Below the Surface (8 page)

As he reached his car, he saw Bree's lights were still on. Surely her visitor had left by now. Cole leaned his arms on the top of his car and gazed out over the sailboats and motor craft nodding from their perches on the inky bay. A single small vessel was heading out past the lighted buoys with its fore and aft lights glowing until the blackness of the gulf devoured it.

Cole shook his head and shuddered. Had Daria Devon somehow taken a cruise to nowhere?

It was almost ten-thirty when Amelia heard Ben drive into the garage. She met him in her nightgown the minute he came in through the laundry room.

“She's not with you,” she greeted him. “I knew she wouldn't want to come stay with me—even now.”

“I tried, but I guess my powers of persuasion only work in a courtroom. She's obsessed with finding Daria, and I can't blame her for that, at least.” He walked into the kitchen. Amelia hurried barefoot behind him. Flopping his briefcase on the counter, he kissed her cheek. “You've been crying again.”

“Of course I've been crying. Daria's my sister, too, not just Briana's. I should go to her, sleep on her sofa, keep an eye on her. I've got to know what she's planning. You never know what she'll do.”

“She seemed totally distraught one minute, but full steam ahead the next. When I was leaving, she told me the guy who picked her up in his sailboat is going to help her run a search with other divers tomorrow. It sounds to me as if he's keeping close tabs on her. I thought they didn't really know each other before the storm, but they sound…close.”

“Actually, they had met once briefly,” she said. “He's her rescuing angel,” she muttered, “and I hope not her avenging angel.”

“What's that about revenge?”

“I didn't say revenge. It's nothing.”

Ben reached for the door of the fridge but turned back and put his hands gently on her shoulders. “Bree's really going to need you when they find Daria.”

“Find her body, you mean.”

Her stomach cramped. Tears blurred Ben to make two of him—like the two of them, little Bree and Daria, always the center of attention, of Dad's world, of everything in the damned universe. Even her boys were ecstatic when her sisters came over—no doubt to see them, not her—as if Santa and the Easter Bunny and every
Star Wars
character they adored had all rolled into one and come to visit.

“Yeah, I'm afraid I do mean find her body,” he said with a sigh as he pulled her into his arms. “The odds aren't good they'll find Daria afloat on a piece of board or shipwrecked on one of the Ten Thousand Islands.”

“I've been racking my brain for what could have happened to her,” she said, leaning against him with her head turned on his shoulder. “Even crazy thoughts like maybe someone found her on the boat alone and kidnapped her, but then wouldn't we have received a call about ransom? Or what if those horrible people who steal those poor women for labor and sex—”

“Human traffickers?” he interrupted. “Hell, I'd love to prosecute one of those modern-day slave traders who import girls from South America and force them into labor or prostitution. That's been growing in Miami, and now they're avoiding law enforcement across the state by coming in here at night, since this coast is darker and less populated. No, I don't think those boats come in during the day.”

“But if they were waiting offshore to land and then the storm was so bad…”

“That's too much of a long shot, honey,” he said, hugging her tight. “I'll bet if there's a culprit, it's the storm. Still, we've got to hold out hope with Bree. She's tough and she's determined.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, pulling away to get a tissue to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. “She's that and more. You admire her—everyone does. Daria was even more willful, just for the heck of it, but Bree always had some burning purpose. They were—are—different, as well as being like the two peas in the proverbial pod.”

When he stood there, staring at her and frowning as if she were a defendant who would blurt out her guilt to him à la Perry Mason, she pushed past him to open the fridge and take out a carton of orange juice for him.

“Not that,” he said.

“You want some fresh squeezed?”

“Just hand me the soda. I need something a little stiffer than a jolt of Vitamin C.”

“You've been busy at work,” she said, trying to change the subject so she could get hold of her emotions.

“Actually, it's been deadly dull. I could use some face time on TV and some coverage in the papers. Hate to think I'm going to have to pay for all that this time around in the election.”

“Your name is well-known. People respect you, and they'll vote what they trust.”

“What they trust?” he said almost bitterly as he got a bottle of whiskey from the top cupboard above the fridge. “I don't think most people trust anyone on a ballot anymore, so I hope and pray they don't put me in the politician category. Let Josh Austin and Marla Sherborne fight that stigma as well as each other. Prosecutors are public servants. Hell, I could make ten times as much in private practice.”

“I know you could, but we do just fine. You love what you're doing. It's your calling in life.”

“You and the kids come first,” he corrected her, but she wasn't certain she believed him. If her own father hadn't really loved her, how could Ben?

He mixed himself a stiff drink while she stared at herself in the window above the sink with only dark night beyond. It was like looking at her reflection in a black mirror. She did resemble the twins somewhat. If she'd let her hair go natural, she'd look even more like them. But she looked worn down by worry: guilt weighed heavy on her heart and mind and soul. She felt she was in a stupor, like she was slogging through water—damn, why did she have to think of it that way? She should never have gone to see Daria alone, thinking she could divide and conquer the two of them. And then it had suddenly gone so, so bad.

E
arly the next morning in the office of the Two Mermaids Search and Salvage Shop, Briana stood in the circle of her diving friends and acquaintances, fourteen at last count. Most already wore wet suits. Some had dragged in their gear, though others would have to go back to their cars or boats to get suited up.

Manny sat on Daria's desk, hunched over, elbows on knees, staring at his feet. Behind her guests, Cole leaned next to the closed front door with his arms crossed as if to keep any reporters from getting in. A TV van with a satellite dish on top was already parked down the street, so they must have somehow gotten word of this hastily called meeting.

“I can't thank all of you enough for coming to help on such short notice,” Bree told them. “As you have heard, this may indeed be a life-and-death search.” Her voice shook, but she went on. “Manny has already handed out the diagrams with coordinates of underwater sites we would like to have searched for any signs of our dive boat, in case it broke apart in the storm. I'll let you decide among yourselves which site you'd like to check for possible…” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “For possible debris since you may have places you're more familiar with than others. Many of you know what the
Mermaids II
looks like, but just in case—” she held up a piece of paper “—this is a photo of it you can pass around. We've already had an extensive official search which, unfortunately, I've been informed will be called off at noon today. But the coast guard and civilian air patrol have obviously not been looking under—”

Biting her lower lip, she blinked back tears behind her dark sunglasses. She felt weird wearing them inside, but her eyes were bloodshot and any sort of light bothered her. When she saw Cole leave his post to come forward as if to take over, she cleared her throat again. “Although Sam Travers has used his boat's echo sounder, no one has actually done an extensive search underwater.”

As if just saying his name could summon him up like some evil spell, the bell attached to the front door rang and Sam and two of his divers stepped in to join the group. When Bree nodded her silent thanks, several heads turned Sam's way. He glowered at her, but she was still glad to have his help. Manny saw him come in, too. Like a loyal watchdog, he stood with his arms crossed over his big chest, glaring back at Sam.

“I hate to admit it,” Bree told everyone, “but it is possible the ship broke up or sank in the storm and my sister is afloat on a piece of it somewhere. So if you should find any signs of the
Mermaids II,
please let us know here right away, even if you do contact the coast guard, or—or the police.”

Again, through her sunglasses, her eyes met Cole's intense gaze. He'd come even closer, next to her desk, as if he and Manny stood sentinel on either side of her. In a way, this search was Cole's doing, because he'd made her promise she wouldn't dive again unless she had some sort of lead. She was praying these people would give her that—anything to go on.

“And last but not least,” she said, picking up her old camera in its plastic housing. “When I swam back in from the Trade Wreck in the storm, I had to drop a camera much like this one in the water. It's painted red inside the housing and is quite new. If anyone sees it, please retrieve it for me. Daria took some shots on it before I dived, and I'd like those back.” Bree had decided not to share her fears of foul play. Besides, she couldn't bear to believe it herself, so she just concluded with, “On the back, the camera's etched with the initials B & D D.

“I guess that's it,” she told them as they circulated the picture of the missing vessel and heads bent briefly over it. She could hear individuals whispering. Someone near the back of the room murmured, “Like a needle in a very big, wet haystack.”

“Again,” Bree said, “I'm so thankful for your help. For those of you who just arrived, we're using this office as a command post. Cole, Manny and I will be here monitoring the radio frequency and the cell-phone number we've written down on the dive sites handouts. Any questions?”

Guy Russel, a friend of a friend she'd never seen before today, asked, “I know you were twins, but did she look like you?”

The man's use of the past tense jolted her. She wanted to scream at him, but she said calmly, “This is still a search mission, not a recovery one. Yes, Daria does look like me, except for little things such as her hair's a bit longer and parted on the other side—my mirror image.”

With a hard sniff, she gestured that they could get started. After they'd left with encouraging words or a hug—except for Sam and his duo of divers, who just walked out—Cole put one arm around her waist. He felt so warm and strong when she was cold and shaky.

“That guy who made it sound as if Daria was permanently gone didn't mean it that way,” he whispered. “He wasn't thinking.”

“It's all I've been thinking,” she told him, shoving her sunglasses up on her head and pressing her palms over her aching eyes. She leaned back into him, her head resting against his rock-hard shoulder. “Let's face it, if we're desperate enough to look for the boat underwater and no one's found Daria by now, washed ashore in the way you found me…”

Cole gave her a sharp hug. “Stop thinking that way until you absolutely have to.”

“We should contact the border patrol.” Manny had suddenly come so close that Bree thought at first he meant to push Cole away from her. His body language said he was angry. He didn't look either of them in the eyes but stared at Cole's arm around her. “They track down illegal aliens,” he said, “so how 'bout they can help track down Daria, no? What if she got in the way of those bastards smuggling in Cubans, or she see something she shouldn't? Big money, so smugglers get more dangerous 'round here. We got a few border patrol agents on this coast now. How 'bout we call them, get more help, yes?”

“I think,” Bree told him, “we have pretty good clout with Josh Austin and Marla Sherborne. Senator Sherborne phoned this morning to say she'd be stopping by. If worse comes to worst, my brother-in-law will help. He stopped by last night.”

She heard and felt Cole give a sigh of relief, but when he said nothing, she went on. “Josh and Senator Sherborne may be fierce political opponents, but I'm willing to play both sides. And, Manny,” she added, putting her hand on his arm, “I don't think smugglers—or yacht pirates, if they've been in the area—would want a dive boat like ours.”

“Caramba!”
he said, shaking off her touch. “What I mean is the storm could have panicked smugglers, they needed a small boat and they play rough.”

“I appreciate all your help,” Bree said, trying to calm him as well as herself. She stepped away from Cole but turned back to face him. “People like Manny,” she told Cole, “who came into this country legally and are willing to do what it takes to make a good life here for their families, are just as upset about illegals as many Anglo citizens are.”

“Yet you know desperate people take risks, Manny,” Cole put in. “The refugees, I mean, as well as the smugglers.”

Manny surprised Bree by smacking his fist into the palm of his other hand. The strain of Daria's plight was rubbing his nerves raw. The poor man had enough trouble, with his adored mother so sick and his daughter's rebellion, none of which Cole knew about.

“Yeah, Manny Salazar—he knows that, all right,” Manny muttered, glaring up at Cole.

To Bree's dismay, Manny shoved past them and stalked out into his cluttered realm of the back room.

Sitting at the two desks, Bree and Cole drank coffee all morning and jumped to answer a call whenever one came in. Too many of them were from reporters or well-wishers. Four had come from the groups of divers so far, and the word was that they'd found nothing. Amelia called and was relieved to hear that Bree herself wasn't diving. It annoyed Bree that Amelia still seemed miffed about the fact she'd left the hospital without telling her, when there were so many more important things to focus on right now.

Manny mostly banged around in the back room, but emerged from time to time to get fresh coffee and see what was going on, especially when Cole went to use the bathroom out in the storage area or to make more coffee upstairs.

“Manny, I'm sorry if you felt I didn't listen to you or Cole insulted you,” Bree said during one of those times she was there alone. “I know you're blaming yourself about Daria, too.”

“What you mean?” he demanded, crossing his hands over his chest.

“That you weren't on the boat when something terrible must have happened. Ordinarily, you would have been there.”

“Yeah, that's true. Sorry I snapping at you. Sometimes, even stuff planned out, it don't go like it should.”

They both turned as the bell on the front door rang when it opened. If only it could be good news, or better yet, Daria walking in, a miracle, Bree thought, looking up.

It was a woman about Daria's height and, for one insane moment, Bree's insides cartwheeled before she saw it was Senator Marla Sherborne. No way Daria would ever wear a conservative, gray pantsuit like that or the big gold starfish pin on her shoulder. Gypsy skirts with peasant tops and clunky shell jewelry when she was dressed up, that was Daria.

Bree had met Marla Sherborne at several fund-raisers for various ecological causes, but hadn't seen her since she'd become Josh's opponent for her U.S. senate seat. At forty-seven, Marla was a striking woman, blessed with a beautiful heart-shaped face, gorgeous skin and, evidently, eternal energy. If the rumors about her affair with Cory Grann were true, that certainly added some spice to a rather bland reputation up to now. That would really be sleeping with the enemy, since King Sugar in this state had often been blamed for fertilizer runoff pollution problems, which Marla was always attacking.

“Senator Sherborne,” Bree said, rising and coming out from behind her desk to greet her. “I'm very grateful for your concern and anything you can do to keep some sort of official search going. It's being called off right about now.”

“Briana, I'm so sorry about everything,” she said as they shook hands. “No word yet?”

Bree explained about the dive search they had organized today.

“Then you're facing possible bad news.”

“Let's just say, I would never forgive myself if, even underwater, I left any stone unturned.”

“Actually, it was Josh Austin who mentioned the tragedy to me. I must admit I get so busy sometimes that I rely on aides to monitor TV news and scan the papers for me. Again, I am so sorry for all you are going through. And you were struck by lightning, Josh said. But there was no real fallout from that, evidently.”

Bree didn't mention her acute hearing and sensitivity to light. She'd told no one but Cole. It was amazing how she felt closer to him than to anyone right now, including Amelia. She prayed she wasn't leaning on him because the person she'd always been nearest and dearest to was gone. No, she still felt Daria's presence—didn't she?

To shift the subject, she said, “I'm happy to hear you and Josh are not always in some sort of debate or disagreement.”

“Not at all,” she said with a decisive nod and a hint of a smile, which lit her blue eyes to make her look even younger. “Both of us are working as best we see fit to help our constituents in this beautiful part of our world, and that certainly includes you and your sister—Turtle Bay's two mermaids and champions of our ecological future. Besides, Josh and I have some very good friends in common, and one can't always legislate one's heart. I understand that Josh once dated your sister.”

“He told you that?”

“I believe I overheard his wife mention it. I see her sometimes, since her father's a dear friend of mine. You look surprised I admit that. I supposed you know I mean Cory Grann. He's a longtime widower, you may have heard, and I've always been too busy—and too ambitious, I admit that—to marry, though I don't know what's in the future for either of us. He and I have been at odds in the past over some issues, but in this case, opposites attract. Besides, I don't completely blame big sugar for our pollution problems. It's much more complex than that.”

“Yes, I understand. So many things are not all they seem.”

“Exactly. The sugar industry has poured money into ecological causes and has greatly cut back on toxic pesticides. But that is a topic for another day and not why I'm here. I just want you to know that the work you and your sister are doing for the Clear the Gulf Commission is important, our linchpin for change. Although finding and returning Daria safe and sound is the top priority for all of us, that Trade Wreck ecological report of yours may be your legacy—both of you. And, I must admit, your plight and hers will draw much more attention to that report.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Bree admitted. “Perhaps something good coming out of all this terrible mess.”

“Briana,” the senator went on, taking one of her hands, “I'm hoping that, whatever happens, you will be willing to stand behind that report, however disheartening its findings. I intend to make it a battle call to action, both here in southwest Florida and on a national level.”