Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

back up to the pilot house while Garrett concentrated on keeping the end of the industrial-size hose sucking water out of the hold. Sonya dashed back carrying a Mag flashlight. Before he could suggest that he head down into the engine room, she was already lowering herself into the compartment.
    “Sonya, let me crawl down there.”
    “My boat.” She glared up at him, donned ear muffs to protect her ears from the noise of the engine. Then she ducked her head and was gone. Garrett kneeled on the wet deck, still holding the hose, and lowered his head into the compartment so he could keep her in his sights.
    The situation smelled fishy.
    “Hand me that toolbox,” Sonya hollered, giving him directions before he could ask, “to your left against the rail.”
    “Don’t touch anything until I take a look.”
    She scowled. “I have water coming in and you want to take time to look around.” She motioned to the rising water she stood knee-deep in. “There is no time.”
    “Sonya, calm down.” He knew this situation had to be bringing up horrific nightmares of her family drowning. She was handling it pretty well though, considering. “The pump will take care of most the excess water. Hold the hose and let me come down there.” He kept his voice even, mellow, hoping it would help recede the panic he could hear in hers.
    “Fine.” She steadied the hose as he lowered himself into the tight area.
    The sound of the engine, along with the running pump, was deafening in the enclosed space. The pungent tang of oil and diesel mixed with saltwater assaulted his nose.
    “There.” Sonya pointed, indicating where water seeped in like a garden hose left in the on position.
    Garrett bent farther to investigate. He knew about boats, mostly driving and diving out of them due to his SEAL training, but this complicated engine room was above his expertise. He was a cop not a fisherman. “Explain what I’m looking at,” he said.
    Sonya pointed to a pipe that came up out of the floor with a metal plate bolted over it, where the water was spewing in. “This is the impeller plate, it seals the drain.” She indicated the pipe. “When we winterize the boat after the season, and store it at the cannery over the winter, the bolts are loosened to drain any water left in the pump. If left unsealed, ocean water leaks in when the boat is launched.”
    “I take it no one’s fiddled with this since the beginning of the season.”
    She shook her head. “There wouldn’t be a need to.”
    Garrett bent to get a closer look at the bolts on the metal plate. “Let me see your flashlight.” Sonya handed him the Mag. He shined it on the bolts, and fingered the edges of the hex-cut heads. “These are fresh tool marks.” Seemed as though someone had been in a hurry to loosen them. Maybe while others onboard were playing a hand of cards? “How long would it take for this much water to spill in?”
    “Sitting at anchor, maybe a few hours, could be less.” Sonya turned his attention to some cut wires, fingering them. “Look at this. These go to the alarm that’s supposed to sound when the water level in here rises. Someone disabled it.”
    Their gazes met, each serious, though hers still held traces of fear and panic. “Someone tried to sink my boat.”
    “No,” he said, his tone deadly. “Someone attempted to kill you.”

    Wet and freezing, Sonya stood on deck, having just climbed out of the cramped, cold engine compartment, and wiped water out of her face. The unrelenting rain just wetted it again, sinking through her already drenched clothes and into her clammy skin. Now that the crisis was over, the bolts retightened on the impeller plate, and the sinking of her boat diverted, she physically shook from the aftermath. What if they hadn’t been able to stop it? What if she hadn’t figured out what the sloshing sound had been in time? What would she have done if forced into the open water?
    Garrett joined her after settling the heavy engine plate in place. “You okay?” His eyes narrowed.
    “Fine,” she replied robotically. She was far from fine. She pointed to Wes and Peter busy picking fish, hoping to distract him and herself. “Looks as though the fish arrived.” At least that was some good news.
    “What happened to your rain jacket?” Garrett snagged her attention again.
    For some reason she was having a hard time focusing, as though she didn’t want to deal with the reality of what had happened, or what could have