Lovely, Dark, and Deep (The Collectors)

by Susannah Sandlin

  “She remarried and when she and her husband and new baby moved to St. Louis, I refused to go. I was only five but already felt as if they weren’t my family. I was a reminder of a life that hadn’t worked out very well. Didn’t help that I looked just like a Burke.”

  Now the story became clearer. Gillian could imagine a little boy who thought his mom loved her new baby more, who maybe even felt guilty because he looked like the man who’d abandoned them. “Charlie was your dad’s brother?”

  Shane nodded, and the arm he had stretched around her body tightened as he trailed his fingers up and down her arm. “He was a commercial fisherman, a lot like Jagger’s dad. He’d travel to Canada to fish during the summer and move down the coast when winter came. He took me in, taught me his love of the water, encouraged me to take up diving.”

  No wonder Shane loved the water so much and seemed so at home on The Evangeline. “What about your mom?”

  “She was relieved when Charlie offered to take me.”

  Just a few short words, but they were loaded with pain. Shane’s mother probably hadn’t been relieved at all. Gillian couldn’t imagine a mother ever being happy to lose her child, even if it was only a geographical loss.

  Not a day went by when she didn’t think about Ethan and ache for him. Of course her child’s loss had been more than geographical.

  No, she couldn’t believe Shane’s mother had been relieved to be rid of him, but it had seemed that way to him, which made his little-boy pain real enough that it had followed him into his adult life. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “No child should ever feel that way.”

  He shifted to look at her, reaching across with his right hand to wipe a tear away that had escaped before she knew it was there. “Gillian, did you lose a child? Or would you rather not talk about it?”

  She’d hoped to get Shane to tell her what happened between his uncle Charlie and himself, but somehow he’d drilled right to the heart of her deepest pain.

  “I can’t. Maybe later.” Maybe never. She’d never talked about Ethan—or Sam, for that matter—with anyone, not even Viv. Only the basics, stated in black and white. My child died. My husband died.

  She’d told no one about the haunting shades of gray that filled the blank spaces within those stark statements of fact. Gray was the color of blame, guilt, and self-recrimination.

  Another tear escaped and she took a deep breath to get herself under control. Slow her breathing. Lighten the heavy pressure against the back of her eyes.

  “Okay, we’ve gotten too damn serious. Let’s wipe out the last half hour and start over.” Shane wrapped both arms around her, and she felt the press of his lips on her forehead. “Surely we can find something happy to talk about.”

  All I have to do is tilt my head and kiss him. She shouldn’t. Both of them were vulnerable and lonely and, yes, even scared. Kissing him would complicate things between them even more.

  Gillian closed her eyes at the soft sweep of Shane’s fingers under her chin making the decision for her, and she raised her lips to meet his. Soft kisses, then hard. Sweetness turned to urgency. A dance of tongues and lips and hands honed her focus to him, blocking out the bad stuff.

  She could get lost in him so easily and let him erase, for a few stolen minutes, the fear of the last few days and the loneliness of the past five years.

  It’s wrong. He rolled her onto her back, his mouth training nips and kisses down her throat while his heart pounded in time with hers.

  We can’t do this. She raked her nails up and down the smooth skin of his back, kneading the flexing muscles as he rocked against her. She moved her fingers as if her fingertips could read the braille of love and want.

  He stilled, and she knew his thoughts had tangled with hers. “We can’t do this.”

  “I know.” She snuggled deeper into his arms, aching to have him kiss her again.

  “But I want to.” His voice sounded strained.

  “So do I.”

  “Rain check?”

  “Definitely.”

  Maybe. Depending on how all this played out, and whether guilt or anger or blame would drive them apart just as fear was driving them together. And depending on whether her past was ready to finally be the past.

  So instead of making love, of using their bodies to erase the busy work of their minds, they lay together lost in their own thoughts. Gillian wondered where Shane’s mind had wandered and whether his body and spirit, like hers, still took comfort in holding and being held.

  For now, it was enough.

  CHAPTER 16

  Shane stifled a yawn, looked up the stairs to make sure Harley was more awake than he was, and stepped onto the portside deck of The Evangeline. With any luck and the continuation of the perfect weather they’d enjoyed so far, today would be the day they’d reach Wilmington. Or, more accurately, the day they’d reach Southport, on the tip of the North Carolina spit of land below Wilmington.

  The day he’d see Charlie for the first time in a decade.

  The past four days had taken Shane on a roller coaster of emotions, beginning with the fear that had begun to gnaw at him when he’d learned Charlie had been dragged into this Knights Templars’ mess.

  He’d tried to call his uncle on and off through the Lake Okeechobee crossing but never got an answer. Not even voice mail. Once they’d exited the St. Lucie River and were back in the open waters of the Atlantic without cell service, he’d accepted that he wasn’t going to know what was up with Charlie until he got to the man’s house and saw for himself.

  The illogical excitement over the coming dive had continued to build as well. Shane had found, on the bottom of the stack of provisions that would be delivered to the boat once it was docked in Southport, a list of diving equipment. Again, Tex, or whoever was working with Tex, had done his homework. Drysuits, tanks, regulators, BCDs. All top-of-the-line.

  Shane would use his own equipment, the stuff with which he was comfortable. But his drysuit was ancient since he hadn’t done a cold-water dive in so long, and his regulator needed replacing. Between the old diving equipment and the new, he’d be able to give himself an advantage.

  The temperatures were already beginning their march toward winter as The Evangeline pushed northward. This morning, Shane got goose bumps even with his long-sleeved black t-shirt and jeans. No more shorts- or shoes-optional evenings for the rest of the month, although the days had remained hot and clear.

  Once the fresh air had done its job in waking him up, Shane returned to the interior of the boat and ran into his first mate coming out of the master suite.

  “I was looking for you.” Jagger motioned for Shane to follow him down the starboard passage. “I want you to see something.”

  The man had driven them crazy with his singing the past four days, as shipboard life had settled into a comfortable rhythm and everyone relaxed a little. Had it not been for nagging worries about Charlie and what form Tex’s next surprise would take, Shane might have enjoyed it.

  Jagger wasn’t singing this morning, though.

  Shane craned his neck to see beyond Jagger into the galley. “What’s up?”

  “You need to see it.”

  When they rounded the corner to the galley and salon, what Shane saw was Gillian sitting in one of the upholstered booths frowning at her computer screen, Tank at her feet. She’d been hunched over the laptop all the way up the Atlantic coast while they’d had a reliable wireless signal, both researching Duncan Campbell and working up a profile of who their blackmailer might be. She must have found something.

  His adrenaline kicked in, waking him up even more. “Have you found the evil genius who’s pulling Tex’s strings?”

  Gillian looked up. “No, but look at this screenshot. It’s of an article I found online this morning, from the newspaper in Clearwater.”

  The screenshot showed a newspaper interior page, centered on one short story: Investigators Deem Fishing Boat Explosion Accidental.
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  Shane’s adrenaline took an ugly turn from excitement to horror as he slid the laptop in front of him and read the short article:

  The Monday evening explosion of a fishing boat off the coast of Clearwater that resulted in the deaths of two local fishermen has been deemed an accident by Pinellas County investigators. Christopher Miller of Clearwater and Gary Walters of Dunedin were killed when their 24-foot fishing boat, The Buccaneer, exploded offshore at 9:00 p.m. Monday.

  “Holy shit.” Shane sat back, his mind spinning in shock. No way that explosion was an accident. Tex, or one of his buddies, had set it.

  “Those two guys were loose ends,” Gillian said, pulling the laptop back toward her, tapping a few keys, and then closing the lid with a snap that echoed through the galley like a gunshot. “They probably sent that photo of you to Tex, and after that they were expendable. It would be easy enough to set an explosive with a timer set to go off a half hour before they were due back at the marina at nine thirty. Too late for it to risk damaging The Evangeline, but before they’d have time to get docked and raise suspicions with their sudden influx of cash.”

  Jagger had settled on the bench seat sideways, his arms wrapped around his knees as he stared out at the blue water. “But they didn’t know anything.” His tone was bleak. “They couldn’t have led anyone back to Tex or his boss. They were just…”

  “Collateral damage,” Shane said. His mind conjured up real and imagined images of the casualties so far. Charlie’s face fixed in his mind, maybe already threatened. Harley sitting outside the smoking ruins of his life, crying. Gillian’s friend, Vivian, her car wrapped around a tree. And now these two guys who probably thought they’d struck the mother lode of all easy jobs. Deliver an envelope for big bucks. Hell, he’d have taken a deal like that.

  The comfortable camaraderie that had built up over the past four days sank into morose silence. Gillian’s face had settled into a stony stillness, her dark eyes fixed on the floor. Jagger continued to stare out at the water, his expression grimmer than any Shane had ever seen on his friend.

  “I’m going up top until we get docked.” Shane didn’t wait for a response but got up and left without looking back.

  He paused at the entrance to the pilothouse, where Harley sat in the navigator’s chair, talking on the radio and looking right at home. He liked piloting tight spots and knew the Southport area. Shane trusted him to take them into the marina.

  More than he trusted himself right now. He pushed his way onto the deck, then climbed up to the flybridge. The day had turned hot, probably close to ninety, and the breeze had died down as they’d slowed to make the tight turn into the Bald Head Island inlet.

  Shane barely registered their location through the fury that coated his mind and thoughts in black ice. If there was one thing Charlie had taught him, it was that true Burke men were slow to anger. But once they were pissed off, they held grudges that didn’t die until justice had been served up on a platter like a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth. Shane’s dad, Charlie had often opined, wasn’t a true Burke man because he ran from things instead of turning around to confront them. The jury, Charlie had also often implied, remained undecided about Shane.

  Shane hadn’t understood the whole turn-and-confront thing until now. He’d been too busy beating himself up over the past to get angry, too busy wallowing in the idea that he deserved every bad thing that happened to him. Now, after all these years, he finally understood rage as Charlie had meant it. Rage wasn’t a hot, fire-in-the-moment kind of anger. It was cold and surefooted and lethal.

  He wanted Tex and his boss. No matter how long it took, he would destroy them. Whatever they loved, he’d kill it unless they killed him first.

  Maybe he was a true Burke after all.

  The slow sail into the inlet, past the houses and churches and marinas of Southport, seemed to take forever. Once the boatyard was in sight, Shane took a deep breath and climbed off the flybridge, joining Gillian and Jagger on the forward deck. Tank, wearing a red harness with the leash end looped around Gillian’s wrist, sat beside them, his head hanging between the rails. All their bags, including the one Shane had packed last night, were stacked against the inside wall.

  Gillian turned at the sound of Shane’s footsteps. “It’s beautiful here. I’m not sure what I expected but it’s more…something.”

  “ ‘Picturesque’ is the word the tourist brochures like to use.” Shane propped on the rail next to her, noting the buildings as they passed and gratified to still recognize most of them. Duffy’s Tavern was gone, replaced by Fisher’s Cove. The Cod Piece, a restaurant whose name had outraged the local citizenry when it first opened, was now Catch of the Day.

  But the old buildings remained, painted in soft pastel shades. The live oaks dripped Spanish moss over the streets lined with beautifully restored Victorian houses. The lighthouses. The wildlife refuge. All were just as he remembered them, and a deep wave of homesickness struck him like an unexpected high tide. Why had he stayed away so long? From this beautiful little town, and from Charlie?

  Get a grip, Burke. If he let himself get too sentimental, especially over Charlie, it would hurt all the more when the old man chewed up his ass and spit it out. And it would happen; the only question was when. Charlie had been a grumpy old man when Shane was a kid, even though he now realized the “old man” had only been in his thirties. Now that he was in his sixties, God only knew how cantankerous he’d be.

  A tugboat pulled up alongside The Evangeline, and Shane lowered the gangway for a local pilot to guide the boat through the traffic of the Cape Fear River. Harley had taken possession of all the provisioning and retrofitting papers and said he’d stay with the boat until everything was squared away for the transport to the boatyard and the delivery of provisions. He might join them at Charlie’s later.

  The two men had met before during their seafaring days but didn’t know each other well, and Harley was a solitary man by nature. Shane suspected he would end up staying in one of the hotels near the boatyard.

  “Enjoy the scenery for a minute,” Shane told Gillian, gesturing for Jagger to follow him inside.

  An eyebrow hike was her only hint at suspicion, but she didn’t argue.

  Jagger trailed Shane to the master suite. “What’s up? Did you finally get in contact with Charlie?”

  Shane knelt and pulled a bag from a storage area beneath the bed. “No, he’s still not answering.” It worried him more than he cared to admit. “I wanted to see if you’d mind staying with Harley, getting the boat taken care of. Gillian needs to go with me so we can get her computer set up for however long we’re here.” Not to mention the fewer witnesses to whatever hurtful words Charlie had for his nephew, the better.

  “Sure.” Jagger whistled when Shane handed him a stack of the hundred-dollar bills Gillian had brought aboard with her. “Hell, we should stay at one of the fancy-schmancy places in Wilmington.”

  “Might as well spend some of it.” Shane had thought about sending half of the money to his froggy pals at First Bank and Savings, but if he got his ass killed, which seemed a good possibility, the liquid assets would be of more value than The Evangeline to whoever ended up with his stuff, whether Jagger or Charlie or even Gillian.

  Jagger folded the notes up and tucked them in the pocket of his jeans. “Call me when you get to Charlie’s and let me know what’s up. I might hang with Harley and stay somewhere near the boatyard. Oversee the retrofits.”

  “Good idea. Thanks.” Shane put a hand on his friend’s shoulder on his way out. “Thanks for everything.”

  Jagger broke into a chorus of “Emotional Rescue,” and Shane grinned. Trust the Stones to break up an awkward, girly moment.

  When he got back on deck, Gillian had taken Tank to the bow. Shane joined them, avoiding the side where Tank sat. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “I wanted Jagger to stay with Harley. Harley doesn’t know my uncle very well, and I figured he’d want to stay near Th
e Evangeline. I gave him enough of Tex’s dirty money to pay for rooms.”

  Gillian leaned over the rail again. “It might as well come in good for something. So far, Tex has prepaid everything to be done here in Southport. Do you know how long we’ll be here?”

  Shane shrugged. “Depends on the boatyard schedule and the weather. Assuming Tex paid them enough to put a rush on the job, and assuming the weather stays this good, we could be out of here in a couple of days. Three tops. Or it could take a week.”

  “A week would be bad.” Gillian looked up at the cloudless sky, as if searching for divine answers. Shane hated to break it to her, but whoever was behind this crazy show, he didn’t think it was God or anything else divine.

  Shane had been doing his own calculations. They’d have a maximum of two weeks to test dive, find the wreckage of The Marcus Aurelius, and extract the cross. Two weeks, that is, if they could be out of here in three days. If they could make it to the coast of Nova Scotia in another five days. If they could find a local to smooth their way with the Cape Breton maritime community. If the weather held.

  People’s lives were riding on a lot of “ifs.”

  Once the boat was docked, Shane thanked the pilot, dropped the gangway, and saw him ashore before turning back to Harley and Jagger. “You guys going to be okay here?”

  Harley waved the sheets of paper with all the work orders. “Gonna call the boatyard now and see if they can at least get her moved today. It’s just past three, so they should be able to move ’er by dark and get started first thing tomorrow.”

  Shane hated to sound paranoid but, then again, he had a right. “Oversee the work if they’ll let you,” he told Harley and Jagger. “Look for anybody suspicious hanging around. When you inspect their work, look for bugs—you know, listening devices. Cameras. Anything like that.”

  So far, The Evangeline had seemed like a safe ground for them to talk freely, but this would be an ideal time for Tex and his pals to put bugs in place so they could monitor what was going on during the dive itself.