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SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL. Alluring, magical. A commanding force who had a way of reminding you how little and vulnerable human life really was. How she could chew you up and spit you out without so much as a happy ending. She was powerful, relentless, unforgiving, and tonight, she was in one hell of a mood.
Owen knew her well. He loved her, respected her, and had found a home with her even though she’d take everything from him in a moment’s notice, then build him back up, only to destroy him again. She was addictive, an adrenaline rush second only to jumping out of a MH-60 Jayhawk at a hundred feet, then getting pelted with a 120-knot rotor blast. He’d seen the bodies she’d devoured in her wake, watched the friends and families cry. But the truth was, he’d be nothing without her. She’d made him into the man he was today. For better or worse.
She was a bitch of a mistress, and Owen’s gut told him they were in for a helluva fight tonight.
Owen buckled the waist belt, giving it a quick tug before moving onto the chest straps. The helicopter dipped, dropped, then slowly lifted again causing him to glance up at the pilot, Lieutenant Potts, who was laser focused on the controls glowing through the dark night. A flash of lightning streaked the sky in the distance, sparkling off the rain-streaked windshield. Up ahead, the lights of a capsized sailboat—the only light in the black, swirling water—swaying back and forth on its side, at the mercy of her angry waves.
Yeah, she was in one hell of a mood tonight.