by Rachel Grant
“Chicken.” The word slipped from Luke’s lips. Jesus, he was kicking a wounded woman when she was down. What sort of asshole was he?
But he was pissed. Angry that he’d spent the last several hours worried about the bitch who’d ruined his life for a teenage lark, angry that his heart had been ready to explode when he realized she might die, angry that any part of him had the capacity to care about her. Angry that in a few hours he might come face-to-face with her father for the first time in the dozen years since the man had withdrawn his scholarship, destroyed Luke’s professional dreams, and tried to have him sent to prison.
When the prosecutor refused to file statutory rape charges, Stefan Gray had sworn Luke would never get a field research job in marine biology, and he’d promised to tell administrators the whole ugly story if Luke so much as applied for a job teaching high school.
Dr. Gray didn’t give a crap that Undine had lied about her age and had been damn convincing. She’d been taking college courses and was teaching at the institute; Luke had every reason to believe her when she claimed to be nineteen. But even then, he wouldn’t have touched the premier marine biologist’s daughter, except she’d pursued him with a single-minded, guileless sweetness, seducing him with the wonders of the ocean and knowledge beyond her years of the sea that abutted the Monterey, California institute that was her home.
At twenty-two, he’d been helpless to resist her allure.
As a result he’d lost his job, his scholarship, and his future.
Dr. Gray didn’t hold her responsible, because Princess Undine could do no wrong in her father’s eyes, and seducing one of her father’s too-old-for-her employees was definitely wrong.
Dammit. This was not the time to be reliving the nightmare that had changed the course of his life. He’d found purpose in the Navy and made a home on the SEAL team that focused on dive-based operations. When a minor injury meant he could no longer serve as an active duty SEAL, he’d dug out his old bachelor’s degree in marine biology and applied for a transfer into the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s Commissioned Officer Corps. He was still in the uniformed service, serving his country, working in the field he’d loved and lost.
And there was nothing Stefan or Undine Gray could do to take it away.
The door opened. He glanced over to see the captain of the NOAA vessel he’d been on when the explosion occurred. “How is the patient?” Capt. Hogarth asked.
“She woke a bit ago, but didn’t speak.” However, after seeing the recognition in her eyes he suspected she’d played possum. It had been several minutes before her breathing evened out to a sleep rhythm.
“The Navy confirmed she’s Undine Gray. How did you recognize her?”
“I worked for Dr. Gray a dozen years ago and met her then.”
“The big man is supposed to be here in a few hours,” the captain said.
Luke tried to suppress a grimace.
“He’ll likely wish to thank you in front of the television cameras.”
“Gray does everything in front of cameras these days, but I have a feeling he’ll forgo them this time.” He allowed himself a cynical smile.
“Out of respect for his daughter’s lost team. I suppose you’re right.”
He considered his reply carefully; no matter how unwitting he’d been, the shame over his part in the brief, abhorrent relationship with Undine remained with him even now. “More likely because we parted on bad terms. He doesn’t like me, and I…have no fondness for him.” Or his daughter. He left the last part unsaid. His skipper would never believe him, given that he’d insisted on accompanying her to the hospital. He cleared his throat. “How many were on the boat that blew up?”
“The Navy has confirmed six including Ms. Gray. Four were contractors. One of the victims, Jared Cornish, was the owner. The Navy had leased Petrel from him for a salvage operation that was set to begin next week with Navy divers. Three of the crew were Cornish’s employees. One victim was civilian Navy—the Public Affairs Officer from Bremerton. Ms. Gray, also a civilian, works for Naval History and Heritage Command in DC.”
“NHHC? She’s an historian?” That was a long way off the career path she’d been destined for once upon a time.
“She works for the Underwater Archaeology Branch. Get this, her boss is the US attorney general’s wife.”
He vaguely remembered hearing that fun fact after Mara Garrett, who’d been a Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command archaeologist, had made worldwide headlines by facing down a North Korean firing squad. His SEAL team and JPAC were both based on Oahu, and he’d lived there at the time. To the best of his knowledge, he’d never met Mara Garrett, but had served with several men who had.
He kept his gaze fixed on Undine. She’d been the only survivor of the blast. He didn’t relish being the person to tell her, but someone who knew her should deliver this news. As far as he knew, he was the only such person for a thousand miles.
“What’s the word on the investigation into the explosion?” He knew it was far too soon for anything but speculation, but still, he hoped to hear it was all a horrific accident. Because even though twelve years hadn’t diminished his anger, the idea that someone had sabotaged Undine Gray’s boat triggered a protectiveness he had no business feeling.
Undine surfaced again, and it felt exactly like that—her face emerging from deep water, sunlight on her skin, taking off her mask and regulator and breathing in salt air—except the water was murky dreams, the sun was a light being shined into her eye by a doctor, and the air was awash with the scent of antiseptic cleanser.
“Pupils look good,” the doctor said. He smiled.
Or at least she thought he did. She was slightly blinded by the light. She blinked several times, then tried to focus again. This time his smile was clear.
“Ahh. Good. You’re awake. How are you feeling, Ms. Gray?”
His words were muted. That combined with the pain suggested she’d burst her eardrums on the fast ascent. A glance around the room, though blurry, showed she’d been removed from the hyperbaric unit while she slept. She was in the same room, resting on a gurney next to the unit. She cleared her throat. Her voice came out harsh, raspy, like she still had salt in her throat. “Like my head’s in a vise.”
His grin widened. “Speech is good. Facial muscles moving in tandem. No signs of stroke. Excellent.”
She supposed that was good news, but the events of—this morning? Yesterday?—were at the forefront of her aching brain. “Yuri. Is Yuri okay? And the others. On Petrel. Are they…here?”
Movement behind the doctor caught her attention, and she shifted her gaze to see Luke, proving that part of her dream hadn’t been a nightmare after all. The doctor shifted so she could see him better. “I assume Yuri was the other diver? I told the Coast Guard investigators to search for another diver, that you’d never dive alone.”
She nodded, feeling tears gather in the corners of her eyes. He’d said search. Not rescue.
It’s too late for rescue.
“I’m sorry, Undine,” Luke said softly. “You’re the only survivor.”
The doctor stood. “We need to finish the exam, but I’ll give you a moment.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Luke said. After the door closed behind the physician, he turned to her. “I hope you don’t mind, I asked to be here when he woke you. I figured you’d have questions, and this news is best delivered by someone you know. Even if that someone is me.”
“Thank you,” she said, utterly touched that he’d accepted the responsibility, in spite of the fact that he must hate her for what she’d done all those years ago. All at once, Sandy’s smile flashed in her mind, a memory of the Navy Public Affairs Officer’s grin as she called Yuri on his blatant sexism or delivered a surprisingly clever pun.
Sandy was gone. As were Jared, Yuri, Loren, and Scotty.
Gone.
In a flash of light, the space of a few heartbeats, they were gone.
They could have
been dead before she reached the surface.
Grief and shock hit her with the force of a breaking wave. She sat up and hugged her knees, burying her face as sobs racked her body.
Luke let out a soft curse. Arms encircled her, and she was lifted from the gurney. He turned and sat on the mattress, cradling her on his lap.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tucked her face against his shoulder, and cried, thankful for the encircling arms, no matter who provided them. He said nothing as he stroked her back, and for that she was grateful as well. She didn’t want to be quieted, didn’t want details. She just wanted to know she wasn’t alone.
When the first wave of sobs quieted, Luke’s arms loosened, but he didn’t release her. “Your dad is on his way. He’ll be here in a few hours. I don’t intend to be here when he arrives.”
She took a deep breath. “That’s probably for the best. But…you’re the one who saved me, right?” She must have glimpsed him in the rescue. That was why she’d dreamed of him. “He’ll be grateful.”
He nodded in answer to her question. “Honey, your father will never be grateful to the man who seduced his little girl.”
She cringed at that. They both knew she’d been the instigator. She’d been sixteen and believed herself mature and worldly, only later recognizing what a selfish child she’d been. That first year after she’d ruined his life, she’d sent him letters, apologizing. Each one came back, unopened, with “addressee unknown” written across the front in Luke’s bold scrawl.
She slid off his lap, unable to utter the apology he probably still didn’t want to hear. This wasn’t the time for this conversation. Five people she’d worked with had died. Nothing else in her sorry past mattered. “How long has it been since…the explosion?”
“Seven hours.”
“The families have been notified?”
He nodded. “The Navy handled that.”
She swiped at a fresh wave of tears. “I’ve only known them for six days. Well, Sandy and I exchanged emails since August, planning the excavation setup, but we didn’t meet until I arrived here late last week. I know she’s married, but I don’t even remember her husband’s name.” She focused on this detail, searching her conversations for a reference point. It seemed wrong that she couldn’t put a name to the most important person in Sandy’s now-ended life.
A knock on the door was followed by the doctor stepping back into the room without waiting for permission. “Ready to finish the exam now?”
She nodded.
“I’ll leave you alone, then,” Luke said. He slipped out the door before she could respond, and she wondered if she’d ever see him again.
Chapter Three
Luke was tempted to make his escape. He was done. He’d delivered the news. He owed nothing to Undine or her father. He was in the corridor, heading to the front door of the hospital when something stopped him. Loyalty to the Navy in which he’d proudly served?
Maybe.
A strange jolt in his gut at having seen the very adult woman Undine had become?
He hadn’t seen a trace of the girl he once knew. Far from it, he saw a woman he’d never met. He neither liked nor disliked her in the same way he didn’t have an opinion on the tellers at his rarely visited bank. But she wasn’t a stranger, and they did have a past. A poisonous one that had shaped his postcollege adulthood.
She had almost died today. She would have died, along with her coworkers, if the NOAA research vessel hadn’t been in the right place at the time of the explosion. Hell, he might not have spotted her in time if Henry hadn’t been swept overboard.
Fate. Chance. Destiny. All had conspired to save her.
Bullshit.
It was nothing but dumb luck.
But still, stranger or something else, it had felt wrong to leave her with only doctors and nurses for company and comfort. Now she was out of the woods, having escaped her ordeal with a mild concussion and two busted eardrums. He could leave.
He should leave.
Due to the dramatic explosion, military involvement, and that the sole survivor was a celebrity scientist’s only child, the press had parked outside the hospital. Capt. Hogarth had warned him more were arriving with each passing hour.
The brass within NOAA wanted Luke to make a statement to the press. He and Martin were to be made into heroes for doing what anyone in the same circumstance should do. He was happy to give Martin his moment, but for himself, he knew his SEAL background would be trotted out and lauded in ways that would make him uncomfortable. He’d never courted the limelight and had appreciated that his SEAL team had largely flown beneath the radar, rarely garnering media attention or mention. The way it should be.
The last thing he wanted was to be called a hero for doing nothing more than what was expected. And he sure as hell didn’t want the press digging into his past with Undine. He’d been assured when the prosecutor refused to file based on Undine’s sworn statement that she’d lied very convincingly, that there would be no public record of the incident. In the prosecutor’s view, Luke had committed no crime, even though a law had been broken.
A strange legal gray area that had saved Luke from serving time and having to register as a sex offender, but which had angered Stefan Gray to the point of exacting the only revenge he could: utterly decimating Luke’s prospects in his chosen field.
Now Luke stood in the hallway in indecision. Keep Undine company until her father arrived, or get the hell out while he still had a chance?
What would he do if it weren’t Undine Gray who sat alone in a hospital room? What if it were some other woman who’d survived an explosion that killed five coworkers?
He’d stay by her side.
He turned back for the waiting area adjacent to the hospital’s recompression unit, nodding to the security guard at the door. Would there be security to keep out reporters when she was moved to a regular room? She was in no condition to answer questions about her dead coworkers or describe the trauma she’d been through, and he hated the idea of her being the victim of an ambush interview.
Pictures of the rocky coastline decorated the waiting room walls. Seals sunbathed and otters played in the surf. Usually he’d zero in on the marine life, but tonight he found he was drawn to a picture of a sunken ship covered in barnacles.
Underwater archaeology. Never in a million years would he have guessed that was where she’d end up. She’d loved marine biology as much—possibly more—than he did. At sixteen, she’d been the deserving heir apparent to her father’s institute. So much so that it had been easy for her to pass herself off as nineteen. She’d served as both dive instructor and researcher, and had been enrolled in senior-level biology courses at the local university. Her knowledge of aquatic life had surpassed his and the other new researchers.
What was it about archaeology that had captured her sharp mind? Perhaps for her, underwater was underwater. She didn’t care if she was studying fish, plants, or shipwrecks, just so long as she was under the sea with all the other merfolk.
Her name, he knew, translated to mermaid, or sea nymph, depending on the source. The perfect name for Stefan Gray’s daughter.
“The doctor has finished the exam, Lt. Sevick. You’re free to join her.”
He raised a brow at the nurse. “She wants to see me?”
“She requested you, if you hadn’t left.”
He nodded and thanked the man, then pushed open the door.
She gave him a tentative smile. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
He shrugged. “I considered leaving.”
Her gaze dropped to her bare feet, which dangled over the side of the gurney. “I wanted to ask…about the explosion. Did you…see it?”
He nodded. “There were at least two explosions, from the sound. One burst followed by another.”
“The boat, how…what…was it completely destroyed?”
He nodded. “There’s a chance it was deliberate. The second explosion might have been the f
uel tank. Whatever it was, it was big.”
Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. He had a feeling she’d been caught on the word “deliberate” and blanked out from there. He mentally kicked himself for saying it. He’d had a lot of hours to think while waiting for her to be pulled from the hyperbaric unit. Too much time, probably.
“You think my team was…murdered?”
There was no point in denying it. “It’s possible.”
“I was at the decompression stop at the time of the explosion. The shock wave knocked me clear of the sinking debris.”
“You were incredibly lucky.”
“If I’d been at the bottom—at a hundred and ninety feet—I still might have survived. The drift as the boat sank would have left me clear. I was supposed to be at the bottom. I aborted the dive because my air gauge was on the fritz. I couldn’t trust it.”
He frowned at her. “Your gauge was on the fritz? Since when do you dive with faulty equipment?”
She pursed her lips. “Everything checked out on the surface.”
The fact that her equipment, of anyone’s, had failed made him suspicious. “It would have to. Everyone who knows you knows you inspect everything twice and leave nothing to chance. The fact that you had a bad regulator today of all days, is…disturbing.”
She rubbed her arms, looking so scared and vulnerable, but his comforting duty had ended when the tears stopped flowing. No way in hell would he touch her again.
“Listen, Coast Guard and Navy investigators are eager to interview you. Be sure to tell them how careful you are, how experienced you are with diving.”
She nodded. “The doctor said they’d be here soon.”
He saw his opportunity to escape before her father arrived. “If you don’t want to be alone, I’ll stay, but otherwise I should go.” He wasn’t abandoning her. It wasn’t his job to protect her from the press. That duty should fall to her father, or boyfriend, or husband.
He didn’t bother looking for a ring. Most divers didn’t wear them. And frankly, he didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter to him one way or another.
