The Captain's Lady
Read The Captain's Lady Online
Authors: Lorhainne Eckhart
Tags: #Ship Captains, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Kidnap, #Contemporary, #General, #Romance, #Navy, #military, #Fiction, #Love Stories
The Wild Rose Press
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Copyright ©2008 by Lorhainne Ekelund
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
CONTENTS
* * * *
"We have no reports of a ship in distress in the area, Captain."
"What about fishing boats?"
"No, sir, no reports."
Looking once more at his first officer, Eric issued curt orders, the harshness grating in his voice. “Send a rescue team to check it out."
Handing the binoculars off to one of the crew members, he strode with determination off the bridge, heading directly to the ship's launch. His well-trained crew scurried about. Joe appeared at his side and they watched from the rail as the small rigid hull sped off in the direction of the dinghy. His pulse rose and the dampness on his back soaked through his short-sleeved shirt.
"So what do you think?” Joe leaned on the rail, uncertainty clear in the crinkle of his brows.
"Don't know, dammit.” Eric focused on the scene unfolding in the distance. Again he commandeered the binoculars from Joe and scrutinized the three-man team approaching, then securing the boat to the dinghy.
His senses were keen; over the years, he'd learned to trust them. The uneasiness that crept its way into his gut, the hairs now standing up on the back of his neck and the racing of his heart; this unshakable feeling was telling him that things were about to change—drastically. Puzzled, he felt the mounting frustration build inside, along with something else he could not quite put his finger on. Shaking his head, he realized it was not a feeling of dread.
The crackle of the radio interrupted his speculation. A voice from the rescue team came over the line. “There's someone in here, a woman, and she's in bad shape."
The Captain's Lady
by
Lorhainne Eckhart
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Captain's Lady
COPYRIGHT ©
2008 by Lorhainne Ekelund
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Angela Anderson
The Wild Rose Press
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Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
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Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2009
Print ISBN 1-60154-383-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my children.
You are my inspiration to reach out
and go after my dreams.
Here's to our new beginning—
it's going to be an awesome ride.
Chapter One
Saturday, June 19, 2004
The Northern Arabian Gulf
Abby Carlton yearned to quench her powerful thirst. She gazed with longing at the glimmer of dew clinging to the dark rubber sides of the dinghy. Then fear struck deep, as she peered with slow deliberation into the muted shadows cast over the water. She scanned the horizon as the sun began its powerful ascent into the sky.
With the appearance of the sun, the heat soared. How would she endure another day under the blazing yellow orb? The intense humidity was smothering; something as simple as breathing took gargantuan effort. Abby leaned her head back on the edge of the boat, absorbing the silky lull of the wind blowing gently from the northwest. She listened to the rhythmic thud of the water against the sides. The present fear, piercing and deep, spoke two simple words,
'he's coming he's coming
.’ For a short moment, she wondered if she'd gone stark, raving insane. The she realized with a pang of embarrassment that it was just the slap of the water against the rubber.
Or was it?
A pain doubled her into the fetal position. The sharp, cutting jolt radiated from her mid-section, and shot in all directions. “Don't move,” she told herself. “It will pass."
At least, she prayed it would.
To distract herself, she gazed at the infinite stretch of horizon, seeing nothing but stark blue, endless water. She allowed a sigh of relief to escape her parched lips. In spite of what would probably be a fatal predicament, there was one thing to be thankful for. He had not found her. Whatever death she faced from starvation or dehydration—it was nothing to what Seyed would do if he found her.
Abby stroked the soft mound of her belly, then enveloped it with her arms in a gentle caress. Tears streaked a slow stream down the side of her face. Would her babe taste the freedom she so desperately sought? The gentle whoosh of the sea continued to mingle with the lap of the waves against the dinghy, teasing her as she dreamed of quenching that desperate thirst.
The loose blue cotton of her dress offered little protection from the burning rays. The dark abayah she had worn lay beside her in a damp heap. She once again looked upon the splatter of blood staining the front of her dress. Though her skin was hot, a bone-numbing chill dredged itself deep in her soul.
"How will I ever survive this?"
She ran her tongue over swollen, cracked lips and cried out. Suddenly a bright light surrounded her in downy softness and overwhelming peace. Well, death wasn't so bad after all. Too bad her child would never see daylight, breathe his first breath, to know his mother.
Chapter Two
Alarms drilled in the background as the 500-foot guided missile destroyer cut a wide path through the waters of the Northern Arabian Gulf. Captain Eric Hamilton, with his commanding height of 6'2�� combined with a confidence and arrogance gifted to him from the Navy, strode onto the bridge of his ship, the USS Larsen. The raised voices of a crew on alert were his first warning of trouble brewing. Although the humidity was high even this early in the day, the beads of sweat that trailed a path down his back were more from the tension and uncertainty roiling in his gut. Moving with determination, he approached the windows spanning the width of the bridge, readily accepting the binoculars thrust into his hand.
"Captain, there's a raft just off the starboard side, can't tell from here if there's anyone or anything on it.” Lieutenant Commander Joe Reed, his good friend and current XO, Executive Officer, on this deployment, approached him from behind.
Raising the binoculars, Eric spotted the rise and sway of a black dinghy bouncing over the waves. Adrenaline surged through his veins as an alarming thought of the USS Cole bombing popped into his head.
When he shot a cursory glance to Joe, the question in Eric's eyes was clear.
What the hell's going on?
Joe shook his head and lifted a one-shoulder shrug. Eric raised the binoculars again, puzzled to see only the black rubber of the dinghy and nothing else.
"We have no reports of a ship in distress in the area, Captain,” announced the communications officer.
"What about fishing boats?"
"No, sir, no reports."
Looking once more at his first officer, Eric issued curt orders, the harshness grating in his voice. “Send a rescue team to check it out."
Handing the binoculars off to one of the crew members, he strode with determination off the bridge, heading directly to the ship's launch. His well-trained crew scurried about. Joe appeared at his side and they watched from the rail as the small rigid hull sped off in the direction of the dinghy. His pulse rose and the dampness on his back soaked through his short-sleeved shirt.
"So what do you think?” Joe leaned on the rail, uncertainty clear in the crinkle of his brows.
"Don't know, dammit.” Eric focused on the scene unfolding in the distance. Again he commandeered the binoculars from Joe and scrutinized the three-man team approaching, then securing the boat to the dinghy.
His senses were keen; over the years, he'd learned to trust them. The uneasiness that crept its way into his gut, the hairs now standing up on the back of his neck and the racing of his heart; this unshakable feeling was telling him that things were about to change—drastically. Puzzled, he felt the mounting frustration build inside, along with something else he could not quite put his finger on. Shaking his head, he realized it was not a feeling of dread.
The crackle of the radio interrupted his speculation. A voice from the rescue team came over the line. “There's someone in here, a woman, and she's in bad shape."
This was not what either of them expected. With the hostilities in the region, the possibility of a trap could not be overlooked. A brusque exchange with the communications officer and orders were relayed: bring her back, secured.
He clenched his jaw while watching the two crewmen lift a crumpled heap with long, dirty blonde hair and move her into the small rigid hull. She appeared to be unconscious, vulnerable; a sight that brought a sharp wrenching in his gut. He issued orders to summon Lieutenant Larry Saunders on deck. The current senior medical officer was visiting from the Vincent Carrier, conducting training with the onboard hospital corpsman.
The crew gathered around as a woman wearing a blue, weather-worn heap of cloth was gently lowered to the deck.
"Move back, let me through!” Larry pushed his solid 5'9” frame between the assemblage of elbows. He squatted over the young woman. A blanket appeared and several hands gently laid it over the girl. The mumblings of the crew and heightened emotions earned a stern reprimand from Joe, with a demand for order.
Eric was stunned by the emotions that flowed through him just watching the stillness in the battered and bruised face. Her eyes were closed; her breathing shallow. Larry bent over and began his examination. The woman began tossing her head back and forth. A moan escaped the blistered lips. Her eyes struggled to open.