Читать книгу Below The Surface - Karen Harper - Страница 9

“Is Amelia coming to your place to stay with you?” Cole asked as he drove her away from the hospital. They turned onto the busy Tamiami Trail and headed south toward Turtle Bay. She wanted to recline the seat and go to sleep, but she sat erect, cursing the fact Amelia hadn’t brought her sunglasses. The light, the sounds of traffic—too bright, too much.

“She’s with her two little boys right now,” she told him, pulling down the sun visor on her side. “I’m sure she’ll be over soon.” She couldn’t decide whether to just level with Cole or to get home first before she sprang her desperate plan on him and Manny. Cole had helped her before, but would he help her now? Besides, just his presence, his closeness, was making her even more nervous than she already was.

“Have you ever scuba dived?” she asked.

“Strictly for recreation, but I can hold my own. The last time was in Tahiti for a wedding anniversary. I’m single now.”

“Sorry.” She wasn’t sorry, but she had no time for such thoughts.

“Don’t be. Definitely the best for me and her, too, since she left me.”

A woman had left this man? The entire world was crazy.

“Briana, you look shaky. You aren’t going to be sick?”

“Sick at heart. I’d warn you before I’d upchuck in this beautiful car.”

He was driving a big burgundy sedan, probably one he used to impress his clients, because it didn’t seem like him and it certainly didn’t seem like Turtle Bay. This was a man she didn’t really know.

The village of Turtle Bay was a fairly secluded enclave between the Tamiami Trail on the east, the Gulf of Mexico on the west, the city of Naples to its north and Marco Island to its south. Turtle Bay had been built up years ago, with two clam-canning factories that were now defunct, and the usual condos and luxury waterfront homes had not intruded yet. A lot of locals feared the proposed gambling casino boat here could change all that. One of the old canneries was now quaint shops and seafood restaurants; the other had been converted to Sam Travers’s Search and Salvage. Tourists and fishermen came and went daily in Turtle Bay, but returned to their luxe hotels in Naples when the day’s jaunt was over. It was a tidal bay, so the main marina was built up on high posts, as were some of the modest houses, even those built farther back off the waterfront. Everything from dinghies to yachts and all sizes of sailboats bobbed in the bay.

Manny was waiting for them at the Two Mermaids with the door open. Thank heavens, no reporters were in sight. “Let’s go upstairs,” she told the men and, though every muscle of her body ached, she tried to lead them upstairs gracefully.

Her and Daria’s two-bedroom apartment above the shop was a light, airy and pleasant place with white wicker furniture, bright floral pillows and open vistas of the marina, bay and gulf. Without Daria, it seemed oppressive, so she was glad to have their company.

She took the orchid Cole had carried up for her and put it on the glass-topped coffee table, which was cluttered with the books Daria had been studying for her accounting class. They’d finally admitted they’d been too careless with the financial end of their business. Manny had volunteered to handle that, but they’d decided one of them should specialize in it, and Daria had cheerfully volunteered. She’d seemed obsessed with the course work ever since. In college—Dad had insisted they go to his alma mater in Miami—neither of them had taken courses in anything like accounting or business. Bree had studied languages, and Daria was a philosophy major. The truth was, both of them had majored in giving scuba lessons and getting a tan on trendy South Beach.

“Please sit, both of you,” Bree said, and went into the small galley kitchen. When she was certain they couldn’t see her, she grasped the edge of the counter-top and leaned against it, stiff armed, staring at Daria’s latest note—dated last Friday—on the bulletin board over the sink: Don’t worry about me. Going to study w/ friends after class and might be in late.

She could not cry, Bree told herself, could not dissolve in frustration or fear. She must find strength she did not have, courage she did not feel. However hurting and exhausted, she had to get moving.

She gulped a glass of orange juice, then poured Coke into three glasses, dumped a bag of taco chips into a bowl and carried all that in on a tray. She wanted desperately for these men to see her in control. Cole sat on the sofa, and Manny had taken her rocking chair, so she sat in Daria’s. They were talking about how Manny never dived but oversaw the shop, their two boats—the larger of which was now missing—and the heavy equipment. Man, Bree thought as she drank down half of her soda, but she needed this sugar and caffeine to stoke her strength.

“So, what you planning?” Manny asked her. “I know you. Want me to get the coast guard and the air patrol on the phone?”

“I’m going to call them, but I want to talk to both of you first.”

She forced herself to look directly into Cole’s narrowed eyes, because she figured she could get Manny to do what she wanted. Yes, despite the dire situation, the instant arc of energy and tension crackled between them as fiercely as it had the day they’d had that impromptu lunch on the yacht months ago. She had to admit that Cole DeRoca was still the great unknown, deeper than the sea. He had been nothing but kind and caring, but she well knew there could be unknown fathoms beneath. She felt so intensely drawn to the man that she feared her spinning senses could too easily swamp her usually sensible nature. She couldn’t afford a distraction right now when she needed to be self-disciplined. She needed the man to help her and had to shut everything else out.

“To try to find Daria,” she told them, gripping her sweating glass hard in both hands, “I need to figure out if she left the dive site of her own accord or unwillingly.”

“Caramba,” Manny exclaimed, flinging gestures, “for sure, it was unwilling.”

“So you plan to do what?” Cole asked, putting down his glass and leaning forward with his wrists on his knees.

“I need to see if our boat’s anchor is missing from the seabed near the turtle grass meadow. I dived down the anchor line as usual. But when I was ready to go up, I didn’t even look for it and just made the ascent from where I was.”

“Yeah, you done that before,” Manny put in.

“But was the anchor there,” she went on, “and I just didn’t see it in the increasing turbulence and lessening visibility? Is it still there? And if so, was the anchor chain hauled up properly or shoved off in a hurry? We paid good money for that new anchor and chain, because we’ve had them pull loose, and twice our rope was cut on something. If Daria didn’t leave under duress, she would have hauled it in.”

“What you thinking?” Manny demanded. “That more than a storm made her leave you there?”

“Of course it was more than a storm that made her leave me there!” Bree exploded. “That was bad, but it wasn’t a hurricane! Sorry,” she added more quietly, covering her eyes with one hand. “I’m just on edge, and I know you’ve been, too, Manny, trying to handle your mother’s illness, Lucinda’s attitude and everything.”

As she lowered her hand and looked at him, he shook his head. “Lucinda’s craziness nada compared to this,” he said. “Anyhow I can help, I help.”

“Good,” she said. “I’d like you to go down to our slip at the marina and make sure Mermaid I is ready to go and that scuba tanks are filled—for two divers, if Cole will come along. It still stays light pretty late. At least the storms missed us today, so maybe the underwater visibility will be better.”

“You’re going diving now?” Cole demanded. “Look, Briana, I’m sure you know a lot of local divers who could search for—”

“I need to do it! I know the area. Besides, if I could just retrieve my camera, it could have something on it. I had to let it go in the storm.”

“You got photos of something strange?” Manny asked. He clenched both fists. Even with his brown skin, Bree could tell he was flushing. His voice rose as he got up from the couch and took a step toward the door. “You really thinking someone did something dirty?”

“I don’t want to think that, but I know she wouldn’t just leave, storm or not, toothache or not. I know Daria as well as I know myself!”

Manny bent to swig the rest of his soda and went out. She could hear him thudding down the stairs, muttering to himself.

“Briana—”

“You can call me Bree if you want.”

“The thing is,” Cole went on, “even if the doctor cleared you to leave the hospital, that hardly meant you could go diving right away.”

“He didn’t clear me,” she blurted. “I cleared myself and cleared out. I have to do this!”

She jumped up, making Daria’s chair rock back and forth on its own as if a ghost sat there. With a shiver snaking up her spine, she moved to the French doors, which had a view of the bay. The sight of the sunlit marina and the gulf beyond almost blinded her. Pushing the double doors open, she stepped out onto the veranda where they kept a wrought-iron table and two chairs. She grabbed sunglasses Daria had left there and shoved them on to mute the slant of late-afternoon sun. Not only had her heightened perception of light not worn off, but she was certain that, beyond the normal bustle of the marina, she could hear the seductive sounds of the sea.

Bree decided she’d need to start wearing earplugs, not when she dove, but when she was on terra firma. She’d often had to wear them to sleep. Unlike Daria, she couldn’t fall asleep anywhere. On their overnight flight to Greece for their college-graduation gift, Daria had conked out right away and arrived raring to go, while Bree had wasted an entire night’s sleep just being annoyed that Daria was lost in sweet dreams. Daria…lost…in dreams that were really nightmares…

“Bree,” Cole said, following her out and putting his big hands gently on her shoulders from behind, “under ordinary circumstances, I’d tell you you’re nuts. You’ve got a lot of professional people looking for her. Besides, the police have a dive team—though, I suppose, they won’t deploy it until they’re convinced of foul play, even if we ask…” His deep voice trailed off.

She turned to face him and found herself staring at the beating pulse in his strong, bronzed throat. He was half a head taller than she, but his broad shoulders made him seem larger than that. His eyes were a rich mahogany hue, framed by long, thick lashes. She could see her reflection there, could almost drown in their depths.

For one crazed instant, she longed to throw herself into his arms and just hold tight, to beg him to take this burden from her, comfort her, let her hide in his strength. But she did none of those things. Tackle a problem head-on, Dad would have said. It was the way she was and Daria, too. But had Daria, out on that boat in those rough waves, tried to take on something—or someone—she could not handle?

“Cole, I know that area and the currents like the back of my hand. I have to do this or I’ll never forgive myself. I’m certain I would feel something if she weren’t…weren’t alive. But I do sense she’s in danger. Call it women’s intuition or a sister’s sixth sense. I just have to go check the dive site.”

“Then I’ll go with you—on one condition. If you begin to feel ill down there or I see anything I don’t like, that’s it, we’re out. And we’re not going to do any kind of wide sweep for the camera if it’s not near the dive site. Promise me,” he said, gripping her upper arms, “because I mean it. I’ll pull you right out of there—again.”

“Yes, all right, I promise. I owe you doubly. I really think God sent you to find me, and to help find Daria.”

“Then I just pray I’m up to pleasing all three of you,” he said and surprised her with a hard hug before he let her go.

While Manny was preparing the skiff and putting air in their tanks and Cole drove to his workshop where he kept his own diving gear, Bree made four quick calls. She phoned the hospital main desk to officially check herself out. They were very upset and said they’d inform Dr. Hawkins immediately, but she hung up before they could page him. Bree knew Amelia would try to stop her from diving, so she called her at home and got her answering machine. That was what she’d hoped for, since Amelia should be picking up Jordan and James from their private elementary school about now. She left her a message that she was feeling much stronger and had decided to come home.

She then phoned the coast guard emergency contact number and, after no news there, the civil air patrol information line. She was disappointed and dismayed to learn her pilot friend, Dave Mangold, was out of town and had not participated in the air search. There was no sign of Daria or their boat, but both organizations would keep her informed.

Informed. She was terrified to get a call from either of them.

Realizing she’d left her mermaid diving suit at the hospital, she donned an old pink spandex wet suit and hurried downstairs. Though she didn’t intend to tell Cole, she felt strange, kind of floaty, but she had to do this and now. Surely, this almost out-of-body feeling was not related to Daria’s fate.

Dad had told them once that, even though he was outside in the waiting room when their mother died in the delivery room, he knew the exact moment when she’d gone because he felt kind of like he’d taken off from the ground. It was so bizarre, he’d said, like the feeling when you ride a roller coaster and go over the highest drop. There was no thrill, only an awed sense of doom. But Bree didn’t want to remember all that, didn’t want to think of that.

As she went to check her desk phone for messages, she heard heavy footsteps and turned to see if Manny or Cole were back. Big, burly Sam Travers, who ran the rival business across the bay, stood in the doorway, not in, not out. He seemed to block out the light and air.

With a bulky build and a face and body hardened by years of physical labor, Sam stood slightly over six feet tall. His hair had been gray for years, and he wore it cut tight to his head, which emphasized his prominent ears and narrowed eyes. Crow’s feet perched at the corners, matching his deep frown lines. Sam had never given in to wearing sunglasses or caps.

Bree recalled from years ago when she and Ted used to hang out together all the time, that his father, now a sixty-four-year-old proud Vietnam War vet, looked angry even when he wasn’t. Since she’d broken up with Ted, though, anger was his perpetual mood around her.

Sam had never been able to forget or forgive that she had broken up with his only child after going steady with him for almost five years, two and a half in high school and then the first two of college. That had started what Sam called a fatal chain of events. But once she was away from Turtle Bay, even though she and Ted were at college just across the state, her world had expanded and Ted’s had not.

He’d been jealous of her new friends and her snorkeling and scuba students, even of the time she spent with Daria. He’d wanted to drive home most weekends, when she had things to do in Miami. He hadn’t really liked college, and she’d thrived there. Maybe he’d become so stridently possessive because his mother had deserted him and Sam while Ted was still in elementary school, but it didn’t do any good to try to analyze him. It just wasn’t working for Bree anymore, but when she’d tried to reason with him, tried to back away, he’d stormed out and joined the marines—the foreign legion, Daria had called it—without even telling Sam.

So while Ted had gone through basic battle training at Paris Island, South Carolina, Sam Travers had begun his war with Bree. He’d blamed her entirely when Ted was killed by a roadside bomb thousands of miles away in Iraq last year. And when he’d been buried with military honors, Sam had exploded at her, telling her to stay away from the funeral, and Daria had gone alone. Things certainly had not gotten better when she and Daria had opened a competitive search-and-salvage shop, though much smaller and more specialized, on Sam’s turf.

Now he stood in her doorway, glaring at her. Ordinarily, she’d be only too happy if she never saw Sam Travers again, but she needed his help.

“Yo,” he said in his usual strident voice, which seemed even louder now. “I was looking for Manny the man, ’cause the TV says you’re still in the hospital. Just wanted to tell him I been out looking for Daria.”

Bree stayed behind her desk. “Thanks for anything you can do. I was going to call you, but I’ve been talking to the coast guard and the air patrol about the rescue efforts.”

“They’re good at talk. You want to find something—in this case, someone—you call Sam. You and I had some bad spots, but I got nothing ’gainst her. I’m going out again.”

Bad spots? she thought. During these past three years after Ted enlisted, Sam had ranted at her, especially when he was drinking, and she’d come to fear him. However much she sympathized with his loss and grieved Ted’s death, she’d even considered getting a restraining order. Ben, her prosecutor brother-in-law, had suggested it, but she didn’t want to admit weakness to Sam, who sometimes seemed right on the edge of becoming a stalker. There were times when she and Daria thought he turned up everywhere.

“I can’t thank you enough for helping,” Bree brazened, though her voice shook. “I know if anyone can find Daria and Mermaids II, it’s you.”

“Yeah, well, bodies might not surface for over a week, but wrecks only give up a trail of bubbles for about twenty-four hours. Time’s awastin’. You facing up to the fact I been using my echo sounder?”

“I’m sure she’s all right…not—the skiff’s not sunk. She put in somewhere. She’s safe, I can feel it.”

“Yeah, I was sure Ted would be all right, too, big guy like that, body armor and all. A well-trained, gung ho marine riding shotgun on an armored tank. Maybe I’m doing this for him, huh, since Daria was his friend, even if you never really were.”

He went out and slammed the door.