Lovely, Dark, and Deep (The Collectors)

by Susannah Sandlin

  “I was in grad school at Florida, but we lived in Ocala instead of Gainesville. I had finished my master’s degree except for the formalities.” She looked out at the crowded restaurant dining room, but Shane didn’t think she really saw it. “My husband Sam and I had been arguing for weeks. I wanted to stay in school and go for my doctorate so I could teach college, and Sam wanted to move up to Pensacola where his parents lived. He’d work at the bank, and I’d stay home and raise Ethan the way both of us had been raised. Maybe teach high school once Ethan got in school himself.”

  The waitress came and refreshed their sodas, and Gillian waited until she left before resuming. “The night it happened, I was supposed to pick up Ethan at daycare but I got held up at the lab and then my car wouldn’t start. Sam had to drive from Ocala to pick Ethan up, and then me. The rain was horrible. We stopped for dinner, and he drank a couple of beers so I insisted on driving.”

  Shane saw where this was headed. “You were driving when the wreck happened?”

  She nodded, and while her eyes looked a little shiny, she didn’t cry. She just looked incredibly sad. “Sam and I were arguing. Ethan was asleep in the back in his baby seat. Sam grabbed the wheel, and I took my eyes off the road for a second.” She closed her eyes, and her voice grew so soft Shane had to strain to hear her. “Just for a second. I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital and they told me my baby was dead.”

  She swallowed hard and looked up at Shane. “So Tex knew exactly what would keep me in line. He even said it: ‘Do you want to be responsible for the death of another little kid?’”

  Shane wanted to hold her tight and tell her over and over, until she finally heard and believed, that what killed her family was an accident. That if anybody was at fault it was her damn-fool husband, may he rest in peace, who drank too much and grabbed the steering wheel. And he wanted to use Tex’s balls for target practice, for using such a painful thing as ammunition.

  “I’d kill Tex if I could get my hands on him.” Shane found it hard to look at Gillian, the pain in her face was so stark and etched into every line, every freckle, every one of the few damp tears that managed to escape.

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Get in line behind me. But that’s the worst thing. Every time I’ve wanted to tell him to go to hell, I have to swallow down those words. I hate bullies more than anything, and I’ve had to let myself be bullied. When Ethan died, I bought the truck and the trailer. I found Tank, and I moved to a place where I thought I’d never have to be afraid again. Never have to worry about losing anyone because I’d keep everyone at arm’s length. And then here comes good old Tex.”

  Yeah, good old Tex knew where to put the screws. Ironic how similar their situations were in a way. They both had hidden themselves away—Gillian in her trailer and Shane on The Evangeline—to avoid ever being responsible for another life. And now they both were performing like trained seals to keep the people they cared about safe.

  “Anyway,” she said, folding her napkin and setting it on the table beside her plate, “that’s how Tex has been able to control me so easily. By reinforcing the guilt over my son.”

  She had no reason to feel guilty. “I’m just gonna say this once because it’s something you know in your heart. You’re a smart woman.” Shane chose his words carefully. She was too fragile for a misstep. “You know that accident wasn’t your fault. It was just that—an accident. If you want to blame anyone, it’s okay to blame your husband.”

  Careful, Burke, careful. “You talk about losing Ethan, but you don’t mention Sam. Why is that?”

  Gillian had been watching him with the same tired, sad expression she’d worn throughout her story, but now her eyes widened. “I don’t mention Sam?”

  Shane shook his head. “It makes me wonder if deep down, beyond that part of you that’s hanging onto your guilt, you’re not mad as hell at him?”

  Gillian made a dismissive gesture. “That’s silly. How can I be mad at someone who’s dead?”

  Shane didn’t answer, but watched as she processed the answer to her own question, her brows drawing together in thought. She raised her hand to her mouth and stifled a sob.

  Oh hell, he hadn’t meant to rip her wide open in public. That was classic Shane. He starts out well, then takes things a step too far.

  “You can think on that a little later,” he said, desperate to divert her attention. “I’ll match you one on the guilt scale, and raise you one.”

  The ploy worked. She wiped away a couple of stray tears and looked up at him. “What?”

  “The conversation with Charlie.” Was he going to do this? Spill his guts in the restaurant formerly and known to him forever as the Cod Piece? It seemed the least he could do since she’d just eviscerated herself to get him talking.

  “What Charlie said, the part I heard, was that you shouldn’t get involved with me because you might have to choose between me and survival, like before. Is that why you hadn’t seen him in ten years? Because you had that kind of choice to make?”

  He nodded. “I was twenty-three and had been in the Marine Corps three years, stationed in San Diego. With Charlie’s help, I’d gotten my tec diving credentials before I enlisted, so I took to combat diving right away. It’s brutal. Imagine scuba diving in full combat gear, carrying a shitload of weapons. But I was some hot shit, at least in my own mind.”

  She dug a shrimp out of her bowl with her fingers and popped it in her mouth. “I can’t imagine diving like that. It’s hard enough with double tanks.”

  Shane thought back to the dive training, how they stayed under until their lungs and muscles caught fire, then forced themselves to surface slowly and change gas mixtures to avoid decompression problems even as their bodies raged for oxygen. “I got a charge out of it, the adrenaline rush, the feeling of having cheated death every time you took a deep dive or a went on a hard maneuver and came out whole. I was good enough, I guess, that I started helping train the newer dive recruits, both Marines and SEALs.”

  He was silent for a while as he thought back to those days. Everything in his life had been spread out before him the way he’d always dreamed of it. He was happy to stay in the Corps and live cheaply until he saved up enough to open his own dive shop with Jagger.

  “When I first came to talk to you about the dive, you said you always dive alone,” Gillian said. “Is that because of something that happened then?”

  “Yeah.” Shane blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “My CO—commanding officer—asked me to take one of his baby Marines down for a private lesson one day, off the books. The kid was the son of one of his old college buddies and he was one more failed dive away from getting kicked out. So I took him up to La Jolla, thinking I’d show off a little, take him on a cave dive that would be so damned interesting he would forget to panic.”

  Shane laughed softly. “It didn’t work out that way. We dove together and had Jagger up top in a dive boat with a decompression line so we could come up slow. The kid’s name was Kevin. Kevin was doing great until he swam between a couple of rock formations in the cave, misjudged how close together they were, and got stuck. He freaked.”

  Gillian nodded. “Panic’s the worst thing a diver can do. That’s basic.”

  Basic, but the brain was its own worst enemy when it came to panic. “He’d used up all his air by the time I cut him loose, so I was sharing with him. But we had to go up the line in stages to avoid decompression sickness. It’s a slow process, and although we were running low on gas, we had enough to make it. But he let go and shot for the surface.”

  “Ah.” Gillian took another sip of her soda. “And you had to either go up too fast with him, or keep going up the line to keep yourself safe.”

  Shane felt the heat of embarrassment spread over his face. “What a selfish bastard. By the time I got to the top, he was talking crazy shit. By the time I rolled into the boat, he was having seizures. By the time we got to shore and called the EMTs, he was d
ead.”

  Gillian folded her napkin and unfolded it, but kept her gaze fixed on Shane. He forced himself to look back at her. “A wise man I know recently told me something,” she said. “So I’ll say this once. It was an accident, and you did nothing wrong. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. This kid shouldn’t ever have been training as a combat diver, and your CO should’ve been able to see that and moved him somewhere else. Did the Marines find you at fault?”

  Shane shook his head. “No, it was ruled an accident. But I could’ve done something different. I know I could have.”

  Gillian reached over and took his hand. “And I could’ve kept my eyes on the road that night. We don’t get do-overs, do we? But think of it this way. If you’d let go of the line and followed Kevin, he’d still have died. The only thing different would be that you might have died as well, and for nothing.”

  Shane looked at his fingers twined with hers and felt a rush of gratitude. He’d told the story and survived it, or at least he’d told part of it. His own diving panic wasn’t real; it was a sick game his mind played with itself. He didn’t panic at the idea of diving. He panicked at the idea of panicking while diving. Subtle difference, but it screwed with you.

  “Let me guess the rest.” Gillian smiled at him. “You were reeling from guilt, showed up on Charlie’s doorstep, and he treated you to some good old-fashioned Burke-style tough love.”

  Yep, that summed it up. “Very tough. I tucked tail and ran back to California, thinking I was just like my dad, who wasn’t a real Burke man because he also ran from his problems. Jagger rescued me and hauled me off to Cedar Key.”

  “We’re both pretty pathetic, aren’t we?” Gillian laughed, and he surprised himself by laughing too. “But I’m glad I know and glad I told you the truth.”

  “Me too.” He didn’t feel a proverbial weight lift off his shoulders, but he did feel relieved that she hadn’t judged him. He still did enough of that for everyone, but maybe that old habit would eventually die. And he prayed this dive would help him prove to himself that he still had it—the legendary nerves of steel and steadiness of mind to be the best.

  The waitress arrived with a dessert menu, and Gillian held it in front of her face and ordered where he couldn’t hear her. “It’s a surprise,” she said. “And Tex is paying.”

  He’d seen some chocolate monstrosity on the menu and would lay odds she’d ordered it. “And so he should pay for it. In fact, Tex should—”

  Damn, his pocket was vibrating. Shane dug out his cell phone and looked at the screen. “It’s Jagger.” He punched the talk key just as the waitress reappeared with the biggest damn piece of chocolate cake Shane had ever seen, let alone eaten. Make that chocolate cake with chocolate icing and chocolate ice cream. He wanted to drool on it and call it “precioussss.”

  He held the phone to his ear. “Hey man, what’s up? I saw The Evangeline at the boatyard.”

  Jagger’s voice cut in and out, and Shane couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.

  “Wait, slow down and start over.”

  Jagger sounded drunk, except the man rarely drank unless Shane was egging him on. “Hang on,” he said. “Let…have…move.” The phone banged against something but when Jagger came back on the line his voice was clearer. “This better? Need you here. The Tradewinds, next to the boatyard. Room 24. No, that’s not it. Wait. Room 34.”

  Shane shrugged at Gillian and motioned for the waitress. “We’re on our way, but what did you say about Bob Marley?”

  “Nothing.” Jagger’s voice sounded strained. “I said they got Harley. And bring your first-aid kit.”

  EPISODE 6

  CHAPTER 21

  Gillian dug in her wallet, grabbed a hundred-dollar bill from Tex’s stash, and threw it on the table. She didn’t know what had happened to make Shane bark “We’ve gotta go” and stalk toward the door, but she shrugged apologetically at the bewildered waitress and got up to follow him.

  “Sorry, just keep it. I left the money on the table,” she told the waitress on her way out. “We’ve had an emergency.”

  “Let me box it up for you.”

  Gillian looked longingly at the mounds of chocolate on the tray, then at the entrance to the restaurant. Shane was nowhere in sight.

  “No time, but thanks—it looks great. And keep the change.”

  She hurried out just as Shane screeched the old blue van to a stop in front of the restaurant. Barely had she jerked open the passenger door and slid onto the seat before he stomped the gas pedal, the squeal of the tires echoing across the parking lot.

  “What happened?” Gillian struggled to close the van door as it bounced off the curb when Shane took the corner too hard.

  “Something’s up with Harley. Jagger wasn’t making a lot of sense, and that was before it sounded like he dropped the phone and disconnected.”

  They reached the parking lot of the Tradewinds in less than five minutes. Gillian had seen its clone in just about every town she’d ever driven through—a single line of rooms stacked two stories high, a rusted iron rail spanning the second-floor walkway, and a small, dimly lit reception area in front. She could guarantee a slime-festooned ice machine and a couple of vending machines lurked in a shadowy corner beneath the stairway. The hotel was within walking distance of the boatyard, though, which ensured it a steady clientele.

  “Help me look for room thirty-four.” Shane slowed down and squinted at the doors’ almost-illegible room numbers, no doubt the victims of age and neglect.

  Gillian spotted a yellow glow of light spilling from an open door at the end. “Go all the way back. The door to the last room’s open but there are no cars parked in front of it.” Harley and Jagger had taken a taxi to the boatyard but had likely walked to the hotel.

  “Damn it. I don’t like the looks of this.” Shane jerked the van to a stop at a diagonal across two parking spaces near the last room, and was out the door before Gillian could unstrap her seat belt.

  By the time she reached the doorway and peered inside, Shane had knelt on the floor next to Jagger, who was sitting up with his back against the foot of the bed, his face bloody and bruised. Gillian had seen category two hurricane sites with less damage than the little hotel room. The phone had been dragged off the desk and rested near Jagger’s leg. A lamp lay overturned on the cheap particle-board dresser, and chairs rested on their sides. A mattress hung off the edge of one of the beds, its vaguely nautical blue-green bedspread fanned across the floor.

  There was no sign of Harley, but at least Jagger was conscious. Shane helped him to his feet while Gillian closed and locked the door and then smoothed out a spot on the bed so he could lie down. Next, she went into the bathroom to run hot water over a washcloth.

  “We’ve gotta go after them,” Jagger was saying as she came back into the room. “Tex has Harley.”

  “Goddamnit.” Shane ran to the door and wrenched it open, but stopped on the threshold. “If this happened right before you called, they had at least ten or fifteen minutes’ head start. We’ve got to think about why they took him. What were they driving?”

  Jagger touched a finger to his busted lip and winced. “Hell, I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly standing in the parking lot watching it all go down. Ah, thanks. That feels good.” Jagger closed his eyes as Gillian eased the warm, wet cloth over his face. The cuts looked minor, but he’d kept a hand pressed against his ribcage when Shane helped him up.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “I feel like Shane ran over my gut with Charlie’s old van, but nothing’s broken.” He took the cloth and pressed it against his jaw. “But it was Tex, or at least it was the same guy we saw on The Evangeline that day in the harbor, posing as a deputy. The guy that burned down Harley’s bar was the one we saw first, though. He was lurking around at the boatyard.”

  Shane prowled the length of the room, back and forth, fists clenched and jaw tight. “How’d they know you were at this hotel?”

  Ja
gger handed the cloth back to Gillian. “No idea. How do they know half the shit they do? Harley spotted the firebug at the boatyard, though.” He smiled, which split his busted lip again and sent a trickle of blood down his chin. Gillian handed the cloth back without comment. “You know Harley—he took off after the guy like he was sixteen, not sixty, damning him to hell six ways to Sunday. I had no choice but to chase them.”

  Gillian frowned and sat next to Jagger on the bed. Something didn’t add up. “So when did Tex get involved?”

  “That’s just it.” Jagger looked from Gillian and back to Shane. “We chased the firebug here, to this room. The door was standing open and Tex was in here, going through our overnighters.” He shook his head. “Did we stop and think before we raced into the room after the firebug? That would be a ‘no.’ So we surprised Tex, but he surprised us, too.”

  “You and Harley should’ve been able to beat those guys in a fistfight. I’ve seen you take down guys twice your size.” Shane shoved the dislodged mattress back on the other bed and sat on the edge. “How did it go down?”

  “We were knocking the shit out of them until Tex pulled a gun. He shot Harley and bashed me in the mouth. I crawled into the bathroom to call you, and when I got back, nobody was here. It was less than a minute, and Harley had still been fighting, even with the gunshot wound.”

  Gillian met Shane’s gaze; his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw echoed her own. “We told him the truth to keep him safe,” she said. “We brought him with us to keep him safe.” She didn’t need to add the rest: they might have gotten him killed instead.

  But if he’d been dead, Tex wouldn’t have taken him. That rationale was enough to slow down her jackrabbit heart.

  “Jagger.” Shane’s voice was low and even, a tone that Gillian, even with her limited experience, recognized as barely controlled fury. “You said they took him. Now you’re saying they shot him. Get your story straight.”

  “We fought the best we could, and it happened fast. He just had a shoulder wound.” Jagger sat up, holding his ribs. “And until you’ve had your teeth knocked loose by the butt of a forty-five you can drop the judgmental attitude, asshole.”