“Shit,” he said more loudly. The message clicked off.
“Everything all right?” Elliott called.
“Yeah, yeah.” Randy Martin, that fucking bastard. He’d shown up for the new season two years before, a hot-shot young diver with a huge chip on his shoulder. He hadn’t had any use for a safety-conscious dive supervisor and he’d made that clear. But Max’s word was law on that ship; he could even override the captain when they were at a dive site. Randy had tested Max one too many times, staying down for forty minutes on a strict thirty-minute dive. He’d smirked at Max when he’d finally emerged from the water. The same smirk he offered every time he put a foot over the line. After two weeks, they’d stopped to restock in Tangier, and Randy had found himself waving goodbye to his new friends.
But the entire crew, the captain included, had bought into Max’s subtle hints that it had been more than his recklessness that had triggered Max’s temper. There may not have been a fight over a girl during that first night onshore, but no one needed to know that except Max.
And now Randy wanted back onboard. What a prick.
Max’s first instinct was to call the captain back with a drop-dead refusal. He’d never even come close to losing a diver on a job and he wasn’t going to let this bastard ruin his reputation. Or his sanity. Even if he hated the guy, Max wouldn’t be able to live with that on his conscience. That was the entirety of his job: keeping people alive while they did something immeasurably dangerous.
And how in the hell had he ended up with the worst job in the whole damn world? He supervised a dozen people who threw themselves into harm’s way every damn day. People who whined and argued when he set time limits based on visibility and dive depth. People who refused to rest when he ordered a day off. People who thanked him for keeping them safe, even as they cursed him for treating them like children.
He couldn’t count the number of times he’d had to bite back a shout of “I won’t treat you like a child if you stop acting like one!” That didn’t fit with his image, after all, so Max had perfected peaceful smiles and friendly winks. And really, they weren’t all bad. Most divers were educated and well aware of the dangers and respected his efforts. But there was one on every goddamn trip. And none had been as bad as Randy.
Max pulled up the captain’s number, pretending for a moment that he was calling to quit. He didn’t need a job. He’d received a full share of the profits made on every single dive for the past twelve years, and it wasn’t easy to spend money when you spent three-quarters of your life at sea.
So he could quit. But he wouldn’t. After a dozen years of being tempted by this very thing, he knew he wasn’t going to walk away. These people’s lives were in his hands.
“Sullivan?” the captain’s deep voice said over the tinny line.
“Hey, Cap. How’s Greece?”
“Lovely. I’d invite you to come for the rest of the month, but I have my daughters to think of. They are beautiful, and you are not the marrying kind.”
Max smiled. “No, I’m not.”
“Dare I ask if you’re using your time off wisely?”
“Now, that would be a ridiculous question, wouldn’t it?”
“Ha. You’re just like I was in my youth. You’ll settle down someday.”
Yeah, Max was a real party animal.
“So,” the captain said tentatively, “you got my message about Randy? Think you can set aside your differences for a few months?”
“I don’t think so, Cap.”
“Perhaps if you just avoid him in port? There are plenty of women to go around.”
Max considered a few lines. Some harmless falsehoods that would cover the truth. But then he thought of how free he’d felt speaking the truth to Chloe. The captain didn’t need to be manipulated in this case. Max didn’t have to smile and lie. He took a deep breath. “He’s reckless and he disobeyed my direct orders on several occasions. He’s a danger to himself and everyone on the team. I won’t work with him again.”
Silence hissed through the phone.
“Captain?”
“I’ve never heard you speak a cross word about anyone, Sullivan. Consider him banned from the ship.”
His shoulders slumped in relief. “Good. Thank you.”
“Is everything all right, Max? You sound a bit grim.”
“I’m good,” he lied, purposefully adding some reckless good humor to his tone. “Just overdoing it, I’m sure.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you in a few weeks. Let’s see if we can get that site finished up. My researchers have turned up some great leads on that Macedonian wreck I was telling you about.”
Max hung up and leaned against the wall, letting his eyes close and his head fall back. Maybe this island trip hadn’t been a complete disaster. If he could learn to throw a little truth around with his bullshit, maybe his life would be easier. But the idea didn’t stop the hot pressure that settled on his chest when he thought of returning to the ship. He didn’t want to go back. He never did. But he’d known some of those divers for more than ten years and their lives were his responsibility. How was he ever supposed to set himself free of that?
In the end, it would probably make no difference. He picked up lead weights of responsibility everywhere he went, even when he made every effort to keep a distance.
Chloe Turner was just one stop in a long line of trouble, and Max could see the endless string of his life stretching on forever, punctuated in even intervals by anchors. He wouldn’t be able to move past this one without adding it to his load. Damn.
Pushing off the wall, he walked to the doorway to find Elliott still sprawled out on the couch, his forearm covering his eyes.
Max set his shoulders. Going after Chloe would be a huge mistake, the kind he’d determined not to keep making in his life. He couldn’t keep picking up burdens, but the problem was he’d already walked right up to hers. Now it was sitting in his path, blocking his way at every turn.
Max raised his chin and pasted a smile on his face. “Hey, Elliott, what do you say we go get drunk?”
“I say yes.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TWO NIGHTS LATER, Max couldn’t deny that they’d successfully carried out their plan for drunkenness. In fact, he’d been nursing a hangover for twenty-four hours straight, but he couldn’t talk himself out of bellying up to the bar again, regardless. So here they sat, morose and silent and staring at the largest television in the bar.
The place was packed now, loud with the chatter of locals excited about their brush with fame. Max and Elliott had managed to maintain their anonymity for the most part, but occasionally, someone put two and two together, and figured one of these guys from the resort must be the man sleeping with the infamous Bridezilla.
Like tonight’s bartender, for example. “So,” he said with a suspiciously casual air. “Which one of you is Elliott?”
Max and Elliott exchanged a glance of tired impatience. “Who wants to know?” Max asked.
“Just curious,” the guy said.
“Right.”
“That Chloe girl…I heard she’s totally nuts. Is that true?”
Max picked up his glass of Scotch and knocked back the contents like a college guy doing shots.
The bartender leaned closer. “I’ve heard those psycho girls are real awesome in the sack. If—”
Max dropped the tumbler to the bar and grabbed the front of the guy’s shirt. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
Too late, he registered the flash of a camera out of the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around and found a smug-faced man lowering a very expensive-looking camera. The entire herd of paparazzi had followed Chloe back to Richmond, but apparently this guy had wised up and come back to the island to follow up on the “Bridezilla’s lover” angle.
Max shoved the bartender back with a muttered warning, then tacked on an order for another Scotch. But fuck if he was going to leave a tip. Resolutely ignoring
the reporter, he tipped his face back up to watch the coverage of Chloe. It was the same video that had been playing all day. First, her holding up a hand as she got into the passenger seat of a car and sped away from the docking area of the ferry. Then a shot of the back of that car, driven by Jenn. Then pictures of her ex-fiancé heading into a courthouse. Charges Expected To Be Filed Against Runaway Groom On Monday, the crawl said.
Fascinated and furious at the same time, Max squinted at the shaky video of the guy. He looked…normal, Max supposed. Objectively decent-looking. But surely the thin line of his mouth hinted at smarminess. Surely his jaw was a little weak. And Max knew full well that the guy’s healthy tan was a result of the week he’d spent on the beach in hiding, but it was unseemly for him to look like he’d just gotten back from vacation.
“Dickhead,” Max bit out as he grabbed the new glass of Scotch and made himself sip slowly.
The last video clip was a new one. Chloe, head down, the hood of a sweatshirt pulled over her hair, walked through a parking lot somewhere. Something caught her attention and she glanced toward the camera for a split second. Max’s heart lurched, throwing itself against his ribs. Her sweet hazel eyes didn’t look warm anymore. They were sad and…wild. As if she were about to curl into a ball and scream.
Pulse thumping hard through his entire body, Max stared at the television long after the anchor had moved on to another story, as if Chloe were trapped in that rectangle on the wall.
“She looks okay,” Elliott said, the tone more a question than a statement.
“No, she doesn’t.”
His brother cleared his throat. “I guess. Whatever these bastards are saying, she didn’t seem crazy to me.”
She hadn’t seemed crazy to Max, either, not until the paparazzi had shown up. Guilt gnawed at him like a Rottweiler with a bone.
Max nudged him with his elbow. “Ready to go?”
He was probably asking about tonight, about the bar, but Max’s muscles tightened with the need to leave, to get to Chloe and protect her from the hordes of paparazzi.
He knew it was ridiculous to want to save her. What the hell was he supposed to do? Magically make it all disappear? The hearing was coming up on Monday, for God’s sake.
He couldn’t do it. Getting involved with Chloe was exactly the kind of entanglement he could no longer handle.
Celibacy. He should’ve stuck with the celibacy.
“Yeah,” he finally answered, pushing up from the bar stool.
“You must be Elliott,” a man said from behind him. Max swung around to find the photographer holding out a hand.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Chaz Sorenson.”
“Chaz, huh?” Max sneered. “Well, have a nice night, Chaz.”
“I wondered if you’d be interested in answering a few questions.”
“No.” He pushed past him and followed Elliott toward the door.
“Did you know she was engaged when you slept with her?”
“She’s not engaged.”
“So you did sleep with her?”
Max’s feet froze to the ground as his hands folded into fists. The faint white light above the door turned a hazy red in his vision.
“Sullivan,” his brother said carefully. “Nobody needs that kind of trouble.”
True. Breaking this guy’s nose would do nothing to help Chloe, and it probably wouldn’t be great for Max, either. Plus there was always the danger that the guy would fall over and crack his head open on a table. Not worth the risk of manslaughter charges. Max managed to move one foot closer to the door, and then the other.
“Let me give you my card,” the guy was saying, but Elliott opened the door and Max forced himself to walk through it.
When he glanced back at the closing door, Max caught another glimpse of Chloe’s face glowing from one of the television sets. Another channel. Another gossip reporter with a gleeful smile. He stepped out of the bar and rolled his shoulders, trying to pull in a tight breath of salty air. Not that salty air ever did anything good for his nerves. “You sure you don’t mind your name mixed up in all this?”
Elliott huffed a laugh. “Nah. It’ll do wonders for my reputation. And they don’t deserve the truth.”
Once they were a dozen feet out on the sand, Max looked back at the bar. For once, the parking lot was full of cars. “Listen. How would you feel about ditching this place tomorrow?”
“Sure. I’ve got all the boating skills down now, thanks to you. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge. It’s lost its charm anyway.”
“By charm, I assume you mean Jenn?”
“Whatever.” Elliott threw a glance in Max’s direction. “Are you coming back to my place in D.C.?”
It suddenly felt like the inside of Max’s skull was lined with sandpaper. His brain hurt. He couldn’t think. Chloe’s wild eyes kept interfering with his vision. Monday was going to be an awful day for her, especially if the rumors about her ex-fiancé were true.
Max steeled himself. It wasn’t his concern. He wasn’t responsible for Chloe. She’d told him so herself. She had her family. She had Jenn.
Don’t. Do. It.
But if she had her friends and family, that meant she didn’t really need Max. That meant he could offer moral support the way any normal person would do. She didn’t need rescuing, she just needed a friend. The justification proved irresistible.
Max tried to lock his jaw, but the words pushed themselves out like gleeful ghosts. “You know what? Why don’t you drop me in Richmond.”
He couldn’t help but think that anxiety had a way of making everything sound like a bad omen. Surely this would turn out fine.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHLOE’S APARTMENT WAS STIFLING. Sweat tickled her hairline and made her scalp itch. She tossed an evil glare toward the window air conditioner. Oh, it was pretending to do a good job, blasting cool air out in gales, but the room stayed thick with heat. Or was it just her?
Pacing, she swiped a shaky hand over her forehead. She couldn’t breathe. The air pressed in on her, squeezing her throat like two strong hands. “Oh, God.”
She tried to make herself breathe, but there was something wrong. She needed to get out of her tiny place. Rushing for the window, she edged up one blind and pressed her nose close to the pane, hoping some miracle had scattered the group of paparazzi like a flock of startled birds. But no, they were still there. If only an unwed actress would get knocked up. If only some starlet would lock herself in her house and start smashing windows. Then they’d all go away, lured by bloodier meat.
Her heart twisted and pounded in her chest.
“It’s a panic attack,” she told herself. “You’re not dying.” It had only happened once before, and it hadn’t been so bad. She’d hyperventilated until she’d passed out, and then everything had been fine when she’d finally woken up.
Chloe sprinted to the door and opened it, ducking down as soon as she did. The cameras could see her from one little corner, but the solid wood railing protected her if she crouched down. Chloe edged out and sat down on the first step. The sun made it hotter here, but there was a breeze and her throat opened enough to calm her down.
She’d managed to get through this month with anger and denial, but both of those emotions were starting to peel away. There was something worse ahead; she could feel it coming like a bad storm. And since she’d lived with the fake death of her fiancé, followed by his brutally public betrayal, something worse had to be pretty bad. And Chloe was very, very afraid it had something to do with Jenn.
Her best friend’s behavior had grown increasingly erratic since they’d left the island. Jenn had become more than stressed…she’d become furtive. Secretive. Jumpy.
Chloe slipped her cell phone out of her pocket. It had quieted down since she’d started blocking all the unfamiliar numbers that popped up. Jenn had stopped calling, too. She’d only sent a few text messages about how slammed she was at w
ork. Chloe had called her twice, but Jenn hadn’t called her back.
Even as she told herself to let it go, she pressed in the first few numbers of Anna’s cell. A pause and a few deep breaths later, she hit the last number and held her breath. If Chloe didn’t know what was going on with Jenn, maybe Anna did.
“Chloe!” Anna’s voice sounded low and rushed.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’ve been trying to call you for a couple of days.”
“Really?” She pressed the phone closer to her ear as if it could solve the mystery. “I didn’t notice any recent calls from you. Were you using your cell phone?”
“Yes! Listen, I…” A murmur of distant voices floated in the background and Anna’s words got softer. “This isn’t a good time. Can I call you back?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to catch up. And I wanted to know if you think—”
“I’ve got to go!”
Anna hung up without saying goodbye, but not before a man’s unfriendly voice came through loud and clear. “All right, Ms. Fenton,” he said, just before the sound of a heavy door clapping shut was cut off by the line going dead.
It probably had something to do with work. Of course it did. So why did that voice send shivery fingers of dread down Chloe’s spine?
All right, Ms. Fenton. Chloe stared at the dead face of the phone. Hadn’t she heard that voice just a week before? You’re free to go, Ms. Turner.
The man’s name was Detective Jackson. He was the lead investigator in the case against Thomas. He’d questioned all of them. Chloe and Jenn and even Chloe’s mom and dad.
Why was Anna there now? She must know something. Something about Thomas or Chloe. Or Jenn. What could she possibly know?
Chloe knew the answer was just below the surface, waiting to be teased out, but she kept her fingers tightly curled. She’d find out on Monday. Monday would be soon enough.
Monday would be the day her life would start over. Or at least that was what she kept telling herself at night when she couldn’t sleep.
When her stomach growled, Chloe realized that the panic had passed for the moment. She could sneak back into her house and stick a frozen meal in the microwave and get a little work done.
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