Page 5 of Emi's Hero

CHAPTER 2

George Ingram had leftthe marina early that morning, determined to be out on the water early.

He liked getting to the best fishing spots before the dozens of charter fishing boats filled with tourists raced from the shores of Kauai on a tight schedule to get to the fish, catch, clean and get back in time to take out the next round of tourists. Time was money to the boat owners and captains.

George was on vacation. He was between assignments with the Hawaii branch of the Brotherhood Protectors, having completed a security gig for the wedding of a wealthy Japanese man’s daughter. He and three other members of his team had spent the past week in Oahu at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, making certain no one interfered with the preparations and subsequent conduct of an extremely elaborate wedding with over five hundred guests.

As soon as the bride and her groom had left for their honeymoon and her father had been escorted to the airport to board his private jet, George had hopped on a commuter flight to Kauai, where he’d arranged to rent a fishing boat and a cabin in the hills for a week of rest and relaxation.

No crowded streets, jostling tourists or drunks bumping into him.

Just him, the boat, a good fishing pole, bait and fish.

George had lived on the coast of Florida growing up. He knew how to handle a boat on waterways larger than a lake. He was careful to check the two-way radio, the GPS, the boat motor and supplies before he set off from the marina.

He sighed, the salty breeze whipping across his face as he left the marina in the early morning hours before the sun crested the island behind him. The humid air was still a little cooler than it would be later that day. It caressed his cheeks as he piloted the fishing boat to the GPS location the marina owner had given him, swearing he'd be guaranteed to catch his limit for the day.

George didn’t really care if he caught his limit. Granted, he enjoyed the challenge of reeling in a big fish, but if all he caught were rays of sunshine and the peace of utter silence, he’d be a happy camper.

The wedding gig had tested his patience. Brides and their mamas were out of his league. He would rather face a dozen Taliban terrorists than provide security for another high-dollar wedding.

Then again...a job was a job. Rich wedding guests needed protection as much as poor indigents who only wanted to live in peace.

George wasn’t part of the Marine Corps anymore. Fighting the Taliban was a thing of the past. He had to remind himself he’d asked for this. He’d left the Marine Corps when the US had pulled out of Afghanistan. That disaster had gone against the grain in George’s books. He’d fought alongside so many good operatives and risked his life to save even more for the American government to make an inglorious exit that had left a bitter taste in their mouths and strategic challenges for those left behind.

George had a chip on his shoulders for the way his fellow soldiers had been treated. For the way American contractors had been abandoned, left to die or be tortured at the hands of the Taliban.

George’s route had taken him toward the role of a mercenary taking work on the African continent where the enemy was more obscure and difficult to identify. He’d eventually landed with some of his fellow mercenaries on the Hawaiian Islands, working for Brotherhood Protectors, the Hawaiian regional office. So far, it hadn’t been too bad, sans the wedding event.

In George’s opinion, weddings were a huge waste of time and money and usually ended in divorce. Why marry? The institution had so many faults in the foundation that he’d avoided it like the plague.

And children? He couldn’t see bringing children into a world as messed up as the one he’d experienced for the latter half of his adult life.

Then again, he’d signed up for the job. After the wedding gig, he’d half-wondered if he needed to look for another job as a mercenary.

Whatever.

He was off the coast of Kauai in a fishing boat, about to spend the best week of his life being lazy, ignoring clocks and being his most selfish self.

As he neared the coordinates, the sun came up over the horizon behind him, spreading across the day, lighting the sky and the water with glorious shades of color.

With his hand on the wheel, he drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. All the tension of the past week melted away. He could get used to living the island life. Being out on the water brought good memories of his childhood in Florida.

Maybe he’d quit the Brotherhood and hire on as a boat captain.

As soon as the thought entered his head, he dismissed it. It would take a lot more than a Bridezilla to make him walk away from his team. Since coming to work for the Brotherhood Protectors, he’d found what he’d been missing since leaving the Marine Corps.

His people. Brothers in arms. Family.

The guys on his team had all been special forces types, deployed to some of the most dangerous places in the world, performing hazardous missions. They’d been shot at, injured and watched close friends die. They each understood PTSD and fought their own battles with memories of horrific encounters.

Not many civilians would understand or relate to what they’d endured. Just being with his team members helped to ground him. Helped him know he wasn’t alone.

Not that being alone was a bad thing. Like now, with the sun at his back, the boat skimming over the swells, a salty taste on his tongue.

But if he needed someone to talk to or someone just to share space with, any one of his team would be there for him and he for them.

Caught up in his thoughts of the past, of his team and angling toward the ideal fishing spot, George didn’t see the thing floating in the water until he nearly ran over it.

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