They headed out to the site. Hannah could remember when they had sunk the Jefferson to create an artificial reef. She’d dived the site dozens of times; it wasn’t even fifty feet down.
The Coast Guard radio operator put Dallas through to Liam, who was out of the water taking a break before heading back down, and he told them that the dive boat had been some distance from the wreck when the captain had done his count and discovered he was missing a diver. Yerby’s dive partners had thought she was with them until they’d gotten out of the water, because one of the other divers was about her size and had her coloring. Dallas told Liam that they would start their search right at the ship.
A few minutes later they were above the wreck and putting on their tanks. Knowing that Dallas was watching her, Hannah was nervous for the first time in years. Ridiculous! She’d been diving most of her life and had gotten certified the second she was old enough.
She checked her gauges, adjusted her mask and slid backward into the water. A second later she heard the splash as Dallas joined her.
She moved smoothly down toward the Jefferson; having her own equipment meant that her weights were just right. She was glad that despite her nervousness at Dallas’s presence, she wasn’t behaving like a novice. A giant grouper swam by her, curious and close enough to stroke, and she was sorry this wasn’t the time to stop and appreciate the sights along the way. She moved toward the steel hull of the World War II vessel, Dallas right by her side.
They reached the wreck, and he swam past her, following the line of the boat forward from the stern, searching to see if Yerby had somehow become snagged on the hull itself. When they had completed a circuit of the ship he paused by one of the openings—there were four, two on each side—the hull doors had been ripped away.
He signaled for her to follow and swam into the darkness of the wreck.
The ship hadn’t been built for comfort, and the passages were narrow. This particular hallway ended in a closed door just twenty feet from where they’d entered. Dallas worked at it for a moment, then turned and shook his head. She looked more closely and saw that the door had been sealed.
She turned and headed out. Once they were back outside the ship she noticed the sound of her own breathing and rise of her air bubbles. She spotted a lemon shark as it swam toward them and then away. As she watched it, she thought she heard a mournful sobbing sound. It was impossible, of course. They were in the water. It wasn’t that you couldn’t hear someone—though they would be garbled and muffled—if you were close or if they were wearing the right gear, but no one was near them and on a dive like this, only the police divers might have the right gear.
Dallas entered the second doorway. Hannah followed, but she suddenly knew they weren’t going to find Yerby there. She tugged at his leg. He turned to her, and she indicated that they needed to go to the other side of the ship. She saw the skepticism in his eyes through the glass of his mask, and he frowned and shook his head.
She nodded emphatically, so he looked at his air gauge and let her lead the way.
She let her intuition lead her to what she knew was the right doorway. As soon as they reached it he took the lead. As he shone a flashlight into the dark water ahead of them, she saw tiny reef fish swimming by and noticed barnacles and anemones taking hold on the walls.
Like the first hall they’d explored, this one also ended at a closed door. And, like that first door, it refused to yield. Hannah remembered something about a plan to seal off most of the ship so that divers wouldn’t find themselves trapped.
But she had felt certain this was the place to look.
He started to turn away, so she swam past him, determined to try it herself. He looked at her and shrugged, then gave the door another tug.
It opened.
And the corpse of Yerby Catalano swung out at them.
* * *
Yerby’s body hadn’t been underwater long enough to bloat. Dallas was relieved, then wondered why he cared. She was dead. What she looked like now didn’t matter to her.
But it might to those who loved her.
When they reached the surface, Dallas and Hannah were quickly relieved of the responsibility of the body. Yerby’s drowning was a matter for the local police. Her body would be taken up to the coroner’s office in Marathon for autopsy.
Dallas couldn’t help but be grateful he didn’t have to inform her friends that she was dead.
He was certain she had been murdered, though at the moment everyone else seemed to believe she was the victim of a tragic diving accident. But Yerby had been with Shelly and Stuart and the others when they’d seen Jose Rodriguez at O’Hara’s Bar.
Why kill her, though? She hadn’t known anything.
He was sorry Hannah had been with him. She hadn’t gotten hysterical; in fact, she’d handled it very well.
When they’d gotten to the surface, the Coast Guard had radioed Liam, and they’d reached the dock at about the same time. While Dallas had described finding Yerby’s body, Hannah had stood perfectly still on the dock, wrapped in a large beach towel, watching. Afterward Liam had walked over to ask her, “You okay?”
She had nodded.
“What the hell were you doing down there?” Liam asked.
“I hoped...I hoped I might find a clue, something to help,” she said.
Then Liam had looked at Dallas. “You let her go down with you?”
“She threatened me with you,” Dallas said, then turned to Hannah. “Now let’s get you back to your place.”
She didn’t fight him.
In the car, she was quiet. “Do you mind if I swing by my place to get a few things?” he asked.
She shook her head. She didn’t even fight the fact that he was coming home with her, although he had expected trouble since her cousin was coming in sometime that day.
He decided not to talk anymore and just drove into the Truman Annex and parked. She got out of the car and followed him, still saying nothing.
He had a town house with a small yard—with nothing in it. He hadn’t really noticed that until now. As he opened the front door and ushered her in, he felt for the first time the coldness of his place. He had all the right things, even a leather sofa and chair in front of the electric fireplace that he’d never even used. Of course most people down here had to crank up the air-conditioning so they could use the fireplace and enjoy the ambiance.
There were no pictures anywhere, he realized.
He compared his apartment to the Siren of the Sea, which was everything this place wasn’t.
She clearly didn’t notice. She had tugged on the shorts and T-shirt that she’d brought with her but still had the towel wrapped around her as if she was cold.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“I can get you something warmer.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll only be a few seconds. I’m going to take a quick shower and change,” he said.
“Okay.”
He set his hands on her shoulders, trying to get her full attention.
“Stay inside. The door’s locked, so leave it that way. Okay?”
“Of course,” she said.
Dallas ran upstairs, stripping off his shirt as he went, and he was naked by the time he reached his bathroom. He was showered and dressed within five minutes. He threw together a bag just as quickly—one thing he excelled at was split-second packing.
When he came back downstairs, she was exactly where he had left her. Clearly he needn’t have worried about her walking out. She had barely moved. She was staring at the fireplace as intently as if a fire were burning there, as if there was something to see.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
They walked back out, and as he locked the door t
o his place he thought how odd it was. He’d felt as if it was home before. He spent so much of his time working, it had been fine. A place to sleep. Now...
He might as well have been leaving a chain hotel.
The drive to her house was short—a matter of eight or so blocks. She got out of the car, walked up to her door and turned the key in the lock. He entered the Siren right behind her, wary and ready for anything.
There really was something enchanting about the house. It had pictures, flowers...life. But he could tell that she was waiting—as he was—to feel whether anything had changed.
“We’re here,” Melody Chandler said, materializing in the doorway to the kitchen. “And everything is fine. Oh, dear!” she added, seeing Hannah’s face.
“We found the missing diver,” Hannah said.
“I’m so sorry,” Melody said. She apparently knew from Hannah’s expression that they had found her dead. “She stayed here, right?”
Hannah nodded. She spoke to no one in particular as she said, “I’m going to take a shower.”
As she started for the stairs, Dallas reached out and touched her shoulder. She started, spinning around.
“I’m sorry. I just...are you okay?”
She was looking into his eyes. She almost smiled as she nodded.
“Want me to make coffee for when you come back down? Tea? Something stronger?”
She managed a weak smile. “Nothing like a drop or two of Jameson’s in a cup of tea.” Then she turned and ran up the stairs.
When she was gone, Dallas looked at Melody worriedly. “Do you think she’s all right? She’s hardly spoken.”
“She’s going to be fine. She cares about people—which is good—but it means she takes things hard,” Melody said. “Can I help you in the kitchen? I can show you where to find the tea bags—and the Jameson’s.”
He had just set out cups and the teapot, and gotten the water almost to boiling, when he heard a car in the drive.
Melody, who had been perched by the table, and Hagen, who had been leaning in the doorway, disappeared into thin air.
Dallas, knowing Hannah’s cousin was due to arrive, walked out the front door to see if this was her.
He was startled when he saw an attractive young woman with long red hair exit an SUV accompanied by a tall man who definitely had Native American blood in his background. They were an attractive couple, but there was something about them that he instantly recognized: they were some kind of law enforcement.
Why hadn’t Hannah told him? He felt like a fool for worrying about her when her cousin was packing heat in a shoulder holster.
The redhead looked toward the door and looked momentarily surprised to see him. Then she waved and headed toward him, offering her hand. “Hi, I’m Kelsey O’Brien. Hannah and I are cousins. Are you a guest here? I didn’t know she had people in the house right now.”
Dallas found himself grinning wryly. “Ms. O’Brien—or, more accurately, Officer or Agent O’Brien—I’m Agent Dallas Samson, FBI.”
“Samson?” said the man heading up the porch steps. He offered his hand, as well. “I’m Logan Raintree. I’ve heard of you.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll explain when we get inside,” he said.
“Where’s Hannah?” Kelsey asked.
“Upstairs. A woman died during a dive earlier today. Hannah and I helped with the search and found her. She was staying here the night our agent was killed, so I don’t think her death was accidental. Maybe she saw more than she knew.”
“I’m going to go up and see how she’s feeling,” Kelsey said.
“She’s handling it pretty well,” Dallas said. “For a civilian, anyway.”
“She would, but still...” Kelsey trailed off and hurried up the stairs.
Logan walked into the house behind her. He was about Dallas’s height, with striking features. The man belonged on a coin.
“I’m making tea, and I think I hear my water boiling,” Dallas said, heading toward the kitchen. “You know the house?”
“No, first time here,” Logan said, following him. “I feel like I know a lot about the city, though. Key West is Kelsey’s home. She talks about it a lot, but I’ve never made it here with her. Our unit has been traveling pretty much nonstop.”
“You’re not assigned to a city?” Dallas asked.
“Well, we have a base. Offices not far from Quantico. But, no. We go wherever something comes up that fits our parameters. Ours is a different kind of unit. The Krewe of Hunters.”
Dallas froze for a moment. He’d heard about the unit, of course, and he, like many people, had been skeptical, at least at the beginning.
Maybe he’d been more skeptical than most because he knew what was really out there, and few people were the real deal when it came to dealing with ghosts.
But Hannah was definitely the real thing.
And, he was willing to bet, so were Kelsey and Logan.
The Krewe—despite what others might think or what jokes they might make—had a great record, at least when it came to those of their cases that made it into the media.
He supposed it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that Hannah’s law enforcement cousin was part of the Krewe.
Dallas reached the stove and turned off the boiling water. Then he turned back to stare at Raintree. “So. You’re with the Krewe of Hunters?” he asked.
“Technically we’re the Special Sciences Unit,” Logan said with a shrug. “We have equally ‘special’ offices in Arlington. I’m not sure if it’s to keep the information we turn up as quiet as possible or to protect us from everyone who likes to call us the Ghostbusters and consider us the joke of the department.”
“Except you have an amazing record for clearing your cases,” Dallas said.
Logan smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, we do. And we have more history than most people know. The unit was formed by a man named Adam Harrison, who had been quietly called in by the powers that be a number of times over a decade or so. Adam is a brilliant man and a philanthropist who lost a child with special abilities. He started looking for people like him and pulled together a group to solve paranormal cases across the country. Eventually they became official. Our director, Jackson Crow, reports to Adam and heads up the original unit, the Krewe of Hunters. I head up a second unit, the Texas Krewe, so-called because we were first put together for a case in Texas.”
Dallas nodded. “The local Bureau was invited in because one of our agents, Jose Rodriguez, was working undercover to bring down Los Lobos. He was murdered the other night. Our main state office is up in Miami, along with the U.S. Marshals’ main office.”
“Yeah, I know. Kelsey was a U.S. Marshal down here before she became Krewe,” Logan said.
Interesting, Dallas thought. Both women were tall and gorgeous, but since both were able to converse with the dead they were similar in more ways than met the eye.
Logan grinned and went on. “Anyway, I know about you because Adam has an interest in you.”
“I’ve heard of him, of course, but I don’t actually know him.”
“No, but he knows you. Even with two Krewes on call, we’re always scrambling. This is a very big country. We have a number of agents now, but as you can imagine, we can’t just look at each year’s graduating class. You’ve been on his radar.”
That was actually a little disconcerting, Dallas thought. It was difficult explaining sometimes why he had certain information. Even so, he’d thought he’d kept the nature of his unique informants well hidden.
“Don’t worry,” Raintree told him. “Adam has a unique ability to assess people. I doubt anyone else has figured out what you can do.”
Dallas didn’t respond right away, instead turning away to make the tea. He was saved from answering at all when Hannah came into the kitc
hen with Kelsey right behind her.
Hannah seemed much better. The weight of the world seemed to have fallen from her shoulders. Dallas wished he could have made the past couple of days easier for her—he hadn’t know her long, but the hours they’d shared had seemed incredibly intense. He was feeling things for her that he knew he shouldn’t. He needed to back away—fast.
“You might have mentioned that your cousin was with the Bureau,” he told her wryly.
“Sorry. It never came up. Kelsey is like me. Or I’m like her, I suppose, since she’s a year older. She—well, she knows Melody and Hagen, if that tells you anything.”
He nodded. He knew she hadn’t withheld the information out of any malice, but it still bugged him.
“We’re not here officially,” Raintree said. “If that helps.”
Dallas nodded and said, “Good to know. I’m the lead on the Jose Rodriguez case, since he was one of ours down here.”
Hannah sank into a chair. “And he’s all of ours, in a way,” she said quietly. “I told Kelsey that I’ve seen him—except that I haven’t seen him since that first time. And now...”
“Now there’s been another death,” Kelsey finished for her.
“That poor girl,” Hannah said. “I can’t help but feel...”
“Hannah, you had nothing to do with it,” Dallas told her firmly. “Don’t go blaming yourself.”
“But I knew her. She was a guest here,” Hannah said.
Dallas found himself walking over to her, hunkering down. “If you blame yourself, then Jose would have to blame himself, too, and he isn’t at fault, either. Whoever runs Los Lobos is responsible, and everyone involved deserves the harshest punishment the law can dish out. Jose died in that alley trying to avoid putting anyone else at risk. It didn’t work. But we can’t know that whoever killed Yerby Catalano knew she’d stayed here. They might have seen her at O’Brien’s or on the street, walking behind Jose and his group.”
When her eyes met his, he was surprised at the gratitude in them.
“Katie!” she gasped suddenly. “Katie worked on those sketches with the police artist, and she was definitely at O’Hara’s. She could be in serious danger.”
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