Reel Trouble: Wild Women of Alaska (10 page)

Tiffinie Helmer

She’d always known she’d die this way.

The strong tidal current dragged her farther into the unforgiving depths of the Bering Sea. She kicked and lashed until her limbs grew heavy, cold. Useless. Everything inside her screamed. She was too young. She had too much to live for.

She had to kill that fucking bastard.

Salt water burned and blinded. Filled her mouth and nose. Smothered and squeezed the life out of her.

She’d cheated this bitch of an ocean fifteen years earlier, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to again. She’d never been destined to live through the sinking of the
Mystic.

Pain exploded in her chest, and her lungs flamed with the need for air.

Blackness swallowed her.

Sonya Savonski screeched her ATV to a stop alongside the dirt runway as the puddle jumper touched down. The prop airplane had just made the fifteen-minute hop from King Salmon to the small fishing village of Bristol Bay, Alaska.

“That was
not
a fair race,” Peter hollered, parking his 4-wheeler next to hers.

“Only because you lost.”

“I’m towing a trailer,” he pointed out, tossing his head to the side, and clearing his eyes of dark hair. At seventeen, Peter hated to lose at anything.

“An
empty
trailer,” Sonya said. “It comes down to the better driver, little brother.”

The plane taxied toward them, the noise deafening. The engines thundered down and welcomed silence followed. A door opened and passengers began to climb out. Most gazed around, not surprised by the wind-whipped banks, low-lying tundra, and the gray-green waters of the Bering Sea promising adventure, money, and possibly death. This wasn’t the tourist-friendly part of Alaska.

Fuel and exhaust mixed with salty sea air and the smell of fish. Call her crazy, but it was a scent Sonya loved. The scent of fish meant money. Hopefully this fishing season they’d get stinking rich.

“There they are.” Peter pointed to their grandparents as they stepped down from the plane.

Gramps chatted animatedly while Grams seemed to listen with rapt attention. Sonya knew that look. Margaret Savonski was woolgathering.

Peter rushed up to them, and Gramps’ face spilt into a grin as he grabbed him in a man hug. It had been weeks since they’d all seen each other. Sonya and Peter had headed out to open camp for this summer’s commercial sockeye season, knowing it would be one for the books—they were drifting
and
set netting this year.

Their nonconformist plan was bound to upset some fishermen.

Gramps greeted her with a bear hug. “How’s my favorite granddaughter?”

She responded with the expected, “I’m your only granddaughter.”

Nikolai Savonski’s dark brown eyes twinkled, and dimples cut deep grooves in his salt-and-pepper whiskered cheeks. A navy seaman’s cap hung lopsided over his thick wave of silver hair. He was a breed apart.

“Nikky,” Grams said, “you and Peter get the bags, while I say hello to Sonya.” Margaret, with her regal bearing, immediately had the men jumping to do her bidding. The sweet-as-sugar smile, which accompanied the request, had paved a long road of men bending over backward to fetch anything she needed. The woman had skills.

“Sonya, my girl, I’ve missed you.” They embraced, and Sonya breathed in the scent of English roses. “I’ve been too long in the company of men,” Margaret said, indicating Nikolai. He and Peter were pow-wowing with a group of fishermen waiting for the plane to be unloaded. “We must make time for some girlie stuff before the season starts.”

Girlie stuff on the Bering Sea of Alaska? They’d have a better chance locating an ice cream shop.

“We’ll make a point of it,” Sonya said, her attention snagged by Gramps who’d thrown his head back and let loose with a booming laugh. He was conversing with a sandy-haired man. The man had broad shoulders powerful enough to haul in a boatload of fish without breaking a sweat. Gramps motioned for Sonya to hurry over.

“Looks as though Nikky has another suitor to introduce you to.” Grams chuckled while smoothing her platinum—never gray—curls back from her face as the Bristol Bay wind puffed teasing gusts around them.

Sonya moaned and moseyed over to Gramps and Peter. For some reason, her grandpa had decided she needed to get married. She was only twenty-nine for heaven’s sake. There was plenty of time for that nonsense, but Gramps was bull-headed, so she went to be paraded in front of another “potential.”

“Sonya, I’d like you to meet Garrett…uh…what’s your last name?”

Great
. He was so desperate to get her hitched that he wasn’t bothering to screen the men anymore. For all they knew, this man could have murdered a string of women.

Peter turned his head to the side and snickered.

“Hunt,” the stranger supplied. “Name’s Garrett Hunt.” He reached out a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Sonya.”

Yeah, yeah, blah, blah
, she wanted to say, but then her attention caught on his ice-blue eyes. Eyes that color shouldn’t project heat. Somehow she found her hand happily engaged in his. It wasn’t just his eyes that gave off heat. A slight smile crooked his lips.

“Same,” she said, “to meet you, that is.” She gave Garrett Hunt a second look. The man wasn’t handsome…more interesting. Tough, muscled, and weathered. He looked like he could hold his own in any situation. Anywhere. Anytime. Chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, spiky military haircut, with a scar by his left temple. The only thing soft about him was his lips.

Dang, she did not need this kind of distraction this summer.

“Well, how do you like that?” Gramps commented with a hum, breaking Sonya out of her trance and reminding her of where she was. Gramps slapped Garrett on the back. “How about you join us for dinner tomorrow night? Red Fox Camp is about five miles down the beach. Can’t miss it. We should be ready for company by then, don’t ya think, Sonya?”

“Uh…sure.” Even though she wanted to tell her grandpa to keep his busybody nose out of her business, she couldn’t.

Garrett gave her that crooked smile again. It was quite sexy on him. “I’d like that.”

“Hunt!” the pilot of the plane hollered, walking toward them carrying a surfboard. “You have any idea how hard this was to stuff into my plane?”

“Thanks, Harry,” Garrett said, taking ownership of the board. “I appreciate you making the room.”

Surfboard?

“You owe me a drink for it,” Harry said. “I plan on collecting as soon as I get that swarm of fishermen flown over here.”

“You got it,” Garrett said.

Harry waved them goodbye and boarded the plane for the return hop to King Salmon. The fishermen were all coming in now that the fishing season would be opening in a few days. In that amount of time, the population went from around a hundred to thousands.

“What are you going to do with that?” Peter asked, eyeing the surfboard.

“Catch a wave,” Garret said.

The man was a nut. Gramps had to stop introducing her to just anyone. She looked at her grandfather and was glad to see that even
his
brows had risen in question.

“Why?” Peter asked.

Yeah,
why
, Sonya thought.

“For the thrill of it,” Garrett said with a grin.

“Nobody gets in that ocean for fun.” Sonya shivered. “You only get in it when you’re forced to.” The memory of the last time she’d been in that deadly ocean sliced through her like a cutting edge of an arctic wind.
The freezing water, the screaming, and then the terrifying silence followed by death.

“Well…hmm…hope to see you at dinner,” Gramps said, dragging Sonya back to the present. “Wait a minute, Garrett.” Gramps took another look at the man, as though sizing him up. “You military?”

Garrett nodded. “Former SEAL. You?”

Gramps’ smile stretched from ear to ear. Garrett had seen through the meddling grandparent to the seasoned warrior beneath. “Merchant Marine.”

“Combat?” Garrett asked.

“Vietnam. You?”

“Iraq.”

Nikolai nodded to the surfboard. “Well, being a SEAL explains the water toy.” He then offered his hand for Garrett to shake. “Very much looking forward to seeing you at dinner.”

Garrett shook his hand. “It was nice meeting you, sir.” He looked at Sonya. “And your family.”

Garrett pursed his lips and whistled under his breath as Sonya Savonski swaggered away from him, easily toting a duffel bag over her very capable shoulders. She wore a ball cap with a ponytail of dark hair hanging out the back. It seemed to tease him as it bounced in time to her step. She was garbed in faded jeans, and a t-shirt with a picture of a king salmon. The words, “Size Does Matter” blazed in red lettering across her ample breasts.

Now there was a woman. Full mouth, full breasts, full hips. The trifecta. He’d never been able to resist that sexy combination.

She must have sensed his scrutiny for she glanced back over her shoulder. He smiled. She frowned. He smiled wider. This summer was showing some promise.

Sonya straddled the 4-wheeler, and Peter jumped on behind her. Nikolai had commandeered the other ATV for him and his wife. In a cloud of dust, they took off rumbling down the dirt road.

Garrett was definitely showing up for dinner.

Waiting for his own ride to manifest, he took a moment to look around. South Naknek didn’t have the postcard beauty of the Kenai Peninsula that he’d flown out of that morning, but it had a rough and ready appeal. An appeal that fit his mood as of late. He could use some getting back to nature and there wasn’t anything but nature at present. He’d spent too much time indoors, riding a desk, and needed some space around him. Nothing
but
space here. The only building next to the dirt-packed runway was a six-by-eight shack with a broken window and a doorway with no door. Someone with a sense of humor had painted a sign on the shed that read, “South Naknek International Airport.”

There wasn’t a tree to block the wind or the view. Bright green tundra with the bloom of summer ended in silt cliffs that broke the ocean as she tumbled her destructive way to shore. Industry dotted the coastline in the form of canneries to help process the catch of the “Red Salmon Capital of the World.”

As an Alaska Wildlife Officer, he’d come to this place under the guise of policing the craziness that the combination of money and cutthroat fishing brought out in people.

“Yo, Hunt!”

Garrett turned from surveying the area to see Judd Iverson stepping out of a brown, rusty Jeep. Garrett hadn’t seen Judd in two years, but he looked as though he hadn’t changed much, still had that playful swagger as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Judd had grayed more at the temples, but it looked good on him. Straight dark brows slashed over eyes that noticed the slightest infraction, unless a woman was in the vicinity. It would be fun working with Judd again, as long as Garrett remembered not to be coerced into joining in any poker games.

“Iverson, you dog. How ya been?” he asked, slapping his hand out for a bone-crushing shake.

“Same as ever.” Judd focused on the surfboard. “Couldn’t have left the board at home, could you?”

Garrett’s face split into a grin. “Not a chance. Gotta have something to do on my off time.”

“Right,” Judd scoffed. “Like we’re going to get any time to breathe once fishing starts. Your memory’s fading, old man.”

“Last I heard, you had a few years on me. Like five.”

“Damn, it’s good to have you here.” Judd slapped him on the back. “I was glad to hear you wanted a change of scene. We can use all the help we can get. I take it Homer’s not treating you well?”

Homer had lost its appeal since his “friend with benefits” had revoked his bedding rights. Garrett shook off the melancholy. He’d had his chance with Mel Bennett and hadn’t taken advantage of it, though she might have been the one woman who wouldn’t have tethered him. He disregarded the thought and focused on Judd.

“Homer’s fine,” Garrett answered. “I just wanted a little more action.”

Judd grabbed Garrett’s bag and threw it into the back of the open Jeep. “There’s no shortage of action around here.”

Just what he was after.

Garrett boarded the
Calypso
and stowed his gear below deck. He then met Judd and the other trooper they’d be working with, Skip Ozhuwan, in the cabin above. Skip was an Alaskan Native and had grown up on the Kuskokwim Delta. No one knew the waters of the Bering Sea like the Aleut. He had dark almond-shaped eyes and a round happy face that belied a shrewd cop.

Garrett took a seat, and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles. Judd threw a Coke to him and offered one to Skip, who declined. Judd popped the top of his own and leaned against the bulkhead.

Skip commandeered the captain’s chair with a clipboard in front of him and began listing where other troopers would be stationed in the Naknek/Kvichak District. It was the job of the Alaska Wildlife Troopers, or AWT, in conjunction with the Alaska State Troopers, to police the fishing and make sure everyone adhered to the fishing and safety regulations.