Wicked Nights (22 page)

lead the dive, and he felt uncertain. Okay. Scratch that. He felt with heartstopping certainty that diving now

would be a big mistake.

“I can lead the dive.” He wasn’t surprised to find Piper standing next to him. “We’ll tell Fiesta you had

to dive last night for a rescue and that you’re still in the no-dive window because they moved up their dive

times today.”

He wanted to get this right. Hell, he
needed
to get this right. He knew Piper felt the same way, and yet

she was offering to cover for him.

“That what you want?” Daeg loaded weights into his own belt. Without the weight, Daeg would shoot

right back to the surface, and it would be dive over.

“Trust me on this one,” Piper said, her eyes watching his. “I’ve got your back. I’ll get this right for you.”

Strangely, he believed her. Staying out of the water was the safe thing to do. The
right
thing to do.

“You dive,” he agreed.

She flashed him a grin. “I’m thinking you owe me at least one more night.”

Sal strode up then, already talking, talking, talking as he waited for Piper to buddy check his gear. At

least the man would have to shut up once he had his regulator in.

Piper raised an eyebrow.

“Two,” Cal mouthed. Of course, not diving with Sal was probably worth at least a week, but some

things a man didn’t admit.

* * *

DIVING WITH SAL was a nightmare.

Piper made a mental note to kill Cal when she surfaced. Two nights were nowhere near enough

compensation for Sal’s boorish behavior. First, the guy had rechecked all of his gear after she’d done a

buddy check on him. He’d insisted on adding more weight to his belt and then he’d taken issue with the

gauge on his tank, insisting the device was faulty and blustering loudly until Carla switched it out.

Things hadn’t improved once they were in the water, either, when at least talking became impossible.

Instead of sticking near her, he’d swum all over the place, checking out whatever interested him and

completely ignoring her. He desperately needed a refresher course in dive safety, but fifty feet down was not

the classroom she had in mind.

The site was as gorgeous as Cal had promised. In addition to the caves dotting the underside of the cliff,

colorful gorgonians and anemones covered the rugged underwater slope, and a spectacular kelp forest

sheltered hundreds of bluefish. She’d also spotted at least five different kinds of starfish, including sun

stars and blood stars. Schools of bright orange garibaldi flashed around them. Since it wasn’t nesting

season, they didn’t have to worry about overly aggressive daddy fish attacking them. She’d always

appreciated their sense of family, but she and Cal needed today’s dive to be perfect.

Thirty-five minutes of show-and-tell later, and it was time for Devil’s Slide. Divers had to time their

approach to the rocky ledge to correspond with the incoming waves. The added push would send them

shooting over the lip and into the calmer interior bay. Then it was a simple swim to the boat. Cliff jump,

admire the anemones, explore the underwater caves and then shoot the pass. Cal clearly liked a good

adventure dive.

Daeg signaled as they huddled together, pulling out his dive slate. Margie, the Fiesta exec, was going to

pass on shooting the chute. She’d take the longer surface swim over the adrenaline rush of the quicker exit.

Piper nodded. Better to go the long way ’round if Margie wasn’t confident about the approach. After a

quick air check, Daeg and Margie swam off, leaving Carla, Piper and their two divers.

She signaled for Carla to go up first with her diver and go through the chute, while she and Sal

remained on the bottom. Cal, she had to admit, had picked a lovely site, all pink, cream and gold fans and

strands of kelp. The waves coming in and going out created a graceful ballet, everything dancing around

them as they waited for their turn to ascend.

The Fiesta team had to be eating this up.

Ben disappeared into the chute overhead, riding the waves over the ledge. Carla flashed a thumbs-up

and then circled around to time her ride. Eyes intent on the action overhead, Sal bumped into a patch of

fans, startling a young horn shark hiding inside. The shark was a nice specimen, almost three feet long,

brown-and-white speckled with the trademark fin. Its tail cut through the water, propelling the shark away

from them at lightning speed.

Nice. Cal’s dive had produced sharks, too. Good thing she’d had all that sea lion cuteness or she’d be

seriously worried right now. This dive was good stuff. Just in case Sal had missed the shark sighting, she

pointed, but Sal had clearly already seen. He scrambled backward, hyperventilating.

Horn sharks often hung out in the algae beds off Discovery Island, and Cal had briefed them about the

remote possibility of seeing the sharks during the dive. Since horn sharks preferred to hunt for shellfish at

night, they hid out during the daytime, resting. Divers formed no part of their dining menu, so Sal had

nothing to worry about. It wasn’t like he’d just come face to snout with a Great White.

Either he hadn’t been listening, however, when Cal had walked them through what they might see at the

site, or he’d forgotten. He was also going to empty his tank if he kept sucking air in so hard. As if he’d read

her mind, he reached behind him, clearly having decided he wasn’t getting enough air and twisted the valve

on his tank, cranking hard.

An enormous spray of bubbles exploded from his regulator as she reached his side and laid a hand on

his arm. She could hear him gasping for breath and then there was a second explosion of bubbles, followed

by a third as Sal started to hyperventilate. Grabbing her arm, he made a panicked, twisting motion with his

hand, signaling he was out of air.

Not good.

The first rule of diving safety was to calm down and assess. She looked up. Carla’s diver disappeared

into the chute, driving hard with his fins, but Carla circled, clearly torn between descending again to assist

and sticking with her dive buddy. Piper had been so focused on an oarfish once, that she’d accidentally held

her breath and hyperventilated. What Sal was experiencing was no fun. Because he wasn’t exhaling

completely, his lungs were holding on to stale, used air. Then, when he inhaled, he only got part of a breath.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t helping her to help him. He thrashed away from her, his fins drilling into her

legs. She’d bruise tomorrow, but bruises weren’t the problem. She needed to calm him down and then get

him to the surface. She finally caught a peek at his gauge and, holy trouble, Batman. He’d turned the valve

the wrong way and was dangerously low on gas.

She pointed to the bottom, and his eyes widened almost comically. He wanted to ascend
now.
She

understood, but if he went up too fast from fifty feet, he’d have a date with the decompression chamber.

Sal was a pompous, arrogant windbag, but she wouldn’t wish a case of the bends on her worst enemy.

Unfortunately, he looked like he was beyond reason.

She sank down to the bottom, tugging on him. If she could get him to kneel, she could at least close his

valve and salvage any remaining gas while she got him to buddy breathe with her, but he kept on twisting

away from her, trying to keep the shark in his line of vision. Grabbing her dive slate, she scrawled, “Stop.

Kneel. I’ve got you.”

Her answer was another hard explosion of bubbles, Sal’s labored breathing filling her ears as he

grabbed for her regulator, clearly determined to fix this problem for himself.

* * *

AT PRECISELY FORTY-FIVE minutes, Carla popped to the surface. Cal checked his watch. She’d sped

up her ascent. Behind her, Ben surfaced.

“I need another tank,” Carla yelled, swimming hard for the boat.

Nope. He’d heard wrong. Carla was done for the day, so why would she need more gas? He eyeballed

the area. There was no sign of Daeg yet, but he’d mentioned earlier that his diver might not try shooting the

chute. He
didn’t
see Piper and Sal, however, and the nonsighting was a problem. His senses went on full

alert.

“What’s the issue?” He reached down a hand to help her board.

“Piper’s guy ran out of air.”

Sal outweighed Piper almost two to one. He’d be a heavy breather anyhow, and if he panicked... Cal

should have gone. He should have known Sal was going to be nothing but trouble. Instead, he’d let Piper

step in for him.

“If they have to buddy breathe, they’ll take the longer surface swim. I’m going to jump with another

tank so we can speed that process up.”

“I’ll go,” he said.

Falling into a mission mindset was easy. Stop. Assess. Act. Moving rapidly, he grabbed gear, loading the

lift swiftly before flying up the path, forcing the air in and out of his lungs in a steady rhythm. He wouldn’t

be any good to Piper and Sal if he winded himself. At the top, Carla helped him gear up, her eyes scanning

the ocean below them.

“I still don’t see them,” she said. “They should have surfaced inside the bay or out.”

“Walk me through it.” He moved to the edge.

Jumping was the easy part. The part after was the problem. Carla hesitated, her hand on his tank.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

She was female and she’d dived twice today. Neither of them needed him to point out that her build put

her at a disadvantage in this race. He was bigger and he was fresh. Carrying double tanks wasn’t a challenge

for him—and it was his job, his contract, his...Piper down there.

He nodded. “I’m good.”

“Okay. We dived, and Piper led us through the course you’d mapped up. We were at the final meeting

point, taking turns ascending, when Sal ran into a problem. Based on what I saw, I’m guessing he ran low

on air and hyperventilated.”

There was still no sign of divers on the surface, but he couldn’t see the open water where Daeg and his

companion were.

“You’re good.” Carla slapped his shoulder. “She’s probably got this, but—”

But taking the chance was stupid. Normally, he’d stick with the boat, maybe motor around to see if he

could spot them, but a two-hundred-twenty-pound man with a chip on his shoulder and no air was a recipe

for disaster.

He stepped onto the edge.

Looked down.

Big mistake.
He’d dived from this cliff dozens, if not hundreds, of times before, but his head was

reminding him that he couldn’t dive anymore, and his legs locked up, refusing to take him past the edge.

Once he jumped, there was no do over. No going back. With the weight belt and the double tanks, he’d sink

hard and fast. He didn’t want to jump, but that was his head talking. His heart knew right where he

belonged. He couldn’t stay out of the water when Piper was risking it all.

“Get back to the boat,” he said to Carla. “Bring it around the breakwater. Keep an eye out for Daeg and

Margie, and I’ll bring Sal and Piper to the surface wherever they are.”

“Got it.” She hesitated and then stepped back. “Good luck.”

One. Two.

On three, he stepped off the edge of the cliff.

Going down was the easy part. Gravity did all the work. All he had to do was keep his flippers pointed

down and his arms crossed over his chest. Oh, and not think about what was coming next. He ripped

through the surface and sank fast, the extra weight on his belt pulling him down.

Ten feet. Fifteen. He spotted, trying to orient himself and...cue the panic. His heart raced and he gulped

air, his fingers going numb. Breathe, he reminded himself. Breathe and count. One. He passed twenty feet,

his descent slowing. Two. His heartbeat deafened him, his chest constricting. Four. Piper smiling as she

rode the swing ride. Five. Piper on the back of his Harley. Six. Piper on his kitchen counter. So, okay, that

one hadn’t happened yet, but a man could dream. He forced himself deeper.

* * *

SPOTS DANCED IN front of her eyes. Chest burning, she reached for her regulator, but Sal wasn’t in a

sharing mood. He jammed her regulator into his mouth and breathed frantically. Her tank was running

dangerously light now, too. She stretched for her alternate air supply, hooking her fingers around the

secondary regulator.

The thing was Sal had to calm down. Shooting the slide with him wasn’t an option—even if he hadn’t

been in full-blown panic mode, safely positioning two divers sharing a single tank was out of the question.

Her best bet was to get him to surface in a controlled ascent. Carla would alert Cal, and the dive boat could

come around and pick them up.

The shark picked that moment to peek back out from its kelp refuge, and Sal started jettisoning weights

from his belt.
Darn it.
If he made an emergency ascent too quickly and without the required safety stops,

he’d definitely be paying a visit to the decompression chamber on the mainland.