Devil's Claw

by Valerie Davisson

  “Swimmer out the door,” the pilot radioed in while the copilot kept them in sight, hovering above where Kevin had entered the water, keeping a spotlight on the churning surface. He trusted the pilot. His job was to not get knocked out of the sky, to be there to pull him up, hopefully with a passenger.

  Kevin’s head, now nothing more than a tiny orange dot to the pilot, bobbed up and down in the dark water, suspended momentarily, waiting for the next surge. When it came, he struck out: long strokes and powerful kicks—swimming for all he was worth, and then he was gone, sucked into the mouth of the cave, and all the pilot could do was wait.

  It was much quieter inside. His headlight dimly lit rough, wet walls that formed a low-ceilinged cave. Deep, but shallow, it came to a point somewhere in the back. About twenty feet in, on a narrow slab of slippery basalt, he saw the girl. She sat, huddled, shivering, and soaked, staring into space. A few freckles stood out against her white skin. Long strands of wet hair made her look like a mermaid. But mermaids didn’t shiver like that.

  He needed to hurry. If she wasn’t already hypothermic, she would be soon. Incoming waves, although not as powerful as the ones outside, slapped against her perch, threatening to pull her off. Blood trickled down her left arm. After a quick visual inspection for other injuries, following protocol, he identified himself while still in the water.

  “Hello, Amy, my name is Kevin Reid, and I’m here to help you. Are you OK? Are you injured?”

  Instead of answering his questions, she looked around as if just realizing someone was there and said, “Sadie . . . Where’s Sadie?”

  Kevin clicked on his radio and checked with his pilot. “Just one soul, right?”

  “Yes, one twenty-four-year-old female,” the pilot reassured him, named Amy, not Sadie.

  Trauma made people say all kinds of things that didn’t make any sense. Approaching with caution, knowing he didn’t have the luxury of time, he made the decision not to look for someone named Sadie, who obviously wasn’t there, and proceeded with the rescue.

  “It’s OK, Amy, I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Pulling himself up on the ledge beside her, he gave her a quick check for broken bones, then, without much help or resistance from the young girl, who had gone silent again, slid her back into the water.

  “I got you, Amy,” he said.

  This was where people panicked, but he needn’t have worried. This girl was limp in his arms. Gripping her in a firm fireman’s carry, he paddled to the mouth of the cave, waited for the next good rush, then swam like hell to the bright spot of hope waiting for them on the open ocean.

  Sea cave rescues were tricky. But in any ocean rescue, things could go wrong. You counted on that helicopter, and thank God, it was there. Kevin smiled. The loud black-and-orange machine, shaped like a bottlenose dolphin, was there.

  Salvation and hallelujah!

  The pilot spotted him at the same time. An old-timer, he had over 150 rescues logged, but he was always relieved to see them make it out of those caves.

  “Swimmer One, coming out!”

  A gust of wind knocked the tail to the left, but the pilot got it steadied and began carefully lowering the large, rectangular, metal rescue basket.

  In spite of the waves trying to tear the girl out of his grip, as soon as the basket was within reach, Kevin grabbed it and, as gently as possible, placed her inside, head resting on one orange cylinder, knees hanging over the other. Even sopping wet, she weighed almost nothing. Not talking at all now.

  Thumbs-up, he signaled the pilot, then watched her being lifted to safety. Treading water, he waited his turn.

  36

  Sunday, July 26, 2015

  Somewhere around 2:30 a.m., Amy was discharged from the hospital. She’d been treated for hypothermia, and her vitals were good, but they’d insisted she wait for the results of a few more tests, and keep some dinner down first.

  While they waited for an orderly, Detective Andrews came in. Apologizing for the intrusion, but not very sincerely, Logan thought, he asked Amy for a complete description of her attacker. He seemed almost disappointed the attack hadn’t lasted longer so she could do a better job identifying him.

  “Tall, maybe six feet? Could be shorter—he was wearing one of the welder’s masks, and they cover everything. He was kind of stringy-looking, but strong . . .” Amy shivered involuntarily as she remembered the grip on her wrist. “No . . . I didn’t hear his voice. He didn’t say anything.”

  Finally, accepting the fact that his only conscious eye witness couldn’t tell him more, Detective Andrews flipped his notebook shut, handed her his card, and told her to call if she remembered anything—any small detail might help. Said he’d be in touch.

  Logan heard him asking the nurse at the desk if he could talk with Solange yet, but the nurse shook her head and looked at him like he was an idiot for asking. Solange was in the ICU, in critical condition.

  Earlier, on their way to get Amy something to eat from the cafeteria—she requested tapioca pudding if they had it—they passed a nurse Ben knew from high school, one of his sister’s friends. After introductions, Ben asked if she could find out anything about Solange’s condition. The woman didn’t mind bending the rules a bit for the hunk she’d always had a crush on.

  She didn’t work that floor but made a call on her cell. After getting the 411, she disconnected the call and slid her phone back into her pocket.

  Talking only to Ben, she said, “Her trachea was bruised, but not crushed. She was able to breathe, but just barely until she got to the hospital. Given how long she was laying there getting very little oxygen, she may have sustained brain damage. They’ll know more in twenty-four hours, when the swelling goes down.”

  With the heel of her hand, she pressed a pad on the wall, and a large door swung open. “She’s one lucky woman,” the nurse added over her shoulder, still ignoring Logan as she rushed off into a brightly lit corridor.

  They didn’t have tapioca, but Amy scarfed down the vanilla pudding they brought her as if she hadn’t eaten all day, which, technically, she hadn’t, if you don’t count the hospital dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, a roll, juice, and Jell-O she’d already inhaled.

  Liam brought her some dry clothes, so as soon as they’d signed the papers and Amy was dressed, they wheeled her out to the main entrance. Hospital policy. Everybody had to leave via wheelchair. As they exited the elevator, Logan saw Scott Dekker walking in from the parking lot. He waited impatiently for the large automatic front doors to slide open, then hurried over to the front desk.

  Good. They found him. And even better, he came.

  Logan had a very hard time letting go of Amy’s hand. Liam helped her into the car. All she needed now, the doctor said, was a good night’s sleep and a few days’ rest.

  Physically, Amy was fine. Remarkably, other than a “gnarly” gash on the outside of her left arm, she escaped serious injury. But emotionally, she was still in shock. The news of Jeff’s death hit her hard. Amy kept saying she just couldn’t believe it. He was just a kid. How could he be dead?

  Mixed with grief and shock was an emotion Amy wasn’t vocalizing, but Logan saw it: her growing guilt over the loss of Otter 1. Logan didn’t know what to say. She would just have to help her through it.

  When trying to accurately relay the series of events for Detective Andrews, the last thing Amy said she remembered was the wall of water rolling over the raft, flipping it like a toothpick, knocking her and Sadie out of the raft. When she surfaced, neither the inflatable boat nor the carrier were anywhere to be seen. The rush of storm waves carried her toward shore, and eventually into one of the sea caves.

  Ben drove Logan to pick up her car at the center, then dropped her off at her place. He needed to feed Purgatory and lock up, then he’d be over.

  Tava’e’s was dark when they drove past. The search par
ty had long since packed up and gone home. She’d have to thank them all tomorrow. Or actually, she glanced at her watch, later today. And she’d have to call Brandon . . . She wondered if anyone had gotten ahold of Gina and Dennis.

  The police would have notified Jeff’s parents by now. She couldn’t even imagine what they must be going through.

  She made it as far as the couch, dropped her keys on the coffee table, and eased herself down into a prone position. Every part of her hurt.

  She opened one eye and looked at the clock.

  4:14 a.m.

  Minutes or hours later, she sensed, more than felt, Ben’s presence, lowering himself next to her on the couch. She managed to raise her heavy eyelids enough to see those blue eyes looking into hers. Without breaking the spell, he slowly traced a delicate line across her forehead, pushing a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear, then let his hand drift down to cup her left breast.

  She reached up and stroked the blond stubble on his cheek, then ran both hands across his chest and shoulders. He was deliciously warm.

  The storm had passed, but he’d been there in the heart of it. He’d been there for her—in all the ways that mattered.

  All the problems weren’t fixed. All the puzzles weren’t solved. But right now, all she wanted was to let go of it all, all those things she couldn’t control. Just for now.

  Stretching out along the length of his body, pulling him close, feeling the full warmth and weight of him, she intended to show Ben exactly how much he meant to her.

  37

  Monday, July 27, 2015

  Much too early, the phone rang. It wasn’t hers. Different ringtone. Something by Blondie. Ben sat up and retrieved his phone from the dresser. The dresser was a hand-me-down from Bonnie. Logan still didn’t own nightstands.

  “Hello?”

  Logan loved the sound of his morning voice. Burrowing back into the covers, she hoped he didn’t have to go in to work and check on one of his job sites.

  The room was really bright. What time was it, anyway?

  Ben was listening to a long story by someone, so throwing off the covers, she raised her arms and stretched on tippy toes, then padded her way down the narrow stairs to the kitchen.

  11:30 a.m. Wow.

  They’d slept later than she thought.

  Pouring a big tumbler of ice water, she took a long drink and looked out the window for Dimebox. He sat ramrod straight on a stump in the yard, tail flicking, eyes laser focused on a jewel-toned hummingbird flitting in and out of a flowering bush on the edge of Ben’s lawn. Ruby-throated. Pretty.

  Good luck with that, buddy.

  The cat had been trying all summer but, as far as she knew, had yet to land one of the superfast, agile flyers.

  She headed back upstairs, handing Ben the glass of water, along with a bottle of blood-pressure medicine he’d left on the kitchen counter.

  She felt so wifely.

  Too late to go back to bed, she went in her tiny bathroom and turned on the shower. She let the water run. It took forever for the hot water.

  Ben was just finishing his call.

  “. . . OK, yes . . . I’ll let her know. Thanks again for calling. Great news!” Ben said.

  “Let me know what? What news?” Logan asked.

  “That was Liam,” he said. “He just called with some news from Amosa.”

  Ben’s eyes sparkled.

  Logan remembered Amosa—he had taken Liam out to work on the kelp beds.

  “Make it a quick shower—in fact, I think we should take one together to save time. This is something you’re going to want to see in person.”

  Ben loved secrets. He wouldn’t tell her anything until they got in the car.

  “Where are we going?” Logan asked.

  “To the center. He grinned happily. They found Otter 1. Liam and Amy are on their way.”

  “You’re kidding! Where? How? Is she OK?”

  “Liam said they spotted her early this morning, wrapped up in some kelp, screaming her little lungs out. Other than being super hungry, she seemed to be OK. Amosa and his cousin found her when they went out to do their sea-urchin count. They called Gina. She did some first aid on her, said she was dehydrated, but other than that, came through her ordeal unscathed. Said it was a miracle the otter survived. She’s at the center.”

  “Amazing, I can’t believe it. That’s fantastic news! I bet Amy went absolutely bonkers,” Logan said.

  She hoped Gina wouldn’t be too angry with Amy for taking the otter out without permission. Yes, Amy was wrong to name the pup, wrong not to disguise herself with the mask and poncho, wrong to try to bond with a wild animal. Logan wondered if the otter would be able to be released back into the wild now. But Amy hadn’t meant any harm. After all, she had just taken her down to the training pool. She hadn’t meant to take the otter out into the open ocean. She hoped Gina would take into account Amy had been running away from a killer at the time.

  Ben and Logan got to the center right behind Amy and Liam. Liam had made Amy eat breakfast first.

  As Logan predicted, Amy was over-the-moon ecstatic that Otter 1—she was careful to call her by her assigned name now—was safely back at the Southern Sea Otter Sanctuary and Education Center.

  When Logan and Ben arrived, Otter 1 was paddling around in her tank, looking like she hadn’t left. You’d never know she was flipped out of a boat, was tossed around in a storm, and spent the night in the open ocean, completely vulnerable and helpless.

  When they got to level 2, it was obvious Amy wanted to rush right in and see Otter 1, but Gina’s tractor-beam gaze directed her to her office, where Amy sat down meekly. Gina shut the door. Gina liked Amy, but she didn’t suffer fools gladly when it came to otters. The girl would have to say all the right things in order to get anywhere near her otters again.

  Logan wisely stayed in the lab, talking with Ben, showing him where she and Bonnie found Solange. She didn’t go down to the lower level, even though a crime-scene cleaner had thoroughly scoured away the blood. It still made her feel queasy.

  Logan hoped Gina would be so relieved to have Otter 1 back, miraculously still in one piece, that she wouldn’t spend a lot of energy being angry with Amy. Since Amy had more than paid for her bad choices by almost dying herself trying to escape a murderer, Logan also hoped Gina would let Amy back in as a volunteer. She could have left Otter 1’s carrier behind but had tried to save her by taking her with her on the boat into the storm. That counted for something.

  Twenty minutes later, when Gina emerged from her office, a much-chastised, but relieved Amy followed behind.

  Logan let out a breath. Ben stood behind her, and Amy and Liam pulled up stools.

  “OK, team,” Gina announced, “a lot has happened in the last forty-eight hours. Just so you know, until Solange is able to communicate and tells me otherwise, I am going to continue to do what she hired me to do: get this Southern Sea Otter Sanctuary and Education Center up and running by August 28, for the grand opening. I have no news as to the status of the lawsuit with her half brother. No news is good news, as far as I’m concerned.

  “Jeff’s death is tragic, and I just don’t know what to say about the man who killed him and attacked you, Amy, other than I hope they catch him soon. No news on that, as far as I know. I presume they are working very hard on finding his killer.”

  No one had anything to add. They all felt the loss of this young man’s life.

  “As far as Otter 1. Physically, she’s stable. Amy, your feeding her just before you went out probably saved her life. She was able to survive through the night, until someone found her.”

  Amy looked incredibly grateful for the bone Gina tossed her.

  “But we won’t know about the bonding problem until we work with her again, particularly you, Amy. We have a male otter coming up from L
a Jolla. The one Dennis and I went down to see. We’re picking him up tomorrow. He's been in quarantine, but is healthy enough to transfer. Still waiting on news of a surrogate mother for Otter 1. Looks like she’s had at least one pup already. We’ll just have to see how things go.”

  She looked around the room at her trained and semitrained volunteers.

  Without mentioning Jeff’s death again, Gina announced, “We’re going to have to make a new schedule. Everyone in?”

  Everyone was.

  38

  Monday, July 27, 2015

  Detective Anderson looked at his watch. Looked at his inbox. Ignored his inbox. Lacing his fingers, he stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles.

  He hated waiting. What little forensic evidence there was from the crime scene was being worked on. Slim to zero chance of anything there. They’d call if they found anything. Not much more he could do.

  He already interviewed the McKenna girl, the only witness who could still talk. She tried to be helpful but hadn’t been able to tell him much.

  “Big, tall, scary guy with a strong grip, wearing a suit and a welder’s mask” was not exactly a precise description.

  Esturban swabbed the inside of the mask they found on the floor in the lab, which had plenty of organic material. They’d run it, but he wasn’t expecting much. It was secure in the evidence locker until they could put some more pieces together.

  The only other thing they had were some fingerprints on the stainless steel lab table. All the other prints had been matched to the director, her assistant, the McKenna woman and her daughter, and the other volunteers and a delivery guy. And of course, the woman who almost got killed.

  Until that woman, Solange something—he never could pronounce her last name—came to, he had no one else to talk to and no other leads to track down.

  The McKenna girl didn’t see his face, but maybe the older woman did. Maybe the guy’s mask slipped, or she saw him before or after he put it on. No one knew which of the women, or the kid he killed, was attacked first. Solange was still in the hospital, unable to communicate, and the only other witness was dead. Poor kid.