Chapter 1
It was a rare day off and despite the early morning hour, Colby Granger was already up and on his way to the beach. A 6" Hagen surfboard in the back of truck, he could smell the salt in the air as pulled over onto the shoulder, close to his preferred surfing spot. One of the "benefits" of FBI work meant your days off were often mid-week. While this made getting together with friends, visiting family or actually having a social life difficult, it provided the chance to surf free of the larger weekend crowds.
Zipping up back of his wetsuit, Colby nodded to a few of the regulars, picked up his board and made his way down to the shore. Jumping, face down on to the board, he began to paddle out. Feeling the accumulated tension from the last few days of work starting to dissipate, Colby inhaled deeply and smiled to himself. This was his therapy.
This was how he dealt with the horrors he saw on the job, the evil he observed (or in one painful instance had experienced firsthand) and the memories of the lives he had taken in the line of duty in order to save his own or those of his team. A trained professional with a fancy diploma on the wall would probably tell him that he was suppressing what needed to be addressed. However, owing partially to his training, and more fully to his personality and the coping mechanisms he developed years ago, he was able to move forward and on. For now. He was, however, self-aware enough to know that if the past ever got in the way of his present or future ability to do his job, he would exercise one of two options. Either walk away from the FBI and never look back or take Dr. Bradford up on any one of his previous counseling offers.
Sitting upright on the board, his legs making lazy circles in the water beneath, watching for approaching he waves, he was content to wait. There was no rush this morning. No case that needed his immediate attention. No witnesses to be interviewed. No reports to be finished. Knowing how much he needed these few days off to be completely free of work, he had had stayed till nearly midnight the night before to finish the last of any nagging reports. So, on this morning, Colby was content to catch the odd wave and otherwise sit languidly atop the board, bobbing rhythmically with water's movement beneath him.
From where he sat, he watched the majority of the remaining early rise surfers make their way out of the surf, on to the beach and back to their cars, where they would head out into the workday. Of those who remained, Colby recognized a few familiar faces. From what he knew or could guess, most were shift workers. The two or three he could actually call acquaintances were emergency response workers; including Everett the paramedic and Oscar the fire department battalion chief who had started surfing nearly 40 years earlier. What he couldn't have known at that moment was that in only a few minutes, those two men would be in a desperate attempt to save his life.