Grundy continued to ride the fine line of getting kicked out for his ongoing harassment of her. She let it roll off her back for the most part. She had no time to deal with his issues, and frankly, as long as he didn’t mess with her again like he had on the obstacle course, she didn’t care what he said or did.

Four weeks through the seven weeks of Phase I, she walked into a buzz of voices murmuring in the morning mess hall.

“What’s up?” she asked her Smurf buddies softly.

“Ray Peevy is joining our instructor cadre,” Smitty muttered.

“Who’s he?” she asked.

Smitty stared at her incredulously. “Only the most famous DEVGRU operator in the past twenty years. Guy’s a legend.”

She frowned, smelling a rat. “Why’s he coming here? Isn’t training BUD/S candidates a little below his exalted status?”

Jabrowski leaned across the table to mumble, “Way I hear it, he’s been sent here to get rid of you. Everyone thought you’d be gone by now, but you’re hanging in there.”

She shrugged. “My times aren’t going to hold up much longer if they keep bringing the max times down.”

Smitty grinned. “I overheard a couple of the instructors talking about how we’re at the final training times now. You’re good to go, kid.”

“Maybe. But we head into the heavy water evolutions over the next few weeks. And swimming isn’t my greatest strength. They’ll find a way to get rid of me if they really want to. I suppose they can always drown me.”

The guys laughed and went back to eating and chatting around her. Why had Peevy really been brought here? She was certain it had to do with her. But what did it mean? Was he here to assess the girl SEAL, or was he indeed here to bust her out?

After lunch, Peevy was introduced. The guy was short, stocky, swarthy of complexion, and had a vertical scar that ran from the middle of his forehead, across his left eye, and down his left cheek. Sherri also noted the guy was missing his right index finger. He looked like he chewed nails for breakfast.

They were told to gear up for water retrieval training. She ran back to her room, put on fatigues, grabbed her orange life vest, and ran back to the formation, last to arrive as usual.

“Kind of you to join us, Miss Tate,” Peevy growled.

She was used to being last because of the longer trip she had to make to her room, and used to being harassed for it. She said nothing in response. Peevy stepped close to her, tucking the brim of his baseball cap literally underneath hers. His breath reeked of garlic.

“You got anything to say for yourself?” he snarled low.