Wicked Secrets

by Anne Marsh

  “You’re full of surprises.” He sounded...approving?

  Whatever. Since he was clearly waiting for her to make a move—and, equally clearly, Dani and Daeg weren’t wrapping up their marathon kissing session anytime soon—she reached under her desk for her bag.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’ll hit the taco truck, and then I’ll take you to get the stuff you’ll need for Sam when the two of you move into your new house.”

  10

  THE DEEP DIVE team spent the night searching for a missing fishing charter, which was a hell of a way to kick off the weekend. Three overdue boaters had been reported as missing to the Coast Guard by their families. Although there was no distress call, the fishermen had been due back to Discovery Island by six o’clock, and now, twelve hours later, there still hadn’t been so much as a peep from the absent men.

  Looking for the twenty-seven-foot Fish Me Crazy visually was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Radar showed nothing within a twenty-mile radius of Discovery Island, and the Coast Guard’s urgent marine broadcast to other boaters had turned up no leads. Before the Coast Guard launched a jet, they’d reached out to Deep Dive to send up a rescue helicopter.

  The sun had just cracked the horizon, turning everything shades of gray. It was Tag’s favorite time of day to fly, the ocean calm and peaceful on a good day, and nothing had ended badly yet because the day was young. Deep Dive had put up a team of four—one pilot, two swimmers and one hoist operator—and Tag would be first into the water if the job required it. Mentally, he divided the blue water up into quadrants, scanning one before moving on to the next. Sunlight glinted off the surface. With a decent ceiling and plenty of visibility, he was feeling good about this particular mission.

  “Operations normal.” The familiar words of Cal reporting in to the Coast Guard base back on the mainland washed over him. They’d make the call every fifteen minutes until they found the missing fishermen or had to turn back because they were running low on fuel.

  Thirty miles out from Discovery Island, he spotted debris in the water. Cal banked, bringing the chopper around and down until they hovered low enough over the water for a visual. What had looked like fiberglass hull from several hundred feet in the air turned out to be a semi-submerged piece of lumber and a small flotilla of plastic bottles. Not the Fish Me Crazy or pieces of her. Those were the rescues that sucked, when the mission became salvage, and there was nothing he could do but pick up the pieces and bring them back. Maybe it helped the people left behind to know what had happened. Closure and blah blah blah. He’d take survivors any day.

  From the chopper, the ocean looked like one big expanse of blue, the surface broken by the occasional whitecap or shadow of a larger fish or shark passing by. Seagulls crisscrossed the sky because they weren’t so far from land, only seventy miles or so. Cal read off the gas levels over the headphones. They had another hour before they’d have to turn back to refuel.

  Ten minutes later, they came up on the Fish Me Crazy. She’d flipped and was floating keel up. A quick head count, however, turned up three heads. Although the crew had gone into the water, they’d managed to don life jackets first and were now clinging to the boat. As the team drew nearer, two of the men in the water signaled for help, waving their arms over their heads.

  While Cal radioed in the boat’s position and the presence of three survivors in the water with life jackets, Tag dropped a marine location marker to record the survivors’ current position in the ocean. Losing sight of the men down there could be fatal. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be any fuel in the water.

  “Bull’s-eye.” Daeg high-fived him as the flare hit the water, gushing white smoke and yellow flame.

  While Cal radioed for a Coast Guard patrol boat to assist with a possible tow, Daeg and Tag assessed the weather conditions. Although the wind was running almost twenty knots per hour, the waves remained a relatively modest six feet. Sure, the ocean below was no swimming pool, but Tag had swum in far worse. The reasons why the Fish Me Crazy had rolled weren’t immediately clear, however. Rogue wave? Poor maneuverability? There was no way to know. “We’re going to put them in the swing and hoist them up.” Cal stared at him steadily. “As quick as we can, because they’ve been in the water for a while and they’re going to be tired.”

  “Got it.” Pulling on the rescue strop, he connected the tending line to the V ring on his harness and then moved into the ready position in the door. Cal steadied him, a hand hooked in the harness, while Ben kept the chopper nice and stable, the wash from the rotors pushing out the water. After one final safety check on his gear, he stepped out, and Cal lowered him down.

  Arms crossed over his chest, fins down, he entered the water. Swimming free of the rescue strop, he stroked hard through the explosion of bubbles around his face, aiming for the surface and the boat. A quick visual check for hazards turned up nothing—the surface was clear and pretty aside from the rotor wash from the helicopter. Any debris from the Fish Me Crazy was long gone. Looking up, he signaled he was okay. Another fine day at the office.

  Getting his head above water, he swam toward the survivors. They looked pretty good for guys who’d spent the night in the water. The one closest to him was pale and clearly fatigued, though, so Tag made a quick decision to send him up first. Reversing, he stopped six feet out. No signs of panic. Good. The last thing he needed today was someone trying to climb him like a ladder.

  “You brought the cavalry.” The guy on the end flashed him a thumbs-up, clearly ready to get out of the ocean and back home. Tag didn’t blame him.

  He spat out his snorkel. “Better. I’ve brought you some US Navy boys. I need you to turn around and show me your back. Then I’m going to take you one at a time to the sling. Next, it’s an easy ride up to the chopper. You first.”

  He pointed toward the pale guy, who nodded.

  “Happy to go,” he said. “Just tell me what to do...”

  “Turn around and let me do all the heavy lifting.” As soon as he had a clear shot of the guy’s back, he grabbed the life jacket and kicked. The man planed out, floating on his back with feet pointing up, and they headed to the pickup point and the rescue litter. After securing the man, Tag grabbed the line and steadied the basket as it rose. The guy’s day wouldn’t be improved by banging into the side of the chopper. Then it was rinse and repeat with the other two.

  “If you’re done down there, we’ll head for home.” Cal’s voice came on over his radio, sounding satisfied, as he should. This rescue had been textbook perfect. While Tag didn’t mind a little adrenaline rush, nice and easy wasn’t a bad thing, either. The three fishermen undoubtedly agreed.

  The line descended from the chopper and he swam over to the hoist, connecting his strop to the rescue hook and signaling for pickup. When he rose up out of the water, he shoved his mask back. The ocean looked like a blue-and-white curved ball from his perch, deceptively calm as the Fish Me Crazy’s crew now knew. Daeg braced a booted foot against the chopper bay as he reached out to steady the hoist and bring Tag in, safe and sound. They were all going home, which made today a damned perfect day.

  Mia had promised to “make him dinner at his place” later tonight which was code for “pick up takeout.” If he was lucky, it was also code for “waiting naked on the kitchen counter.” Probably not, but he liked the fantasy. Having a female someone waiting for him was different, although he shouldn’t get used to it. Still, although he’d go back to San Diego and she’d stay here, he had every intention of enjoying tonight. The twelve or so hours until then promised to crawl.

  Daeg slapped his back as the chopper turned around and flew toward the island. “Bet you’re going to miss all this excitement when you head back to San Diego.”

  Tag rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.” Uncle Sam’s job description included plenty of high adrenaline jobs, including jungle and coastline extract
ions. And since the op called for breaking up a drug-running ring, there would undoubtedly be plenty of bullets and do-or-die moments. The South American coastline, particularly near Brazil, was also well known for its shark attacks.

  Yet somehow, it didn’t seem as...something as before.

  It was no contest that serving in the Navy was exciting work, plus it made a difference. He didn’t kid himself about that. Sure, he knew the three guys they’d just pulled from the water cared a whole hell of a lot about today’s rescue, as did their families, but in the end, they were just a handful of people. Heading down to South America, Tag had a chance to take a real blow at the drug trade. He’d be bringing home soldiers, and he’d be taking out part of a drug pipeline destroying tens of thousands of families right here in his own country.

  And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Mia settling down here in her cottage with Sam, the orange-and-white cat. Putting down all sorts of permanent roots. He couldn’t imagine himself doing the same. Okay. Apparently he was doing so now, but it was an aberration. As soon as his boots hit the tarmac in San Diego, he’d remember exactly why he’d signed up for another mission. Staying put on Discovery Island was just a fun little fantasy.

  Nothing serious.

  * * *

  MIA’S OFFICIAL WORK hours were flexible, but she liked starting the day at dark o’clock. She also liked being at the dive shop before things really got hopping. The search-and-rescue piece was more scintillating—when it didn’t involve crawling around under porches rescuing kittens—but early morning on Discovery Island was pretty. Since the dive shop was located on the boardwalk, she had an ocean view from the “office.” The marina was surprisingly busy, with commercial fishing boats and charters headed out for a day of deep-sea fishing, while divers hauled tanks and weights to waiting dive boats. The sense of excitement and going places appealed to her.

  Tag had texted her last night that they’d been called out on a rescue job, so she was on her own this morning until they made it back. No worries. She had it handled. She popped open the folding sign announcing the special of the day—a particularly challenging site where the divers often spotted sharks—and placed it on the sidewalk. The nearby dive shop had a chalkboard with fancy curlicue writing and colored chalk. Meanwhile, Deep Dive...had a whiteboard, a black marker and block lettering.

  Houston, we have a problem.

  Or chalkboard envy.

  Cal, Daeg and Tag had started out with the one dive shop, Deep Dive, but had recently expanded. Cal had purchased half of the neighboring dive business, Dream Big and Dive, which meant he was now in partnership with Piper. Deep Dive was gradually focusing more on adventure diving, advanced training, and search and rescue, while Piper’s dive shop handled more of the day-to-day dives. So they weren’t competitors. They were playing for the same team, and her competitive urge could stand down.

  The woman working on Dream Big’s chalkboard turned around and waved hello. She was a pixie, brown hair piled up on top of her head in one of those gravity-defying twists Mia had never mastered. She also had a coffee can full of colored chalk that she was using to write out the day’s specials.

  “You must be Mia. I’m Carla—the assistant manager at Dream Big and Dive.” Carla held out her hand, looked down at her pink-and-green fingers and hesitated. With a shrug, she wiped her hand on her jeans and tried again.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Discovery Island’s a small place.” Carla flashed her a grin. “There’s no keeping secrets here. For example, I hear our last resident bad-boy rescue swimmer is officially off the market. Congratulations.”

  Since the truth of their fake engagement was one secret she needed to keep, the island grapevine wasn’t welcome news. Somehow, everything seemed more complicated now that it wasn’t just the two of them facing down Ellie Damiano. The old woman had been funny. And sweet in a crazy way. But this was way more than she’d signed on for...

  She stared at her whiteboard while Carla added an orange shark to her own chalkboard. Then she looked down at her black marker, which was not cutting it in the bling-and-flash department. She needed color. Out of space, Carla ambled over and stood next to her. Streaks of pink chalk decorated her cheek and her jeans. She examined Mia’s sign and the neat block lettering.

  “It’s...very even.” She sounded doubtful.

  Yes, Mia’s sign was certainly that. It was also legible and could be read from the end of the block. She looked back at Carla’s handiwork. The other woman’s work was...flamboyant. You’d probably have to be six inches away in order to figure out the prices and what was on offer, but it made her want to look. Slowing down and taking a second glance wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

  “I’m ordering a chalkboard,” she decided.

  Carla grinned. “Easy peasy. You’re sleeping with the owner. That ought to be good for unlimited office supplies.” Wow. Mia blinked.

  “Sorry.” Carla made a face and purloined the black marker. “I’m missing my filter when it’s this early. I probably shouldn’t have assumed you’re sleeping together. I mean, you could have a really traditional engagement.”

  “Maybe Tag’s saving himself for our wedding night,” she said dryly.

  Carla snorted.

  “That would be a total waste, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Cara agreed. “Speaking of which...Cal’s promised to hire more rescue swimmers.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You need to look out for your fellow females and make sure he hires more hotties. Since you took the last one, it’s your civic responsibility to ensure he restocks.”

  “You make him sound like a cookie.”

  Granted, the man was edible. It was positively unfair how downright sexy he was. Having met Cal and Daeg, she could also see Carla’s point. If the Navy had more sexy guys like these three, why not bring them to the island?

  “I’m pretty sure federal labor laws say we can’t hire people just because they’re sexy.”

  The grin on Carla’s face grew wider. “Modeling agencies do it all the time. We could have an all-military, all-hottie dive shop. Think of the business we’d get.”

  The door opened and Tag stepped outside. She hadn’t realized he’d arrived. “Are we committing felonies before I’ve had coffee?”

  He looked sinfully good. His wet suit was pushed down to his waist and he wore another one of those ratty Navy T-shirts he loved so much. Mia was pretty sure he had a dozen of the same shirts and just rotated them. He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her up against his side. He was warm and strong, and a whisper of awareness skittered through her. Clearly, there were already fringe benefits for her to enjoy from their “engagement.”

  That being said, her visceral reaction to seeing Tag in one piece and on the ground shook her. Part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and plant a kiss on his mouth. But touching wasn’t part of their deal. He’d hired her to be his office manager, and keeping it professional was important. Bedroom things stayed in the bedroom. Or on the floor. Against the wall. Now that she thought about it, they hadn’t spent anywhere near enough time in bed.

  An oversight she’d have to remedy tonight when she got him alone.

  “The rescue went well?” The relaxed but tired look on his face said it had, but Mia wanted to hear him say it.

  “Got them all back safe and sound,” he told her, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

  “Hey.” Carla gave him a friendly smack on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Tag plucked the chalk out of the other woman’s hand. “I’m pretty sure today’s dive doesn’t involve man-eating squid or...” He squinted. “A school of oarfish?”

  “Barracuda. Tell my boss to send me to art school and you’ll get better results.” Carla grinned unrepentantly and pointed to Mia’s hand. “When are you picking out the rin
g?”

  “Spending my money, are ya?”

  “Doing Mia here a favor. I want her on my side.”

  “You just want me to hire more Navy rescue swimmers,” Mia said.

  They hadn’t talked about a ring. In fact, if she was being honest, they hadn’t done much talking at all. When she and Tag were sharing air space, the chemistry between them took over. There tended to be a whole lot of kissing—which she was definitely a fan of—but not so much rational discussion. They probably should have figured out the parameters of their new “relationship” right away. However, buying a real ring for a fake relationship seemed like overkill in the window-dressing department.

  Carla laughed. “Hot Navy rescue swimmers, remember? And there’s already a poll going around as to who’s going to have the biggest ring—you, Dani or Piper. Cal’s pretty competitive, so keep that in mind.”

  “Will do,” Tag said smoothly. “I’ll plan on giving Mia here an absolute Mount Everest of a ring.”

  Cal stuck his head out of the dive shop. “Somebody made coffee. I drank it.”

  “Hey.” Tag looked wounded. “She’s my fiancée. That makes it my coffee.”

  “Ask me nicely and I’ll make more.” Since the men had spent the better part of the night and the wee hours searching for lost fishermen, coffee was the least she could do. She went back inside and fired up a second pot.

  Cal slapped Tag on the back. “Coffee. She’s a keeper. Good hire.”

  She shoved a cup of coffee in Tag’s direction. Kissing could come later.

  “Thanks.” His fingers brushed hers as he took it. Those fingers had skimmed over her ribs, painting erotic circles on her skin. Her breasts. And lower...

  “You’re welcome.” Please and thank you? Really? Manners were good, but this was an inane conversation to be having with all this heat and need pumping through her body. She’d planned and executed multi-team campaigns in the desert. She’d come under fire more than once and kept her cool. She’d led convoys and scanned the edges of highways for the signs of IEDs. She sighed. True, she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d ended up on coffee detail, but sometimes the little things counted most, and hours of flying and swimming took it out of you. So if her contribution needed to be coffee, then that was the contribution she’d be making.