Читать книгу Deadly Tide - Sandy Curtis - Страница 8

'Don't, umm, mention to Bill what happened last night,' Sam spoke casually to Chayse as she cooked breakfast.

He arched an eyebrow at her. She switched off the stove and served sausages, eggs and spaghetti onto two plates before explaining. 'He'd feel he had to tell Dad, and Dad has enough to worry about.'

Chayse would have liked to ask her more about what was worrying Tug Bretton, but he knew how to play a waiting game. Sooner or later, he'd learn what he needed to know.

After they'd eaten, Chayse followed Sam onto the back deck. The sun was warm, dispersing the night's faint chill. It reflected off the rippling water, dappling patterns on the wheelhouse windows. Sam explained that when they'd cleared the mouth of the river they would lower the trawl arms. Once the heavy metal arms were at right angles to the boat, the weight would be more evenly distributed, making it safer to move through the open sea. At dusk they would begin to trawl. The nets would be shot away, with the trawl board on the outside and the metal sled on the inside of each net drawing them out to create three connected nets with a bag-shaped section in the middle of each called the cod-end.

'The cod end is where the prawns are swept in when the nets are dragged along the seabed.' She pointed to the ropes on the end of the net. 'We release the cod end once it's positioned over the sorting tray and the product falls onto it.'

'If you've caught any.'

'We usually have a fair idea of what we're catching,' she said, and he suppressed the grin that threatened to escape at the patience in her tone. 'I'll show you why.'

They walked to the stern where she showed him a small net attached by ropes. 'This is called the tri-gear. Ten to fifteen minutes after all the nets hit the bottom, we drag this one, then winch it back up and see what's inside, so we can get an idea if we're over a good spot.'

'What if you're not?'

'We don't turn around and go back over the same area, we keep trawling and shooting the tri-net away until it shows we're catching some decent product.'

She was so serious, and trying so hard to impart the information, that Chayse had an absurd impulse to tease her, to ask how could she tell if the prawns were indecent. The feeling astonished him. It had been a long time since he'd felt like doing anything so spontaneous, so ... juvenile. Perhaps he wasn't up to the job, after all. Perhaps his nightmares of the past two months were tipping him over the edge.

He tried harder to concentrate on what Sam was telling him. 'Why do you trawl at night?' he asked.

'Most crustaceans and molluscs are night feeders, that means they're active then and are easier to catch. Fish sleep at night. They make their way to the reef and shelter at the bottom. If we trawled in the daytime, we'd catch so many fish feeding on the prawns that we wouldn't be able to haul the nets in. Except,' she smiled, and he felt his concentration focus more on her mouth than her words, 'for banana prawns. They school up into enormous balls in the daytime and some trawlers go after them. But there don't seem to be as many of those prawns around now as there used to be. King, tiger and endeavouri are the main species caught around here.'

Chayse knew his mind was absorbing the information, but on a separate level his body was reacting to the movement of Sam's lips. Full and well-defined, they looked temptingly kissable. His resolve to ignore the attraction he felt was eroding by the minute.

Sam continued to outline the trawling procedures, and by the time Bill came on board, Chayse had a fair idea of what was expected of a new deckhand.

It took an hour to steam to the mouth of the river. A peaceful, sun-drenched hour with a light breeze blowing and the tang of salt increasing by the minute. Chayse stood on the bow, watching the scenery change from mangroves to fields of sugar cane, then deep-water wharves next to a huge sugar terminal and modern marina.

For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to relax. For once, he didn't have to watch every word he uttered, or be constantly alert. He knew Bill didn't trust him, but Sam had started to, and that was progress. When Bill came on deck and lowered the trawl arms, Chayse watched how he operated the hydraulics. The older man didn't speak to him, he just walked back inside.

Once they made the open sea, the boat began to roll from side to side as it went up and down in a forward motion, but Chayse was pleased to find he was adapting easily. He went back into the cabin for a coffee. Bill and Sam were looking at charts on the GPS screen, and he listened as they discussed the best locations to trawl. Bill was keen to start in the area he and Tug had last trawled, but Sam appeared reluctant to go there. Finally she agreed, and they steamed due east.

'Has Melbourne always been this damn cold?' Thea knew she sounded petulant, but she didn't care. She knocked the ash off her cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke, her full lips pouting. 'I'd forgotten it could get this miserable.'

Rain drizzled grey across bare poplar branches and a dark afternoon sky, sliding down the window pane in beads that joined to become rivulets. Thea watched her breath mist the glass, then turned away. Stefan was watching her. He always watched her. He watched her with pride, with love ... with possession. His eyes were black, so black they seemed to reflect the light, so that you couldn't be sure if the expression you read there really existed, or was simply a mirror of your own need. When she was younger, it used to fascinate and repel her in equal measure. Now it simply irritated her, but because she needed him, she hid her feelings.

He was an ugly man, but his personality was so compelling, so ... charismatic, she sometimes felt as though she was caught in some bizarre science fiction film where he was a black widow spider, and she a victim destined to be drawn into his web and eaten alive. She knew Stefan loved her, had always loved her, but Artie Wainwright had stolen her heart when she was only seventeen, and although Artie had used her, and abused her, he had loved her in his own way. Or so she had believed. In the past few months, she had begun to wonder if it was her fate to always be under the control of powerful older men.

Stefan placed another log on the fire. It tilted, fell a little, spitting sparks onto the tiled surround. He moved the grate back in place and walked across the thick carpet towards her. Flames burnished the room's antique furniture in flickering amber, and highlighted the richness of the maroon velvet curtains.

She watched the easy arrogance in his stride, the cream cashmere sweater and silk trousers moulding around his stout but powerful body. The clothes gave the appearance of urbanity, but she knew it was only a facade, knew the man within could kill without altering the smile on his face by a millimetre.

'Perhaps you need a change of scenery, my sweet.' His voice flowed over her, a siren's song from a well-tuned cello, its richness incongruous considering its source. Smooth fingers touched her cheek, slid gently to her chin, and tilted her head down so he could look into her eyes. 'There's a resort in Queensland I'm sure you'll enjoy. We'll spend a week there, then I must check out a business enterprise that requires my attention.'

'At least the sun should be shining.' She held up her pale hands. 'I might even get a tan.'

'A golden tan,' he smiled, and Thea forced her mouth to reciprocate.

Chayse looked in amazement at the sorting tray. He'd expected to see prawns, and yes, a variety of fish, spilling from the cod end as Bill released the ropes, but he was unprepared for the assortment of marine life slithering over the tray, gleaming in the bright lights illuminating the back deck. Grotesquely swollen toad fish, prickly sea urchins, sand crabs, coral; and a strong smell of brine mixing with the disgusting odour emanating from lumpy sponges.

Bill pushed buckets onto the tray. Then he shoved a small rectangular piece of timber at Chayse. 'Use this sorting baton to move the prawns. Chuck the rubbish like toad fish down the shit chute.' He pointed to the aluminium slides he'd hooked onto the tray, their ends going over the side of the boat. 'Keep the decent fish.'

They'd already shot the nets back into the ocean, and Sam emerged from the wheelhouse to help sort for a while as the boat ploughed forward into the night. 'Grade the prawns by size and type,' she told Chayse. 'Use that red bucket for the blue swimmer crabs. They're the males, but make sure they're fifteen centimetres across the carapace. Throw the brown ones, they're the females, down the shit chute.' She grabbed a female crab by the back legs and slid it down the chute.

As Bill began to sort through the seething mass on the tray, he looked across at Chayse. 'Gloves over there if you're afraid of getting spiked.'

His tone held no derision, but Chayse said, 'No problem,' and began tossing prawns into buckets. He glanced up to see a flicker of amusement lighten the other man's features.

Ten minutes later, the pile was beginning to flatten. Chayse reached toward a large red fish, but stopped at Bill's shout. Bill picked up the rake he used for dragging the prawns across the tray and shifted the fish to expose a tiny black head. He raked again, and Chayse saw the head was attached to the long fat body of a sea snake. Fascinated, he gazed at the diamond-and-spotted pattern on its greeny-blue back as Bill grabbed the snake's tail and flicked it overboard.

'They're extremely venomous,' Bill explained, 'but their fangs are in the back of their mouths so it's harder for them to get a good grip on you. They're normally pretty docile, but you have to be careful.'

'Thanks.'

'No problem.' The amusement was definitely back.

When the tray was clear, they graded the product and packed it into cardboard cartons. Small prawns were cooked before packing. Bill opened up the hatch to the freezer room and pulled on a pair of freezer gloves. 'Hand the cartons down to me,' he told Chayse, and climbed down the ladder. The deck lights lit up a small section of the dark space, but it was obvious to Chayse that Bill could have stacked the cartons with his eyes closed, his rhythm and speed showing his experience.

'We should get an hour or two sleep before we haul the nets in again,' Bill said when he climbed back on deck. Chayse looked out into the darkness. When they'd been sorting the shot, he'd noticed sleek dark fins cutting through the water where the shit chute ended. Bill told him how sharks were in the habit of following trawlers and feeding off the rubbish fish that were tossed overboard. Although he couldn't see them now, he suspected they were still out there. Waiting.

Chayse walked into the wheelhouse, and paused as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Sam sat in the skipper's chair, lights from the electronic equipment reflecting different colours over her face.

'Everything okay?' she asked.

He looked down at his sodden sweatshirt, grateful to be out of the cool night air. 'I think I'll need more clothes,' he said ruefully.

'Hang it in the engine room and it should be dry by the next shot,' Bill told him as he pulled up the hatch that formed part of the wheelhouse floor. The engine noise increased and warm stuffy air wafted up from below. Bill flicked on a small light in the galley, took off his tracksuit top then held out his hand to Chayse. Chayse peeled off his sweatshirt and handed it to him.

As Bill hung the clothing over the rungs of the ladder leading down to the engine room, Sam glanced at Chayse. And wished she hadn't. Sexual reaction kicked her in the gut with almost heart-stopping force. She'd always been a sucker for a well-muscled chest with a light sprinkling of hair. 'I'll wake you up when it's time to winch up the nets,' she managed to force through the sudden constriction in her throat.

Chayse lay on his bunk, listening to Sam talking on the radio. Then she used the satellite phone and he caught Gerry's name, but her voice was too soft for him to hear what else she said. He waited until he was sure Bill was dozing, then climbed up to join Sam.

The glow from the electronic equipment on the dash and the back deck lights made it easy for him to see the pleased but surprised look on Sam's face when he asked if she'd like a coffee. Minutes later they sat in companionable silence, drinking and listening to radio chatter over the steady throb of the engine, the night creating an intimacy that was neither threatening nor awkward.

Eventually, Sam turned down the radio and looked at Chayse. 'What sort of work do you normally do?'

'Whatever I can get to pay the bills.' He sipped at his coffee.

'Have you ever tried modelling? You have the looks for it.'

Something sharp twisted in his gut. 'I did once. Didn't like it.' It had been his cover on the Sydney job, something he'd prefer not to remember.

'Do you have any family?'

'Just a brother. Our parents are dead.' He saw her quick frown of sympathy. 'My brother's wife is six months pregnant, and he's ecstatic. It's their first child.'

The frown deepened in fleeting pain. 'Where do they live?'

'Cairns. That's where we grew up.' The truth was out before he could stop it, as though the connection they were sharing was too precious to be spoilt by lies.

She smiled. 'I like Cairns. We went on holiday there when I was fifteen.'

Fifteen. The memory came out of nowhere, startling Chayse with its intensity. Jill, the girl next door, blonde, petite, a smattering of freckles across her nose. He'd had a severe case of first love. It must have been contagious because Jill had reciprocated. Two months later, her family had moved to Rockhampton. They'd exchanged frequent letters, but eventually lost touch. They'd both been so young, so innocent. Now he wondered if he'd ever feel that carefree again.

He shook off the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him, and decided to concentrate on getting Sam to talk about her father. After all, that was why he was there.

A lot of the undercover assignments he'd taken on had required Chayse to stay up all night and sleep during the day, but they hadn't been as physically demanding as trawling. By the time the last shot was dragged in and sorted, the sun was spreading gold across a placid sea. They hosed down the decks, then Bill showed Chayse how to find holes in the nets while he mended them.

As he looked through the nets, Chayse was surprised by the remnants of marine life that remained stuck in them. Grinner fish, trapped by their big mouths and gills, could only be removed by breaking their heads off, and their long black entrails stunk like rotting meat. Dead sea snakes oozed slime from their heads. Chayse had always thought he had a strong stomach, but the smell and the feel of the bloated carcasses almost made him retch.

But when Sam placed breakfast on the table, he was amazed to find he was ravenous. The aroma of sizzling steak, eggs and tomato sure beat the smell of the fish rotting in the nets, and when he commented on it, Sam laughed.

'You're lucky we've now got turtle excluder devices on the nets. Before we had those, you'd get turtles shitting in the tray, sharks giving birth, and bull rays as big as tabletops thrashing about. It's a lot better these days.'

Her eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep. She had insisted on taking the wheel during every shot, until Bill had growled at her at midnight that he was taking his turn at steering, and she had acquiesced. But Chayse suspected she had not slept well in the short periods between shooting the nets away and hauling them back up. She reached over for the pepper, and he caught a trace of soap and something that reminded him of fresh flowers and citrus. He realised she must have showered while the steaks were cooking. An image of her, naked, soap sliding over her breasts and across her flat stomach to the curls below, suddenly filled his mind, and his body's response was immediate.

Minutes later he was cursing the smallness of the shower cubicle as he lurched and slithered with the rolling of the boat. Finally he learned to lean against the wall while he washed. It cut down the number of bruises.

The fan in the focsle eased some of the stuffiness, but it took Chayse a while to get to sleep. Sam woke him at four o'clock that afternoon and told him they were steaming further north to trawl. One look at Bill's face told Chayse this hadn't been a mutual decision. He guessed the change in location had something to do with Sam's call to Gerry the night before.

Half an hour later, the sight of two other trawlers proved him correct. Using binoculars, Sam checked out both boats, and smiled grimly in satisfaction.

'The Kladium?' Chayse asked softly.

Sam nodded.

'What are you going to do now you've found it?'

'Stay with him. See what he's up to. He already knows I'm curious about him, or he wouldn't have sent someone after me. If it was him,' she amended.

'Then don't you think it's risky sitting on his tail like this?'

She was about to reply when the boat's satellite phone rang. She raced into the wheelhouse and soon he heard her thanking Gerry and telling him he didn't have to stay around now. Apparently stubbornness ran in the family because the other trawler made no move to steam away.

When Sam came out of the wheelhouse, she looked subdued. 'Chayse, I'm sorry. I've just realised that I'm putting you in danger as well, and that's not fair. It's our problem, not yours. If you want to go back to Bundaberg, I'll understand.'

Her cheek had a dirt smudge where she'd pushed her hair behind her ear, and he felt an irresistible urge to wipe it off. Before he could stop himself, his hand came up, and his thumb moved gently across her cheekbone. Her skin was pleasure to touch, soft and smooth, and his fingers uncurled to follow his thumb, when her eyes blinked wide like a startled owl. He pulled his hand back quickly. 'Sorry, you had dirt ...'

'That's okay,' she interrupted, soft colour in her cheeks. 'What ... what do you want to do? Gerry's heading home tomorrow, you could go with him.'

'It's illegal for a boat over fifteen metres to work with only two crew, Sam.'

They turned to see Bill looking at them, his face darkening as he gazed at Chayse.

'That's right. We'd have to take you back and get another deckie.'

'I'm staying, so it's not a problem,' Chayse answered mildly. He wondered what Bill had against him. Was something going on here that Bill was worried he'd discover? Chayse had sensed undercurrents flowing back and forth between Sam and Bill, but they weren't the kind of vibes he was used to picking up around career criminals. There was something deeper here, something more personal.

'Just make sure you don't become a problem,' Bill spoke softly, but there was a touch of menace in his eyes that made Chayse wary.

'Thinks she's a bloodhound, does she.' Karl Folter lowered his binoculars, and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

'What are we going to do?' Grady Hanlon, his new deckhand, asked as he opened a packet of frozen vegetables to accompany the thick slabs of fish frying in the pan. 'Wait until it gets dark and move away? Or we could go over and give them a warning,' he suggested hopefully.

Folter frowned in annoyance. Chosen more for his brawn than brains, Grady made an excellent offsider. He obeyed without question, and was willing to do anything he was asked. Unfortunately, he was sometimes too eager to prove his willingness.

'We'll catch prawns,' Folter replied. 'For now.'