Page 7 of The Deadly Shallows

Instructor Fleming stepped to the podium and cleared his throat. A hush fell over the room. “We’d like to thank you all for your presence today as we acknowledge the hard work and dedication of these graduates of Flight Medic A-School. With me today are Instructors Baker and Denson, who I have the honor of teaching with.” He nodded his head in each instructor’s direction, then turned his attention to the graduates filling the front row. “Graduates, as I call your name, please step forward.” He looked up at the audience. “Each graduate will receive their certificate of completion along with their duty orders.”

Brooke prayed Molly stayed in Wilmington, but she knew her friend would do a phenomenal job wherever she was based.

Instructor Fleming lifted the first certificate encased in a blue leather folio with the Coast Guard motto, Semper Paratus, embossed across the front. “Petty Officer First Class Molly Allen.”

Molly stepped onto the stage.

A mixture of pride and joy bubbled in Brooke’s chest.

Molly aimed a quick smile her way as Instructor Fleming handed her the graduation certificate and shook her hand, both posing for a quick picture. The flash went off.

“Guns!” a man yelled a breath of a second before shots retorted, and Brooke watched in horror as Molly’s stomach caved in. She staggered back, red seeping through her dress whites.

Brooke stood to race forward.

“Duck!” Austin hollered as an explosion of gunfire riddled the room.

SIX

Noah pulled into his spot in front of his CGIS station, noting everyone else’s cars present. He had the luxury of a late arrival today, due to several after-hours interviews that were nothing more than a screening process. But rather than volunteering one of his team, he’d offered this go-around. Anything and everything to keep his mind off Brooke. Though, as special agent in charge, it went against his constitution to arrive after any of his team, regardless of the reason.

He stepped from his Jeep, Brooke living in his mind. He wanted her desperately. Wanted to hold her hand, to sit silently beside her in the movies, to snuggle up on the couch at night. He wanted her—period. But what he wanted didn’t matter. She did. She deserved the world, and he wasn’t it.

Crack, crack, crack. The sound of gunfire, popping like Black Cat firecrackers, reverberated in his chest.

He swung in the direction of the noise.

Crack, crack, crack.

Caleb rushed out of the station. “Shooting at the graduation.” He tossed Noah a bulletproof vest.

Noah slid it on, fastening it in place.

Caleb handed him his M4, a set of magazines, and an earpiece.

Noah slipped the earpiece in place and shoved the auxiliary mags into his vest pockets as he raced for Ira Stiller Hall. Caleb kept pace, the rest of the team—save Emmy, who ran logistics from the station in a crisis situation like this—were tight on their heels.

“SRT is gearing up. ETA five minutes,” Emmy said over the comms. “I notified them you’d be on-site.”

“Details?” Adrenaline burned Noah’s thighs as he rounded cars and jumped over the concrete dividers.

“Cameras are offline, but Austin called. She didn’t speak. She must have rung the station and left her phone on the floor, giving us ears in the room. Multiple shooters. By voice inflections, I’d say at least four, possibly more.”

“Did you say Austin?” Caleb asked, his voice heated.

“I’m afraid so,” Emmy said.

“What is she doing there?”

“She’s not the only one.” Noah’s throat tightened, squeezing the words out through a near-chokehold. “Brooke’s there too.”

“Brooke?” Rissi and Emmy said in unison, one behind him and the other in his ear.

He only managed a nod.

“We’ll get them,” Mason said, his tone resolute.

Noah prayed his teammate’s confidence proved true.