Page 16 of Captivating Nash

The midday sun filtered through the dense foliage as Deanna followed closely behind Nash, her feet crunching over the uneven ground. The island was wild, untouched by human hands in so many places, but there was a quiet tension that clung to every tree, every rustle of leaves. The further they ventured, the more she could feel it—a shift in the air, like the island itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Nash moved with purpose, his body tense, his senses on full alert. His eyes scanned their surroundings constantly, reading the landscape with the kind of practiced vigilance that made Deanna’s stomach twist. She had never felt unsafe with him, but the way he was acting now—the way his focus had narrowed to something razor-sharp—told her that he was feeling something she couldn’t quite see.

But that didn’t stop her curiosity from bubbling up.

As they navigated deeper into the island, cutting through thick brush and climbing over rocks, Deanna’s mind was already drifting into scientific mode. The island, remote as it was, felt like an untouched paradise, with its lush vegetation and hints of wildlife she hadn’t expected. There was so much to discover here—so much life hidden beneath the surface. But that wasn’t why they were here. Not today.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Nash suddenly stopped in front of her, his arm extending to block her path. His jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on something just ahead. Deanna leaned around him, trying to get a glimpse of what had caught his attention.

And then she saw it—a second, hidden cove. It opened up ahead of them, concealed by the natural curve of the island. The water in the cove was eerily still, a stark contrast to the turbulent sea they had left behind. But it wasn’t the water that caught her attention—it was what lay half-submerged in it.

The wreckage of a ship.

Or what was left of it.

Deanna’s breath hitched in her throat as she stepped forward, her eyes widening with surprise. The remains of the vessel were scattered across the shore, pieces of metal and wood jutted out at odd angles, as if the ship had been torn apart by the rocks. But this wasn’t the typical wreckage of a ship that had met a natural end. No, there was something deliberate about it, something purposeful.

"Nash, look at this…" she murmured, her voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.

Nash didn’t respond immediately. He was already moving, his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. The wreckage was fresh—too fresh. The edges of the ship’s torn hull hadn’t rusted yet, and the scattered debris was still sharp, not weathered by time or the elements. She could tell his instincts were telling him that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Deanna crouched near a large section of the hull, running her fingers over the metal, her scientific curiosity flaring despite the danger she sensed. "This ship wasn’t destroyed naturally," she said, more to herself than to Nash. "It looks like it was deliberately sunk."

Nash’s eyes darkened as he crouched beside her, his fingers brushing against the jagged edges of the wreck. "Scuttled," he echoed, his voice tight. "To hide something, maybe."

Deanna looked at him, her pulse quickening. "Hide what?"

Nash didn’t answer, not right away. He stood, his gaze sweeping across the cove, searching for signs of anything—or anyone—out of place. The stillness of the scene unnerved him. Wrecked ships didn’t just appear without reason. There was always a story. And usually, stories like this ended badly.

Deanna’s attention had already shifted again, her mind racing with questions as she moved carefully through the debris, her eyes scanning for any clues about the ship’s origins. What had happened here? Why had the ship been scuttled? And why in such a remote place? The more she thought about it, the more fascinated she became, her scientific instincts flaring.

She could tell that Nash wasn’t thinking like a scientist; he was thinking like a SEAL.

Something about this place felt wrong. The ship wasn’t the only thing scuttled—there was a deliberate carelessness to the wreckage, a scattering of objects and crates that seemed to have been discarded quickly. Too quickly.

Nash’s unease grew with every step. "Deanna," he called out, his voice low but commanding. "Stay close."

But Deanna, caught up in her observations, had already wandered a few feet away, her eyes locked onto something partially buried beneath a pile of debris. She knelt down, brushing aside sand and broken wood to reveal a metal container. It looked old, but its surface was smooth, industrial—out of place among the natural decay of the wreck.

"Nash, come look at this," she said, her voice tinged with excitement.

Nash was at her side in an instant, his body tense as he stared down at the container. Before he could stop her, she pried the lid open with a piece of driftwood.

What she found inside made both of them freeze.

“Weapons,” he whispered. Not just any weapons—advanced, military-grade hardware. Rifles, handguns, explosives—all of it stashed inside the container, hidden away amidst the wreckage.

“This wasn’t some innocent shipwreck, was it?”

Nash shook his head, his voice was cold, sharp as a blade. "Deanna, step back. Now."

She blinked, her eyes widening as she realized what they had uncovered. Her fascination turned to alarm, the implications of what they had found crashing down on her like a wave. "What the hell is all this?"

Nash’s face was grim as he crouched beside the container, inspecting the weapons. They were clean, well-maintained—too well-maintained for something that had been abandoned. His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. "This is military-grade equipment," he said, his voice tight. "And it’s not supposed to be here."

Deanna took a step back, her heart racing. "Who would leave this behind? And why?"

"Someone who didn’t want to be found," Nash said darkly. He stood, his body coiled with tension as his eyes scanned the cove again. "We need to leave. Now."

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