by Elle James
The boat slowed near the rocky outcropping of the point and came to a halt, bobbing in the swells.
“It’s already getting choppy.” Dave killed the engine and climbed down the ladder from the helm. “Forget the buoy this round. It’ll only slow you down.”
Emma nodded and turned her back to Dave as he lifted a tank and harness over her shoulders. She snapped the buckles, settled her mask over her face and grabbed her fins.
Creed slung his harness, tank and all, over his shoulders, slid his mask onto his face and sat to strap on his fins. When he was ready, he stood and waited for Emma to finish.
“I’m moving away from the rocks as soon as you’re over the side,” Dave said.
“Good.” Emma faced Creed. “Ready?”
Creed gave her a thumbs-up.
Holding on to her mask, Emma stepped off the side into the water first.
Creed checked the GPS device on his wrist and turned to Dave. “If another boat comes along with a bunch of badass-looking men, get the hell out of here. There’s a gun in my duffel, if you need it, but your best bet would be to leave.”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” Dave held up his hands. “Should I expect trouble? No one said anything about badasses.”
Creed hesitated, not knowing how much to tell him, finally deciding to stick as much to the truth as possible. “I have a feeling the people who shot the man we found yesterday might be back looking for their boat.”
Dave scratched his head. “Why? Dead men don’t talk or anything.”
“I don’t know yet. But I aim to explore the yacht wreck and find out.”
“I thought we were supposed to steer clear of it until the crime scene investigators had first shot.”
“We can’t wait. Whoever killed the captain will be back to find whatever he thought was worth killing for.”
Emma surfaced. “You coming?” she called out.
“On my way.” Creed duckwalked to the edge. “Just remember,” he said softly enough that only Dave would hear, “trouble comes, you leave.”
“What about you two?”
“We’ll manage.”
“What about the storm?”
“If we’re still out here, wait until the storm’s past, morning if necessary. We’ll find shelter on one of the rock islands.”
Dave stared out over the rocky outcroppings. “Storms make this a really dangerous place. I hope that doesn’t happen.”
“You and me both.” Creed clapped a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
Dave gave him a mock salute and Creed stepped off the boat, his hand holding his mask in place. He plunged into the water and came up beside Emma.
Emma’s eyes were narrowed behind her mask. “What took you so long?”
Creed grinned. “Cold feet.” He stuck his regulator in his mouth, avoiding additional explanations.
“Yeah, Mr. I-learned-to-dive-with-the-SEALs.” Emma gave him another look. “Since we’re dive buddies for this dive, we stick together. My life depends on you and vice versa. No secrets and no wandering off. Even though you know your way around scuba gear, you don’t know these reefs like I do. Stay with me. Got it?”
Creed made no promises. He saluted her, gave Dave a thumbs-up and dove, avoiding Emma’s demand by leading the way. The sea surrounded him in a quiet world where all the noise he heard was the sound of his own breathing, the hollow shooshing of each breath he inhaled and the gurgling bubbles of release.
If word got out that the entire west coast was at risk of being blown off the planet, there’d be hell to pay with mass hysteria. If everyone loaded up their vehicles to flee the cities, the traffic jam would be unending and deadly in itself with rising temperatures, fuel shortages and multicar pileups.
The best way to handle it was to stop Phillip before he set the destruction in motion. The people on the yacht had been watching them leave the marina, with more than a passing interest. They had to be part of Phillip’s legion of terrorists for hire.
Following his wrist GPS, he made his way back through the forest of boulders and jutting rocks to the sunken yacht, praying that, during this dive, he’d find whatever Phillip was after. Although, given the fact Phillip’s thugs hadn’t gotten out there this morning first, made him wonder what they were up to. Since he and Emma had found the body and reported the sunken yacht to the local police, it was now a matter of public record that the yacht had been found.
And since they hadn’t reported any other find, Phillip might be either biding his time before going out to collect his cargo, or he was counting on Emma and Creed to find it for him and he’d collect it later.
The guy in the car the previous night might only have been there to keep an eye on Emma. And by being there, he’d kept a watch on Creed, as well.
The irony was not lost on Creed as he wove through the rocks.
Emma caught up but stayed a full length behind him.
When the yacht came into view of his headlamp, he paused, checking for intruders, in case they’d missed a dive boat on the surface.
Nothing moved but a school of fish above, their massive numbers creating a shadow over them, changing and undulating as they swam.
Something tugged at his fin.
Creed glanced over his shoulder as Emma swam up beside him. She pointed up and back the way they’d come.
A large white shark slid through the water, keeping pace with them.
They’d have to keep an eye out for the shark as well as Phillip’s men.
Creed kicked his fins, making a beeline for the yacht.
Emma quickly followed.
When he didn’t swim by, but entered the hatch leading to the cabin level of the three-level yacht, another tug on his fin brought him to a halt.
Emma jabbed her finger away from the boat.
Creed nodded, ignored her and went down into the cabin anyway.
Another tug on his fin would have stopped him, but he jerked his leg and dislodged Emma’s grip, easing into the interior. With no time to appease her, he started his search in the main guest quarters, opening every drawer, cabinet and container. Clothing, newspapers and shoes floated in the water around his head. After searching everywhere, including beneath the mattress, Creed pressed against the wood paneling. Maybe there was a hidden door.
Nothing popped open; no hidden safes or expensive jewelry had been stored in that cabin.
Creed backed out and moved to the next cabin. The woodwork wasn’t as fancy, nor was the bed as big as in the main guest cabin. Still, Creed searched the entire room, just as he had the previous quarters. If he repeated the process through all six cabins on the yacht, he’d run out of air before he got to the middle deck and the top deck.
He backed out of the room and bumped into Emma, shining his headlamp into her eyes.
Her frown could not be disguised by the mask clamped to her face. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating he should get off the yacht immediately.
Creed shook his head and continued upward to the middle deck and entered the lounge, decorated in smooth white leather sectional couches, built in a curve around a low, stationary coffee table. Cabinets lined one wall, and a stereo with an expensive sound system took up another wall. A bank of windows made up a third wall and would have provided a fabulous view of the sea off the back of the ship if it hadn’t sunk. Doors leading into the dining area and galley took up the fourth wall.
Without wasting time, he swam to the cabinets and opened one after another. They contained a complete array of wine, beer and hard liquor, and nothing that looked like bomb-making material or anything else that could be used to purchase such devices. What was he missing? Creed needed help if he wanted to complete the search on the current tank of air.
Emma had followed him into the yacht�
��s interior. She turned right and left, her gaze traveling over the lavish decor, then focused on him, crossing her arms over her chest to indicate she wasn’t happy with him.
Creed pointed to her, then to the cabinet, then to the air indicator on his regulator.
She shook her head and motioned toward the exit.
A standoff.
Creed completed his search of the cabinets and made a quick perusal of the rest of the room, tapping on wall panels until he reached the door leading to the dining room and galley.
Emma grabbed his arm and pointed at her air gauge.
They were down by seventy percent. Enough air left to swim a little farther in search of her shipwreck and then surface to swap empty tanks for full ones.
He acquiesced and let her lead the way out of the yacht. Creed knew that when they were back on the Reel Dive, he’d get an earful from Emma. But begging forgiveness was infinitely easier than getting her buy-in to search a yacht they’d been specifically warned to stay clear of by the local police.
Emma paused at the door leading out of the yacht, looked around, then swam out. Creed followed, searching the underwater landscape for threats, both aquatic and human. So far so good.
Without waiting to see if he’d follow, Emma swam away, heading deeper into the stony stand of rocks jutting up into the air above the ocean’s surface.
The deeper they went, the larger the rocks and the darker the shadows, as if the sunshine had been traded for storm clouds.
Emma stopped suddenly. Before Creed could adjust, he swam into her, grabbing her arms to steady them both.
The beam of her headlamp shone on the rocky floor of the ocean where a cylindrical shape jutted out of the rocks, covered in barnacles and rust.
From the silhouette and size, Creed recognized it as the rear end of an ancient cannon.
Emma shot forward, aimed straight for the cannon, her headlamp twisting right and left, scouring the nearby rocks and shadows. When she reached the cannon, she ran her hand across its surface reverently, then looked around, searching for more.
Creed glanced at his air gauge. They had enough to surface safely, but they needed to go, or they’d run out before long. He closed the distance between them and snagged Emma’s arm before she could take off again.
Her headlamp caught on a smooth, uniformly curved line like the rib of a giant, reaching out of the rocks. She jerked her arm to free herself of Creed’s grip.
He refused to let go, insistent on her surfacing at that moment. They might have to swim a distance to get far enough away from the rocks for Dave to retrieve them.
Creed pointed at the gauge and then to the surface.
Emma glanced back at the rib, obviously torn, wanting to stay and really see what they’d found. Finally, she hit a button on her wrist GPS to mark the spot, then nodded.
They swam back the way they’d come and surfaced to a churning sea.
The Reel Dive bobbed crazily a distance away. When Emma blew her whistle, the sound was whipped away by the rising wind.
After Creed and Emma waved for five full minutes, Dave finally saw, jumped to his feet and turned the boat in their direction.
Out of the south, a jet boat burst over the waves, headed straight for the Reel Dive.
“That fool’s going to hit Dave’s boat.” She bobbed on the surface, waving at Dave. “Stop!” Her hand clamped onto Creed’s arm. “Can’t the driver of the jet boat see? Does he even know what he’s doing? Sweet Jesus, he’s going to hit him!”
Creed feared the driver of the jet boat knew exactly what he was doing by aiming for Dave.
The captain of the Reel Dive must have seen the other craft, because he slowed and turned the dive boat hard to port at the last minute before impact. The jet boat glanced off the starboard bow of the Reel Dive. The dive boat dipped into the seat and recovered, bouncing on the waves.
“Go, Dave, get out of here!” Creed yelled.
Emma tapped his arm, then grabbed it. “Creed, that boat is coming at us.”
He looked in time to see that the jet boat had made a sharp turn and was now headed straight for them. “Dive!”
Chapter 7
Emma jammed her regulator into her mouth as Creed grabbed her hand and jackknifed, kicking hard to take them down as fast as possible. Flipping her fins, she churned her legs, fighting to get them behind her, before she settled into a tight rhythm that sent her downward, working with Creed, not against him.
The jet boat roared over the top of them, a few feet barely separating them. The backwash from the engines spun Emma around, churning her upward. She lost her grip on Creed’s hand and fought the panic threatening to overtake her. Then Creed was there, gripping her hand again.
He struck out, dragging Emma with him, angling down and away, back toward the forest of rocky boulders where the jet boat couldn’t follow.
Her pulse pounding in her ears, Emma forced herself to calm. Already low on air, and at the rate she was consuming it, she’d run out too soon. She prayed Dave had gone back to shore and fast. If that other boat had purposely targeted them, it might not stop until it sank the Reel Dive and killed the captain and divers.
Emma was in good shape, but she had to work hard not to slow down Creed. The deeper they went into the rocky grove, the more she realized they had to find a safe place to come up and wait out the storm.
Once they were completely surrounded by the rocks and out of range of the jet boat and any rifle its occupants might be carrying, Emma and Creed broke through to open air to get their bearings. Already the swells were rising eight to ten feet, and storm clouds had grown thick and ugly. If they stayed up top for long, they’d be smashed against the rocks.
The wind and waves buffeted them closer and closer to a jagged crag jutting out of the water.
“We can’t stay here.” Creed held on to her hand, kicking hard to keep them from slamming into the rocks.
“I know a place!” she yelled back.
There was one spot in the forest of boulders where they could come up for air and not be crushed. Emma had been there many times with her father in calmer seas. It wasn’t far from where they were. She only hoped they could navigate the opening. It would prove challenging, with the waves creating the amount of churn they were.
Emma motioned for them to dive beneath the frenetic waves. Once below, they sank deep enough to avoid much of the churn. Emma feared if they didn’t go directly there, they’d run out of air or daylight before they made it to the pirate’s cave hidden among the rocks on the point. It was rumored that pirates hid their treasures in the cave. Emma and her father had been there many times, paddling out in kayaks, never finding anything more than seashells on the sandy floor of the small cave.
She tugged on Creed’s arm and brought them to a stop, hovering in the water. Fortunately the cave was one of the points stored on her GPS. She hit the menu button and recalled the cave’s location. The screen lit with a contour map of the ocean floor with an X in the spot she needed to head toward. As soon as she got her bearings, Emma took off, leading the way.
Within a few hundred feet of the cave’s underwater entrance, her air supply registered critically low. In minutes, she’d run out. They had one shot at making it into the cave, when the waves pushed water through the hole and up into the rock’s hollowed-out cavity.
This time she grabbed Creed’s hand and watched the flow of the water. When it ebbed away from the base of the rocky island, she shot forward, tugging Creed with her. She swam hard, trying to make the entrance before the wave slammed forward. If they got through the entrance, the wave would carry them the rest of the way.
If they didn’t breach the opening, the wave would slam them against the rocks.
The flow of the water shifted as they neared a hole large enough to fit a small car t
hrough. Emma didn’t slow; she kicked harder, the rush of water building behind her.
They cleared the entrance. The wave rushed up behind them, propelling them the rest of the way into the cave and onto a sandy patch of beach.
Emma spit her regulator out of her mouth, her head barely above the water, the drag of the wave’s retreat pulling at her legs. “Move!” she yelled, crawling with her elbows, kicking her fins hard against the suction the wave created on its way out of the cave. She was backsliding, losing the battle, being sucked out of the cave they’d barely made it into. She fumbled for her regulator, missed and swallowed a gulp of salty seawater.
Her fingers dug into the sand, but found nothing to hold on to and she was dragged backward, unable to breathe.
A firm hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her out of the water and into strong, capable arms. Creed held on to her as the wave fully retreated. Then he lifted her, scooting backward up the stair steps of slick rocks until he found a point the next wave couldn’t reach, and leaned back, breathing hard, his tank braced against the rock behind him.
Emma lay against his chest, the buckles of his buoyancy control device digging into her cheek. But she didn’t care. They’d made it.
Laughter bubbled up in her chest and slipped out. In seconds, she was doubled over, laughing so hard it hurt. Soon the laughter turned to tears, and she buried her face in his wet suit.
He removed his mask and hers and set them on the rock above them, the light from their headlamps still shining, casting a soft glow against the damp walls of the cave. “Turn around so I can get that tank off your back.”
Emma turned so that Creed could unscrew the clamp holding her regulator to the tank and unclamped the tank from her buoyancy control vest. He pulled the tank free and jammed it into a crevice.
Creed shifted so that his back was to her, and she performed the same task, her hands shaking as they moved over the buckles and knobs. “What the hell just happened?” She pulled his tank out of the harness and handed it to Creed.
“I believe we narrowly escaped being killed.”
