*unedited*

"Did you want to wait for her at your table?" the hostess asked.

Logan checked his watch. Tamara was already five minutes late and that was not like her. He disliked the fact that he couldn't contact her on the phone. They never set up the onboard messaging system and he had no idea how to use it.

"Okay, sure." He responded, allowing the brown-haired lady to lead him through the restaurant.

"Your waiter should be with you shortly." She smiled at him once again and then returned to her post.

If she didn't arrive in the next ten minutes, he was going to send a search party for her. Being a cop herself, she had a certain work ethic that didn't allow her to be late for anything. If she wasn't here and she wasn't in their room, where was she?

"Hi sir, I'm Oliver. I'll be your waiter tonight." He handed Logan a menu. "Can I start you off with a drink?"

"A Kokanee beer, please."

"Sounds good." The short, mossy brown haired waiter tipped his head at Logan before leaving the table.

His beer arrived before Tamara did. He stared at the foaming liquid gold in the glass cup. Lifting it to his lips, he paused. If something was going down, he'd need a clear head and alcohol would be anything but clearing. He mumbled a few curse words under his breath and placed the drink back down on the table.

He itched to go look for her but had no idea where to start looking. The boat was massive and there were tons of nooks and crannies that someone could hide in. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones. There was no way she'd miss their meal.

Flagging down his waiter, the man walked over to him. "I'm going to go see if I can try to find my wife. If she comes while I'm gone, please don't let her go anywhere. I'll be back in 10 to 15 minutes."

"I'll do what I can," he said with a nod before running off to another table that was seeking his attention.

Itching to drink his beer, he shoved his chair back before he made the wrong choice and turned away from the table. Marching to the entrance, he gave similar instructions to the hostess. He stood in the wide hallway, glancing to the left and to the right, scratching his head. Where the hell was he supposed to start?

He knew she wasn't the type that would just bail on him. They had too good of a thing going for her to stand him up. That meant she was either hurt or something else had happened. "Medical clinic," he said, slapping his hand on his thigh.

With a new mission he marched his way down the hall, his eyes glancing to a man who was leaning against the window watching him. A chill rippled through Logan. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. Picking up his pace, he rushed to the lower deck of the ship and slammed open the door to the medical clinic.

The triage nurse sitting at the desk jumped. "Are you okay, sir?"

He glanced around at the empty chairs in the waiting room. The only living entities were the plants nestled neatly in the corner, and the nurse who looked ready to call 911.

"Sorry, madam," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you. Did a woman named Tamara stop by?"

Taking a moment, the nurse glanced at the sign-in sheet. "I'm afraid not."

"Crap!" he said, slapping his hand on the countertop. She jumped and leaned back in her chair, bringing her hands up to her face. Logan stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry. My wife missed our dinner date and I'm worried that something is wrong. She would never be late willingly. It just isn't like her."

"Did you want me to alert security?"

"No, that's okay. If I can't find her, I know where their desk is."

If the other security personal were like the last one he dealt with, he'd be better off on his own. He turned and walked towards the entrance. When he placed his hand on the door handle, the nurse spoke up again. "Try checking the Plaza. Our medics were sent there on a call."

He nodded his head, giving her a quick smile. "Thank you."

The unknown drove him crazy. Sometimes he wished he could predict the future so that he could see everything and be able to plan for it. Hopefully she wasn't the one who was hurt. He reached the elevators and the stairwell. Glancing between them both, he opted for the stairs since they were faster. The elevator aboard the boat was as slow as a snail.

Hoofing her up the stairs, he dashed towards the Plaza. There was a group of people standing in a circle near the sandwich deli. A tall broodish man was walking towards him, probably on his way to the cigar lounge, as one was hanging out his mouth.

"Hey, what's going on over there?" Logan asked.

The man stopped and looked back in the direction of the group. "They think a lady had a heart attack."

Logan's heart sunk into his stomach. "Did she have black hair?"

"I think so."

"Shit."

Leaving the man standing there, he ran towards the group, shoving his way through the growing crowd. His gaze settled on the person lying on the floor. The woman had black hair, speckled gray with age. His heart did a triple beat as relief flooded him.

Kneeling in the midst of the fray was Tamara. She tilted the ladies head and placed the face mask on to give her mouth to mouth at the other medic's command. A third man prepped the defibrillator kit.

"What's the ETA on the medivac?" Tamara asked, sweat beating on her forehead.

"20 minutes."

Logan watched in awe as his woman took command of the madness. This definitely explained why she didn't show up at the restaurant. And he honestly wouldn't have it any other way. It just solidified her character. He's never been prouder than he was in that moment.

He nudged the man next to him. "That's my wife."

Upon hearing his voice, Tamara glanced up and grimaced when she saw him. "Sorry," she mouthed before returning to the work at hand.

"It's okay," he said.

After a few minutes, it was beginning not to look good for the woman. Her face was pale and although they did a few rounds with the defibrillator, they'd been unable to get a heartbeat.

"I think we should call it," the medic next to her said in a low voice.

"No. Keep going," Tamara demanded. She'd been doing CPR since the woman fell off her chair and refused to give up. There would be hell to pay if these jerks didn't keep going. She knew that the longer the woman went without a heartbeat, the less chance she had of recovering.

One of the other medics put a hand on her shoulder. "It's been too long, hun."

Tamara shrugged his hand off her shoulder and returned to the task at hand. She was going to get her back. She had to. Shoving the other medics out of the way, she placed her hands on the woman's chest and began the chest compressions again.

"Please, breathe, damn it," she cried.

The woman's companion seemed frozen in place, still sitting in his chair as if in a trance. "Please," he echoed quietly.

"Let's get her on the stretcher," one medic said, attempting to pull Tamara away.

"Get your greasy hands off me," she snarled, returning her hands to the woman's chest. No one was going to get in her way. She had already given up too early once before, and all she could see was the other woman whose life she let slip through her fingers.

That wasn't going to happen again. The heaviness upon her heart drove her to keep going. She wasn't going to stop until the helicopter arrived or until she couldn't do anymore compressions. Slipping into the life-saving zone, she tuned everyone else out. All the voices around her told her give up, but she wasn't the giving up type.

Minutes felt like hours and her arms were beginning to turn into lead. And just when she thought she couldn't do another compression, she felt a heartbeat. Tears filled her eyes as she glanced up at the woman's companion. "I've got her back."

Physically drained, she flopped down on her butt and wiped the sweat from her face while the medics took over. They got the woman onto a stretcher and began the trek up to the helipad. But Tamara was too tired to accompany them. "I did it," she whispered. "I really did it."

Logan leaned down and slid an arm under her arms and knees, picking her up. He sat down with her on the closest chair "You did great, sweetheart," he said, kissing her temple.

She watched the team maneuver their way across the Plaza. The number one reason she became a police officer was to save lives and that meant going the distance, doing what no one else wanted to do. Sometimes that meant dealing with the unsavory. Sometimes that meant she would see more than she desired. But it was all worth it if she could save even one.

"Is it too late for our dinner?" she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

He brushed the hair from her face. "Are you sure you want to eat after that?"

"I'm famished. I didn't really eat lunch today."

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing her on the neck. "You never cease to amaze me, woman!"

"All in a day's work," she said, her cheeks flushing.

"You aren't at work, honey."

Truthfully, even when a cop is off duty, they are on duty. They were trained to step in no matter what. That's why she almost always carried her badge with her. When she didn't, she felt kind of naked, like a part of her was missing. Like now, for example. She left it at home.

"It's hard to shut off work mode."

"I can relate to that."

Slipping off his lap, she took a seat in the closest chair and sighed. If it was hard for her to leave work behind, even for a vacation, how could she expect him to leave his behind to be with her? It was also unfair to ask him to move back to the place where he spent years in jail.

"I don't think I like the sound of that sigh."

"We need to talk."