Dangerous Depths (6 page)

“Chief wants Snyder to go with you. I’ve got
Mahler.” “Snyder? I thought he had desk duty and classes.”

“Yeah, well, he’s on semester break, and to
tell you the truth I think he’s driving the chief crazy. Kid can’t
stand being in the office.”

“Hey, how ‘bout you take Snyder?” I
pleaded.

“Not a chance. I mean, I like you, Sampson,
but not that much! Besides, you and Snyder have a history. And you
know how he loves the
Wahoo
. You’ll need to take it to North
Sound.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Snyder, and the
kid had saved my life. It was just his damned eighteen-year-old
hormones. And the fact that in his eyes I was old, for chrissake.
Besides, I worried about Snyder getting hurt again.

***

When I got home, Sadie pounded down the
docks, overcome with the joy of seeing me. Nothing like a dog.

“Hey, Sadie.” I knelt and scratched her
behind her ears. “I missed you too.”

She jumped onto the
Sea Bird
after me
and followed me down below. Nomad was curled up on the salon table.
She was obviously pissed that I’d been gone all day. She lifted her
head, gave me the look, jumped off the table, and headed for my
bed. She couldn’t ignore the sound of the can opener though. The
minute she heard it she was at my feet, rubbing against my leg.

“Yeah, all is forgiven when it comes to food,
huh?” I picked her up and stroked her soft fur. She’d turned into a
beautiful animal once she’d recovered from starvation. In spite of
her haughty nature, she was a sweet cat. Now she couldn’t get
enough attention and had forgiven me for being gone all day.

Animals fed, I went down the dock to shore
and spent a half hour throwing the Frisbee for Sadie while Nomad
looked on from the shade of a coconut tree. Sadie never got enough
of the game. No matter how far I threw it out into the water, she’d
be back with it and ready to do it again.

“Enough, Sadie.” I lay down in the sand. She
came over and stood by me whining with the Frisbee in her mouth
until she realized it was futile. Then she shook, throwing water
and sand all over me, and lay down by my side. Finally, Nomad
sauntered over and curled up on my belly. I lay with one hand under
my head, absently scratching Nomad and watching the palms swaying
in the breeze, their fronds rustling against each other. A laughing
gull flew overhead.

When I rose, the sun was just touching the
water. People who had spent a lot of time on the ocean talk about
the green flash. They say that when conditions are just right, the
sun will hit the water and an instantaneous green flash would color
the sky. I’d believe it when I saw it, but I always found myself
waiting.

Right now, rays of orange, purple, and pink
shot into the clouds and down into the glassy water reflecting all
the way to shore. Fish were jumping, forming designs of liquid in
overlapping rings that reflected the colored light. A couple of
pelicans were fishing in the bay, swooping down on their
unsuspecting prey. They dove straight into the water, came up with
dinner in their pouch, tilted their heads back, and swallowed.

After a year, I was beginning to feel at home
in the islands. And I was being accepted as a part of island life,
even by Stark, who had put me to the test, made sure I was someone
who could care about his islands and his people before he quit
giving me the cold shoulder. I’d finally met with his approval when
I sat vigil in the hospital with Snyder’s family until word came
that he would live.

I had come to the islands for reasons that
were entirely selfish. I’d wanted to escape, leave the violence of
life on the Denver police force behind—and forget the horrible
conditions of police-diving in the polluted black water, where I
found bodies tangled in shopping carts or caught in barbed wire.
Visibility was so horrible that I once swam right into a huge
industrial dryer. How the hell it had gotten there is anybody’s
guess.

Mack, my old partner on the force, had told
me I was kidding myself to think I could escape. He’d said that I’d
never find a place without evil. In one sense he’d been right. I’d
not found paradise. Plenty of evil existed in these islands. But I
loved the people and the pace—island time, people called it. Locals
wondered at the rush that those who were not from the islands
seemed to be in. “What’s the hurry?” they’d ask, and few could come
up with an answer that made any sense, even to themselves.
Something I had never expected, though, was that I would find real
peace and serenity diving under the tropical waters.

I lay back down in the sand and watched the
constellations take shape in the darkening sky, and thought about
Elyse. No matter what Dunn said, I was sure this was no accident.
I’d learned a long time ago to follow my instincts. Sometimes I was
wrong, but I was right often enough. And I knew Elyse.

She and I had connected from the day we met.
It was one of those friendships that was immediate. We were alike
in a lot of ways. She was as stubborn about her work as I was mine.
Just last month, I’d gone with her to save a ray that she’d found
tangled in a net.

And Elyse was no dummy. She’d been around
boats most of her life and living on the
Caribbe
for a
couple of years. She was careful, paid attention to details. She’d
never leave that stove on. And she would not have left a note
asking me to come over no matter the time if it hadn’t been
important. I’d be damned if I was going to let this go.

I headed for the shower. I’d forgotten about
the burns until hot water hit them like sharp needles. I lept out
from under the heat and bent over, hands on knees, and waited for
the pain to subside. Then I stepped halfway back in and tried to
wash the sand away from one limb after another. This was definitely
not my idea of a hot shower. I’d been known to stand under rushing
water for half an hour, letting the stream of liquid carry tension
down the drain.

Washing my hair was an exercise in creative
problem solving, leaning in sideways, trying to lather my scalp
with one hand. Having a short haircut suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
I got out, dabbed at my wounds, smeared the damned salve all over
my shoulder and hand, and covered them with fresh bandages.

I was meeting O’Brien for dinner. I hadn’t
seen him since we’d been sailing on Sunday. He’d visited Elyse at
the hospital earlier that day but had left before I got there. I
needed him now. Dinner was kind of secondary on my priority list at
the moment. I was more interested in the comfort of a warm body
next to mine—O’Brien’s body in particular.

I rummaged through my closet, looking for
something sexy. It had to be the black dress, form fitting and just
bare enough to show a little cleavage. I pulled it on and analyzed
the effect in the mirror. Good. At thirty-seven, I had to admit
that I still looked pretty damned good in a short, tight dress.
Right now though, the dress, accented with gauze and white tape at
the shoulder, was not exactly a fashion statement.

I dug through my drawer, finding and
rejecting a sweater and a silk over shirt. I was not about to
change into anything less revealing. I didn’t have that many
options anyway. My entire wardrobe consisted of two dresses formal
enough for dinner at the Sea Scape, where O’Brien had wanted to
meet. Finally I found a shear black scarf with silver threads
accented with blues and purples. Just right. I draped it around my
neck and across the bandages and headed into town.

I was late. O’Brien was already there with
the Freemans. I’d forgotten all about that part of the plan.
O’Brien had been determined that I meet them.

He’d told me all about the Freemans. Neville
Freeman was campaigning for chief minister, head of the territorial
government, and O’Brien was supporting him. He thought Freeman was
the man for the office and had made a sizeable contribution to the
campaign. O’Brien could afford it.

“Hannah, you look ravishing!” O’Brien stood
and pulled a chair out for me.

“You look pretty good yourself,” I said,
heart rate picking up a notch.

He was actually wearing a jacket and tie. No
matter what O’Brien wore, though, he managed to look like he’d just
stepped off a boat, and I’d bet he didn’t have any socks on with
the boat shoes he always wore.

“Neville, Sylvia Freeman, this is Hannah
Sampson,” O’Brien said.

Sylvia nodded and smiled, but there wasn’t
anything friendly behind it. I got the feeling she disliked me
already. Maybe it was because Neville practically knocked his chair
over to stand and gush about how wonderful it was to finally meet
me. The guy was a flirt.

The Freemans were a perfectly matched pair,
both in their early fifties, dress understated but expensive. He
was wearing a lightweight beige linen suit with a shirt open at the
collar in subtle tones of olive. Sylvia wore an elegant off-white
dress with a jacket, pearl necklace, matching earrings, the colors
perfectly complementing Neville.

They were both born in the BVI and
well-placed on the island. Neville came from old money and I knew
he was very influential in all parts of the community. He’d been
campaigning hard for chief minister. His campaign promises included
a commitment to improvements in education and more stringent
environmental regulations, all while improving the economy. In
fact, he argued that these reforms went hand in hand—that an
improved economy required that islanders be better educated and the
environment protected for tourism. It all made a lot of sense.

The other candidate, Bertram Abernathy, was
much more of an extremist in terms of the environment. He was
arguing strongly against any development that had an adverse and
long-term impact on the environment, no matter what the economic
advantages were. Abernathy felt that it was important to keep the
islands unspoiled and argued that doing so would inevitably keep
tourism strong. Of course, Elyse had been campaigning for him, but
many people wanted the more balanced approach that Freeman offered,
O’Brien included. I was still riding the fence.

Freeman’s campaign was making a big deal of
his family’s long history on the islands and the fact that he came
from a family of slaves. His great-great-grandfather was brought
from Africa to work on the cane plantations. When freedom came, the
family had been savvy, becoming landed and powerful. Neville
Freeman had inherited it all and owned several pieces of land in
the islands, including Flower Island, a beautiful little place with
a couple of deserted white-sand beaches lined with palms.

Members of Freeman’s family had resided on
Flower Island off and on for almost two centuries, in a little
enclave that was once the retreat for the plantation owner. The
original house was still there, along with the outbuilding where
the house slaves had lived.

The place was empty most of the time these
days. The Freemans lived on an estate over near Carrot Bay, using
the home on Flower for occasional weekends away. The place was
off-limits. “No trespassing” signs were scattered over the entire
perimeter of the island.

“What happened to your hand?” O’Brien asked,
noticing the bandages for the first time. I filled him and the
Freeman’s in on the details: the explosions, pulling Elyse out of
the water, and taking her to the hospital. I skipped the part about
being topless. Neville would have loved to hear about it.

Dinner conversation revolved around politics,
tourism, and the charter boat industry. O’Brien was all for some
regulations on boating: requiring holding tanks on all boats, fines
for dumping waste or garbage, the building of pump-out stations. It
was a costly proposition for the islands and many of the locals
felt the big boating companies should foot the bill. O’Brien wasn’t
opposed to companies like his taking on some financial
responsibility but also felt that taxes should pay a part. Freeman
wasn’t committing one way or the other. I could tell O’Brien was
frustrated that Freeman wouldn’t take a clear stand.

At some point, Sylvia lost interest and
pulled me into conversation about a women’s social group that I
really should consider joining. I was amazed she’d even mention it.
I’d fit in like a whore in church. She was going on about all the
wonderful things the group was doing for the children on the
island, while O’Brien, seemingly engaged in his own debate with
Freeman, discovered my foot under the table and wrapped his foot
around my ankle.

Hours later, O’Brien followed me home.
Although he had a beautiful villa overlooking the harbor above the
marina, there were few places he’d rather sleep than on a sailboat,
especially mine.

The morning light was pink and muted, the
Sea Bird
absolutely still in the quiet water. I could hear a
gull complaining from its perch somewhere in the harbor and O’Brien
breathing softly beside me. I lay for a while, trying to absorb the
calm for the day ahead. I was determined to find the person
responsible for the explosion on Elyse’s boat. When Dunn found out
what I was up to—and I had little doubt the he would find out—he’d
be pissed and chewing me out in that damned level tone of his. Dunn
never raised his voice.

Finally, I slipped out from under O’Brien’s
arm, careful not to awaken him. By the time I jumped onto the dock
the sun was blasting over the hills. Coconut palms were bathed in
rose-colored light and the water was a sheet of silver reflecting
gold. I stood on the dock filling my lungs with the scents of the
morning. For a moment I was confused by the open water where the
Caribbe
was supposed to be. Then I was angry.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up in front of
the Society of Ocean Conservation office—Elyse’s office. I figured
a quick look around wouldn’t hurt. I wanted to know what Elyse had
been working on that might have gotten her into trouble. The front
door was locked. I walked around the side, peering into the window.
Through the slatted venetian blinds I could see little, but the
place had that empty feel. I tried the door in back. Unlocked.
Typical Elyse.