American Made (Against the Tides #2) by Katheryn Kiden

suit, tug my harness straps tighter, and stare out the window into the pitch black. So far there has been no signs of the boat we got called out for. That’s never a good thing.
    I hate search and rescue missions because I never know what we’re going to find, if anything at all. Having to go home empty-handed and watch the hope drain from people’s faces when we tell them that we couldn’t find their loved ones is the worst part of this job.
    When the call first came in we all thought it was a joke. I mean, seriously, who the hell names a damn boat The Pearl Necklace? I laughed, I won’t lie, my mind instantly took that and made it dirty. To top it off they stated that the captain’s name is Sebastio Alexander. Who the hell comes up with a name like that? First, I wondered if that was what the captain was thinking when he picked the name of the boat, then my mind skid head first into imagining myself giving Emerson a pearl necklace of my own. As soon as I realized it wasn’t a joke I felt like the biggest asshole in the world and snapped into action, forcing Emerson to the back of my mind even though that is the last place I want her.
    We’ve been at this for hours now and still haven’t seen a damn thing. It’s beginning to frustrate the hell out of me. Doing searches in the daylight is one thing, but at night when you have to rely on heat sensors and radar, you hope and pray that your eyes see their emergency beacon flash or we pick up their EPRIB signal. On top of all that, it started pouring rain about an hour ago.
    From what I’ve heard over the radio, the last time anyone saw or spoke with the captain was when he was pulling out of the port in Kittery, Maine. There was a sighting about four hours ago a few miles off the coast of Marblehead but other than that, nothing. The fact that we haven’t had an update since then has us all on edge.
    Every few hours we go back to base and refuel, letting the crew that Knox is on take our spot so we don’t miss anything. With a situation like this, where there was only one person on board and no radio contact, we can’t afford to miss anything.
    Tim, the flight mechanic, taps my leg and points at the screen attached to the wall of the helicopter. It’s nothing but a tiny blip on the starboard side of the screen, but it’s more than anything we’ve seen all day. Tim calls out the coordinates so the pilot can get us closer while I get myself situated to jump. It doesn’t take long before we’re hovering where we need to be. Tim snaps his tether in place before pulling back the door and dropping to the floor so he can see. I do the same thing right beside him. I hang my head over the edge and point out everything I see through the rain as I see it when the spotlight scans over it.
    “I don’t see the vessel but it looks like he’s on an emergency raft. It looks like the raft is capsized as well and he’s just layin’ on top of it to stay out of the water.”
    After we figure out that there is actually a person on top of that raft, everything happens in a rush. With a water temperature that isn’t even sixty degrees and no clue how long he’s actually been in the water, there is no way to know how bad the guy’s situation is until I get down there. I snap the hook on the end of the line to my harness and pull my goggles into place.
    Tim waits for me to signal that I’m ready before he pushes the button to activate the line. My ass lifts off the floor of the helicopter and I give him a thumbs up to tell him I’m good to go down. “Load check,” he says, his voice filling my ears. “Load check complete.” I push away from door and dangle, being lowered slowly. “Swimmer out the door.”
    This is what I live for. I love the heart in your throat feeling as you’re suspended in midair. There’s something about not knowing what’s going to happen that gives you a rush even though it scares the hell out of you at the same time.
    The second I hit the water,