Strands of Truth

by Colleen Coble

  He wanted to get to the bottom of whatever clever plan she’d hatched.

  He reached for a nacho laden with smoked brisket and jalapeños. “Tell me more about the lab.”

  His resolve helped him walk through the lab after dinner. He would enjoy working with the impressive equipment and facilities, and it almost superseded his goal of bringing down Harper. Almost.

  2

  It should be easy to swim out there, grab her, and haul her back here to his vehicle. While there were several boats out there, he thought she was the only one diving. He swiped his wet hair off his forehead and reached for his mask. Diving was his passion, and he relished any chance he got to exercise his expertise.

  He checked his dive computer. Plenty of air. In and out in twenty minutes. He adjusted his mask over his eyes, then slipped his mouthpiece into place before wading out into the water and plunging into the waves.

  Visibility was about thirty feet with all the sand in the water, but he knew where he was headed and struck out for the mollusk beds north of Dunedin, about a hundred feet offshore and below twelve feet of water. Seaweed tried to snag his ankles as he swam through, and he spotted a bull shark off to his right. His hand went to the knife at his waist, but he hoped not to have to use it.

  A diver off to his left snared his attention, and he paused. Where’d he come from? The older guy with dark hair was big. Not good. He would have to either wait until the guy was done here or take him out.

  He didn’t have time to waste waiting around. The Taylor woman was likely to finish her work on the mollusk beds soon.

  Decision made, he pulled out his knife and swam quickly to the diver examining the cage over the mollusk beds. He didn’t seem to notice anyone else was in the water, and by the time his head came up and his eyes widened behind his mask, the knife sliced his air hose.

  Bubbles rose in the water as the older man fought hard to break free, but he didn’t let him go until the diver’s eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth slackened. He hauled him to the unidentified boat and shoved him onto the dive platform, then hauled up the anchor. The tide would carry it out to sea. He didn’t want the guy’s murder on his hands.

  Perfect. Now to grab the woman, deliver her, and collect his money. His son’s life was riding on his success. It was the only way to pay for Alex’s surgery, so he had to do whatever was necessary, no matter how repugnant.

  * * *

  The warm Gulf water embraced her like a hug. Harper paused as a playful manatee came close enough to touch. The sea mammal she’d named Cyrus swam past her before perching on the sandy sea floor to scratch his bottom. Manatees were related to elephants, and Harper could spend time with one for hours.

  She grinned and swam over to him. Today had been a fine day snorkeling above her pen shells, a bed of bivalve mollusks. The shells were about six inches tall and tapered to a sharp point. The fibers protruding from the pointed end helped anchor them into the beds. Their growth was progressing nicely. The netting designed to protect the beds from predators seemed to be in good shape, and she’d watched her best friend, Sara Kavanagh, dive down to secure one edge of a cage.

  The first harvest would be in two weeks, and she was eager to see what kind of black pearls she’d find. A special file in her computer holding recipes for pen shell meat was growing as well, and with the new harvest, she’d have byssus. The filament produced by the shells to keep them in place in the sand would be ready for use.

  Sara surfaced beside her and pushed up her mask. “Out of air and I’m beat. Let’s head back to the boat.”

  “In just a minute. I can’t just leave this handsome fellow floating by himself.” She waggled her fingers at the manatee. “Have you seen Oliver?”

  Sara shook her head. “He’s the worst diving partner in the world. He never stays within eyesight.”

  “He thinks it’s not necessary since the beds are so shallow.”

  “People have drowned in less water than this,” Sara grumbled. As an EMT for the Coast Guard, she’d seen more than her fair share of drownings.

  Sara shaded her eyes with her hand. “Looks like his boat is gone. The least he could have done was tell us he was leaving. Don’t stay out too long without a rest.” She struck out in strong strokes for their boat.

  Sara was right. It wasn’t like Oliver to be so thoughtless.

  Harper frowned and swam nearer the manatee. She laughed out loud as the large creature floated on the waves as if he were body surfing. The minutes slipped away as she frolicked with the manatee. She glanced at her watch. Sara had left over forty-five minutes ago. Harper blew the manatee a kiss and headed for the boat.

  A shadowy figure exploded from the murky water to her right and swam toward her. She flinched as she caught sight of the silvery flash from a knife in the man’s hand. What was happening? He waggled the knife in front of her mask as if he thought the sight would paralyze her, but it galvanized her into action.

  Adrenaline kicked in, and her hand went for her own knife at her waist, but she couldn’t unsheathe it before the guy reached her.

  His hand clamped down in a painful grip on her arm, and he jerked her under the waves. She tried to pry his fingers loose but couldn’t get him to release her.

  A flurry of bubbles obscured his face, but she got an impression of dark hair and flinty eyes. He grabbed her hand to drag her toward the shore.

  With renewed desperation she fought against him, and his grip slackened enough for her to swim from him. Panic gave strength to her long legs, and she kicked as hard as she could for the safety of her boat. If she could beat him there, she had flares and other things she could use as a weapon. Her lungs burned with the need to breathe, but she flutter-kicked her fins furiously and finally grabbed ahold of the ladder.

  Her head broke the surface, and she dragged gulps of air into her lungs. She hauled herself up the ladder as fast as she could.

  A hand seized her ankle as she scrambled for the last rung, and she kicked the guy in the face, then flung herself to the deck of the boat. Her little black schipperke, Bear, barked and leaped past her to snap at the man as he came after her.

  “Get him, Bear!” She dove for the storage box where she kept the flare gun and grabbed it, then turned to see Bear sink his teeth into the man’s hand as the guy hung on to the top rung.

  The man yowled and let go of the ladder, then fell back into the water. Bear put his paws atop the railing and continued to bark. Her hair still damp, Sara came out of the wheelhouse with wide eyes.

  “Start the engine!” Harper flung her five-eleven length toward Sara, who didn’t ask any questions as she turned and switched on the engine.

  In moments Sara had the boat speeding out to sea. The trembling started in Harper’s arms and spread to her legs. She sank onto the deck as she stared out over the waves toward where they’d fled. There was no sign of another boat or of her attacker.

  Sara flung her honey-colored hair out of her eyes and glanced back at her. “You okay? What happened?”

  Harper swallowed hard and nodded. “There was a-a man. I don’t know if he was trying to kill me or kidnap me.”

  The speed and silence of the attack had been unnerving and surreal. She told Sara what had happened, and her expression grew more somber. “Someone broke into my houseboat yesterday while I was gone. I reported it to the police, but they didn’t find anything.”

  “It might be related.” Sara reached for her phone. “Thank goodness Bear was there. We’d better call this in.”

  “I suppose so, but I don’t have a good description. His wet hair could have been brown or light blond, and I didn’t see his eye color. It happened so fast.” Harper’s voice wobbled. “And we have to call Oliver. His boat is gone, but I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “We’ll head back in a minute. You’re as white as sea foam.” Sara rummaged for a bottle of water and handed it to her. “Take a drink and a few deep breaths. Did he cut you anywhere?”

  H
arper shook her head and tried to stop the trembling in her limbs. She took a swig of water. “I’m okay. It’s just the adrenaline. I’ve never been attacked before. It seemed so random and senseless.”

  Sara and her fiancé, Josh Holman, were with the Coast Guard. They’d both transferred here after Josh had returned from a year’s temporary assignment on the West Coast. Harper listened with half an ear as her friend called Josh and filled him in.

  “Josh will be here in half an hour. Try calling Oliver.”

  “I didn’t bring my phone with me.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Sara handed hers over. The two of them had met their first year at Duke University when Harper needed to borrow Sara’s cell phone outside Duke Gardens, and they had been fast friends for twelve years now.

  Harper placed the call, but it went to voice mail. “He’s not answering. Let’s get back and make sure he hasn’t been hurt.”

  She sipped her water, then scooped up her dog and cuddled him close. The warmth of his fur began to calm the nerves jittering up her spine.

  “Could this be a warning to move my pen shell beds? I got a call two days ago about this being an ancient Native American burial site. Maybe Eric doesn’t want to wait for me to figure out what to do.”

  “Seems extreme, but I suppose it’s possible. I’ll mention it to Josh.” Sara waved. “Here he comes now.”

  3

  What had happened to his dad? Standing in the bow of his boat, Ridge peered past the mangroves near the shore and watched for Dad’s boat. A manatee skimmed by, and he normally would have stopped the boat to watch, but an inner urgency drove him on.

  He’d been at lunch with Jamal, a fatherless boy from church he’d taken under his wing, when Harper called. He’d let it go to voice mail, then listened to the message. She’d been panicked about not being able to track down his dad, and at first Ridge had discounted her fear. Until he hadn’t been able to raise his dad himself. Wind Dancer wasn’t docked at Dad’s house or at the boat slip in the marina.

  The Coast Guard was out searching for Dad, too, but Ridge hadn’t been able to wait at home. He knew his dad’s favorite fishing spots and the best places to dock and eat. He might just be chatting with another server or a guy mowing a lawn. It was likely nothing. His dad’s phone probably had gone dead, or he’d forgotten it in the boat.

  But as much as he tried to rationalize the situation, an inner voice whispered something was wrong.

  The late-afternoon sun glinted off the waves, and the channel began to narrow. Dad wouldn’t have been able to get any farther inland, so Ridge backed up until the channel widened enough to turn around. The Coast Guard would have checked the area where Dad had disappeared, but what if he’d run out of fuel and was at the mercy of the current and winds? He could have been pushed out to sea.

  But why didn’t he call for help?

  Ridge set his jaw and decided to head out to sea a bit. He reached for his phone to make another call to his dad. The phone rang several times, then went to voice mail again. He started to put his phone away, then smacked himself in the forehead.

  They had the GPS phone tracker on each other. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He activated the program and waited for it to search. When the location dot popped up, he frowned. Dad was way out to sea, farther than he would have thought the wind and waves could drive him. Ridge put a call in to the Coast Guard with the location, then increased his speed and went to find his father.

  The wind freshened, and he put on more speed. He had a feeling his dad needed him.

  Half an hour later, he spotted a boat bobbing in the waves. A Coast Guard cutter approached from the opposite direction, and he waved at them. Though it was nearly dark, he could make out Wind Dancer’s familiar lines. But there was no sign of his father’s brawny body.

  He reached the Grady-White before the cutter and secured his line to the Wind Dancer, then clambered aboard. “Dad?”

  He went to the cockpit, but no one answered him. The Coast Guard cutter secured their lines just off the bow of the Grady-White as he went to check out the cabin. As he descended the steps in the darkness, he heard a distant groan.

  “Dad?” He reached over and flipped on the lights.

  His father lay in a crumpled heap on the deck. “Dad!” Ridge raced to crouch by his dad and pressed his fingertips against his neck. Pulse thready and uneven. “I’ll get help!”

  He rushed up the steps and waved to the Coast Guard. “Help! I need a medic.”

  In minutes someone was tending to his dad. Someone else called for a chopper to transport him to the hospital as quickly as possible.

  “Hang on, Dad. Don’t you leave me.”

  His dad’s hand twitched in his, and he squeezed back. “You’re going to be all right. We’re heading to the hospital.”

  Did his dad even hear him? His chest barely moved, and Ridge feared he was watching his father slip away from him.

  “Don’t die, Dad, please don’t die.” He held his father’s hand and prayed until the helicopter came, and then he prayed all the way back to the hospital in his boat.

  When he finally arrived, he was told his dad was in a coma. The doctors weren’t yet sure if he’d had a heart attack or a stroke, but he was in a bad way. Ridge stood and looked down at his father, so still and lifeless. The only sound was the beeping of the machines hooked to him.

  He would have to tell his sister. And Harper. Neither meeting would be pleasant.

  * * *

  The waves lapped at the Sea Silk’s hull. Harper sat on the dock with her bare feet dangling a few inches above the water. She’d anchored her boat at the marina opposite Edgewater Park in Dunedin. She loved sitting on her boat with the beach town in view. Trees framed the brick shops and the brightly painted clapboard structures. Visitors came just to view the murals of oranges painted on the sides of the shops. The hum of Jet Skis and the sight of windsurfers added to her sense of contentment in her hometown.

  The scent of seafood from Dunedin Fish Market wafted to her, but she wasn’t hungry. After the grilling by the Coast Guard about the attack, she was exhausted and even more upset. It hadn’t made any sense, but she was mostly worried about Oliver.

  He was nowhere to be found. Ridge had never returned her frantic phone call, but maybe he was with his dad now. No one had seen Oliver’s boat since they’d gone diving.

  She desperately wanted to hear his voice. She was sure he’d call any minute.

  Her gaze strayed to Oliver’s vacant spot in the marina. He sometimes took his boat to his dock in Clearwater. Surely that’s what had happened this time.

  The mystical, golden quality of light hid the bay’s secrets, and she tried to push away the worry. Oliver had to be fine. Bear sat beside her with his alert gaze watching silver fish dart among the rocks on the bottom. The little dog looked like a miniature black bear and had a huge heart.

  Someone called her name, and Sara came toward her carrying her laptop. She dropped down beside Harper and opened the lid. “Look! You have a close family match.”

  With her worry about Oliver it took a few seconds for Harper to track what Sara meant. “You mean the DNA test?”

  Sara nodded. “I checked out the match, and I think she’s a half sibling. There are some more distant ones, too, but let’s start with her first. If she doesn’t lead anywhere, we can take a look at the others. Those matches appear to be on your mother’s side.”

  Half sister. Was it possible she wasn’t alone?

  Harper hadn’t given much credence to the DNA program’s ability to help her find a living relative, but Sara hadn’t taken no for an answer. She’d bought it for Harper’s birthday a month ago and had checked it religiously for her ever since.

  Harper’s hand strayed to her belly. Maybe she wouldn’t be alone for long even if the DNA thing didn’t pan out. Should she tell Sara what she’d done? Only Oliver knew she planned to have a baby. But no. Not until Harper knew she was pregnant.

  Sar
a plopped the laptop onto Harper’s thighs. “Have a look.”

  A ripple of excitement ran up her spine, and Harper opened the link. She blinked at the cM number that indicated how close of a relationship existed in the DNA. It did seem likely the woman was a half sibling.

  The shared contact details listed the relative, and Harper lingered over the name: Annabelle Rice. Her chest compressed, and her pulse stammered in her throat. At last she might learn the name of her father.

  “Email her now and set up a time to meet.”

  “I don’t know, Sara. I need to think about what to say. I can’t just waltz in and ask who her father is.”

  “Why not? You’ve been searching for him a long time.”

  Like all her life. “Did you talk to your mom today?”

  Sara and her mother talked several times a week. Harper couldn’t even imagine how great it must be to have a mom to talk to so intimately like that. She wanted to be that kind of mom herself. Someday she wanted her son or daughter to know he or she could call her about every little detail.

  “Just briefly.” Sara rose and touched Harper’s shoulder. “I’ll let you think about how to word it. I’ve got to get back to Clearwater.”

  “You’re a good friend, Sara.”

  “Friends help friends. Let me know what you hear.” She went back down the dock and disappeared into the shadows.

  That was one of the many lovely things about Sara—she only pushed so far, then backed off to let Harper deal with the problem her way.

  She stared at the link to email Annabelle. Maybe it would be best to just request a meeting without asking any questions yet. She typed out the request before she could chicken out and hit Send.

  Her stomach rumbled, and Bear gave her a hopeful look. “Yeah, we’ll go eat dinner.” She closed the laptop and stood, brushing dirt and debris from her shorts.

  The sunset outlined a man on a small trawler motoring her way. The figure on deck waved to her. “Harper! Don’t you ever answer your phone?”