Cold Evidence (Evidence Series Book 6)

by Rachel Grant

  Luke stared at the depth marker for a long moment, then slipped onto the bench seat. “Okay, we’ll drop anchor and do a simple bounce dive. We don’t have mixed gases, so we can’t stay long. We’ll have one decompression stop on the way back up, where we’ll switch from scuba to a pure oxygen line from the boat.” He glanced up at Ray. “Do you have a radio mask for Undine so we can talk underwater?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s do this.”

  While Ray piloted the boat out of the bay and into the strait, Undine inspected the dive equipment. Everything was in good order, but unfortunately, Ray didn’t have a dry suit in her size. She’d have to go with a wetsuit. She’d be cold as hell for the first minutes, until her body heated up the water in the suit.

  But she could do it. She would do it.

  Wetsuit in hand, she went into the cabin to change. She had the tight suit over her hips when her heart began to race. She paused, placing her hand on her chest, and took several deep, slow breaths. She had to get this under control. If Luke saw her like this, he’d abort the dive, and he wouldn’t give her another chance.

  Deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

  In the back of her mind was the knowledge that Luke would be right to cancel the dive if she couldn’t get herself under control. It would be stupid to risk her life and terrible to risk his.

  Is this PTSD?

  Both Trina and Erica thought so. They had encouraged her to return to DC, seek therapy, and take it slow. They believed she’d dive again, that she didn’t need to force it now.

  But she wanted the quick, easy fix. Rip the bandage off. Face the demon head-on. She feared if she left Washington without completing this dive, that therapy wouldn’t work, her diving days would be over. It was irrational. Possibly stupid. But it was the battle she’d fought in her mind these last weeks, and her gut, her instinct, every indefinable drive in her brain, said she must do this. It was a compulsion.

  So here she was.

  Footsteps creaked on the steps. “Undine?” Luke asked. “You okay?”

  With another breath, she pulled the suit over her hips and slipped her arms in the sleeves. The rental suit lacked the long cord that made it possible to zip herself. “Fine, but I need help with the zipper.” She pulled the curtain aside and presented her back to him, lifting her hair, which she’d braided for the dive. “Please?”

  Given the necessary tightness of the suit, zipping was a slow, two-handed job. She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck as he held together the sides with one hand, and inched the zipper up with the other. His touch on her bare skin triggered a new sensation that ousted all anxious thoughts of panic and PTSD from her brain.

  She focused on her breathing, but not due to panic. Good Lord, if he knew he affected her in this way…it was all over.

  This is work. Nothing but a job.

  But she damn well knew that if Ray were the one zipping her in, she wouldn’t be so affected. The sad, horrific truth was Luke Sevick turned her on. She didn’t see the man he’d been at twenty-two, she only saw the man who’d waited for hours in the hospital so he could tell her the worst news she’d ever hear. The man who’d agreed to help out the woman who ruined his life for no good reason except that it was the humanitarian thing to do.

  Her limited experience with Luke Sevick, former SEAL and current NOAA lieutenant, showed her there was a lot to like and admire.

  Which was a huge problem.

  He finally got her zipped up and stepped back. She released the breath she’d been holding and hoped it just appeared she’d been sucking in her belly to aid him. She dropped her braid and turned, the words thank you on her lips, when she caught sight of his chest, and air whooshed out of her lungs, rendering her speechless.

  He’d pulled his wetsuit over his legs, but the top half remained bare, folded down at the waist, leaving his torso and shoulders exposed to her eager gaze. He was cut, sleek and muscular with broad swimmer’s shoulders and massive biceps.

  She coughed and tried to regain her composure. A smile played about his lips, and she gave up playing it cool. “You’ve, um, packed on a bit of muscle since I saw you last.”

  “Job requirement with the SEALs.”

  She laughed. “Right.” Working for the Navy and hanging out with Trina and Keith, she’d met her share of former and current SEALs and some, like Keith, were thick and muscular, but others had more of a sturdy build—strong, solid, but not sculpted like Luke. But then, he’d been on the team that focused on the water-based missions, so it made sense he was built like an Olympic swimmer meets bodybuilder. “It, uh, looks good on you.”

  Her fingers itched to touch him, as if he were a sculpture that required hands as well as eyes to take in the beauty. The craziest part was he seemed to be enjoying her frank admiration. He wasn’t repulsed or angry. He chuckled and crossed his arms, then turned in a slow circle, allowing her to appreciate his muscular back.

  His back. Holy shit, he wasn’t just a work of art, he was a frigging masterpiece. It was too bad the top half of his wetsuit hung over what was probably a spectacular ass.

  He flexed his shoulders, and his back muscles rippled—a visual symphony. She rolled her eyes at the over-the-top display. “Sheesh, Sevick, do you think you’re auditioning for a Men of NOAA calendar?”

  He turned to face her. “I should. They’d easily give me a whole season.”

  She’d buy it if he were all twelve months.

  She grinned up at him, stupid happy that he was being nice to her. Maybe he was even flirting a little bit. Not that flirting, in and of itself, meant anything. Undine was a pro at the meaningless flirt, the teasing compliment that invited light attention but nothing more. This was akin to that, telling her he’d softened toward her.

  It didn’t mean he was attracted to her, or even that they could be friends. But maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate her.

  Hate was a strong word, and a stronger emotion. Being on the receiving end of his hatred was painful, and it had been even worse knowing she’d earned that animosity. She’d carried his hate, that stigmatic scarlet letter, for twelve years—and had expected to bear it for the rest of her life.

  “Summer, I hope,” she said, flexing her flirtation muscles for the first time since the accident. “It would be a shame to cover that up with a Santa suit.”

  He grinned. “I could just wear the hat.”

  She shook her head. “It might be hard to find one big enough for…” She dropped her gaze to his crotch and lowered her voice. “Your ego.”

  He tilted back his head and released a full laugh that rocked his impressive shoulders and stretched his abs. But even more than the perfection of his body, she enjoyed what it did to his face. His eyes lit, and deep grooves in his cheeks widened his smile.

  Warmth flowed through her at the knowledge she could still make him laugh. “Finish suiting up, big fella. The water is cold as hell, which should shrink up your ego just fine.”

  He chuckled and pulled on the top of his suit. His was a newer, high-tech suit that zipped at the collar, so he required no assistance.

  She set about donning her booties, hood, and gloves. Every millimeter of skin would be covered. The Strait of Juan de Fuca was too cold to mess around.

  She returned to the deck to see they neared the dive location. Something had happened in the silly exchange with Luke. She faced the water, a new calmness radiating from her center.

  She was no longer afraid.

  The first minutes of a dive in cold water in a wetsuit were always hell. Dreading submersion didn’t mean Undine was suffering from panic, it meant she was human and knew exactly how much the coming minutes would suck. She took a slow breath and slipped off the platform into the strait. The icy water filled the suit, and she questioned her sanity and vehemently cursed the sea for not being tropical.

  Naturally, Luke laughed at her. “Well, Gray, at least you’re too cold to be scared.”

&n
bsp; “I’m too cold to think of a pithy reply, so piss off.”

  “That’s one way to warm your suit.”

  She snorted. The dreaded shot of cold water rushed to the small of her back and climbed up her spine. “Jesus. I swear the water is five degrees colder than it was in October.”

  “Actually, it’s slightly warmer at fifty-three degrees. You were spoiled in your dry suit. Now, if you’re done whining about the temp, we can get started. Ready?”

  “Easy for you to be sanguine. You’ve got a fancy wetsuit with the extra thermal layers. Mine’s an old-skool rental.” She turned to Ray on deck. “No offense. I’m grateful for the rental. I’m just freezing my tits off.”

  The skipper laughed and waved her off. “The high-end European suits like your boy has there are too expensive for me to stock.”

  Her boy. As if. Ray Ferguson needed glasses if he thought there was anything between her and Luke.

  “Time for a mask check,” Luke said.

  She secured the full-face mask that would make it possible for them to talk, and gave him a thumbs up.

  The equipment checked out, and down they went. Following Luke’s fins into the cold dark felt strangely like old times. Except he’d only been at the institute for three months, so they’d dived together a scant number of times.

  She kept him in the bright beam of her headlamp, noticing that his ass was indeed as fine as she’d suspected. It really wasn’t fair how damn good he looked.

  After they’d descended about thirty-five feet, his baritone voice spoke directly into her ears. “One atmosphere down. How are your ears, ’Deen? Over.”

  “Clearing fine. No pain. Over.” Her burst eardrums had healed, but she needed to be gentle clearing them as she descended. If at any point she couldn’t clear, they’d have to abort or she’d risk seriously damaging her hearing.

  “Keep me posted. Take no chances, you got that?”

  “Copy that. I promise. Over.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “And how is the rest of you? You feel okay? Over.”

  It was cold, dark, and there wasn’t a single fish or pretty piece of coral to see at this depth, yet the enveloping sea felt like an old friend. She was no longer chilled, but that wouldn’t last as they neared the bottom. But for now, she felt pretty damn good, and told Luke that. Then she added, “Thank you. For this.”

  His response was slow in coming. When he finally spoke, even the tinny radio couldn’t keep the warmth from his deep voice. “You’re welcome. It’s hard to say no when a water nymph begs you to return her to the sea.”

  She laughed at his reference to the meaning behind her name. “Does this mean I need to give you a boon from the treasure chest in my grotto?”

  “I believe it does.”

  She smiled and again cleared her ears as they’d dropped another atmosphere.

  Finally they neared the bottom, and she turned on her spotlight and scanned the floor, searching for the anchor they’d dropped that last day, just to have a reference point. Everything was different. The explosion and resulting debris had churned everything, as had a few storms in the intervening weeks. The pieces of the Navy sub that had been cleared were likely buried again.

  They’d discussed their dive protocol earlier, and as planned, Luke tied a thirty-meter rope, knotted at five-meter intervals, to the anchor line, which would act as a dog leash so they wouldn’t lose their position relative to the boat. Visibility was good at the surface—fifteen meters easy—but down here, it was dark, and with spotlights, the range was half that distance at best.

  They had dive computers and each other, but there was nothing simpler than having a line to follow back to the boat, so for the quick bounce dive, Luke had opted for simple and safe.

  Holding the line at the first knot, Undine swam in a circle, examining the floor. She then extended the radius another five meters by moving to the next knot on the line. Beyond the spotlight beam was murky darkness.

  Twenty meters out, she came across a piece of debris that likely came from Petrel. She looked toward Luke, who swam three meters away, but she couldn’t see more than the dim outline of his yellow mask.

  “You okay?” he asked again.

  “Yeah. I just…for some reason I thought they’d collected most of it.”

  “It’s too deep. They searched for remains and only collected what they needed to determine if it was an accident or not.”

  She nodded, feeling foolish. She, of all people, knew how difficult it was to document a site this far down. But for some reason, because it was an investigation, she’d thought this would be different.

  But then, the explosion that destroyed Petrel had been deemed an accident. The blame had fallen on Jared’s faulty maintenance and handling of an oxygen tank.

  Something looked odd up ahead, but it was just out of reach of her flashlight. She swam forward with a quick burst of speed and grunted as she reached the end of her leash.

  “You want to be set free, Fido?” he asked

  “Woof, woof,” she replied.

  He laughed. “I thought it was one bark for yes.”

  “One is no. Two is yes. I’d flash puppy dog eyes at you, but since you can’t see my face, that would be a waste.”

  “I’ll hold the line. We can run another line between us to increase your range.”

  “I suppose that makes me your bitch?”

  He let out a bark of laughter. “Is that an offer?”

  “Oh no, Sevick, you want a piece of this, there can’t be leashes or dog collars involved.” Had she really just said that to Luke?

  “Okay, then,” he said. Was his voice a bit husky? Hard to tell with the tinny radio.

  She turned toward him and realized his flashlight beam was scanning her butt. “Are you checking out my ass?”

  “Why not? You checked out mine on the dive down.” He handed her another yellow rope that would grant her another ten meters, and took the end of the original line in his other hand. “What did you think, by the way, A or A-plus?”

  She laughed. “So much for your ego suffering shrinkage.” She looked into the darkness beyond her spotlight. “Something looks weird up ahead. I’m going to check it out.”

  “The view’s just fine from here.”

  She paused again. That didn’t sound like Luke. Well, it did, but his words—the whole conversation, really—seemed a little strange since he was directing it at her. “Luke, are you narked?”

  “I don’t get narked. I was a SEAL.”

  “Bull. Everyone gets narked now and then. Even muscular, handsome SEALs. And you wouldn’t be checking out my ass if this weren’t a five-martini dive.” The general guideline was that each atmosphere descended after the first was the equivalent of drinking one martini. Nitrogen narcosis could be relatively harmless in shallow dives, but down here, it could be fatal. “Let me check out this thing, then we’ll go up.”

  “Honey, I’m a guy. I’ll check out an ass as sweet as yours anytime, anywhere.”

  “Fine, but you wouldn’t tell me about it. You are totally narking.” She swam forward and ran her light over the floor. She gasped. “Luke, during the investigation, did anyone use an undersea cable trencher to excavate—to clear large swaths of floor?”

  “No. Why?”

  She needed his eyes, but he was literally at the end of his rope. However, the leash was an overabundance of caution for the quick bounce dive because visibility was limited at this depth. They still had their computers and were both experienced divers. But he could be narked. She swam back to him. “How many fingers am I holding up?” She raised a gloved hand.

  They were face-to-face at the bottom of the sea, and he met her gaze in the wash of the spotlight. “Two. I’m not narked.”

  “Good. Let go of the line. You need to see this.” She led him to the cleared area, where a bowl-shaped depression had been cut into the sea floor. “See this? I’ve excavated with a cable trencher before, and this is exactly what it looks
like. Someone’s been digging here. Recently. Very recently.”

  Chapter Seven

  Luke wasn’t narked, but he probably should have claimed he was. Shit, what was he thinking flirting with her like that?

  He hadn’t been thinking, he’d just been enjoying. Her ass. Her company. The synchronicity of diving with someone who moved through water with the grace of a mermaid and had a sharp wit that repeatedly caught him off guard.

  Her blatant admiration when she’d studied his body had been a complete turn-on and had burst open a mental door he’d intended to keep locked. Now he couldn’t look at her without feeling a jolt of lust, and the way her ass moved as she executed a smooth dolphin kick was damn sexy. Watching her swim made him want to take her home and screw her brains out.

  Being inside her hot body after this expedition into the cold deep would be a sensory indulgence. Decadent, hedonistic joy.

  Shit. He really wished he were narked.

  He was lusting after Undine Gray, of all women. Except…she wasn’t the Undine he knew once upon a time. It was more like he’d just met a woman who vaguely resembled someone he used to know, and he was curious.

  Well, maybe not so much curious as sporting wood. In fifty-frigging-degree water. Okay. Maybe not literally sporting wood. Mentally. Metaphorically. And when he got out of the cold-as-fuck water, magnificently.

  He needed to get his head—the one on top of his shoulders—back on the job. He swam the perimeter of the cleared area, Undine at his side. She kept him close, like a mother dolphin—or a mermaid—protecting her offspring. Sweet, the way she did that, worried that he was narked. But he wasn’t, even if he should tell her he was.

  “This is weird as shit, Undine,” he said, addressing what really mattered.

  “Who could have done this?” she asked. “With the investigation, a lot of people know the boat location, but details of the sub were kept to a minimum. And we hadn’t even explored this area yet.”