Deep Rising (An Outside the Lines Novel) (Entangled Select) (10 page)

With her skin wet and the suit dry, she encountered a great deal of difficulty while wriggling it on. Grabbing hold of the cord along her back, she pulled the zipper to her neck, effectively yanking the suit in place and sheathing herself in neoprene. It wasn’t thick, only a few millimeters from the feel of it, and while she knew from past experience that the neoprene suit would help to insulate, the short swim to the Kodiak had already chilled her.

She rubbed her hands along her arms and tried to soothe her mind into overlooking the treacherous dive she was preparing to undertake. She concentrated instead on the ramifications of failing to uncover whatever devices her brother may have planted.

She still couldn’t believe Sergei was capable of this, but she had only to close her eyes and that single black-and-white photo flashed through her mind, Sergei leaning over a desk, smiling as he caressed a weapon. She had discussed her work with him because he was family and he’d claimed to be “so proud” of her accomplishments. How could she have misjudged him so completely?

Images flashed through her mind. The devastation on Capri. The body bags. The mourning survivors.

Acid burned her throat and her stomach painfully constricted.

It promised to be a long night.

Chapter Twelve

“Why didn’t you request dry suits?” she asked. Before Jared could answer, Lana proceeded to say, “These are too thin, Mr. Wizard. Try ordering the proper attire next time.”

“With any luck there won’t be a next time. And, FYI, Lana, these are crushed neoprene. They won’t compress under depth or pressure. It’s forty percent more effective than standard neoprene at preserving body heat. And I
did
ask for dry suits. They couldn’t obtain one in your size on short notice. I wasn’t about to make you suffer alone. Now, how’s your foot taste?”

She snorted.

“Put on your mask,” Jared instructed.

He adjusted the strap at the base of her head and slid it off to lock the position.

“Hold it,” he told her, handing over the mask.

“I don’t have any experience diving with rebreathers,” she admitted. “Doesn’t it require specific training?”

“Some. But we don’t have the liberty of accumulating dive hours. Not to worry, it isn’t very different from standard scuba. The same rules apply.”

“So why aren’t we using standard diving tanks?”

“Rebreathers recycle our air supply, allowing us to dive without leaving a trail of bubbles, and to stay under for up to two hours—depending on the depth—which is far longer than traditional scuba.”

He tugged her weight belt, checked her gauges, and then retrieved the mask. He held it to her mouth.

“Spit.”

Lana looked at him as if he’d grown two heads.

“It helps prevent the mask from fogging up.”

“Gross. You know a quick scrub and rinse with toothpaste would work better.”

“All out of Colgate. Pretend you just brushed…and spit.” He flashed a lopsided grin. It changed his entire countenance, and it almost made her relax in his presence. Almost.

The “if you’re guilty you die” proclamation had a way of knocking any serenity from her head. It really was a shame. If she’d met him under different circumstances, she would’ve initiated the first kiss. And goodness, what a kiss it had been. Something so simple really, a parting of lips, a merging of movements and tastes. Man, Jared could kiss. His mouth had been slow and thorough, his every movement primed to her reactions. It didn’t take him but a handful of seconds to determine what she liked.

He would be amazing in bed…

She shook her head. She was already treading a fine line with him. He could still throw her response back in her face and accuse her of trying to distract him with her “feminine wiles.” Her reaction was bizarre on so many levels. Sure, she’d had some bad taste in men in the past—what woman didn’t make a mistake or two?—but she’d never found herself infatuated with a person who quite literally held her fate in his hands.

She pondered that revelation for a moment, diagnosing her reaction much as she might analyze seismographic data. Surely a correlation existed. Yes, that was it. The powerful effect he had on her likely stemmed from the control he exerted over her situation, or as a chemical/hormonal reaction to the surplus of adrenaline, which was brought on by these Whacked-Out Dangerous Scenarios. If there wasn’t already a clinical definition for WODS, there should be. She nearly smiled, but the gravity of her situation quickly grounded her.

In any event, in reaction to the stress and endorphins, her body was, um, reacting.

She’d be wise to garner a bit more restraint.

He caressed her cheek. “Whatcha thinking about, darlin’?”

She bit her lower lip. It wasn’t like she could say, “Thinking about you—naked—and why I’m nutty to have these thoughts in the first place.” He already thought she was guilty of aiding and abetting a criminal mastermind. Which wasn’t something she could easily overlook. Nor could she easily dismiss the chemistry between them.

“Jared, we can’t…”

“No,” he agreed. “Not under these circumstances.” That cold, calculating mask slid back into place. She was no longer dealing with the man who had so passionately kissed her. Standing before her was the CIA operative. The man sent to determine her culpability in a heinous destructive scenario.

He gestured to her equipment. “Keep the light in front of you,” Jared advised. “And stay close. We’ll follow the anchor line to the bottom. The lava tube should be directly beneath us. Based on the sonar it appears to contain a collection of openings. I’ll take the first one we can fit through. Once inside, we’ll determine if your brother planted a bomb.”

“Okay.”

He strapped a knife to his thigh and one to his forearm. He bent to test an underwater scooter. He switched the fan on and off before saying quietly, “I’ll protect you.”

“You promise?” She’d never relied on anyone but herself, and maybe that’s why his abundance of strength and confidence resonated with her on such a gut-deep level.

His features softened again, inexorably drawing her gaze to his lips.

“I promise,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid. Concentrate on what we need to do and nothing else.”

“I will. These tubes are as old as the island, Jared. They burrow directly beneath the island. Parts of it are two million years old. Rocks exposed to water for twenty years can be unstable, let alone two million.”

“I know.” He glanced up at her. “If Sergei selected this tube, he’d have to use a submersible to transport the explosives. There will be evidence of its passage, a cable, traction marks, scattered sediment.”

She nodded.

“I’m going over first. The current’s pretty fierce, so look for my light as soon as you hit the water.” He ruffled her hair in a gesture she would’ve expected from her father or a friend, then he grabbed the scooter and disappeared over the side. She waited about ten seconds then hoisted her body onto the bow. Placing a hand to her mask, not giving herself the opportunity to reconsider or refuse, she tumbled backward into the water.

The initial bite of the frigid sea stung like a slap across the face. It seeped through the suit, permeating the layers of synthetic fabric.

Compressed neoprene, my ass
.

She shifted the searchlight in front of her, and Jared materialized from the murky depths like some fabled creature of the deep. He flashed the international sign for “okay?” and she responded in kind. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the golden-green irises absorbing the cyan blue of the nighttime waters. Then he turned away from her and kicked out with powerful strokes. Lana locked her sights on his broad back and struggled to keep pace.

He reached the anchor rope ahead of her and remained there until she drew even.

She grasped the rope and followed him into the deep.

After descending twelve feet, Lana paused. She gripped her nose and exhaled, forcing her ears to equalize, to adapt to the changes in depth and pressure that would only increase with every foot she descended. Her left ear stubbornly declined to clear, and she ascended the rope a couple of feet and tried again. A popping sound echoed through her head and the pressure abated.

Staring upward, she could discern the moonlight flickering against the rolling waves, changing the water into silvery sweeps of color an artist would be hard-pressed to duplicate.

An octopus darted across her path, its body jetting forward in a blur of tentacles and brightly colored mantle. A day ago, she would’ve been elated to catch sight of the mollusk. Tonight, she wished it would go away lest it lure hungrier predators in her direction.

It took several minutes to reach the bottom.

She glanced at her gauges, checking her supply of oxygen. She’d burned through a quarter of her supply already! What the hell happened to staying submerged for up to two hours? Had she selected the wrong tank? Jared waited there, kneeling on the seafloor, and he took the computer from her hand. He bent his head to examine the gauge.

His hand darted unexpectedly and she jerked away. With a relentless grip, he drew her toward him. He pressed his hand against her chest. He tapped her sternum, once, twice, and then again, spacing each pat.

Breathe slowly, his eyes beseeched her, and after a moment she understood. She nodded. Concentrating on taking deep, steady breaths, she consciously willed her pulse to slow.

Jared spun away, moving along the black sand. He switched on the scooter. Placing her hand on the opposite side of the propeller, they sped off.

The seafloor remained very much alive, despite the darkness and late hour. Crabs and shrimp shuffled across the floor. Flounder hidden beneath the sand scurried out of their path. Along the rocky, coral-covered outcroppings, large parrotfish and scorpion fish flashed their pectoral fins in aggressive displays.

The beautiful scenery and abundance of marine organisms reminded her of the amazing diversity of life abounding on the planet, and it encouraged Lana to protect it.

Their lights dragged across several openings in the lava tunnel. Had it not been for those holes, the sand would’ve obscured the entire tube from view. These apertures didn’t offer entrances large enough for a child to pass through, let alone someone of Jared’s stalwart frame. He continued onward until a crater seemed to open in the seafloor. Jared descended into the tunnel.

Fish swam past them, schools of lambent bait fish and larger reef fish, and the occasional snapper. Their lights bounced off the walls, frightening the organisms that elected to take refuge here on this night. Lana spread her fins to halt her forward momentum.

A giant black grouper blocked the way. With head lowered, it lumbered from side to side, obstructing their path like an aquatic Cerberus.

By her estimates, the fish weighed at least three hundred pounds. Jared shoved her behind him and she complied, latching onto his back. She felt the vibrations of the scooter and the trembling of his muscles as he plowed ahead, using the propeller like a battering ram. He collided with something, thrust forward, stumbled back, and then something large and dark swam past her. The sweeping force of its truncate tail fanned across her face.

Jared spun back around and patted her hand. He grinned.

They probed the darkened tunnel for another thirty minutes before Jared finally paused. He reached for her gauges and then checked his own. He pointed upward and Lana understood they needed to return to the boat.

On the route back, Lana struggled to control her erratic breathing. Adrenaline surged in her blood, increasing her heart rate and affecting her respiration. As they left the tube and entered the vast open ocean, she counted the seconds until they reached the anchor line, all the while hoping her tank contained enough air to allow her to reach the surface. She didn’t fear running out. Jared’s rebreather contained an attachment that would permit her to share his air supply in the event of an emergency, but she didn’t want to use it. She’d been less strong than she would’ve liked this past day. She’d allow that the shock of events was enough to knock anyone off their game, but she was done with wallowing in self-pity. She’d unknowingly played a part in some truly horrible events, but it was within her capacity to take action, to make amends. And she damn well would.

A blur of movement halted them. Like a demon slithering in the shadows, the movement flashed, fleeting, illusionary. In an instant it disappeared.

Jared tugged her hand.

He pointed the propeller downward, pushing them toward the surface, removing any response or choice from her. From the corner of her eye, Lana felt
it
again…something stalking, preparing to strike.

She strained to see but failed to distinguish anything in the distance. Jared directed the light upward, focusing solely on their ascent. Her own flashlight hung limply in her hands. Little more than a passenger, a marionette, Jared dragged her toward the surface.

“There’s something out there!” she shouted, but the sea devoured the sound.

Reaching across the propeller, she squeezed Jared’s arm. Someone or something lurked beyond the scope of her flashlight. She tried to convey this with her eyes, her gestures, but a terse slashing motion of his hand silenced her protests.

Thwack
.

Something banged against her leg. Swirling, flailing wildly, Lana spun around, releasing her hold on the propeller. She dropped instantly into the depths.

Jared grabbed her arm, clenching it powerfully.

She kicked with strong, steady strokes to reach him.

A blacktip reef shark materialized.

Dear God, she’d been
hit
by a shark. It surged forward, only to swerve aside at the last moment. It tested them, stealthily investigating whether they posed a potential threat or were prey.

The twelve-foot beast returned for another inspection, its sleek gray body blending seamlessly into the surrounding water. If not for the white countershading on its underside, the shark would have been invisible.

It began circling.

Jared held the scooter in front of them like a shield. With his free hand he tightened his fingers around her forearm.

Lana shone her flashlight directly into the shark’s eyes. The shark jerked its head away from the light.

After a few seconds the shark departed, vanishing into the depths as if it had never existed. Shaking his head, Jared lifted his chin toward the surface, indicating their need to get out of the water. He tugged on her arm. With little encouragement, Lana followed.

They ascended the anchor line.

Lana would’ve shot straight to the surface, but Jared stayed her with a hand to her arm, forcing her to pause beside him at a depth of twenty feet. She’d forgotten about the need to re-acclimate, and she’d rather risk “the bends” than a shark attack, but Jared kept her locked in place, his hand an anchor of reason around her wrist. She waited there beside him, shining her flashlight into the depths, praying the shark wouldn’t return.

They remained there for several tense minutes, breathing off the nitrogen that had accumulated in their blood. When he kicked for the surface, she matched him stroke for stroke.

“I don’t see any indication that man or machine breached the lava tube. And from what I could tell, that one was collapsed, sealing off a true route to beneath the island.”