“Me, too,” Kerry replied.
Dar felt a pang of anxiety. “You feeling worse?” Pure instinct caused her to hit the throttles and increase their speed. On top of everything else, worry about Kerry’s physical condition was gnawing at her.
“No,” Kerry replied, a touch of warmth in her tone. “I just had some more tea, matter of fact. I think the fever’s down,”she said. “I think I just need some processing time.”
Dar relaxed a little but her body still twitched, her leg tensing and releasing in a nervous tattoo. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Just take it easy, okay?”
“I will if you will,” Kerry’s wry retort came back.
“Mmph.” Dar released a gusty sigh. “Almost there,” she commented. “Might want to radio ahead to see if… Crap.” As they 176
Melissa Good
cleared the northern point of the island and headed southwest, her gaze found a profile on the horizon. DeSalliers’ boat was hunched in front of the channel leading into the island’s dock, trolling in a tight circle.
“What?” Kerry answered, then after a rustling while she moved to where she could see out a porthole, she said, “Oh, fudge. What the hell is he doing, Dar?”
Dar’s face tightened in anger. She felt a wash of rage flood through her, focusing a dark energy on the boat squatting arrogantly in her path. “He’s pissing me off,” she growled softly.
“And he’s going to regret it.”
She turned the boat directly toward the harbor and gunned the engines. Almost immediately, the radio crackled to life.
“Approaching vessel, stand off and remain clear of our position.”
Dar clicked the mic. “Kiss my ass. You’re in my way; I suggest you get out of it,” she barked into the instrument, putting some of her tension and a lot of her pent-up frustration behind the words.
She could feel her temper flaring to the flashpoint, and curiously, she had no desire to squelch it.
“Do not approach this vessel! We are conducting a search!”
“Get…” Dar let her voice deepen and intensify, “out of my way.” There was a moment’s silence, during which she directed the bow of the
Dixie
right for the center of DeSalliers’ hull.
“Roberts!”
Dar grinned unpleasantly. “Not in the mood, buddy.” She clicked the mic. “I’m going into that harbor.”
“Listen to me,” DeSalliers replied. “You can’t come through here. We’re in the middle of—”
“You’re the one not listening,” Dar told him. “I don’t give a damn what you’re in the middle of. Move, or I’ll go right through you.”
“You’re insane!”
It was, if you looked at it, pretty crazy. Dar snarled and rethought her words. “No. I’ve just got a sick passenger and I need a medic. You’re between me and that.”
There was a short period of silence and she didn’t slacken her speed, though she set her hands on the throttles. She almost jerked them backwards when the intercom crackled, aware of the dire tension running through her muscles.
“Hey, sweetie.”
She could hear the anxiety in Kerry’s tone. “Hang tight, love. I think I’m gonna win this point,”she uttered. “Jackass.”
The main radio blasted static at her. “All right, Roberts. We’ll clear you a channel past us, but slow down for Christ’s sake.”
Dar watched the other boat carefully, and saw the bow dip slowly toward her as it moved. With a satisfied grunt, she pulled
Terrors of the High Seas
177
the throttles back, diminishing the rumble of her diesels and slowing the boat. There wasn’t much room in the channel for even DeSalliers’ boat, and as she got closer she could see they were trawling a net along the length of the big vessel and blocking the path into the harbor.
What in the hell is he doing
? Dar shifted the
Dixieland Yankee
to the far southern part of the channel, protected by two seawalls of coral that stretched out into the sea. There would be, she realized, just barely enough room for her to squeeze by, and any shift in the waves would send her against the coral.
DeSalliers’ small boat circled behind it, with a diver’s flag out.
Dar could see faces turned her way, full of anger and resentment as she approached their position. She reduced speed to almost an idle, wishing she could better see what they were up to.
Two of the men pointed at her and shouted, and Dar’s quick hearing detected the distinctive sound of a camera shutter closing.
Occupied with the delicate task of maneuvering the tiny path she’d been given, looking wasn’t possible, but by the looks on the faces on that boat, she could guess what Kerry was up to.
Gotta love her
. Dar watched her depth meter anxiously, tapping the throttles to get them past a bulge in the seawall.
The small boat cut toward them and got in her way. Dar slowed and let out a warning blast on their air horn. The men yelled and pointed at Kerry. Dar raised her middle finger to them and tapped the throttles. As the boat skimmed closer, Dar glanced behind her to where the stern of the
Dixie
cleared DeSalliers’ boat, the bow emptying of people as Kerry’s lens swept over them. “Kerry, hang on!” she yelled back, as she threw the boat hard to one side, then gunned the engines and reversed course, building a wake that smacked into the smaller boat and sent it half onto its side.
One of the men on the boat catapulted over the side and the boat swerved, its occupants screaming at her in words that the wind ripped away into incoherence. Dar wrapped her legs around the captain’s chair and swept past them into the island’s small, protected harbor. A flush of wild triumph washed through her, muting the anger and forcing a chuckle from her throat at her successful maneuver. They left DeSalliers behind, and she pulled slowly into the cramped dock.
He wasn’t finished, however. “Roberts.”
Dar eyed the radio with a smirk.
“You only think you got away with that.”
Dar eased the
Dixie
into an open slip, not a difficult task since most of them were unoccupied. She picked up the radio. “You only think you let me,” she replied. “Have a great day.” With that, she dropped the mic onto the console and shut down the engines, leaped to her feet, and headed for the ladder.
178
Melissa Good
Kerry was standing on the stern deck, wrapped in a jacket and pale faced. She turned as Dar slid down the ladder and let the camera looped around her neck rest on her chest. “Wow,” she exhaled.
Dar hopped to the railing, then onto the dock to secure their lines. “Wow wasn’t the word I had in mind,” she responded, as she leaped back onto the deck. “Stupid son of a bitch. I don’t know what the hell he thinks he’s doing, or who he thinks he is, or what the hell he’s looking for, but…”
A loud clank made them both jump. They froze for an instant, then moved to the other side of the boat and looked down.
“Me,” a bedraggled, ragged figure was hanging on to one of their buoy lines, “is what he’s looking for.”
Kerry gripped the railing and blinked. “Bob?” she uttered.
Dar gaped at him. “Son of a…”
Bob tugged off his mask and coughed, his face pale and strained. “Fifty psi left.” He looked completely drained. “He almost got me.”
Dar and Kerry looked at each other. Kerry rubbed her eyes, very obviously at a complete loss. She gave Dar a plaintive, sheepish look and lifted both hands in appeal.
Dar scratched the back of her head and then shook it, having nothing really to add to the emotion. Substituting action for reaction, she leaned over the railing and extended a hand. “Gimme your gear,” she directed. “Come ’round to the back. There’s a ladder.”
Bob gave her a wry look. “Thanks.” He unbuckled his BC and tank, and lifted them high enough for Dar to grab. “I know I’m not what you wanted to find hanging off your lines.” His eyes shifted to Kerry, then dropped.
“At this point…” Kerry walked over to the deck chairs and sat down on one, despite its dampness, “if Harry Houdini showed up clipped to the rudder, it wouldn’t surprise me.” She slumped in the chair, the fever and residual effects of the jellyfish poison taking over as the adrenaline faded.
Dar set Bob’s scuba gear in the corner and let the ladder down.
She put a hand on Kerry’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “I’m going to go see if Bud’s at home. Hang in there, love.” She started to jump to the dock, and then paused, pointing a finger at Bob, who had just emerged wearily onto the deck. “Mess with her, and I’ll tie you to that pylon and call your friends to come pick you up. Got me?”
Bob froze, and looked at her, wide eyed. “Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked, at the menacing scowl directed at him.
“And when I get back, you’re gonna tell us what the hell’s going on,” Dar added in a growl. “So get your story ready.” She
Terrors of the High Seas
179
turned and leaped for the dock, landing gracefully and stalking toward the shore.
Bob sat down on the stern rail and blinked at Kerry, who gazed wanly back at him. “I can guess what you must be thinking,” he murmured awkwardly.
“No, you can’t,” Kerry sighed, putting aside images of bubbles and hot fudge. “Really.”
“Oh.” Bob studied the deck. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry I—”
Kerry gently cut him off. “It’s okay.”
Bob peeked up at her, noticing her pallor. “Are you sick or something?”
“I got stung by a jellyfish,” Kerry told him. “It’s been kind of a crappy day.” She exhaled, turning her eyes toward the shore and willing Dar to reappear. “Hopefully, it won’t get worse.”
Prudently, Bob kept his thoughts strictly to himself.
BUD STRAIGHTENED, RESTING his hand on the edge of the bed as he knelt next to it. On the bedside rested a small, olive-drab kit, a coiled stethoscope sitting snakelike on top.
Kerry was lying quietly on the bed, the covers pulled up to her waist. Her eyes moved between Bud and the visibly restless Dar lurking behind him, and a faint smile crossed her face. “Find anything?”
“Jelly sting’s fine.” Bud issued a half shrug. “Ain’t much you can do for that ’cept what Dar did.” He glanced behind him, then looked back at Kerry. “Fever’s from a bug. Here.” He tossed a packet onto her chest. “Penicillin. Take one now, then every twelve hours for two days.” He paused. “Unless you’re allergic to it.”
“I’m not.” Kerry shook her head slightly. “Thank you, Bud. I really appreciate this.”
He got up and turned to Dar. “You wanna tell me what the crap on the radio was all about?”
Dar considered the question. Bob was tucked away in the spare room across the hall, keeping silent. She wanted to get to the bottom of his story, but she knew Bud deserved some kind of explanation, especially since he’d dropped everything to come and check Kerry out. “Sure.”
Behind them, Kerry was swallowing one of the tablets Bud had provided her, drinking down the rest of the bottle of water that had been sitting at her bedside. Her nose wrinkled a little at the pungent scent of the antibiotic, but she was glad to trade that for the chills wracking her again. “Why don’t you go grab some coffee, Dar? I’m just going to lie here and vegetate for a while.”
Dar studied her, pale blue eyes shadowed and the brows over them tensed and lowered. After a moment, however, she nodded.
180
Melissa Good
“Sounds good to me. Bud?”
Bud picked up his kit and grunted. “Java works.” He looked briefly at Kerry. “Drink water. It’ll get that crap out of you.” With that, he turned and followed Dar out of the bedroom.
Kerry pulled the covers up higher and looked up at the open hatch admitting a splash of sunlight that brought out the warm colors in the comforter. She still felt lousy, but knowing what the problem was eased her mind and erased some of the fear that had started to nibble away at her composure. She’d been afraid that the fever had been connected to the sting, and that maybe the sting had been something other than a jellyfish. She’d read enough horror stories about marine snakes and their venom for all sorts of bad ideas to begin circulating, but Bud’s words—along with the fact that the sting mark was fading—reassured her immensely.
As the tension faded, fatigue replaced it and she found she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Though she wanted to hear Bob’s explanation, she knew it would have to wait until Bud left. Kerry felt the gentle rocking of the boat soothing her and she surrendered to it, allowing sleep to finally claim her in its healing embrace.
“SO,” BUD EXAMINED the cup of coffee Dar had provided him, “what’s the gig?”
Dar had seated herself across from him, and she took a swallow from her own cup before she answered. “Guy who chased us the other night,” she said, “he’s a big-money treasure hunter.”
Bud sipped his coffee, holding the cup in his whole hand rather than by the handle. “DeSalliers. We heard,” he said. “He’s a right bastard.”
“Mm,” Dar agreed. “He wants something off that wreck we dove the other day,” she said. “He wouldn’t say what.” Her eyes studied Bud’s face. “The kid we picked up the other night’s also after something on the same wreck.”
Bud’s grizzled eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No shit?”
Dar shrugged.
The retired sailor leaned back, his attitude relaxing and opening a little. “It’s just an old trawler. I’ve dived it,” he said.
“Got some nice holes for lobsters, but that’s about it.” He frowned.
“Though…” His voice trailed off. “Now, hold on.”
Dar leaned forward, cocking her head.
Bud tapped his forehead with two powerful fingers.
“Remember a story I heard some years after that damn thing sank,”
he muttered. “Somethin’ about how maybe some kinda fight on board made it go under in the storm.” He got up and prowled through the cabin, his muscular body shifting under the light tank top he wore. “Didn’t really pay attention to it.”
Terrors of the High Seas
181
Dar watched him stop and study a picture on the wall, then turn and look out the window. “But that was years back.”
Bud nodded. “Yeap, it was.” He turned and regarded her. “So, why drag it up?” he asked. “Cops just buried it back then. No one cared.” He walked back over and sat down. “Charlie’d remember.
He listens to all that crap.”