Page 45 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

THIRTY-NINE

Safe Harbor

ALLY

Carter immediately swings our boat around, bringing us alongside the damaged vessel. Water pours through multiple tears in their hull, the pumps clearly losing the battle.

“Transfer now.” Ethan already moves Rebel toward our RIB.

What follows is a desperate scramble as we try to transfer six people from a sinking boat to ours—already crowded with eight. The RIBs knock together in the swells, making the transfers treacherous. Jeb nearly falls between the boats before Rigel catches his vest.

Jenna comes across next, then Mia. Ethan passes Rebel carefully to Carter and Blake, who lower her into our craft. Walt leaps across last as his boat settles deeper into the water.

A massive wave hits us broadside. The boats slam together violently. Blake, positioned at the edge helping Walt, pitches backward into the churning sea.

“Man overboard!” Carter shouts.

Before anyone reacts, Gabe dives.

For a heartbeat, time fractures. One second he’s there—solid, alive, mine—and the next, he’s gone again. A blur of movement swallowed by black water.

No.

My breath catches, lungs refusing to believe. Last time I saw him disappear, it was into flames. Into silence. Into death.

“Gabe!” I lunge toward the side. Rigel holds me back.

Eternal seconds pass. I scan the water, desperate for any sign. Please, not again. Not after getting them back.

Gabe breaks the surface first—violent, gasping, a dark shape erupting from the black water like something torn from the deep. He spins, scanning. Eyes locked. Focused. Terrifying in his precision.

Then—there. A ripple. A glint of gear.

He dives back under without hesitation.

Seconds stretch. My heart stops.

Then he hauls Blake up—fist gripped in the shoulder rig of his tactical vest, dragging him like dead weight. Blake sputters, coughing seawater, eyes barely conscious. His arm hangs limp, probably dislocated.

But Gabe doesn’t slow.

He swims hard, one arm towing Blake, the other carving through water. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Just raw, unrelenting will.

I scramble to the edge of the boat, reaching for them, my voice raw from screaming. “Here! Gabe—here!”

His eyes lock on mine.

And suddenly I can breathe again.

Carter maneuvers our overloaded RIB around. Every hand reaches out as we haul the soaking men aboard. Gabe collapses on the deck, coughing up seawater, his injured leg bleeding freely now.

I clutch his shoulders, dragging him up onto the slick deck. Water pours off him. Blood too. He coughs once, eyes finding mine through the chaos.

I press my forehead to his, fingers trembling as they dig into his shoulders. Relief crashes so hard it’s nearly rage.

“You idiot,” I whisper against his skin. “You could’ve drowned.”

“Couldn’t lose another one.” His eyes meet mine, water streaming from his hair.

The sinking RIB disappears beneath the waves behind us, taking with it some of the men’s weapons and gear. Our remaining boat sits dangerously low in the water with fourteen people aboard.

“We need to lighten.” Ethan scans the overcrowded boat. “Anything non-essential goes overboard.”

We dump spare gear, empty cases, anything we can live without. Carter coaxes a few more knots from the straining engines. We continue our desperate flight, everyone scanning the horizon for more pursuers.

Time blurs. I divide my attention between Hank’s deathly still form and Gabe’s barely conscious one. Both are losing blood. Both keep fighting. I won’t lose either of them. Not now.

The eastern horizon begins to lighten. The first hint of dawn breaks over the ocean.

“Contact ahead.” Ethan trains binoculars forward. “Hold positions.”

I tense, expecting more drones. Instead, the ghostly silhouette of a ship emerges on the horizon. A fishing trawler, weathered and unremarkable.

“Authentication protocols active.” Ethan checks through comms.

The trawler’s lights blink in a specific pattern. Ethan responds with a flashlight, matching the sequence.

“We’re clear.” Relief edges into his clipped tone. “Approach port side.”

As we draw alongside, figures move on deck—medics and security personnel. They throw down lines and secure our RIB.

We made it. Not intact. Not unchanged. But enough to fight another day. And that’s everything.

“Wounded first,” Ethan orders.

Hands reach down for Hank. I clutch his tactical vest, reluctant to let go.

“Ally.” Gabe stands somehow beside me. “Let them take him. Best chance he has.”

I release my grip. Watch as they lift Hank’s limp form onto the trawler. Medical personnel immediately surround him.

Rebel goes next, then Jenna. Gabe tries to wave off assistance but collapses when he puts weight on his leg. Walt and Blake haul him up despite his protests.

One by one, we climb aboard. Exhaustion hits me as my feet touch the deck—bone-deep, mind-numbing fatigue that makes my knees buckle. Someone catches me before I hit the deck.

The RIB is stripped of anything useful, then scuttled. No evidence left behind.

I move to stand beside Gabe as a medic cuts away his pant leg, revealing the full extent of his wound. Infection is already setting in. His hand finds mine, squeezes.

“You found us.” The words barely make it past the lump in my throat.

Gabe’s gaze locks on mine. Fierce. Raw. “I’d walk through hell to find you. And I did.”

His hand tightens around mine.

Dawn spills across the deck like a promise we’re not sure we deserve.

But we’re still here. Bleeding. Breathing.

And I swear to whatever’s left of the stars—I’ll never let them go again.

I look around at the survivors scattered across the deck. Soaked, bloodied, traumatized—but alive. The women I’ve come to see as sisters during our captivity. The men who came through hell to find us.

Not all whole. Not all intact. But alive.

Gabe’s eyes close as the pain meds finally take effect. I keep hold of his hand, watching his chest rise and fall. A medic calls out from Hank’s side—something about blood pressure dropping. More urgent activity.

I want to go to him, but the medics swarm him, fighting to save his life.

Dawn breaks fully across the water. Light catches the tears streaming down my face.

We made it out. But I know in my bones, we’re not done. Not by a long shot.