by Rachel Grant
“I—I think it would be best if you go. I’ll be fine. I just wanted to thank you…for saving me.”
He gave her a sharp nod. “Have a good life, Undine.”
Chapter Four
Port Angeles, Washington
Six Weeks Later
Undine stood outside Luke’s apartment, her stomach in a knot. She shouldn’t be here. She should be on a flight back to DC, returning to the job and life she’d built. Or, because she had another month left in her leave of absence, she could fly to Monterey and go diving on some of her favorite kelp forests.
Except that was the problem.
She couldn’t dive.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A moment later, she heard footsteps. She faced the peephole, offering a tentative smile, and held her breath.
She didn’t really expect him to open the door. She braced for the sound of retreating footsteps.
After a long moment, the dead bolt clicked and the door opened. Luke leaned casually against the frame, his brow furrowed in question. “Undine. What brings you here?”
He was bigger—more muscular about the shoulders and chest—than he’d been at twenty-two. She’d read the news reports that followed her rescue and learned he’d been a Navy SEAL. An injury had taken him out of active duty service with the SEALs but hadn’t prevented him from transferring to NOAA’s Commissioned Officer Corps, where he was now a lieutenant, finally using his marine biology degree. She’d seen a picture of him in his Navy uniform and had been reminded of how her infatuation had begun. She’d thought him handsome twelve years ago, but if anything, she found him even better looking now with lines of experience etched into his features.
“I—I have a favor to ask.”
His eyes flattened. “Ballsy move.”
She shrugged. “I’ve always had more courage than brains.” She cocked her head. “Is this a bad time?”
His nostrils flared as his blue eyes studied her intently. Finally he said, “You can have ten minutes.” He gestured for her to enter.
She stepped inside, noting a pile of shoes by the door, reminding her that in the Pacific Northwest, people often removed their shoes to avoid tracking mud into homes. She’d slipped off one sneaker when her gaze landed on a pair of high heels. She flushed, embarrassed to have intruded. “Do you have company?”
He glanced at the shoes, then shook his head. “No,” he said, offering no further explanation.
Not that he should. It was none of her business. She hoped he did have a girlfriend. That he was happy. He deserved it. She toed off her other sneaker and followed him into the living room.
His apartment was on the fourth floor of a waterfront condo building. His front window had a sweeping view of the strait. It was only five p.m., but in early November, that meant the sun had set and it was nearing full dark. Shadows fell over the strait, but lights along the waterfront broke the darkness and gave her glimpses of the turbulent Salish Sea.
She shuddered and reminded herself the wind would lessen tonight. Tomorrow would be a calm, clear fall day all along the north coast. Slack tide would be just after two o’clock at Neah Bay. She turned to face Luke and swallowed against the sudden rush of emotion. “I heard you assisted the investigative team and dived on Petrel to collect pieces of the wreck.”
He nodded. “Once, when the Coast Guard was short a dive partner. Given my background and dive experience, it made sense.”
He probably had more dive experience than most of the Coast Guard divers combined, which was why she was here. “Do you agree with the finding that it was an accident?”
He shrugged. “That’s not my field.”
“In the hospital, you said it could have been deliberate. You were concerned because my equipment failed at just the right—or wrong—time.”
“I was just running off at the mouth. Speculating.”
“But you’ve worked with explosives. And boats. I read that in the news accounts online.”
“Yeah, I’ve planted my share of explosives on hulls of boats.” His wide shoulders rose and fell again. “But they found no evidence of an external explosive.”
“My tank wasn’t found. What if it had been sabotaged, like you suggested?”
“Yuri Kravchenko was never found either. There was a lot of shit that was never found. It’s a deep dive, located near a treacherous stretch of coastline. Things get lost. Hell, Petrel and the Navy sub probably aren’t the only boats down there. It was dark, cold, and deep. The current silted over much of the debris within days of the blast. I didn’t even see the Navy sub you were supposed to be diving on.”
“Which brings me to why I’m here.”
“You have a favor to ask,” he said, his voice guarded.
“Yes. With the investigation complete, I want to dive on the site. I need to see it.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
“A few days ago, I hired a boat and a dive partner for just that purpose, but when the time came to get in the water I—I—froze. I couldn’t do it.” Her breath became short and she felt the same panic infuse her again. She might as well be back on the dive platform. “Now I’m afraid that if I don’t dive again—there—that I’ll never have the nerve to dive again.”
“You need to get back on the horse.”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to be your fucking saddle.”
She met his angry gaze. “Yes,” she whispered.
Luke couldn’t quite believe her audacity in asking this of him. She wanted him as her dive partner. The last time they’d donned wetsuits together, they’d ended up on a private beach next to an aquatic preserve, where unbeknownst to him until he was mid-deed, he’d taken her virginity in the one and only time they’d had sex. She’d planned it all, right down to bringing condoms in her ditty bag, which weren’t standard issue in the institute’s dive kit.
“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
“With a strong dive partner, I might not panic again. I know I’d feel safer with you.”
“While you’re the last person I’d feel safe with.”
“Dammit, I’m twenty-eight years old!”
“Yeah? Show me your ID.”
She flinched.
Good.
“I deserve that. And so much more.” She shook her head. “Listen, I know you probably still aren’t ready to hear my apology—”
“Let’s get one thing straight right now. You can be sorry all you want, but I don’t want to hear nor do I have to accept your apology, and I sure as hell don’t have to forgive you.”
“I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I’m asking for your help.” Her voice shook with emotion, and damn if that didn’t give him pause. “You were a SEAL. You probably have as many—even more—hours in the water as I do. And you’ve been there. At the wreck site. I can’t think of anyone I’d feel safer with. I had a panic attack, and now I’m scared as hell that the one thing I’m good at, the one thing I know better than breathing, is the one thing I’ll never be able to do again, because I’m terrified.”
He felt a small, bitter twinge of schadenfreude. “Well, maybe then you’ll know how I felt twelve years ago.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, self-loathing settled in. He didn’t wish that feeling, that fear, on anyone. Not even Undine Gray.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I know I deserve that too. I tried to get my father to back down. I really tried.”
“And maybe, just maybe, you should have considered your father’s reaction before you put me in that position. In another state, I would have been sent to prison. I would’ve been forced to register as a sex offender.” California law allowed a defendant to present evidence that the victim had lied about their age.
Tears flowed freely down Undine’s cheeks. “That’s my biggest regret, that I never considered the consequences to you.” She swiped at her cheek. “You’re right, you’re the last person I should ask anything of. I just… I’d hope
d… We were friends once, before I fucked up your life, before I got so wrapped up in my stupid, girlish belief that you were The One, and that True Love made what I did okay.”
“We were never in love, Undine. You had a crush, that’s all it was.”
“I know that now. Believe it or not, I did grow up.”
“And yet you’re still here, in my living room, asking me, of all people, to help you.”
“I am. And I’ll listen to every angry, nasty thing you have to say to me, because I deserve it. The fact remains that we were friends, and I’ve missed that friendship.”
“I haven’t missed you at all.”
He had to give her credit for facing his bitterness head-on. She flinched, but she didn’t cower or back down. She didn’t walk away.
Could he do what she asked, take her to the deep? He couldn’t think of a single reason why he should. He sure as hell didn’t want to. But still, he must be a sucker, because he found himself saying, “When?”
“Conditions should be perfect tomorrow afternoon. I’ve arranged for a boat.”
Tomorrow he was supposed to head to the research housing out at Neah Bay, where he would spend the rest of the week monitoring a pod of orcas and seal activities as part of his ongoing research into the effects of sonar on marine mammals. The site of the explosion was in the strait, just two miles north of Neah Bay. He didn’t even have a handy work excuse to say no. “Cancel the boat. I can get us the best dive skipper in the region.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ll do it?”
He met her gaze. “I know you’re used to being the dive master, but so am I. If I take you down, I’m running this show. Period. If the water is too rough, we bail. If you show any sign of panic, we’re outta there. Got it?”
She nodded.
“Where are you staying? I’ll pick you up at oh-seven-hundred.”
She gave him the name of her hotel, then added, “But I have a rental. We can take separate cars.”
“No. You’re riding with me. That’ll give you two hours to convince me I’m not making a mistake in helping you.”
Chapter Five
Undine settled in the passenger seat of Luke’s SUV. He handed her a cup of coffee after she buckled her seat belt, then he passed her a second paper cup filled with sweetener packets and tiny containers of creamer. “If I remember correctly, you like lots of sugar and cream.”
A small, inappropriate bubble of laugher attempted to break free. She managed to contain it to a snicker.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
Dare she tell him? Ah, why the hell not? He already loathed her. Nothing she said would change that, and it was a relief that neither of them were pretending they didn’t share a bitter history. “I was never a coffee drinker—before—but I figured a nineteen-year-old would drink it. So whenever I was with you, I had coffee. But I hated it. That’s why I put in so much cream and sugar.”
He grunted. The sound might indicate mild amusement. She couldn’t be certain. “And now?”
“I’m more of a tea person. But I do drink coffee with a little cream.”
“Put the sugar in the glove box, then. Joan will use it.”
She wanted to ask if Joan was the owner of the high heels, but restrained herself. None of her business.
Port Angeles was five miles to the east by the time she worked up the nerve to ask the question that had nagged her from the moment she was lucid in the hospital. “Are you happy, Luke? With where you are now?”
He was silent for a long while. Finally he said, “As much as I want to say no just to hurt you, it would be a lie.”
She swallowed at that. “You still want to hurt me.”
He glanced sideways. “Not physically. Never, ever physically. But yeah, for a lot of years, I wanted you to be punished like I was.”
She’d had to create her own punishment, to come up with something that felt equal. But now wasn’t the time to tell him that. He was still too raw. And he might not give a damn or think it was enough. No, best to keep her hair shirt private. “But you’re happy now.”
“Yes. Very.”
“How long have you lived in Port Angeles?”
“A year. I was stationed here after I finished my three-year stint of sea duty for the NOAA Corps.”
“Before that, you were a SEAL.” He’d had two intense careers in the twelve years since she’d known him.
He nodded.
“Do you know the guy who shot bin Laden?”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re not even original asking that.”
“I figured it was the requisite question.”
“I don’t know him, and I’m glad I don’t. He broke the oath of silence we all agree to. A lot of SEALs feel betrayed.”
She nodded. She was well aware of that. She did work for the Navy, after all. Trina, her coworker and one of her closest friends, was engaged to a former SEAL. She’d ask if Luke knew Keith Hatcher, except she’d already questioned Keith, who’d told her no. Keith had been based out of Norfolk, while she’d learned Luke had been in Hawaii.
“How long have you worked for the Navy?” he asked.
“I got the job a few months after I finished grad school, going on four years now.”
“You have an MA?”
“Yeah. Texas A&M. Nautical archaeology.”
“You like it? The field and the job?”
“Yes to the field.” She wouldn’t elaborate now on why she’d ended up in archaeology, so she focused on the second part of his question, and smiled, thinking of the friends she’d found in her coworkers. “I love my coworkers, sometimes find my boss creepy, but I enjoy the job. These last six weeks, though…it’s been a little tough.”
“Creepy boss? Isn’t the AG’s wife your boss?”
She let out a sharp laugh. “Oh God. No. I mean, she is, but that’s not who I meant. Mara’s cool. Best boss I’ve ever had and also a good friend. No, I meant the Navy’s underwater archaeologist, the head of UAB—the Underwater Archaeology Branch. Technically, he’s under Mara, but they’re the same pay grade and he’s sort of got his own little fiefdom. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s her boss.”
“And how is he creepy?”
She shrugged. “He just makes me uncomfortable. But he’s never actually crossed a line. So I deal. Erica is just below him in the hierarchy. She watches out for me.”
“When are you going back?”
“I’m not sure. I’m on leave now and have another month if I want it. Plans to excavate the sub have been put on hold indefinitely. I was thinking of going back after this dive. Later this week.” She touched her ears. She’d been in a fog that first week in addition to having busted eardrums. It was safe for her to fly now—and had been for the last few weeks, but she hadn’t been ready to return to DC. She’d been waiting for the determination of accident or sabotage. Trina believed that was just an excuse, that Undine was reluctant to leave without seeing Luke again, but she couldn’t really credit that theory.
Yet here she was, riding in an SUV with Luke Sevick. Although, that was because she’d fixated on diving on the wreck one more time. It hadn’t been an excuse to see Luke. Definitely not. She’d tried to dive, and failed.
And the panic attack had scared the hell out of her.
“Tell me about the sub. The one you were supposed to bring up. It was only mentioned briefly in the press about the accident.”
“That’s because the Navy wanted to downplay it since it will remain in situ for a while yet. It’s far too deep for recreational diving, but there are a few unethical salvage divers out there who follow the news a bit too closely. There isn’t anything strategic about this sub, but it has human remains we want to recover.”
“It’s the USS Wrasse?”
“You know the story?”
“Not really, just that it was a really old sub that went down on its swan song cruise in the fifties or sixties.”
“Actually, it wasn’t the swan song. Or, it wasn’t sup
posed to be. The original account of the incident was somewhat muddled because Wrasse went down in the middle of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Given the heightened tensions and what was seen as the vulnerability of the strait to invasion via Soviet submarines, the Navy feared the sinking would be blamed on Soviet saboteurs, which would further incite the factions who wanted to invade Cuba.” She gazed out the window, watching the north coast of Washington pass by as she settled into this neutral and safe topic.
“So what really happened?” he asked.
“My friend Trina—she’s an historian at NHHC—researched it, because the Cold War is her specialty, and the true account was deeply buried among the formerly classified documents relating to that period, even though the sub itself was a pre-World War II Mackerel-class submarine. Commissioned in forty-one before the war, it patrolled the Pacific coast for most of the forties. It was decommissioned in fifty and sat in the Bremerton mothball fleet for a dozen years before the Navy decided to have it towed out to the Pacific for a sink exercise drill.”
“It sank before they could use it for SINKEX?” Luke asked.
“Yes, it was going to be targeted with missiles, a demonstration—for the Soviets—of how accurate our defense systems were.”
“Good timing with the Cuban Missile Crisis going on.”
“But that was also the problem. SINKEX was scheduled for October twentieth, smack-dab in the middle of the crisis. Seven members of the sub’s former crew had gathered to say good-bye to her, including her first captain, who’d joined the Navy at the end of World War I and retired an admiral after World War II. They were granted a ride on the tug that was towing the Wrasse to the Pacific for SINKEX, when the tug crew received a summons to hurry to Alameda for picket duty. We were on the brink of nuclear war, and the Navy was slated to be the first wave of defense. All hands were needed.
“They were in the strait when the orders came in, but they had this contingent of retired sailors aboard, including the admiral, and a sub in tow. According to the written account, that was when the old admiral got it in his head that they could help the Navy out by piloting the sub to the marina at La Push out on the Pacific coast—as that was close to where they’d planned to conduct the original exercise—allowing the Navy to dispose of the sub, either through SINKEX or scuttling, when they had more time. That would relieve the tug crew to race to Alameda, and get the retired sailors and ancient sub off their hands.
