Seven meters down Struthers’ and Bruce’s discussion about the generous attributes of one of the Irish archaeology students came to abrupt end as the insular silence of the water took effect.
Quinn’s muscles began to unknot. The pressures above seemed to fall farther and farther away the deeper they submerged. This was why he continued doing the salvage work. Knowing that he was one of a very small number of people in the world who could do this kind of work gave him a sense of pride. But standing on the bottom of a loch with millions of gallons of water overhead was a bit like taking a space walk. Nothing could compete.
The trunk hatch popped with a sharp thump as they reached their depth. Quinn shoved his hands into his gloves.
“Seventy one meter depth acquired,” Rob’s voice came over the radio.
As acting bellman, Bruce answered. “Roger, control.”
Quinn rose and reached for his dive hat attached to the fifty-two meter umbilical which supplied him with both the mixture of gases he would breathe and his communications. He switched on the light and camera assembly, put on the helmet, and plugged the hot water hose into the port at his hip. He heard the reassuring hiss of the gas and felt an immediate surge of warmth as Bruce adjusted a valve that fed the heated fluid through his suit. He gave the man a thumb up, as did Struthers. The look of expectancy and concentration on Struthers’ face had him smiling as they waited for Bruce to equalize the pressure inside the trunk with the outside water, then open the hatch.
Quinn dropped through the opening first, Struthers close behind. He moved immediately to retrieve his emergency bottle of gas from the bell’s exterior, strapped it on, and connected the hose to his hat. Grasping the emergency umbilical, he fed it back through the hatch to Bruce.
In his helmet light, the water looked a clear greenish blue, the pumps no longer shooting muddy water over the side of the cofferdam to foul it. Several underwater canister lights attached to a metal frame shone directly on the stone. Their multi-bulb structure glared, making the scene look as if a small section of the bottom lay trapped inside a dreary snow globe. A brown eel, whip thin and quick, swam before them, then slithered into the dark. Water plants dotted the bottom in sparse clumps. Long lengths of PVC pipe were stacked to one side.
“That was the grid the archaeologist laid before we came on scene. They’ve taken most of it apart.”
“Logan’s contraption seems to be working. Wonder if he’ll try and patent it?” Struthers motioned toward the metal framework.
“He might. If it continues to work correctly.”
The stone lay on its side, on an incline and propped up by the rough edge of a large sunken bolder. Despite the thick layer of algae that coated its surface, two well-defined depressions sunk deep at each end of the block where the lintel would fit atop the posts.
The gear basket rested in the mud only a few yards shy of it. Quinn grabbed a couple of Kevlar straps and hefted them to his shoulder, then grasped the long rod that would act as a guide for the messenger lines. Struthers picked up a steel shackle and a strap.
Weighted down with gear, Quinn shuffled through the mud, kicking up debris equivalent to that of a dust storm in the Sahara.
“’Tis a big bugger.” Struthers voice in his ear sounded tinny and distant over the communication device in his helmet.
“Aye. ‘Tis a twenty ton stone, but we’ve moved bigger things. There’s the drop-off we discussed right before it. We’ll have to be careful once the water muddies up good and proper. I’ll get around behind it and slide you the messenger line. We need to get a couple of straps on it to secure it, just in case.”
“Aye.”
Quinn plodded around the back of the stone. He attached the end of the strap to the rod he carried. Choosing a clear area where the lintel lay propped up off the ground, he slid the rod beneath the stone. Silt puffed up in the water like gray fog, and immediately visibility decreased.
“Got it,” Struthers said and pulled the rod from beneath the slab. With the water becoming muddier by the moment, they worked by touch rather than sight to slide straps under the three-meter stone in half-meter wide increments. Concentrating on the work at hand, their spoken communication became brief, succinct. The drag of the water against his limbs, the effort it took to push the gas in and out of his lungs, reminded Quinn to pace himself. The smallest task took twice the effort at seven atmospheres down.
“Your shift is ending team one,” Rob’s voice came over their helmet units.
Six hours had passed very quickly. “Aye, aye, topside,” Quinn answered. “I’d like to get another strap around to cross strap it better, but we haven’t time.”
“Leave some work for the others, boss,” Struthers said. His disembodied hands met Quinn’s as they both stretched to secure the ends of the two straps into a steel shackle.
“Aye, Craig and Leith will have to take care of it.”
Quinn rested a hand on the stone as a guide as he walked around one end to where Struthers waited. The two of them stayed within touching distance of one another as they followed the dull glare of the canister lights to clearer water. Quinn turned to take one last look at the site.
Gray particles of mud floated in the water, swirling in the current that flowed along the bottom. And for a moment the cloud of debris parted and a disembodied face peeked through the fog. A hand and arm appeared as the woman twisted against a snake-like line that tangled about her.
Quinn’s breathing caught and his pulse leaped to his throat. He kicked forward and took two quick steps back toward her. The image fragmented and faded like mist on the current. He stopped.
She was gone. Disappeared.
“What is it, Quinn?” Struthers asked.
Quinn listened to the heavy sound of his own breathing and tried to regain control. Slow even breaths, don’t panic. It isn’t real.
“’Tis nothing. Let’s go.” Filled with a sense of urgency, he trudged to the bell as quickly as possible. He needed to get to the surface and send someone to check on Regan.
*****
At a tap on her shoulder, Regan looked up to see Logan standing next to her. Her heart gave a jolt. Quinn— was he all right? Bracing a hand on the stone, she rose from her kneeling position.
“Whenever you can take a break—Quinn wants to speak with you.”
Her heart settled into an unsteady gallop. She glanced at Seth Malone, their supervisor, to see his attention directed at them. He was living up to Dr. Fraser’s edict and watching them all like a hawk.
She offered Logan a smile. “We’re almost done for the day. I can come over in about half an hour.”
Logan’s frown snagged her attention.
“Is something wrong with Quinn?”
“No. He’s a bit distracted. And at seventy meters down, that can be dangerous.”
Regan’s stomach knotted at the unexpected censure in his tone and demeanor. “Quinn is a professional. When he’s at work, he’s at work,” she said.
“If you’re pumping him for information about our progress, or anything else—”
“Why would I need to do that, Logan? All I need to do is listen to the scuttlebutt around the dig.”
“Word is—you’re driven to do well here. You’ll not be using my brother as a springboard to launch your career, Regan.”
She drew a deep breath. Where was this coming from? Had she done this to herself with her enthusiasm, her need to succeed? Was she truly getting the reputation as a ladder-climbing bitch? Her throat tightened.
“I’m not sure how you think I can use your brother to further my career, Logan. I’m here cleaning the stones, and he’s there recovering one. When we’re together, we don’t talk about how much algae I’ve cleaned off the blocks that day, or what his progress has been with his end of it.” But they hadn’t shared the normal things a couple did, either. They hadn’t even had the opportunity to do that. Regan rubbed the back of her glove over her forehead. What would it be like to have this constant
pressure hanging over her head and his released? To be just a normal couple.
She looked up to find Logan’s gray gaze homed in on her. “We’ve shared a dance and a meal. You’re welcome to stick around and listen to our conversations.“
“Then what’s this shite about his song?”
So that was what this was about. “I didn’t steal his song. I’d like to see him sign a publishing contract for it as much as you. I’ll be glad to help him with that in any way I can.”
The continued suspicion she read in his expression only served to tighten the muscles in her shoulders. “Look, I can see where this is going, and all I can say is that I don’t mean your brother any harm.”
After a moment’s pause he nodded, though his features remained taut. “I’ll be holdin’ you to that.” He turned on his heel and strode away.
Regan kneeled and settled back to work. When Dr. Malone came around a few minutes later to dismiss them, she rested her back against one of the support poles that held the scaffolding in place and opened her sketchpad to finish her drawing.
“Will you be going to Grannos to speak with Quinn before you come up to the cabin?” Hannah asked as she gathered her jacket and water bottle.
“I told Logan I would. I’ll be up to help with dinner after that.”
Hannah nodded. “I’ll see you in while, then.”
Regan sketched the markings she’d uncovered that day. The lines and dots appeared as undefined as Quinn and her relationship. Though she had taken him into her confidence—that didn’t mean it had to progress any farther.
If they chose to ignore the dreams and visions, what would that mean to them? They could go their separate ways at the end of the summer without any attachment or heartache.
And what would it mean if they didn’t?
At the vibration of steps approaching, Regan raised her head.
Dr. Malone studied her drawing. “We have photographs of the markings.” Thick chested, and with a heavy layer of muscle along his shoulders and biceps he looked like a short Arnold Schwarzenegger.
“It doesn’t hurt to have a drawn record, too,” she said as she added a touch more shading to the left side of the stone. “And it gives me time to unwind at the end of the day.”
He gripped a nearby water hose and coiled it into a neat circle. “It’s been my experience that salvage divers are a salty lot. Not the kind of blokes I’d choose to associate with my daughter.”
First Logan and now Malone. Was this Regan Stanhope warning day? She remained silent a moment while she added a darker line here and there to the drawing and wrestled with the rush of resentment. “I wouldn’t have thought you were old enough to have a daughter my age, Dr. Malone.”
At his continued silence, she looked up. A brief, wry smile infused his heavy features with homely charm. “Not old enough, yet. She’s twelve going on twenty. I can see what I have to look forward to already.”
“Not necessarily.” Regan shut her sketchpad and shoved to her feet. “When I was twelve I was busy being the perfect little princess for my mother, and the academic whiz kid my father expected. I thought it more important to please them than myself.”
And she was still trying to do that. Why couldn’t she decide what she wanted without weighing them into the equation?
Dr. Malone’s look of surprise, forced her to control any further impulsive words. “I think I’ve had it for the day, sir. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Certainly.”
She stuffed her drawing pad in her backpack and hitched it over her shoulder. “Had Quinn Douglas not intervened, I may have lost my life the first day I was here. They may play hard, but professionally he and his crew are exemplary at what they do. And they aren’t salty around the students, especially around the girls.”
“Very good.” Dr. Malone said.
Regan drew a deep breath. “See you tomorrow, sir.” As she walked away from Malone, she decided exactly what she wanted—for now.
CHAPTER 20
As Regan dried the dishes after their meal, exhaustion bore down on her. She rolled her head to relieve the tension in her neck and sore shoulders.
“You look all in,” Sheary said as she handed her another plate.
Since her hands were full, Regan covered a yawn with her forearm. “I am.”
Sheary’s features settled into lines of concern. “You’re goin’ to have to learn to pace yourself, Regan. You’ll burn yourself out before summer’s half done if you keep this up.”
Regan drew a deep breath. “I know. Quinn said as much this afternoon.” She frowned. The vision he’d told her about, calling it a dream for the COM system tape, disturbed her. All these warnings were becoming nerve racking.
Sheary sent her a sidelong look. “He’s smitten with you. Has been since that first day.”
Was he? Or was it just the remnants of what they had shared in the past? He seemed seriously concerned for her safety. And had been from the first. Had something perhaps happened before—? God, it was too much to think about when she was so tired.
Sheary handed her another plate. “It would be better to burn out with him than scrubbing inanimate stones. You’ll get a great deal more satisfaction from a flesh and blood man than a rock. Don’t you think?”
Regan stretched to place a bowl in an overhead cabinet and smiled. “Yeah, I would, if he wasn’t stuck inside an eight by fifteen foot specimen jar. The only way we can talk is over a com system.”
“We have phone sex even in the UK,” Sheary said, an impish grin.
Regan laughed. “I’m not giving some other guy a vicarious thrill listening to my COM system conversations, thank you. Actually, several other guys. And they’re taped as well.”
“Well there’s somethin’ to be said for lookin’ and longin’ from afar. All that pent up testosterone and sexual frustration could ensure that the —‘welcome back to the real world sex,’ she made quotations in the air with her fingers, “could be—explosive.”
A rush of heat hit Regan’s face, and she bumped her with a hip. “You’re incorrigible.” She hung her damp dishtowel over the handle of one of the cabinets. “I’m hitting the hay.”
Regan exited the kitchen and paused as a knock sounded at the front door. Helen marked the place in her book and started to rise from the couch, but Regan waved her back down.
She opened the door then stared in surprise. Andrew Argus stood on their small stoop a large box in his hands. “Is there something we can do for you, Mr. Argus?”
With a case slung over each shoulder, he motioned with the box he carried. “I’ve come bearing replacement computers for you and Ms. MacKay.”
“Oh—“ She eyed the cases.
Argus’s amused smile had her shaking off the surprise and collecting her wits. “Oh, please come in.” She backed away and held the door wide for him.
“I’ll get Hannah,” Sheary said and disappeared down the hall.
“Mr. Nicodemus was made aware of the break-in and the loss of your and Ms. MacKay’s computers right after it happened. He also received a copy of the drawings and notes you took to Dr. Fraser a few days ago. He wanted me to tell you he thought them excellent work.”
Why was Nicodemus receiving copies of her work? Perhaps he expected copies of everything, since he was paying for it. Wary of the man’s praise, Regan said, “Please thank him for me.”
Hannah wandered into the living room from the hallway. Her anxious expression mirrored Regan’s feelings. ”Hello, Mr. Argus.”
Argus smiled at her. “It’s nice to see you again, Ms. MacKay.”
He set the box on the coffee table. Opening it, he extended one of the computer cases to Regan and the other to Hannah. “We’ve had some of the most useful programs installed on both computers, since you may need them to work on the project. Since you do such wonderful drawings, Ms. Stanhope, there’s architectural software installed you can download your drawings into and manipulate them.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll
be sure to check it out. We thought it would be weeks before the insurance would kick in and replace the computers. Possibly the rest of the summer.”
“Mr. Nicodemus doesn’t like delays.” His dark eyes moved from Regan to the other girls. “He’s also aware that providing workers with the tools they need expedites the job.”
“That’s certainly a most productive mind set, sir,” Hannah said.
Argus opened the box he’d laid on the coffee table and handed them each a CD case. “This is your copy of the software.”
“I’m quite overwhelmed by Mr. Nicodemus’s generosity, Mr. Argus,” Hannah said.
“Me, too,” Regan said. “We’ll be sending him thank you notes right away.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to receive them. He’s most interested in your drawings and notes, Ms. Stanhope.” He removed a business card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and tucked it beneath her thumb where she held the CD case. “Be sure to forward them to him as you complete them.”
Regan focused on the email address written in bold black letters across the bottom of the card. Alarm skittered along her nerve endings. What was it he’d found so interesting about the drawings and notes? Had she inadvertently left some of her private notes in one of the documents? Surely not. She’d gone over them several times before passing them on to Dr. Fraser.
Did it really matter why Nicodemus wanted them? He was paying her salary and everyone else’s. Paying for everything.
She swallowed her concern and forced a smile to her lips. “I’ll be happy to share them with him, sir.”
“Good.” Argus nodded. “Then I’ll leave you. It’s growing late, and I know you’ve had a busy day.”
“Yes, sir. We’re all a little fatigued,” Hannah said, shifting the computer and paraphernalia to her hip.
“Good digging tomorrow, ladies,” he nodded to Helen and Sheary.
Helen rushed to open the door for him, and he murmured a thank you. She rolled her eyes as she shut the door behind him, and then moved to the window to peer out. “Wonder why Nicodemus sent him to deliver the computers? Any flunky could have done it.”
Timeless Page 16
