Fatal Tide

by Iris Johansen

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Why should you? He’s not a stockbroker or banker, so he wouldn’t be of interest to you.”

  “That’s right. I’m only interested in keeping you filthy rich and out of the clutches of the IRS.” Wilson set several documents in front of Kelby. “Sign these in triplicate.” He watched disapprovingly as Kelby signed the contracts. “You should have read those. How do you know I didn’t screw you?”

  “You’re morally incapable of it. If you were going to do it, you’d have taken me to the cleaners ten years ago when you were tottering on the verge of bankruptcy.”

  “True. But you pulled me out of that hole. So that’s not really a test.”

  “I let you flounder for a while to see what you’d do before I stepped in.”

  Wilson tilted his head. “I never realized that I was on trial.”

  “Sorry.” His gaze was still on the letter. “It’s the nature of the beast. I’ve not been able to trust many people in my life, Wilson.”

  God knows that was the truth, Wilson thought. Heir to one of America’s largest fortunes, Kelby and his trust fund had been fought over by his mother and grandmother from the time his father died. Court case had followed court case until he’d reached his twenty-first birthday. Then he’d taken control with a cool ruthlessness and intelligence, jettisoned all contact with his mother and grandmother, and set up experts to manage his finances. He’d finished his education and then taken off to become the wanderer he was today. He’d been a SEAL during the Gulf War, later purchased the yacht Trina and started a series of underwater explorations that had brought him a fame he didn’t appreciate and money he didn’t need. Still, he seemed to thrive on the life. For the past eight years he’d lived hard and fast and dealt with some pretty unsavory characters. No, Wilson couldn’t blame him for being both wary and cynical. It didn’t bother him. He was cynical himself, and over the years he’d learned to genuinely like the bastard.

  “Has Lontana tried to contact me before?” Kelby asked.

  Wilson sorted through the rest of the mail. “That’s the only letter.” He flipped open his daybook. “One call on the twenty-third of June. Wanted you to return his call. Another on June twenty-fifth. Same message. My secretary asked what his business pertained to but he wouldn’t tell her. It didn’t seem urgent enough to try to track you down. Is it?”

  “Possibly.” He stood up and walked across the cabin to the window. “He certainly knew how to get my attention.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A Brazilian oceanographer. He got a lot of press when he discovered that Spanish galleon fifteen years or so ago. His mother was American and his father Brazilian, and he’s something of a throwback to another age. I heard he thought he was some kind of grand adventurer and sailed around looking for lost cities and sunken galleons. He discovered only one galleon, but there’s no doubt he’s very sharp.”

  “You’ve never met him?”

  “No, I wasn’t really interested. We wouldn’t have much in common. I’m definitely a product of this age. We’re not on the same wavelength.”

  Wilson wasn’t so sure. Kelby was no dreamer, but he possessed the aggressive, bold recklessness that typified the buccaneers of this or any other century. “So what does Lontana want with you?” His gaze narrowed on Kelby. “And what do you want with Lontana?”

  “I’m not sure what he wants from me.” He stood looking out at the sea, thinking. “But I know what I want from him. The question is, can he give it to me?”

  “That’s cryptic.”

  “Is it?” He suddenly turned to face Wilson. “Then, by God, we’d better get everything clear and aboveboard, hadn’t we?”

  Shock rippled through Wilson as he saw the recklessness and excitement in Kelby’s expression. The aggressive energy he was emitting was almost tangible. “Then I take it you want me to contact Lontana.”

  “Oh, yes. In fact, we’re going to go see him.”

  “We’re? I have to get back to New York.”

  Kelby shook his head. “I may need you.”

  “You know I don’t know anything about all this oceanography stuff, Jed. And, dammit, I don’t want to know. I have degrees in law and accounting. I wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

  “You never can tell. I may need all the help I can get. A little more sea air will do you good.” He glanced down at the envelope again, and Wilson was once more aware of the undercurrent of excitement that was electrifying Kelby. “But maybe we should give Lontana a little advance warning that he shouldn’t dangle a carrot unless he expects me to gobble it with one swallow. Give me his telephone number.”

  She was being followed.

  It wasn’t paranoia, dammit. She could feel it.

  Melis glanced over her shoulder. It was an exercise in futility. She wouldn’t have known whom she was looking for on the crowded dock behind her. It could be anyone. A thief, a sailor eager for a lay . . . or someone who was hoping she’d lead him to Phil. Anything was possible.

  Now that Marinth was involved.

  Lose him.

  She darted down the next street, ran one short block, ducked into an alcove, and waited. Making sure you weren’t being paranoid was always the first rule. The second was to know your enemy.

  A gray-haired man in khakis and a short-sleeved plaid shirt came around the corner and stopped. He looked like any casual tourist who frequented Athens this time of year. Except that his annoyed attitude didn’t match his appearance. He was definitely irritated as his gaze searched the people streaming down the street.

  She was not paranoid. And now she would remember this man, whoever he was.

  She darted out of the alcove and took off running. She turned left, cut into an alley, and then turned right at the next street.

  She glanced behind her in time to see a glimpse of a plaid shirt. He was no longer trying to blend in with the crowd. He was moving fast and with purpose.

  Five minutes later she stopped, breathing hard.

  She had lost him. Maybe.

  Christ, Phil, what have you gotten us into?

  She waited another ten minutes to make sure and then reversed her path and cut back toward the dock. According to her street map, the Delphi Hotel should be on the next block.

  There it was. A narrow, three-story building whose facade was old, paint-chipped, stained by smog, and yet breathing atmosphere as everything did in this town. It wasn’t a hotel Phil would have ordinarily tolerated. He liked old and atmospheric, but decay wasn’t his forte. He enjoyed his comforts too much. Another mystery that—

  “Melis?”

  She turned to see a small, graying man in jeans and T-shirt sitting at a café table. “Gary? Where’s Phil?”

  He nodded at the water. “On the Last Home.”

  “Without you? I don’t believe it.” First Cal and now Gary St. George?

  “Neither did I.” He took a sip of his ouzo. “I figure I’ll stick around for a few days and he’ll come back and get me. What can he do without me? He’d have real trouble sailing the Last Home by himself.”

  “What about Terry?”

  “Fired him in Rome right after he sent Cal away. Told him to go to you and you’d find him work. Told me the same thing.” He grinned. “You ready to become a headhunter for us, Melis?”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  “An hour maybe. Took off right after he talked to you.”

  “Where was he going?”

  “Southeast, toward the Greek Islands.”

  She moved toward the dock. “Come on, let’s go.”

  He jumped to his feet. “Where?”

  “I’m going to rent a speedboat and go after the idiot. I may need someone to run it while I look out for the Last Home.”

  “It’s still daylight.” He tried to catch up with her. “We’ve got a chance.”

  “No chance about it. We’re going to find him.”

  They caught up with the Last Home just bef
ore darkness fell. The two-masted schooner looked like a ship from another age in the soft light. Melis had always told Phil that the ship reminded her of pictures of the Flying Dutchman, and in the hazy golden twilight it appeared even more mystical.

  And, like the Dutchman, deserted.

  She felt a ripple of fear. No, it couldn’t be deserted. Phil had to be belowdeck.

  “Spooky, huh?” Gary said as he gunned the motorboat toward the ship. “He’s turned the engines off. What the hell is he doing?”

  “Maybe he’s having trouble. He deserves it. Getting rid of his crew and taking off like—” She broke off to steady her voice. “Get as close as you can. I’m going to board her.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to roll out the welcome mat.” Gary squinted at the ship. “He didn’t want you here, Melis. He didn’t want any of us on this trip.”

  “Too bad. I can’t help what he wants. You know Phil sometimes doesn’t make the best choices. He sees what he wants to see and then goes full speed ahead. I can’t let—There he is!”

  Phil had appeared from below and was frowning as he gazed at them over the expanse of water.

  “Phil, dammit, what are you doing?” she shouted. “I’m coming aboard.”

  Phil shook his head. “Something’s wrong with the ship. The engine just stopped. I can’t be sure—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I should have known. I should have been more careful.”

  “You’re talking crazy.”

  “And I don’t have time to talk anymore. I have to go and see if I can find where he— Go home, Melis. Take care of the dolphins. It’s important that you do your job.”

  “We need to talk. I’m not going to—” She was talking to air. Phil had turned and gone back down below.

  “Get me closer.”

  “He won’t let you board her, Melis.”

  “Yes, he will. Even if I have to hang on to the anchor all the way to—”

  The Last Home exploded into a thousand fiery pieces.

  Phil!

  “No!” She didn’t realize she’d screamed the word in an agony of rejection. The ship was burning, half of it gone. “Get closer! We have to—”

  Another explosion.

  Pain.

  Her head was splintering, exploding like the ship.

  Darkness.

  Chapter Two

  ST. CATHERINE’S HOSPITAL

  ATHENS, GREECE

  “Melis Nemid has a concussion,” Wilson said. “One of Lontana’s crew brought her here after the explosion. The doctors think she’s going to be fine, but she’s been unconscious for the last twenty-four hours.”

  “I want to see her.” Kelby moved down the hall. “Get me permission.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me. She’s out, Jed.”

  “I want to be there when she wakes up. I have to be the first one to talk to her.”

  “This hospital is pretty strict. And you’re not family. They may not want to let you in her room until after she becomes conscious.”

  “Get them to do it. I don’t care if you have to give a big enough bribe to buy the hospital. And check back with the coast guard and see if they’ve located Lontana’s body yet. Then go find the man who brought Lontana’s daughter here and pump him. I want to know everything there is to know about what happened to Lontana and the Last Home. What room is she in?”

  “Twenty-one.” He hesitated. “Jed, she’s just lost her father. For God’s sake, what’s the hurry?”

  The urgency was that for the first time in years Kelby had been given hope and it was being snatched away from him. He’d be damned if he’d let that happen. “I’m not going to give her the third degree. To use one of your favorite phrases, that would be nonproductive. I do have a certain amount of tact.”

  “When you want to use it.” Wilson shrugged. “But you’ll do what you want to do. Okay, I’ll deal with the nurses first and then go see what else I can find out about the explosion.”

  Which probably wouldn’t be much, Kelby thought. According to the news broadcast they had heard on the way here, the explosion had virtually ripped the ship apart. He’d gone first to the disaster site, and there had been practically nothing to salvage. At the moment they were calling it an accident. Not likely. There had been two explosions at opposite ends of the ship.

  Twenty-one.

  He opened the door and went into the room. A woman lay in the single bed dominating the pleasant, serene room. No nurses, thank God. Wilson was good, but he needed time to pave the way. He grabbed a chair from beside the door and carried it over to the bed. She didn’t stir as he sat down and began studying her.

  Melis Nemid’s head was bandaged, but he could see strands of blond hair clinging to her cheeks. Jesus, she was . . . exceptional. Her body was small, fine-boned, and she appeared as fragile as a Christmas ornament. It was incredibly moving to see someone that delicate hurt. It reminded him of Trina and those times when—

  My God, he hadn’t run across anyone in years who had brought that period of his life rushing back to him like this.

  So smother it. Turn it around. Transform it into something else.

  He stared down at Melis Nemid with cool objectivity. Yes, she was fragile and helpless-looking. Yet, if you considered the other side of the coin, that very delicateness was oddly sensual and arousing. Like holding a gossamer-thin china cup and knowing you could break it if you only tightened your hand. His gaze shifted to her face. Beautiful bone structure. A large, perfectly formed mouth that somehow increased the appearance of sensuality. A damn beautiful woman.

  And this was supposed to be Lontana’s foster daughter? Lontana was in his sixties and this woman was maybe mid-twenties. Of course, it was possible. But it was just as likely that the designation was a way of avoiding questions about a May-December relationship.

  It didn’t make any difference what she had been to him. The only important thing was that the relationship was long-standing and intimate enough that the woman would be able to tell him what he needed to know. If she did know, then there was no question he would make very sure she told him.

  He leaned back in his chair and waited for her to wake.

  Jesus, her head hurt.

  Drugs? No, they’d stopped giving her drugs when she’d stopped fighting. She cautiously opened her eyes. No lacy fretwork, she realized with relief. Cool blue walls, cool as the sea. Crisp white sheet covering her. A hospital?

  “You must be thirsty. Would you like some water?”

  A man’s voice. It could be a doctor or nurse. . . . Her gaze flew to the man sitting in the chair next to the bed.

  “Easy, I’m not offering you poison.” He smiled. “Only a glass of water.”

  He wasn’t a doctor. He was wearing jeans and a linen shirt with cuffs rolled to the elbow, and he was somehow . . . familiar. “Where am I?”

  “St. Catherine’s Hospital.” He held the glass to her lips as she drank. She gazed warily at him over the rim. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, somewhere in his thirties, and wore confidence with the same casualness as he did his clothes. If she had met him before, she would definitely have remembered him.

  “What happened?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  The ship splintering, hurling chunks of deck and metal into the air.

  “Phil!” She jerked upright in bed. Phil had been in that inferno. Phil had been— She tried to swing her legs to the floor. “He was there. I have to— He went below and he was—”

  “Lie down.” He was pushing her back onto the pillows. “There’s nothing you can do. The ship was destroyed over twenty-four hours ago. The coast guard hasn’t given up looking yet. If he’s alive, they’ll find him.”

  Twenty-four hours. She gazed at him dazedly. “They didn’t find him?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “They can’t give up. Don’t let them give up.”

  “I won’t. Will you go back to sleep now? The nurses a
re going to kick me out if they think I’ve upset you. I just thought you should know. I have an idea you’re like me. You want to know the truth even if it hurts.”

  “Phil . . .” She closed her eyes as pain washed over her. “Hurts. I wish I could cry.”

  “Then do it.”

  “I can’t. I haven’t—I can’t ever— Go away. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

  “But I’ve already seen you. So I think I’ll just stick around and make sure you’re going to be okay.”

  She opened her eyes and studied him. Hard . . . so hard. “You don’t care if I’m okay. Who the hell are you?”

  “Jed Kelby.”

  That’s where she’d seen him. Newspapers, magazines, TV . . . “I should have known. The Golden Boy.”

  “I used to hate that nickname and everything that went with it. It’s one of the reasons I became so damn belligerent with the media.” He smiled. “But I got over it. I’m not a boy any longer. I’m a man. And I am what I am. You might find that what I am can be very useful to you.”

  “Go away.”

  He hesitated and then stood up. “I’ll be back. In the meantime, I’ll try to make sure the coast guard continues to look for Lontana.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Shall I ask the nurse to come in and give you a sedative?”

  “No drugs! I don’t take—”

  “Fine. Whatever you say.”

  She watched the door close behind him. He had been very agreeable, some might have even said kind. She was too hazy and hurting to know what to think of him. She’d only been aware of that air of calm confidence and physical strength—and it disturbed her.

  Don’t think of him.

  And try not to think of Phil. Twenty-four hours was a long time, but he could still be out there.

  If he’d grabbed a life vest.

  If he hadn’t been blown up before he hit the water.

  Jesus, she wished she could cry.

  “Should you be up?” Gary frowned with concern as he saw Melis sitting in the chair by the window the next morning. “The nurse told me you regained consciousness only last evening.”