Submerged (2 page)

When Marcus entered the building, Leonardo Lombardo
was waiting for him by the elevator. And Leo didn't look too thrilled to see him.

"
You look like your dog just died," Marcus said.

"
Don't got a dog."

"
So what's with the warm and cheerful welcome? Did the mob put a hit out on me?"

Leo, a man
of average height in his late forties, carried about thirty extra pounds around his middle, and his swarthy Italian looks gave him an air of mystery and danger. Around town, rumormongers had spread stories that Leo was an American expatriate with mob ties. But Marcus knew exactly who had started those rumors. Leo had a depraved sense of humor.

But his friend wasn
't smiling now.

"
You really gotta get some sleep."

Stepping into the elevator, Marcus shrugged.
"Sleep's overrated."

"
You look like hell."

"
Thanks."

"
You're welcome." Leo pushed the second floor button and took a hesitant breath. "Listen, man…"

Whenever Leo started a
sentence with those two words, Marcus knew it wouldn't be good.

"
You're not on your game," Leo said. "You're starting to slip up."

"
What do you mean? I do my job."

"
You filed that multiple-car accident report from last night in the wrong place. Shipley's spent half the morning looking for it. I tried covering for you, but he's pretty pissed."

"
Shipley's always pissed."

Pete Shipley made it a ritual to make Marcus
's life hell whenever possible, which was more often than not. As the day shift supervisor, Shipley ruled the emergency operators with an iron fist and enough arrogance to get on anyone's nerves.

The elevator door opened and Marcus stepped out first.

"I'll find the report, Leo."

"
How many hours you get, Marcus?"

Sleep?

"Four." It was a lie and both of them knew it.

Marcus started toward the cubicle
with the screen that divided his desk from Leo's. Behind them was the station for the other full-timers. He waved to Parminder and Wyatt as they left for home. They worked the night shift, so he only saw them in passing. Their stations were now manned by casual day workers. Backup.

"
Get some sleep," Leo muttered.

"
Sleep is a funny thing, Leo. Not funny
ha-ha
, but funny
strange
. Once a body's gone awhile without it or with an occasional light nap, sleep doesn't seem that important. I'm fine."

"
Bullshit."

They were interrupted by a door slamming down the hall.

Pete Shipley appeared, overpowering the hallway with angry energy and his massive frame. The guy towered over everyone, including Marcus, who was an easy six feet tall. Shipley, a former army captain, was built like the
Titanic
, which had become his office nickname. Unbeknown to him.

"
Taylor!" Shipley shouted. "In my office now!"

Leo grabbed Marcus
's arm. "Tell him you slept six hours."

"
You're suggesting I lie to the boss?"

"
Just cover your ass. And for God's sake, don't egg him on."

Marcus smiled.
"Now why would I do that?"

Leo gaped at him.
"Because you thrive on chaos."

"
Even in chaos there is order."

Letting out a snort, Leo said,
"You been reading too many self-help books. Don't say I didn't warn you." He turned on one heel and headed for his desk.

Marcus stared after him.
Don't worry, Leo. I can handle Pete Shipley.

Pausing in front of Shipley
's door, he took a breath, knocked once and entered. His supervisor was seated behind a metal desk, his thick-lensed glasses perched on the tip of a bulbous nose as he scrutinized a mound of paperwork. Even though the man had ordered the meeting, Shipley did nothing to indicate he acknowledged Marcus's existence.

That was fine with Marcus. It gave him time to study the office, with its cramped windowless space and dank recycled air. It wasn
't an office to envy, that's for sure. No one wanted it, or the position and responsibility that came with it. Not even Shipley. Word had it he was positioning himself for emergency coordinator, in hopes of moving up to one of the corner offices with the floor-to-ceiling windows. Marcus doubted it would ever happen. Shipley wasn't solid management material.

Marcus stood with his hands resting lightly on the back of the armless faux-leather chair Shipley reserved for
the lucky few he deemed important enough to sit in his presence. Marcus wasn't one of the lucky ones.

Bracing for an ugly reprima
nd, his thoughts drifted to last night's shift. A drunk driver had T-boned a car at a busy intersection in Hinton, resulting in a four-car pileup. One vehicle, a mini-van with an older couple and two young boys, had been sandwiched between two vehicles from the impact of the crash. The pileup had spawned numerous frantic calls to the emergency center. Emergency Medical Services (EMS), including fire and ambulance, arrived on scene within six minutes. The Jaws of Life had been used to wrench apart the contorted metal of two of the vehicles. Only three people extracted had made it out alive. One reached the hospital DOA. Then rescue workers discovered a sedan with three teenagers inside—all dead.

They'll
have nightmares for weeks.

Marcus
knew how that felt. He'd once been a first responder. In another life.

He
straightened. He was ready to take on Shipley's wrath. At least this time it would be done privately. Plus, if he was honest, he had messed up. Misfiling the report was one of a handful of stupid mistakes he'd made in the last week. Most he'd caught on his own and rectified.

"
Before you say anything," Marcus began, "I know I―"

"
What?" Shipley snapped. "You know you're an idiot?"

"
No. That's news to me."

Pete Shipley rose slowly―all two hundred and eighty pounds, six feet eleven inches of him. Bracing beefy fists agai
nst the desk, he leaned forward. "I spent three hours searching for that accident report, Taylor. Three hours! And guess where I found it?" A nanosecond pause. "Filed with the missing persons call logs. Whatcha think of that?"

"
I think it's ironic that I filed a missing report in the
missing
persons section."

"
Shut it!" Shipley glared, his thick brows furrowed into a uni-brow. "Lombardo says you've been sleeping better, but I don't believe him. Whatcha got to say about that?"

"
Leo's right. I slept like a baby last night."

Shipley
elevated a brow. "For a baby, you look like shit. You need a haircut. And a shave." He wrinkled his nose. "Have you even showered this week?"

"
I shower every day. Not that it's any of your business. As for the length of my hair and beard, sounds like you're crossing discrimination boundaries."

"
I'm not discriminating against you. I simply do not like you. You're a goddamn drug addict, Taylor."

Everyone in the center knew about Marcus
's past.

"
Thanks for clarifying that,
Peter
."

Shipley cringed.
"All it'll take is one more mistake. Everyone's watching you. You mess up again and you're out on your ass." His shoulders relaxed and he folded back into the chair. "If it were up to me, I would've fired you months ago."

"
Good thing it isn't up to you then."

Marcus knew he was pushing the man
's buttons, but that wasn't hard to do. Shipley was an idiot. A brown-noser who didn't know his ass from his dick, according to Leo.

"
This is your final warning," Shipley said between his teeth. "We hold life and death in our hands. We can't afford errors."

"
It was a misfiled report. The call was dispatched correctly and efficiently."

"
Yeah, at least you didn't send the ambulance in the wrong direction." A smug smile crossed Shipley's face. "That was the stunt that got you knocked off your
high
horse as a paramedic. Got you fired from EMS."

Marcus thought of a million ways to answer him. None of them were polite. He moved toward the door.
"I think our little meeting is done."

"
I'm not finished," Shipley bellowed.

"
Yes you are, Pete."

With that, Marcus strode from the office. He left Shipley
's door ajar, something he knew would tick off his supervisor even more than his insubordination.

H
e tried not to dwell on Shipley's words, but the man had hit a nerve. Six years ago, Marcus had been publicly humiliated when the truth had come out about his addiction problem, and his future as a paramedic was sliced clean off the minute he drove that ambulance to the wrong side of town because he was too high to comprehend where he was going.

That
's when he'd taken some time off. From work…from Jane…from everyone. He'd headed to Cadomin to clear his mind and do some fishing. At least that's what he'd told Jane. Meanwhile, he'd secretly packed his drug stash in the wooden box. Six days later, while in a morphine haze filled with strange images of ghostly children, he answered his cell phone. In a subdued voice, Detective John Zur revealed that Jane and Ryan had been in a car accident, not far from where Marcus was holing up.

That had been the beginning of the end for Marcus.

Now he was doing what he could to get by. It wasn't that he couldn't handle the career change from superstar paramedic to invisible 911 dispatcher. That wasn't the problem. Shipley was. The guy had been gunning for him ever since Leo had brought Marcus in to fill a vacant spot left behind by a dispatcher who'd quit after a nervous breakdown.

"
What did Titanic have to say?" Leo asked when Marcus veered around the cubicle.

"
He doesn't want to go down with the ship."

"
He thinks you're the iceberg?"

Marcus
gave a single nod.

"
I got your back."

Leo had co
nnections at work. He knew the center coordinator, Nate Downey, very well. He was married to Nate's daughter, Valerie.

"
I know, Leo."

As he settled into his desk and slipped on the headset, Marcus took a deep breath and released it evenly. The mind tricks between him and Shipley had become too frequent. They wreaked havoc on his brain and drained him.

Because Shipley never lets me forget.

The clock on the comp
uter read: 12:20. It was going to be a very long day.

In the sleepy town of
Edson, it was rare to see much excitement. The center catered to outside towns as well. Some days the phones only rang a half-dozen times. Those were the good days.

He flipped through the folders on his desk and found the protocol chart. Never hurt to do a quick refresher before his shift. It kept his mind fresh and focused.

But his thoughts meandered to the misfiled report.

Was
he slipping? Was he putting people's lives in danger? That was something he'd promised himself, and Leo, he'd never do again.

Remember Jane and Ryan.

How could he ever forget them? They'd been his life.

The phone rang and he jumped.

"911. Do you need Fire, Police or Ambulance?"

Marcus spent the next ten minutes explaining to eighty-nine-year-old Mrs. Mortimer, a frequent caller, that no one was available to rescue her cat from the neighbor
's tree.

Then he waited for a real emergency.

Chapter Two

Edmonton, AB – Thursday, June 13, 2013 – 4:37 PM

Rebecca Kingston folded her arms across her down-filled jacket and tried not to shiver. Though May had ended with a heat wave, the temperatures had dropped the first week of June. It had rained for the first five days, and an arctic chill had swept through the city. The weatherman blamed the erratic change in weather on global warming and a cold front sweeping down from Alaska, while locals held one source responsible. Their lifelong rival—Calgary.

"
Can we get an ice cream, Mommy?" four-year-old Ella said with a faint lips, the result of her recent contribution to the tooth fairy's necklace collection.

Rebecca laughed.
"It feels like winter again and you want ice cream?"

"
Yes, please."

"
I guess we have time."

They hurried across the street to the corner store.

"Strawberry this time," Ella said, her blue eyes pleading.

Rebecca sighed.
"Eat it slowly. Did you remember Puff?"

Her daughter nodded.
"In my pocket."

"
Good girl." Rebecca glanced at her watch. "It's almost five. Let's go."

Her cell phone rang. It was Carter Billingsley, her lawyer.

"Mr. Billingsley," she said. "I'm glad you got my message."

"
So you've decided to get away," he said. "That's a very good idea."

"
I need a break." She glanced at Ella. "Things are going to get ugly, aren't they?"

"
Unfortunately, yes. Divorce is never pretty. But you'll get through it."

"
Thanks, Mr. Billingsley."

"
Take care, Rebecca."

Carter
had once been her grandfather's lawyer and Grandpa Bob had highly recommended him—if Rebecca ever needed someone to handle her divorce. In his late sixties, Carter filled that father-figure left void after her father's passing.

Her thoughts raced to her
twelve-year-old son. Colton's team was up against one of the toughest junior high hockey teams from Regina. With Colton as the Edmonton team's goalie, most of the pressure was on him. He was a brave boy.

She bit
her bottom lip, wishing she were as brave.

You
're a coward, Becca.

"
You're too codependent," her mother always said.

Rebecca
figured that wasn't actually her fault. She'd been fortunate to have strong male role models in her life. Men who ran companies with iron fists and made decisions after careful consideration. Or at least worked hard to provide for their families. Men like Grandpa Bob and her father. Men who could be trusted to make the right decisions.

Not like
Wesley.

Even her grandfather hadn't lik
ed him. When Grandpa Bob passed away two years ago, he'd sent a clear message to everyone that Wesley couldn't be trusted. Grandpa Bob had lived a miser's lifestyle. No one knew how much money he'd saved for that "rainy day"—until he was gone and Colton and Ella became beneficiaries of over eight hundred thousand dollars from the sale of Grandpa Bob's house and business.

Grandpa Bob
, in his infinite wisdom, had added two major conditions to the inheritance. Money could only be withdrawn from the account if it was spent on Ella or Colton. And Rebecca was the sole person with signing power.

Wesley moped around the house for days when he hear
d the conditions. Any time she bought the kids new clothes, he'd sneer at her and say, "Hope you used your grandfather's money for those."

Once when he'd gambled most of his payche
ck, he begged her for a "loan," and when she'd voiced that she didn't have the money, he slapped her. "Lying bitch! You've got almost a million dollars at your fingertips. All I'm asking for is thirty-five hundred. I'll pay it back."

She'd refused and paid the price, physically.

Rebecca wanted him out of her life. Once and for all. But for the sake of the children, she had to find a way to forgive Wesley and deal with the fact that he was her children's father. He'd always be in their lives.

Every time she looked at Colton, she
was reminded of Wesley. Unlike Ella's blonde hair and blue eyes that closely resembled her own, both father and son had dark brown hair, hazel eyes, a light spray of freckles across their noses and matching chin dimples.

She
'd met Wesley at a company Christmas party shortly after she started working as a customer service representative at Alberta Cable. The son of upper-class parents, Wesley had created his independence by not joining the family law firm, as was expected. Instead, he went to work at Alberta Cable as a cable installer. At the party, he'd been assigned to the same table as Rebecca. As soon as Wesley realized she was single, he poured on the charm. He was a master at that.

The next morning she
'd found Wesley in her bed.

After
nearly four years of dating, he finally popped the question. Via a text message, of all things. She was at work when her cell phone sprang to life, vibrating against her desk. When she glanced down, she saw seven words.

"
Rebecca Kingston, will U marry me?"

She
'd immediately let out a startled shriek. "Wesley just proposed."

This
sent the entire room into a chaotic buzz of applause and congratulatory wishes. The rest of Rebecca's shift was a blur.

"
Is Daddy gonna be at the game?" Ella said, interrupting her memories.

"
No, honey. He's at work."

At least that
's where Rebecca hoped he was.

Wes
ley had left Alberta Cable six months ago, escorted from the building after being fired for screaming at a customer in her own home and shoving the woman into a wall. It hadn't been the first complaint lodged against him. He'd been employed off and on since then, but no one wanted an employee with anger management issues.

When
Rebecca had asked what had happened, he mumbled something about an accident, arguing that it wasn't his fault. "No matter what that ass of a supervisor says," he said.

She
'd given him a look that said she didn't believe him. She paid for that look. The black eye he gave her kept her in the house for nearly a week. That's when she filed for separation.

Since leaving
Alberta, Wesley had wandered from one dead-end job to another. For the past two months he'd hardly worked at all. She hoped to God he wasn't sitting at his apartment, surfing the porn highway.

Last time she saw him
, Wesley had blamed his unemployment situation on the recession, which had, in all fairness, wreaked havoc with many people's lives and crushed some of the toughest companies. But the economy, or lack of a strong one, wasn't Wesley's problem. The problem was his lack of motivation and the inability to handle his jealousy and rage.

Perhaps
Wesley was experiencing a midlife crisis.

Maybe she was too.

It was getting more and more difficult to keep it together. But she did it for her children. Besides, she'd endured worse than uncertainty when she lived with Wesley. Much worse.

Rebecca glanced down at her daughter. Ella was a petite child who
'd been born two months premature. Wesley had seen to that.

She shook her head.
No. What happened back then was as much my fault as his. I stayed when I should've left.

"
Hurry, Mommy!" Ella said, tugging on her hand.

The hockey arena was a five-
minute walk from where she'd parked the Chevy Impala, but with the ice cream pit stop, Rebecca was glad they'd left early.

"
Ella, do you think Colton's team will win today?"

Her daug
hter rolled her eyes. "Of course. Colton is awesome!"

"
Awesome," Rebecca agreed.

Tamarack Hockey Arena
came into view, along with the crowds of hockey fans who gathered outside the doors to the indoor rink.

Rebecca took Ella
's hand and drew her in close.

In Edmonton, h
ockey fans bordered on hockey fanatics. It wouldn't be the first time that a fight broke out between fathers of opposing teams. Last year, a toddler had been trampled in a north Edmonton arena. Thankfully, he'd survived.

"
Stay close, Ella."

"
Do you see Colton?"

"
Not yet."

"
Becca!"

Turning in the direction of the voice, she
scoured the bleachers. Then she spotted Wesley near the home team's side. He wasn't supposed to be there. The terms of their separation were that he could see the kids during scheduled visitations. Once the divorce was final, those visits would be restricted to visits accompanied by a social worker―if Carter Billingsley, her lawyer, came through for her. She hadn't given Wesley this news yet.

"
I saved you some seats," Wesley hollered. The look he gave her suggested she shouldn't make a public scene. Or else.

Rebecca relea
sed a reluctant sigh.
Great. Just great.

"
Are we gonna sit with Daddy?" Ella asked.

"
Yes, honey. Unless you want to sit somewhere else."
Anywhere else.

Despite Rebecca
's silent plea, Ella headed in Wesley's direction, pushing past the knees that blocked the aisle. Rebecca sat beside Ella and tried to tamp down the guilt she felt at placing their daughter between them.

"
There's a seat beside me," Wesley said.

Her gaze flew to the empty seat on his right and she
winced. "I'm good here. Thanks for saving the seats."

Looking as handsome as the day she
'd married him, Wesley smiled. "You look lovely. New hairstyle?"

She touched her shoulder-length hair.
"I need a trim."

"
Looks good. But then you always do."

She stared at him. He was laying on the charm a bit thick.
That usually meant he wanted something.

Wesley
chucked Ella under the chin. "So, Ella-Bella, how's kindergarten?"

"
We went on a field trip to the zoo yesterday."

"
See any monkeys?" he asked, his arm resting over the back of Ella's chair.

"
Yeah. They were so cute."

"
But not as cute as you, right?" He caught Rebecca's eye and winked. "You're the cutest girl here. Even though you have no teeth."

"
Do too!" Ella opened her mouth to show him.

After a few minutes of listening to their teasing banter, Rebecca
tuned out their laughter. Sadness washed over her, followed by regret. If things had gone differently, they'd still be a family, and the kids would have their father in their lives. But Rebecca couldn't stay in an abusive relationship. Her mind and body couldn't endure any more trauma. And she was terrified he'd start lashing out physically at the kids.

So she
'd made a decision, and one sunny Friday afternoon, she'd summoned up the courage to confront Wesley at his current
job de jour
.

"
We need to talk," she'd told him.

"
This isn't a good time."

"
It's
never
a good time." She took a deep breath. "I want you to move out of the house, Wesley."

He
laughed. "Good joke. What's the punch line?"

"
I'm not joking."

H
is smile disappeared. "You're serious?"

"
Dead serious. It's not like you couldn't see this coming. I want a separation. You know I've been…unhappy in our marriage."

"
I'll try to make more time for you."

"
It's not more time that I want, Wesley. Neither of us can live like this. Your anger is out of control. You're out of control."

"
So this is all my fault?" Wesley sneered.

"
You nearly put me in the hospital last week."

"
Maybe that's where you belong."

She clenched her teeth.
"Your threats won't work this time. I've made up my mind. I'm leaving tonight, and I'm taking the kids with me."

There was an uncomfortable pause
.

"
Seems to me you're only thinking about yourself, what
you
want. Have you even thought about what this'll do to the kids?"