She nodded.
“That can’t have been the first time you’d seen a shark attack,” Daniela commented. “You were as cool as ice.”
Laughing, he shook his head. “I was scared witless, I assure you. But you’re right, I’ve filmed sharks feeding many times. The trick is to cultivate a courageous facade.” Arching a brow at Sean, he asked, “Or do you become inured to it, eventually?”
Sean shrugged. “It would be a mistake to get too comfortable out there.”
“Says the man whose pulse never climbs above seventy.”
Sean lifted a forkful of rice to his mouth, not bothering to dispute him.
“Well, you couldn’t pay me to watch a shark feeding,” Elizabeth said with a shudder. “If this island wasn’t home to so many species of birds, I wouldn’t have come at all.”
Brent gave her an odd look. “Really? I could have sworn I’d met you before, on a shark expedition. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to remember where and when.”
Jason perked up at this news. “Liz is secretly a shark groupie?”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said, her tone frosty. “I hate sharks.”
“My mistake,” Brent murmured, but Daniela was left with the impression that he didn’t think it was.
The tension in the room was palpable. Elizabeth seemed uneasy in her surroundings, and reluctant to share personal information. Sean wasn’t thrilled with Daniela’s unexpected arrival. And Taryn picked at her food, looking depressed by the turn of events.
“I heard that the house is haunted,” Daniela said, changing the subject.
Unfortunately, her attempt to lighten the mood failed. No one said a word.
“Is there a local superstition?” she asked, pressing on.
Taryn stopped pretending to eat and set her fork down. Sean shot her a warning glare but she ignored it. “Some people think the house is inhabited by a lady in white. She was a light keeper’s wife, a pioneer woman who lived here a hundred years ago.”
“What’s her story?”
Her lips curved into a humorless smile. “Apparently, she threw herself off the cliffs. One night, she went to the lighthouse tower to check the lamps. Instead of refueling them, she walked to the edge and leaped to her death.”
A chill traveled down Daniela’s spine. “How do they know she jumped?”
“She washed up at Dead Man’s Beach, pockets full of stones.”
“Oh.” Now she knew why Sean hadn’t wanted her to hear the tale. He’d always been protective, and there was a time, not so long ago, that she’d contemplated a similar fate. “Why wasn’t she eaten by sharks, do you think?”
“It wasn’t shark season,” Jason said, matter-of-fact.
Daniela stared down at her plate, silent. She was curious about the skinned seal, but she hesitated to bring up a second unpleasant topic. Instead, she ate a few more bites and took sips of water, pretending to relax.
After the dinner plates were cleared, Sean disappeared into the office, Brent cleaned his camera equipment and Jason washed dishes.
Taryn and Elizabeth took out their laptops to write daily logs.
Daniela hadn’t brought hers, as she preferred to write notes by hand and input the information later. There was another computer in the office, an older desk model that stayed on the island, but Sean was using it.
She wandered over to the bookcase, perusing its contents. There were a lot of dog-eared paperbacks, mostly fantasy and science fiction. Not what she was looking for. “Have you always done computerized logs?”
“No,” Taryn said. “There’s a stack of ledgers in the cabinet.”
“Ah.” The wooden cabinet was situated against the back wall, above an old Formica countertop. Daniela opened the cabinet doors, eying the rows of books with interest. Being vertically challenged, she couldn’t reach the back, or see all the way inside.
“I’ll get them,” Elizabeth offered.
“That’s okay,” she muttered, boosting herself up and perching one hip on the edge of the countertop. “Short girls know how to get by.”
In addition to the ledgers, she found dozens of history books, some decades old. She took them out, one by one, smoothing her hands over the scarred leather surfaces. There would be a wealth of information here.
The story about the lady in white had piqued her interest. Since her own near-death experience, she had a morbid fascination with other people’s tragedies.
After choosing one of the newest ledgers, and the most intriguing history text, she put the other books back in the cabinet. Taking a seat in the armchair in the far corner, because it couldn’t be seen from the office, she opened the ledger. Sean’s jagged scrawl leaped out at her from the pages, line after line of dark, confident script.
When they were married, he’d often written her notes in the morning before he left the house. Nothing wildly romantic, because that wasn’t his style. Just your basic grocery lists and gentle reminders and the occasional “I love you.”
Putting those notes out of her mind, with some difficulty, she flipped though the pages of the ledger. A single date jumped out at her: September 25th, just over two years ago. The anniversary of the accident.
Sean had jotted down the time and a detailed description of an incident with the cage-diving crew. Apparently, he’d driven the whaler out to their diving boat to ask them to stop chumming, and some four-letter words had been exchanged. Just as the dialogue started getting interesting, the script cut off, midsentence. There were no new entries from Sean until recently. He must have been writing this when he heard—
Daniela closed the book abruptly. She picked up the history text instead, learning about the islands’ tumultuous past.
When the words began to blur on the page, she knew it was time to turn in. She’d taken a red-eye flight from San Diego to San Francisco, and a rocky, four-hour boat trip from there out to the islands. Her afternoon had been spent watching a shark attack. She’d had a difficult day, to say the least.
Although it was still early, just shy of 9:00 p.m., she was dead tired.
“I’m beat,” Taryn said, echoing her thoughts. “I won’t be able to drag myself out of bed at the crack of dawn if I stay up much longer.”
Murmuring in agreement, everyone else began to put their work materials away. Daniela returned the books to the cabinet, and Elizabeth ducked into the downstairs bathroom.
Brent, who’d just gone outside, came back in, bringing a rush of cold night air and the faint scent of tobacco with him. It wasn’t the acrid stench of filtered cigarettes, but the mild aroma of roll-your-owns. The smell reminded Daniela of her father.
“I guess I’m ready to go upstairs,” she said to Taryn.
The girl forced a smile. “Good night, then,” she said, nodding at the others.
“Good night,” Daniela parroted, avoiding Sean, who had come out of the office. It hurt too much to remember all the nights they’d spent together, most of which had been very good indeed.
In their shared room, Taryn kicked off her furry boots and climbed into the top bunk, her body a slight curve beneath her sleeping bag. Daniela changed quickly, removing her weatherproof trousers and pulling on soft flannel pajama pants. After laying her own sleeping bag on the lower bunk, she slipped inside, reaching out to turn off the lamp.
She froze, thinking about frigid air and black nothingness. Gushing blood and razor-sharp teeth.
“There’s a night-light,” Taryn said, her voice muffled by blankets.
“What?”
“There’s a night-light. It turns on automatically.”
“You’re afraid of the dark?” she asked.
The question was met by silence. After a pause, Taryn said, “No. But this house is really creepy. Sometimes I wake up and feel out of breath. The dark can be suffocating.”
Daniela’s antagonism toward the girl softened. “My panic attacks are like that,” she admitted. “I know what you mean.”
“If you can’t sle
ep with it on, I’ll unplug it.”
“No,” she said, switching off the lamp. The night-light in the corner illuminated a small section of the wall, creating a halo effect. Chasing the shadows away. “It’s fine. Waking up in a strange place can be disorienting, and…I have nightmares.”
“If I hear you, should I wake you up?”
She rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, struck by a slew of unpleasant memories. Not all of her nights with Sean had been good. Sometimes, she’d woken up screaming, hitting him with both fists.
“No,” she said, hugging her arms around her waist. “Don’t wake me.”
Daniela opened her eyes with a start, her heart pounding against her ribs, her breath coming in quick, short pants. In the bunk above her, Taryn’s sleeping form caused an almost imperceptible dip in the thin mattress.
No hint of light peeked through the window. The desk clock read 1:45 a.m.
Fumbling for the bottled water at her bedside, she took a slow sip, struggling to regulate her breathing and hold her panic at bay.
Her nightmares came less frequently now, but they still came. She’d figured sleep would be elusive in these strange surroundings. To her surprise, exhaustion had overtaken her and she’d drifted off, minutes after lying down.
She’d dreamed of being trapped inside the 4Runner, impaled on a piece of twisted metal frame. Intermittent rain came through the broken front windshield, wetting her cheeks, rousing her from semiconsciousness. With lucidity came pain and terror and sorrow. She turned her face away, seeking to drown herself in the bliss of sleep.
Sean’s hand reached out, yanking her from the car. Pulling her out of comfort’s arms and away from sweet oblivion.
The nightmare was always the same.
When her heart no longer threatened to burst from her chest, she rose from the lower bunk, her sock-covered feet padding silently across the hardwood floor. Outside of her cozy sleeping bag, the air was bracingly cold.
Shivering, she eased into her hooded sweatshirt and slipped out the door. When she had bad dreams, she preferred to get up and move around. She knew from experience that going right back to sleep was impossible, and lying in bed only increased her anxiety.
Pacing the hallway was out, so she went downstairs to make a cup of tea. Walking was therapeutic, but simple tasks also calmed her nerves.
Halfway down the stairs, she felt a chill. In fact, she could see it. Fog crept up the stairwell, curling around her fuzzy wool socks.
The front door was open.
Daniela couldn’t believe her eyes. Had someone just left the house, in the dead of night? Even more unsettling, had an unexpected visitor dropped in?
For a moment, fear kept her rooted to the spot. She imagined diaphanous white gowns and dead limbs, rising from the mist.
“Don’t be a fool,” she whispered, shaking her head. Perhaps she was prone to panic attacks and crying jags, but she wasn’t fanciful or weak-minded.
Straightening her shoulders, she hurried down the last few steps, moving toward the front door with purpose. The wind had forced it open, nothing more. Brent hadn’t closed it properly during his last smoke break.
She took a quick peek outside, making sure he wasn’t standing there now, puffing away. She didn’t see anything but fog, so she drew it closed, shutting out the cold air and silencing the sound of the crashing surf.
When a hand touched her shoulder, she almost jumped out of her skin.
It was Jason.
“Puta madre!” she gasped, her heart in her throat.
He chuckled at her colorful language, his teeth very white in the dark. “I’m sorry. I thought you were sleepwalking.”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“I can see that,” he said, still smiling.
“Were you going out for a stroll?” he asked.
“Of course not. The door was open when I came downstairs.”
His expression sobered. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Frowning, he opened the door again, doing a quick search of the foggy exterior before he shrugged and closed it. After a moment’s deliberation, he engaged the dead bolt.
“You don’t usually lock it?” Daniela asked him.
“No reason to.”
She followed his logic. The island had no docking facilities, so it wasn’t as though any vandals or rabble-rousers could drop by. “Must have been the wind,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around her body.
He looked past her, studying the dark living room for signs of a disturbance. Everything was in its place.
“Sean told me about the skinned seal,” she said.
His brows rose in surprise. “Are you worried about that? I’m sure it was an isolated incident.”
She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “I had a bad dream,” she said. “I came downstairs to make a cup of tea.”
His eyes softened with sympathy. “Would you like some company?”
Over the past two years, she’d been asked that question many times. With very few exceptions, she’d said no. She hadn’t wanted company of any kind. Everyone, including Sean, had been desperate to console her. But she’d been inconsolable.
Hiding herself away, locked in misery, was easier than interacting with people, and she’d needed time to be alone with her grief.
At long last, that phase had passed.
“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I would like company. Very much.”
Chapter 5
When Daniela awoke again, the room was gray with pre-dawn light. She was surprised she’d slept so well. After a quiet conversation with Jason, and a hot cup of tea, she’d returned to bed, but she hadn’t expected a restful night.
Taryn was still in the upper bunk, her breathing soft and even.
Daniela slipped out of bed, shivering. It was chillier than it had been a few hours ago. Moving quickly, she grabbed her toiletries kit instead of her work clothes. It would be easier to get dressed after she went to the bathroom.
Still groggy from sleep, she didn’t realize someone was already using the facilities until she was standing outside the door. The sound of running water stopped abruptly, and before she had a chance to retreat, the door opened.
Sean stepped into the hallway, a towel wrapped around his waist, his gloriously bare chest mere inches from her face.
They both froze.
She’d seen him more naked than this hundreds of times, from every possible angle, and he’d never shown a hint of modesty. Nor an ounce of shame. But, to be fair, what shame was there in having a body that could make a grown woman weep?
He was leaner than he’d been a few years ago, and even more toned, every muscle in his body standing out in clear definition. He looked like a human anatomy chart.
Although a part of her suspected his exercise regimen had been a little too grueling lately, she couldn’t help but stare at the hard planes of his chest and the straits along his rib cage. Her eyes followed the furrow of dark hair on his abdomen until it disappeared under the damp towel, which was slung precariously low on his hips.
She forced her gaze up to his face.
His expression was guarded, awaiting her reaction. He smelled fantastic, like clean water and spicy soap. Her mouth watered at the tantalizing scent, and her fingertips itched to touch his skin, but her mind registered that there was something out of place. Although she could swear she felt heat coming off his body, there was no shower steam.
“No hot water?” she blurted.
A flush stole across his cheekbones. “Not much.”
Because she was standing there like a moron, blocking his exit, he went around her, gripping his towel in a clenched fist.
Entranced, she watched him go. When he switched hands on the towel to turn the doorknob to his bedroom, the terry cloth slipped down another inch, rewarding her with a glimpse of his tautly defined hip.
As soon as he was out of sight, she snapped out of her stupor.
What was wrong with her? He must think her an utter fool.
Smothering a moan of embarrassment, she stumbled forward into the tiny bathroom and pulled the door shut behind her. The woman in the mirror above the sink stared back at her in dismay, her skin too pale for her almost-black hair, eyes too big for her face.
Her nostrils flared, inhaling his soap, his skin, his scent.
Even his dirty clothes, which he’d left in a mesh bag on the tile floor, smelled better than a field of wildflowers to her sadly man-deprived nose. Fisting her hands in her hair, she sank into a crouched position, letting her back slide down the door.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him.
When they were together, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to please her. In the months following the accident, he’d wanted to comfort her more than ever. Instead of taking advantage of that opportunity, she’d shied away from his touch.
In hindsight, she should have expected him to file for divorce. His need for physical intimacy had never waned, not once over the course of their five-year marriage, not even during her pregnancy. If anything, he’d reached for her more often, fascinated by the changes in her body, exploring every new curve.
After losing the baby, she’d had no interest in sex, and he hadn’t pressed the issue at first. When he had…it was the beginning of the end.
At the time of their separation, they hadn’t been intimate in over a year.
Sean had never been a monk. He was a man of strong appetites, and there would always be women lining up to indulge him. She didn’t think he’d cheated. But how often had he been in a remote location with a sweet young thing like Taryn? And how could she assume he would go without female attention while he was away if he wasn’t getting any at home?
Angry with herself for wondering—and for caring—she lurched to her feet. It hardly mattered if Sean had been faithful during their marriage.
It was over. Time to move on.
To say she had regrets was an understatement, but she’d come here to start again, not to dwell on the past, or to re-immerse herself in a pit of despair.
With swift, impatient motions, she turned on the faucet and bent over the sink. Cupping her hands together, she filled them with ice-cold water, gritting her teeth as she washed the dazed look off her face.
Stranded With Her Ex Page 5
