Dangerous Waters
Authors: Toni Anderson
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Women Sleuths, #Romance, #Romantic Suspense, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense, #Series
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2012 Toni Anderson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-13: 9781612186078
ISBN-10: 1612186076
To Gary, my wild Irish husband.
For love, support, and hero inspiration.
1982–Bamfield, Vancouver Island, Canada
Towering pines loomed menacingly overhead but nothing stirred. The shadows unnerved her. Bears were common on the island, and she didn’t fancy meeting a hungry one. A branch snapped in the woods and she whirled.
“Mama, Mama! Look at me!”
Bianca forced a tired smile as her daughter jumped off a log at the side of the gravel lane. She stopped the stroller and applauded the little girl’s bravery. “Wow. Look at you. You’re flying.” She grinned as Leah took off, spinning in circles with her arms flung out, head thrown back in wild abandon.
Was everyone born that joyful? Did it leach out with tears and failure or simply vanish as life piled on worry and disappointment?
A strident cry came from the stroller.
“I just fed you, you glutton.” They were headed for the local library, but considering the strength of six-week-old Tommy’s escalating cries, he wasn’t going to last that long. Every wail pierced her skull until she couldn’t take it for another second. “Come and sit over here, Leah. I’ll feed your brother before he drives me nuts.”
She pushed the stroller to the side of the road and brushed off the loose dirt and pine needles from the base of a felled tree. She undid Tommy’s straps, and his angry red face became even more frantic. “Feed me, and feed me now, huh?”
She sat heavily on the flat surface, pulled up the T-shirt she wore under her thick denim shirt, unhooked her bra, and helped the baby latch on. She should have listened to her mom and just given the little monster formula.
Guilt was a terrible thing.
Her heart clenched as two tiny hands cradled her breast and he looked up at her with big, innocent eyes. The utter silence of the forest pressed down on her as her son suckled hungrily. An itch of awareness crawled over her skin. Her head shot up and left. “Leah?”
She craned her neck as far as she could without standing. “Are you playing hide-and-seek, baby? Because Mommy can’t come and find you right now. Just give me two minutes…” How often had she said those words to her patient little angel over the past few weeks? She pressed her lips into a tight line.
Worry tugged at the corners of her brain, but she was tired, and even though she’d just reached the so-called terrible twos, Leah was a great kid. She wouldn’t go far. Tommy suckled some more. His warm contentment made her drowsy.
The first lick of panic hit out of nowhere and she snapped upright. There were cougars as well as bears out here. “Leah? Leah! Come back here right now.” She stood, Tommy fussing as she headed into the brush where she’d last seen her little girl.
Had she fallen and hurt herself? Was she sitting behind a bush waiting to be found, a mischievous smile lighting her face?
Bianca walked deeper into the forest, protecting little Tommy’s head from getting scratched by branches, spinning around, looking for a glimpse of the red jacket her daughter was wearing. Tommy started to bawl against her shoulder, and she cradled his head, trying to hold him securely as an icy wave of desperation sliced its way down her spine. “Leah.” She made her voice singsongy even though she wanted to shriek. “Sweetie, come to Mommy. We have to go to the library now. You want some new books, don’t you? Please don’t hide.”
She stopped at a clearing. It was empty and the leaves were undisturbed. No one had come this way. She swung back, and a figure stepped out of the bushes between her and the road. Fear drenched her to the bone. He wore a black mask, a tool belt riding his hip, a hammer balanced in one hand. Her mouth parched. The thump of her heart detonated mini-explosions through her body and she shook. She wanted to run. Couldn’t move.
“What have you done with my little girl?” Her voice was thick and gravelly. She was pinned in place with indecision, so scared her bones rattled. She couldn’t leave her little girl, couldn’t escape while holding the baby. The man pulled his other hand from behind his back and dropped something to the ground. A flash of scarlet. Leah’s jacket.
“Where is she?” Scared but angry, she took a half step forward. She wanted to rip into him. Where was Leah? What had he done with her? She took another step closer and recognition hit. The rush of relief made her knees melt and she stumbled. Relief, regret, rage.
Why was he wearing that stupid mask? How dare he try to scare her like this? “Where is she?”
Birds flapped out of trees. A short burst of startled feathers.
He said nothing, and she huffed out a confused breath.
Why didn’t he speak? She didn’t understand. She grabbed his shirt with her free hand and tried to shake him into a response. He smelled like the woods—smoky and earthy.
She looked down at her beautiful son who seemed beguiled by the stranger.
Was
this
what he wanted?
Uncertainly, she held the baby a little higher. Her son’s first smile was the last thing she saw as something violent and heavy crushed her skull.
Present Day
Finn set out the dive flags and made sure the lights were on. Anchors secure. “Ready?”
His boss nodded and did a final equipment check.
Finn handed him a dive light. “Don’t turn it on yet.” He glanced around the rocky cliffs that surrounded the sheltered cove. The outcrops were topped with craggy pines and Douglas fir. Crow Point—it was remote and sparsely populated, no chance of rescue should things go pear-shaped.
It was creeping toward dusk and would be full dark when they came back up. He was in charge of dive safety and dive training at the local marine lab, and it went against every principle not to have a surface crew on a dive this dangerous.
Conditions
were
perfect.
On the low edge of a neap tide cycle. Flat calm and nothing in the forecast to cause any concern. But there was a reason this part of Vancouver Island was called the Graveyard of the Pacific, and relying on forecasts was for fools and novices. Barkley Sound was notorious for violent squalls and surging swells that came out of nowhere and sucked you down into the pitiless black depths and never let go. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked.
Professor Thomas Edgefield, director of Bamfield Marine Science Center, nodded and stood awkwardly with his three air tanks secured to his back—two cylinders and a pony backup.
If ever there was a need for
margin of error
and
built-in redundancy
, this was it. He shuffled over to the dive platform at the stern of the boat. Finn checked that his buddy’s hoses were secure and not liable to get caught on the wreckage as Thom pulled on his fins. Thom returned the favor, patting Finn on the shoulder when they were good to go. Thom put his regulator in his mouth, held his mask, and stepped off into the sea. Finn took a last look at the brooding cliffs and dropped in behind him.
The first thing that always hit was the flash of cold as the Pacific struck exposed flesh.
He signaled, and Thom returned the thumbs-down gesture. They began descending the gerry line to the anchor line, swimming toward the area where ten days ago they’d discovered the wreckage of an unknown, previously undocumented ship.
The second thing that always hit was the ominous quiet. The muffled, deadened version of sound that amplified awareness of body, breath, heartbeat. A deceptive quiet that lulled the mind and softened the very real danger of a nighttime wreck dive without proper surface support.
But Thom had been insistent and he was the boss. Worse, he was liable to do it alone if Finn refused to help. Classic case of damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.
He flicked on his flashlight and shone it along the anchor line, checked his gauges, turned to watch his buddy do the same, and they both gave the OK signal.
They headed straight down, air bubbles streaming out of their mouths. Ten meters. Twenty. Clearing ears as depth increased. Thirty meters, and they were almost there. Pressure pinched the neoprene tight to his skin. At the bottom, he tied in the anchor, making sure it was secure. He attached flashing strobe lights and clipped off a line reel so they could more easily find their way back. He might not have told anyone what they were doing but he sure as hell wasn’t playing fast and loose with their safety.
The hull was a dark, menacing shadow, riddled with cracks, but inaccessible. Potentially treacherous. Unwilling to give up its secrets. The research he’d done suggested the ship was a relic of the nineteenth century. He’d learned little else. Why had no one ever heard of it? Why hadn’t some of the crew escaped?
Finn didn’t like mysteries. He liked things straightforward. Direct. No bullshit. But it wasn’t the first shipwreck in this part of the world to be found with no record of survivors or crew.
Most wrecks on the west of the island were pummeled by wave action and pounded into tiny pieces or flattened in the sand. But in this sheltered cove, the waves were buffered, and at this depth, in this remote, protected part of the Pacific Rim National Park Reserve, the hull had remained intact, the wreck undiscovered for all these years. Until he and Thom had checked out an unusual sea otter sighting in the bay and done some impromptu diving, just for the hell of it.
Serendipity? Thom sure as hell thought so.
Finn looked up through the water column and saw nothing but obsidian blackness at these chilling depths. He shone his beam over the metal hull, picked out starfish and anemones that shimmered in gemstone colors. But they weren’t what had made Thom nearly choke on his regulator last time they were down here. Finn moved cautiously over the deck to one of the doorways and tied off his reel. Inside the wreck the line was more hazard than help. The pitch-black opening consumed him with a tight swallow. He felt Thom move close behind.
A shiver of dread picked its way over his vertebrae. He shook off the feeling and moved farther into the ship. They had to move with
extreme
caution. Otherwise, sediment would completely destroy visibility and they’d have to rely on touch to get out of the deadly maze. A good way to die on an unfamiliar wreck in the middle of the night with no surface crew to miss them.
His heart thumped impassively in his ear. Years of military training had taught him how to control his stress levels. He’d taken plenty of risks diving military targets in enemy-rich environments, but this situation didn’t feel any less deadly. And Thom might be an experienced diver, but he was too old and…
frail
…to do this alone.
Thom drew level with him and stopped, shining his dive light under his chin and pulling a comic horror face. Suddenly he looked happier than Finn had seen him in years, and the worry lightened. Maybe it was worth it. This discovery would make Thom famous rather than infamous, and it was about goddamn time.
He signaled his buddy to take the lead in the hunt for the treasure. The water started to get cloudy so he slowed, gliding with precision so as not to disturb the insidious layer of silt that shrouded every surface. The flashlight beams penetrated the gloom by only a few meters, slashes of brightness in the heavy, claustrophobic darkness. Finn checked his wristwatch and air gauge, every movement controlled and cautious.
Shadows swarmed through the water, schools of fish darting in and out of the beams like flashes of sunlight off the edge of a blade.
They headed along a stairwell and into the bowels of the ship. Into the engine room, Finn scanning for sharp edges that could cut through rubber hoses or neoprene. At nighttime, the ship was a dense absence of light, and he felt like Jonah in the belly of the whale. Except he had a knife and he knew how to use it.
Thom started taking photographs, the flash startlingly bright in the void of the silent tomb. This was the most hazardous time. Thom’s attention was rapt on his prize, oblivious to everything else. Finn had to think for both of them.
He let the man work, stayed perfectly still in the background as Thom wrote in his underwater notebook, took water temperature readings, more photos, before carefully collecting his treasure. Cold started to seep into his muscles and he flexed his fingers. He didn’t wear gloves—didn’t like how they reduced his dexterity. Five minutes later, he rechecked their gauges. Saw Thom was guzzling air in his excitement. He tapped him on the shoulder and gave him the thumbs-up, the signal that meant it was time to surface. Thom scowled and shook his head. Finn tapped him again—with his fist. Gave him the thumbs-up signal once more. It wasn’t a question. Thom might be his boss, but Finn was dive master. Down here he was God.
Thom nodded with a glare and slipped his prize into a bag at his side. He started swimming for the exit. Finn caught a flash of something in a shaft of his flashlight and paused. He shone his beam over the same spot and picked out the object. Frowning, he went down for a closer inspection.
It was a weight belt, worn by divers to reduce buoyancy. He swore and swam swiftly to Thom. He didn’t want his buddy popping to the surface like a cork when he got out of the wreck. He didn’t want to spend the night in a decompression chamber or have to explain what they’d been doing down here. He grabbed his mentor and friend and physically turned him—but Thom’s weight belt was securely in place. Thom frowned in confusion, and Finn swam back to the bottom, picked up the belt, stirring up silt and swearing silently with each noisy inhalation. He glided carefully back to where Thom floated beside the door.
Thom ran his own light over the belt and his brow wrinkled. Then he looked up, past Finn’s shoulder, and his expression morphed into horror. He screamed, panicking as he lost his regulator, banging against the doorframe in a frantic effort to get out. Finn shot a quick glance over his shoulder before sediment obliterated the view like an ink cloud.
Shit
.
He didn’t have time to deal with it. Thom was in deep trouble. He’d banged against something sharp, and a confusing swathe of bubbles now engulfed him, stirring up grit and muck all around them. Finn’s training took over and he grabbed Thom’s pony tank, turned it on, and shoved that regulator into his mouth, gripping him by the chest so he didn’t disappear. Something had pierced Thom’s manifold and emptied both air tanks. Finn shook him hard to get his attention. Kept them orientated with the hatch so they didn’t lose their way in the velvety, encompassing blackness. Panic would kill them as surely as lack of oxygen, and he wasn’t dying like this. Thom sucked air like an asthmatic, eyes bulging from the awful choking experience Finn knew all too well.
In zero viz, he hauled his buddy through the hatch. The twisted wreckage pressed tight around them, making it hard to move, suffocating and sinister.
This was the danger of wreck dives. You had to expect the unexpected. They bumped up the narrow stairwell. Every frantic movement stirring up more sediment and silt that crowded them, obliterating every particle of light, every hint of shape and form.
His heart beat louder in his ears, still steady, but reinforced by the
oh fuck
factor. Flashlights were useless. Finn used touch and had to trust his innate sense of direction. With an iron grip on Thom, he made it out of the stairwell, through the wheelhouse, and free of the shipwreck. Sediment cleared as they hit open water. Darkness still surrounded them, but it was different. Less oppressive. Less claustrophobic. He pulled Thom swiftly to the strobe lights that marked the anchor line. They didn’t have much time on the pony tank, but if that ran out, Finn had plenty of air in his backup. Just so long as Thom didn’t freak.
He had to hold on tight when the man would have shot straight to the surface.
Dammit
. He dragged him back down. His dive computer said they needed to decompress for a few minutes or they’d face the very real possibility of getting bent. He held Thom determinedly in place, stared into his eyes, and willed the man back from the ledge of crazy.
Thom’s skin was so waxy that, up close, his face shone like a full moon. Finn had never seen him so distraught—well, not in decades.
They’d known each other a long time.
They’d trusted each other a long time.
He willed Thom to trust him now. To get him safely to the surface and out of this mess alive. Slowly, Thom’s juddering breath settled and his eyes calmed. Finn checked his watch, his gauges. He flashed him the OK signal, silently asking the question.
Thom nodded, gripping Finn’s arms and closing his eyes, drawing in a huge lungful of air. Finally he returned the signal, thumb pressed to index finger, other fingers upright. OK.
Everything was going to be all right.
Finn gave the signal to surface, taking it slow, forcing air out in deep breaths to stop his lungs from exploding as the air expanded. He had to remind Thom to do the same, which told him the guy—an experienced diver—was in bad shape.
Breaking the skin of the inky surface, they followed the gerry line back to the boat that bobbed gently on the incoming tide. Neither said a word. They threw their fins up on deck, climbed aboard, and shucked off their heavy equipment. Sat breathing heavily, looking at one another for a long, drawn-out moment. Ghosts lingered in Thom’s eyes.
“I have to report this to the police,” said Finn. The image of the diver hanging lifeless in the water burned through his brain.
Thom swallowed thickly. Nodded. He pulled out a small sample jar and looked at his prize floating gently in the water. Then he rested his head in the palm of his hands and started to cry.
