to go. The hull’s not going to last much longer.”
She turned, working that damn crank.
He shifted off to her right, each step sending another shiver down her spine, the sound reminiscent of those men. The calculated tap. The way it echoed. “I thought you were dead, already.”
Already?
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her inner voice poking at her. “I… Were we attacked? And what’s that pulse that keeps bellowing up from the hull? I can’t remember anything once it hits.”
“I’ll explain it all later.” He motioned to the crank. “Keep turning.”
She blinked, then refocused on the handle. On lowering the boat without breaking the remaining line. The wind rocked the craft sideways, tugging on the rigging until she thought it’d snap. A weight settled between her shoulders, the hairs on her neck prickling.
She stopped and waved Maddox over. “Get onboard. I can’t guarantee this line won’t break. Someone should be at the helm, just in case. If all goes well, I’ll lower it the rest of the way, then climb down.”
“I really wish it hadn’t come to this.”
“It wasn’t your fault, but I can’t leave you here.” She grabbed the other line when it looked as if it was about to let go. “We can talk once we’re underway.”
“I… I can’t… She’s been like a daughter to me.” A step. “You do it.”
She froze.
His words. That step.
Both sent off warning bells in her head. She tightened her grip on her weapon, mapping out how she’d counter a dynamic situation as she shifted her gaze to the Zodiac’s window — staring at the reflected scene behind her with the next flash. A figure stood beside Maddox, half his face hidden in shadows, a gun pointed her way. His finger moved — slid inside the trigger guard — when the ship dipped hard to starboard as a report boomed through the air. Pain tore through her shoulder blade, the force of the hit pitching her forward. The Zodiac swung, catching her in the thighs — tumbling her onto the deck as it continued through, hanging in mid-air before swinging back. She hit hard, head grazing the edge of the rear seat, her weapon sliding across the molded fiberglass and into the raging waves below.
The line snapped, dropping the Zodiac the last twenty feet into the water. The vessel bounced, nearly submerging as the Vigilant tipped, the resulting surge pushing the Zodiac away as the massive ship listed hard to port. A horn sounded in the distance, the hollow tone lingering in the air as she drifted in a numbing haze, none of the signals getting past the throbbing in her head.
Rain stung her skin, the biting wind finally rousing her. She groaned, blood mixing with the water beneath her as she rolled over — dragged her back against the seat. Thunder clapped above her, each bolt of lightning highlighting the storm. Clouds circling. Waves looming above.
Saylor swallowed, nearly blacked out, then staggered to her feet. She cradled her right arm as she stumbled to the helm, starting the engines as she scoured the horizon. The Vigilant was gone, Maddox along with it. Nothing but massive swells and raging crests in every direction.
She grabbed the first aid kit from beneath the panel, did her best to plug the hole — brace her arm enough to use the throttle.
Had she been shot?
She couldn’t remember. Couldn’t get the thoughts to stay long enough to be sure.
A whispered pep talk, and she managed to crawl across the deck — grab a life vest. Not that it would do much if she ended up in the water. But it gave her a false sense of hope. That if she pushed past her limits — rose to the challenge — she just might get to shore alive.
The Zodiac roared to life as she hit the throttle, riding the swells up, then down. She aimed the bow east, aware she’d likely capsize before she’d covered any significant distance, but she’d try. Go down fighting.
She worked the throttle, surfing the waves, using every trick she’d learned to keep the boat upright. Squeeze one more mile out of her before it all went sideways. More dots slid across her vision, the numbing cold slowly drawing her under.
The wind howled past, and the salt stung her eyes, but she kept pushing — clawing out a few more minutes of life. An ear-piercing pulse sounded in the distance, the deafening tone ringing through her head and into her chest. Rattling what was left of her thoughts and roiling her stomach, just like when she’d been back on the ship. Or maybe the noise was simply her imagination. Remnants of the Vigilant as it finally sank beneath the surface. Either way, hearing the reverberation echo as she slumped against the wheel seemed fitting, that ominous tone following her into the darkness.
* * *
Light.
Brighter than it should be. Burning through her eyelids. Too white to be the sun. More like a spotlight. The same intensity she’d seen on the ship a moment before the bulbs had exploded.
Saylor inhaled, adrenaline spiking her heart rate as she pried open her eyelids. The harsh glare roiled her stomach, and she turned — dry heaving over the edge — her cheek braced against a metal railing.
Gentle hands brushed back her hair, a soft, cool towel dabbing her forehead. “Easy. You’re still too weak to be up and about. Sleep.”
That voice. She recognized it. What was her name?
The thought drifted with her in a numbing haze, weaving in and out of the images flashing in her head. The remnants of a memory trying to take shape. There had been shouting and chaos — footsteps racing along the hallways — then some kind of pulse that had dropped her to her knees…
Saylor inhaled as she bolted upright, lines and stitches tugging against her skin. She held that breath, swaying as pain shot through her back, then into her chest, dimming the room until it was all she could do just to sit there and breathe.
Someone cursed, then bridged her weight, shoving a couple pillows behind her back as they grunted. “If you pull out your stitches or fall over that railing, the doctor’s gonna put you back into an induced coma.”
Saylor waited for the room to stabilize, then focused on the person’s face. She blinked a few times, a name tumbling over in her head before she relaxed. “Mac?”
Mackenzie Parker, Coast Guard pilot and Saylor’s best friend, smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You remember, this time. That’s good.”
“This time?”
Two words — three including Mackenzie’s name — and it had drained her. Had black streaks cutting in from the sides of her vision.
Mac sighed. “You opened your eyes a couple times, but you weren’t really awake. Not that you look like you’re gonna last more than a few minutes, now. But at least, you seem more aware.”
“What…”
Had talking always hurt this much? Pulsed pain through her temples? Had her chest constricting around each breath?
Mac frowned. “You don’t remember?”
Saylor shook her head.
“What’s the last thing you do remember?”
Saylor swallowed. “Boarding the Vigilant for an inspection with Rear Admiral Maddox, then…”
Mac pursed her lips. “That was three weeks ago.”
“Three…” Saylor frowned. “Was there a storm?”
She palmed her head, crying out as pain shot through her temples, more images trying to claw free. Lights on the water. The missing lifeboat. Blood soaking her clothes.
Mac paled. “Easy. It’s not important. The doctor said you might have memory issues for a while. But they’ll likely return over time. Rest. We’ll try again once you’re stronger.”
Saylor snagged Mac’s hand, holding it tight until Mac leaned over her. She wet her lips, hoping she got out all the words before she faded. “What about Maddox? Where’s everyone else?”
Mac pursed her lips, eyes glassy as she gave Saylor’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Saylor, they’re all dead.”
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