His white teeth flashed in an approving smile. “Sounds like a great idea.”
She held his gaze. “You’ve always been there for me, Oliver. From the first moment Ridge dragged me out of the garage with his new sleeping bag in my hands. How did you see past the angry kid I was at fifteen?”
He shrugged and stared at the ground. “I’d just given my kids everything they could possibly want for Christmas, and they’d looked at the gifts with a cursory thank-you that didn’t feel genuine. Willow was pouting about not getting a car. Then there you were. I looked in your eyes and saw the determination I’d felt myself when I was growing up poor in Alabama. I knew in that moment I had to help you or regret it for the rest of my life.”
Tears burned her eyes. “You’ve done so much—making sure I had counseling, tutoring, a job, college. All of it would have been out of reach if not for you.”
He touched her cheek. “You did me proud, Harper. Now go rest. Call me if you need me.”
She blinked back the tears and waggled her fingers at him in a cheery good-bye, then got out and walked down the pier to where the Sea Silk bobbed in the waves. A pelican tipped its head to gawk at her, then flapped off on big wings. When she got closer to her houseboat, she slowed to a stop. The door to the cabin had been wrenched off. Someone had broken in.
She opened her purse to grab her phone to call the police, and then her gut clenched. She’d left her phone in the boat cabin. She’d have to go aboard to report the break-in. Could the intruder still be there?
She looked around and listened to the wind through the mangroves. There was no other sound, but she felt an ominous presence, and fear rippled down her back. She reversed course and went to her SUV parked in a small pull-off nearby. She’d drive into Dunedin and report it.
* * *
Ridge Jackson drove through downtown Dunedin at twilight to meet his father. His dad was usually straightforward and direct, but when Dad had called for a meeting, he’d been vague and distracted. Ridge couldn’t still a niggle of uneasiness—it was as if Dad knew Ridge would be a hard sell on whatever new idea he’d come up with.
He had no doubt it was a new business scheme. Oliver Jackson had his finger in more pies of business enterprises than Ridge could count, but his dad’s main company was Jackson Pharmaceuticals. The juggernaut business had grown immensely in the last ten years. He had the Midas touch. Everyone expected Ridge to be like his dad—charismatic and business oriented—but what Ridge wanted to do was pursue his work of studying mollusks in peace.
He smiled at the thought of telling his dad the great news about his new job. The offer had come through yesterday, and he still couldn’t take it all in. Dad’s distraction couldn’t have come at a worse time. Ridge had to sell his place in Gainesville and find somewhere to live on Sanibel Island.
He parked and exited, ready to be out of the vehicle after the long drive from Gainesville. He went into The Dunedin Smokehouse, his favorite restaurant. The tangy aroma of beef brisket teased his nose and made his mouth water. They had the best brisket and pecan pie in the state.
He wound his way around the wooden tables until he found Dad chatting up a server in the back corner. He had never figured out how his dad could uncover someone’s life story in thirty seconds flat. Ridge liked people, but he felt intrusive when he asked someone how their day was going.
Dad’s grin split his genial face. “There you are, Ridge. I’ve already ordered our usual brisket nachos to share. How was your trip?”
“Good. Ran into some traffic in Tampa, but it wasn’t too bad.”
“Uh-huh.” His dad stared off into the distance. “I’ve got a new project for you, son.”
Ridge squared his shoulders and steeled himself for the coming battle. “Before you even get started, Dad, I’ve got a new job. I’m leaving the Florida Museum, and I’ll be working at Bailey-Matthews Shell Museum on Sanibel Island. I’ll get to work with one of the best malacologists in the country. I’m pretty stoked about it.”
Most people heard the term malacologist and their eyes glazed over. He’d been fascinated with mollusks ever since he found his first shell at age two. It was a dream come true to work for the shell museum. He’d be in charge of shell exhibits from around the world.
His dad’s mouth grew pinched. “I, ah, I’m sure it’s a good job, son, but I’ve got something bigger in mind for you. It’s a chance to use your knowledge of mollusks for something to benefit mankind. This isn’t just growing collections, but something really valuable.”
Dad always managed to get in his jabs. Preserving mollusks had its own kind of nobility. Ridge narrowed his eyes at his dad and shut up for a moment as the server brought their drinks. When she left, he leaned forward. “Okay, what is it?”
“I’ve bought a lab for you. You’ll be able to study mollusks and snails to see if they hold any promise for medicinal uses. I’d like you to concentrate on curing dementia first. I don’t want you or Willow to end up like my dad.”
Ridge’s grandfather had died of Alzheimer’s last year, and it hit Dad hard.
Ridge held back his flicker of interest. His dad knew exactly which buttons to push, and Ridge didn’t want to encourage him. Ridge had long believed the sea held treasures that would help mankind. Researchers thought mollusks might contain major neurological and antibiotic uses. “That sounds—interesting.”
“I’ve already put out the call for lab assistants and researchers. You’ll just oversee it and direct the research. I’ve even created a collection room for you to fully explore the different mollusks.” His dad took a sip of his tea. “It will be a few weeks before we’re up and running, but in the meantime, you can comb through research and see where you want to start.”
“You’re just now telling me about it?”
His dad shrugged. “I wanted you to see the lab in all its glory first. We can go take a look when we leave here. There’s only one caveat.”
Ah, finally the truth. Story of his life. Dad always held back the full truth about anything. He should be called the master manipulator.
Ridge took a swig of his drink. “What is it?”
“I want you to start with pen shells. They’re already so versatile, and I believe there’s more of their magic yet to be discovered.”
White-hot anger shot up Ridge’s spine. “This is about Harper instead of me, isn’t it? It’s been that way since you first saw her camping out in our backyard as a teenager. You’re such a sucker for a sob story. I overheard you on the phone the other day, you know. You were telling her you’d be there for her and the baby. She used to get into trouble wherever she went, and I doubt that’s changed. And you’re still the same patsy.” He spat out the last words with a sneer.
Dad’s brows drew together in a dark frown. “I’ve never understood your hostility toward her. And she’s long outgrown any kind of reckless behavior.”
They’d had this discussion on many occasions, and he wasn’t going to change his dad’s mind about her. From the moment she’d shown up in Dad’s life, Ridge had resented her and the way his father catered to her. Ridge had gone off to his freshman year of college when Dad took Harper under his wing. She’d been a runaway from the foster care system, and he’d done more for her than for his own kids. He’d gotten his secretary to agree to foster the girl. She hadn’t had to work during her high school years like he and Willow had. Dad had hired tutors to help her catch up while they’d been expected to figure out their studies by themselves.
The woman had been a thorn in his side for fifteen years. No part of him wanted to have anything to do with her. “What’s Harper have to say about it?”
“I haven’t told her yet.”
Ridge stared at his dad. Typical. Only reveal half of what you know and keep the other half for negotiation. He was sick of his father’s half-truths.
But what if in working with Harper, he was able to find definitive proof that she was only hanging around Dad because of his money? Ridge knew
it was true. His dad hated being used, and it wasn’t often someone managed to get the best of him. Harper was that one exception.
He wanted to get to the bottom of whatever clever plan she’d hatched.
He reached for a nacho laden with smoked brisket and jalapeños. “Tell me more about the lab.”
His resolve helped him walk through the lab after dinner. He would enjoy working with the impressive equipment and facilities, and it almost superseded his goal of bringing down Harper. Almost.
Two
It should be easy to swim out there, grab her, and haul her back here to his vehicle. While there were several boats out there, he thought she was the only one diving. He swiped his wet hair off his forehead and reached for his mask. Diving was his passion, and he relished any chance he got to exercise his expertise.
He checked his dive computer. Plenty of air. In and out in twenty minutes. He adjusted his mask over his eyes, then slipped his mouthpiece into place before wading out into the water and plunging into the waves.
Visibility was about thirty feet with all the sand in the water, but he knew where he was headed and struck out for the mollusk beds north of Dunedin, about a hundred feet offshore and below twelve feet of water. Seaweed tried to snag his ankles as he swam through, and he spotted a bull shark off to his right. His hand went to the knife at his waist, but he hoped not to have to use it.
A diver off to his left snared his attention, and he paused. Where’d he come from? The older guy with dark hair was big. Not good. He would have to either wait until the guy was done here or take him out.
He didn’t have time to waste waiting around. The Taylor woman was likely to finish her work on the mollusk beds soon.
Decision made, he pulled out his knife and swam quickly to the diver examining the cage over the mollusk beds. He didn’t seem to notice anyone else was in the water, and by the time his head came up and his eyes widened behind his mask, the knife sliced his air hose.
Bubbles rose in the water as the older man fought hard to break free, but he didn’t let him go until the diver’s eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth slackened. He hauled him to the unidentified boat and shoved him onto the dive platform, then hauled up the anchor. The tide would carry it out to sea. He didn’t want the guy’s murder on his hands.
Perfect. Now to grab the woman, deliver her, and collect his money. His son’s life was riding on his success. It was the only way to pay for Alex’s surgery, so he had to do whatever was necessary, no matter how repugnant.
* * *
The warm Gulf water embraced her like a hug. Harper paused as a playful manatee came close enough to touch. The sea mammal she’d named Cyrus swam past her before perching on the sandy sea floor to scratch his bottom. Manatees were related to elephants, and Harper could spend time with one for hours.
She grinned and swam over to him. Today had been a fine day snorkeling above her pen shells, a bed of bivalve mollusks. The shells were about six inches tall and tapered to a sharp point. The fibers protruding from the pointed end helped anchor them into the beds. Their growth was progressing nicely. The netting designed to protect the beds from predators seemed to be in good shape, and she’d watched her best friend, Sara Kavanagh, dive down to secure one edge of a cage.
The first harvest would be in two weeks, and she was eager to see what kind of black pearls she’d find. A special file in her computer holding recipes for pen shell meat was growing as well, and with the new harvest, she’d have byssus. The filament produced by the shells to keep them in place in the sand would be ready for use.
Sara surfaced beside her and pushed up her mask. “Out of air and I’m beat. Let’s head back to the boat.”
“In just a minute. I can’t just leave this handsome fellow floating by himself.” She waggled her fingers at the manatee. “Have you seen Oliver?”
Sara shook her head. “He’s the worst diving partner in the world. He never stays within eyesight.”
“He thinks it’s not necessary since the beds are so shallow.”
“People have drowned in less water than this,” Sara grumbled. As an EMT for the Coast Guard, she’d seen more than her fair share of drownings.
Sara shaded her eyes with her hand. “Looks like his boat is gone. The least he could have done was tell us he was leaving. Don’t stay out too long without a rest.” She struck out in strong strokes for their boat.
Sara was right. It wasn’t like Oliver to be so thoughtless.
Harper frowned and swam nearer the manatee. She laughed out loud as the large creature floated on the waves as if he were body surfing. The minutes slipped away as she frolicked with the manatee. She glanced at her watch. Sara had left over forty-five minutes ago. Harper blew the manatee a kiss and headed for the boat.
A shadowy figure exploded from the murky water to her right and swam toward her. She flinched as she caught sight of the silvery flash from a knife in the man’s hand. What was happening? He waggled the knife in front of her mask as if he thought the sight would paralyze her, but it galvanized her into action.
Adrenaline kicked in, and her hand went for her own knife at her waist, but she couldn’t unsheathe it before the guy reached her.
His hand clamped down in a painful grip on her arm, and he jerked her under the waves. She tried to pry his fingers loose but couldn’t get him to release her.
A flurry of bubbles obscured his face, but she got an impression of dark hair and flinty eyes. He grabbed her hand to drag her toward the shore.
With renewed desperation she fought against him, and his grip slackened enough for her to swim from him. Panic gave strength to her long legs, and she kicked as hard as she could for the safety of her boat. If she could beat him there, she had flares and other things she could use as a weapon. Her lungs burned with the need to breathe, but she flutter-kicked her fins furiously and finally grabbed ahold of the ladder.
Her head broke the surface, and she dragged gulps of air into her lungs. She hauled herself up the ladder as fast as she could.
A hand seized her ankle as she scrambled for the last rung, and she kicked the guy in the face, then flung herself to the deck of the boat. Her little black schipperke, Bear, barked and leaped past her to snap at the man as he came after her.
“Get him, Bear!” She dove for the storage box where she kept the flare gun and grabbed it, then turned to see Bear sink his teeth into the man’s hand as the guy hung on to the top rung.
The man yowled and let go of the ladder, then fell back into the water. Bear put his paws atop the railing and continued to bark. Her hair still damp, Sara came out of the wheelhouse with wide eyes.
“Start the engine!” Harper flung her five-eleven length toward Sara, who didn’t ask any questions as she turned and switched on the engine.
In moments Sara had the boat speeding out to sea. The trembling started in Harper’s arms and spread to her legs. She sank onto the deck as she stared out over the waves toward where they’d fled. There was no sign of another boat or of her attacker.
Sara flung her honey-colored hair out of her eyes and glanced back at her. “You okay? What happened?”
Harper swallowed hard and nodded. “There was a-a man. I don’t know if he was trying to kill me or kidnap me.”
The speed and silence of the attack had been unnerving and surreal. She told Sara what had happened, and her expression grew more somber. “Someone broke into my houseboat yesterday while I was gone. I reported it to the police, but they didn’t find anything.”
“It might be related.” Sara reached for her phone. “Thank goodness Bear was there. We’d better call this in.”
“I suppose so, but I don’t have a good description. His wet hair could have been brown or light blond, and I didn’t see his eye color. It happened so fast.” Harper’s voice wobbled. “And we have to call Oliver. His boat is gone, but I want to make sure he’s okay.”
“We’ll head back in a minute. You’re as white as sea foam.” Sara rummaged
for a bottle of water and handed it to her. “Take a drink and a few deep breaths. Did he cut you anywhere?”
Harper shook her head and tried to stop the trembling in her limbs. She took a swig of water. “I’m okay. It’s just the adrenaline. I’ve never been attacked before. It seemed so random and senseless.”
Sara and her fiancé, Josh Holman, were with the Coast Guard. They’d both transferred here after Josh had returned from a year’s temporary assignment on the West Coast. Harper listened with half an ear as her friend called Josh and filled him in.
“Josh will be here in half an hour. Try calling Oliver.”
“I didn’t bring my phone with me.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Sara handed hers over. The two of them had met their first year at Duke University when Harper needed to borrow Sara’s cell phone outside Duke Gardens, and they had been fast friends for twelve years now.
Harper placed the call, but it went to voice mail. “He’s not answering. Let’s get back and make sure he hasn’t been hurt.”
She sipped her water, then scooped up her dog and cuddled him close. The warmth of his fur began to calm the nerves jittering up her spine.
“Could this be a warning to move my pen shell beds? I got a call two days ago about this being an ancient Native American burial site. Maybe Eric doesn’t want to wait for me to figure out what to do.”
“Seems extreme, but I suppose it’s possible. I’ll mention it to Josh.” Sara waved. “Here he comes now.”
About the Author
Photo by Amber Zimmerman
Colleen Coble is a USA TODAY bestselling author and RITA finalist best known for her coastal romantic suspense novels, including The Inn at Ocean’s Edge, Twilight at Blueberry Barrens, and the Lavender Tides, Sunset Cove, Hope Beach, and Rock Harbor series.
* * *
Connect with Colleen online at colleencoble.com
Facebook: @colleencoblebooks
Twitter: @colleencoble
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