by Linda Bond
He was so close to possible answers.
He motioned for the cameraman to follow.
George nodded. The tunnel narrowed precipitously, so Zack had to swim slowly to avoid stirring up silt from the cave floor.
A ripple of water hit his back. The hair on his neck floated on end as the energy behind him shifted. Years in the special forces had fine-tuned each of his senses so acutely that his body alerted him to a crisis almost before it appeared.
He stilled instantly.
The water continued to move.
Careful not to further stir up silt, he looked back at George.
His bright light hit George’s mask, making the kid’s eyes pop wide open like some horror movie victim. George’s hand rose to shield his face. He twisted away from the light. His sudden, erratic movements kicked up a cloud of silt from the cave floor, encircling them in a thick, sandy cloak.
Shit! Had his light frightened George? Or was the photographer reacting to something else? The kid was big and tall, flailing around in the tight tunnel. Zack reached for the side of the cave, bracing himself for the impact of the resulting sandstorm. His fingers found a crevice in which he could anchor another guideline.
Just in time.
A wave of brown obscured his vision to zero despite the headlight. He took slow, steady breaths, fighting not to feel claustrophobic in his sudden blindness. He swept his flashlight beam around.
A flash of black swirled past. George’s wet suit? With one hand tight on the reel that held his guideline, he quickly attached the flashlight to his dive belt and reached out with his free hand. He swiped at the cloud of sand, hoping to find an arm or a leg. His fingers grazed George’s wrist. Zack latched on. His heart rapped against his chest so fiercely he had trouble breathing.
George struggled with something Zack couldn’t see. The cameraman wrenched to one side, then the other, pulling against his hold.
Zack held tight, his body absorbing the jerky motions. Apprehension tightened his throat. Was he in trouble? Even in a narrow tunnel, a diver could drift and get lost in a matter of minutes. Or lose his regulator and his air.
His fingers slipped off the slick neoprene of George’s dive suit. Shit! His pulse lurched as he lost contact. He sliced his hand around in the liquid murkiness, trying to find him again.
But it was no use. He sensed the water go still and empty around him.
The kid had disappeared.
Chapter Six
Sam sat on the edge of her hotel room bed. Her fingers drummed against the beige and brown bedspread, her right foot tapped the floor as if she was keeping time to some high-intensity rock song.
But silence filled the room.
Maybe she should have stayed at the Orange Grove Sink and waited for Zack and George to surface, but George had told her they’d be down for a while and frankly, she’d been itching to do a little investigating and some online research on Jackson Hunter and Scott Fitzpatrick. She wasn’t able to get a wireless connection in the woods near the sink, but she’d connected at a diner near the Holiday Inn in Live Oak. She’d been reading up on Zack’s dead uncle and the first man who died so she could grill Stuart Johnson about what else local law enforcement knew, when her waitress, a cute redhead named Rita, had asked her about the headlines she was reading online.
It turned out that Rita had hooked up with a former vacationer last year. After much subtle manipulation on Sam’s part, Rita finally spilled some interesting information about her “boyfriend” and how he’d been diving one day when another vacationer from New York had died in the caves. Bingo! The waitress had been busy juggling about seven tables but had promised to swing by the motel after she got off work and bring Sam a dive DVD that she hoped would be their first real clue. She had been so excited to share this info with Zack, she’d barely been able to eat.
Now, three hours later, the detective hadn’t called her back, the waitress still hadn’t gotten in touch with her, and neither George nor Zack were answering their cell phones.
A knock came at the door. She sprang off the bed and yanked the door open.
“George!”
He leaned up against the doorframe, his head down and his shoulders slumped.
Slightly annoyed, the words blew out of her. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.”
When he slowly brought his head up, Sam took a step back, stunned by the haunted look in his eyes and the tangled mess of his red hair. His skin, normally white with freckles and a hint of sunburn, looked ashen and downright alarming. She blinked to make sure she was seeing correctly. “My God, are you okay? You look like death.”
He groped toward her. “I need to sit down.”
She reached out and took his camera bag, ushering him inside. Quickly, she stepped outside the hotel room and checked the hallway, then the parking lot. “Where’s Zack?”
George didn’t respond.
When she turned back around, he was lowering himself onto the king-sized bed, carefully, as if injured. He eased his head onto a pillow and gingerly threw an arm over his forehead. “I almost died today.”
“What?” She sprinted back into the room, but left the door open in case Zack was parking the car or something. George looked like a man who’d just thrown up his dinner. “What the hell happened?”
“It all went down so fast. Shit.”
Her heart fluttered. Where was Zack? She hurried over to the bed, sat at George’s side, and grasped his arm. His skin felt cold and clammy. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
George rubbed his head agitatedly. “The dive started out great. The first rush of cold water freaked me out, but as soon as my body adjusted, I fell right into the groove. I followed Zack after he went in, just like you suggested.” He sat up and filled her in on the scary details of his dive gone wrong. “He led but, you know, I don’t think he knew I was with him at first.” He lifted a shoulder. “The dude was, like, in his own zone or something.” His eyebrows bunched toward the center of his forehead. “Eventually we got to an entrance where the cave narrowed into a small tunnel. There was this big sign with the Grim Reaper on it.”
She was getting a bad feeling about this. “Let me guess. Zack ignored it.”
“Yeah.”
Her pulse kicked up. She was actually a bit envious of Zack’s obvious lust for excitement and total lack of fear. “And you followed him in there?”
“You told me not to let him out of my sight. And shit, I didn’t want to be down there alone. Jesus. That guy has got balls the size of—”
She put her hand up. “Yeah, I get it. What happened next?”
“The ceiling was so low in some places it was impossible for me to lift my head without bumping into rock. Pretty freaky.”
Her stomach clenched. She hated confined spaces. She grew increasingly nauseous as George described how he’d freaked out when something brushed up against his fins, setting off a sand storm underground.
She closed her eyes and envisioned that moment deep in the underwater cave. On second thought, she could do without those images in her head. When she opened her eyes, he had started shaking. That was a first. Damn, he was really traumatized.
Or maybe he was suffering from hypothermia? She got up and searched the closet for a blanket.
“Oh man, did I fuck up. I kicked up all that shit on the cave floor, and in, like, five seconds I couldn’t see a damn thing. The lights didn’t help. The water had turned brown—like a whiteout on the ski slopes.” He clutched at his chest. “I didn’t have any guideline attached to me. Both my hands were gripping the underwater camera casing, and”—he took a deep breath—“I didn’t know what the hell to do. I was thinking, do I drop the camera and swim for the wall? Or do I keep the equipment and lose my sense of direction? I just panicked. I mean, fuck.”
She walked back to the bed, the blanket under her arm. His muscles were actually twitching. Adrenaline, no doubt. She wrapped the thin, white blanket around his shoulders.
He shivered so hard his teeth rattled.
“How did you get out?” Her mouth had gone bone dry. She reached across for a bottle of water on the other nightstand, took a sip, then handed it to him.
“I swam straight with the current, with my arms outstretched, and damn if I didn’t run right into Zack. He grabbed my wrist, but then I lost my bearings again and my wrist slipped from his grip.” His shoulders rounded over, and he took a deep breath. “I thought I was a goner for sure.”
“Jesus, then what happened?” Why was her stomach cramping? George had survived.
“Zack reached out for me again. He grabbed my wrist and—he saved my ass. That’s what he did. He got my hand and led me to the guideline. Let me tell you, I did not let go of that line until I saw sky—and I don’t mean through the water.”
She watched her friend as he rubbed his temples.
“Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“I did. One of the guys on the trip is an ER doc. He checked my vitals and said I was fine.” He let out a long breath and nudged her in the arm. “Where the hell were you when I came up?”
“I came back here to look something up online. Did you know—”
“Here’s the best part.” His red-rimmed eyes regained some life. “Not once did I let go of that camera. I rolled the whole time.” He let out a strained laugh. “Fuck, I just forgot to shut the damn thing off. Should make for a great video, though. The kind of shit that gets all kinds of hits on YouTube. Stan will piss his pants over it.”
“Great. Maybe your brush with death will buy me another week on the payroll,” she drawled, relieved that he could make light of his potentially deadly adventure. She pulled him into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She held him until he stopped shaking, and his heart slowed its pace. Finally, she asked, “And Zack?”
“He took off right after he made sure I was okay. Said he had to meet someone.”
Breaking the hug, she pushed back. “He abandoned you? To meet someone?”
“Doc said I was fine.”
“Who is he meeting in the backwoods of the Florida Panhandle?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did you ask?”
“No, that’s your job.”
She pierced him with an irritated look. “So helpful.”
“Hey. Guys don’t pry into each other’s personal business. We leave that to you women.”
“Neanderthal,” she scolded. “Listen, I found out something today that you need to know.” She held his shoulders so he’d pay close attention. “Zack’s uncle died in that same sink last year. He went cave diving, and never surfaced.”
“His uncle? No shit.” His eyes widened in surprise. “Zack told you that?”
“No, he did not tell me that, and that’s the point I’m trying to make.”
“Can’t be true, then.”
“It is true. I looked it up online.”
George straightened his back and pressed his lips firmly together. “What are you getting at?”
“I don’t trust him. First, this news about his uncle, and then he leaves you right after you almost die. Something’s going on, and I don’t like being left out.”
“He saved my life. Don’t make this into something sinister.”
She stood up and started pacing. As if she could sit still. “Obviously he doesn’t trust us enough to tell us his real motivation for being here, and he has no problem endangering our lives while we help him investigate. Aren’t you curious who he’s working for? Maybe he’s a private investigator. Maybe he had a meeting with his boss.”
“Maybe he just wants to find out what happened to his uncle, but he isn’t a sharing kind of guy. A lot of us aren’t.” He gave her a pointed look.
“Yeah, I get we’re different, but this is serious. I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust any man.”
Her jaw dropped. “I trust you.”
A ringtone cut off his response. He reached for his cell. “Yeah?” He sent her a smug glance. “I’m cool, man. A little wiped out, but fine.”
She mouthed, “Zack?”
George nodded.
She scooted closer and reached for his phone.
He gently pushed her hand away. “Yeah, she’s right here. I think she’d like to talk to you, too.”
She grabbed the phone. “Zack? I’ve been calling you. I have a couple of questions I need you to answer.”
“I’m sure you do.”
She took a deep breath. “I want to know—”
“No, I didn’t get hurt during that diving accident. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
“George already told me,” she said, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice, swept away by an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. Skydiving accident. Cave diving accident. “Why didn’t you tell me about—?”
“I think I know what you’re about to ask me,” he interrupted. His voice had that gravely edge to it that came with exhaustion. “I’ll answer your questions, but not over the phone. Meet me at Skipper’s. It’s a bar and grill on Spencer Avenue. I’ll be there at eight.”
“I don’t—” She quivered with uncertainty.
“And Samantha, I want you to come alone.”
Chapter Seven
Zack swirled Grey Goose Vodka around his mouth. Leaning back in an ancient wooden chair, he wrapped one of his boots around the leg and focused on the front door of Skipper’s Bar and Grill.
Even chilled, it burned his throat as he swallowed, but the liquid fire did nothing to extinguish the guilt assaulting him like a bad migraine. He’d almost lost another partner.
He closed his eyes, hoping the alcohol entering his bloodstream would dissolve the stress embedded in his muscles. As he shook his glass, the ice cubes rattled in the emptiness.
He hadn’t found any clues in the sink today. He was getting nowhere fast. Why not give the reporter a real chance to use her investigative skills? The whole idea made him groan. What he needed first was another Grey Goose, but before he could signal the waitress, he spotted Samantha Steele in the doorway.
Her dark hair was slicked back in a tight, business-like bun. Of course. She was always inappropriately dressed for the occasion. What would she do if he walked right over there, pulled out the bobby pins, and messed up that perfect hair?
Embarrassed by the direction of his thoughts, he dropped his gaze lower and instantly regretted it. Her form-fitting white shirt clung to her breasts, and was open just enough to let ample cleavage peak through, inciting a rise in his…blood pressure. She wore her trademark black stiletto heels, probably the same damn ones she’d had on today at the Orange Grove Sink.
What was this woman thinking?
Hell, what was he thinking?
That I can’t take my eyes off her.
He had deliberately picked the working class honky-tonk to make sure he had the advantage, knowing Ms. Steele would feel completely out of her element here. He needed to be in control, because he was about to do something he rarely did. Ask for help.
Just the thought made his throat tighten. He’d never trusted a reporter before. Never thought he’d see the day.
With her mouth set in a determined line, Samantha’s fiery gaze scoured the bar.
“Can I get you another Grey Goose, honey?”
He tore his gaze away from the stunning control freak standing in the doorway. His waitress, a thin woman in tight blue jeans and a stained T-shirt, gave him a flirty smile.
He made the peace sign. “Make that two, please.”
She smiled and sashayed away.
His gaze drifted back to Samantha. When she finally spotted him, she moved toward his table with long, purpose-filled strides. Her eyes, even in dim lighting, flamed with determination.
With his heartbeat picking up, he wondered what it would take to break through that chilly exterior and warm her up to the idea of starting their partnership all over again—this time as a real team.
When she reached his table, he
stood up to pull out her chair.
She beat him to it, then sat down with a definite don’t touch me attitude, taking in the empty shot glass.
“Hello, Zack. Glad to see you survived this afternoon’s adventure.”
He couldn’t blame her if she felt angry or hurt. He’d run out after the diving accident, freaked out by the close call and his own inner demons. This wasn’t going to be easy.
She placed both elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands, staring right at him. “Want to know what I was doing while you and George almost got yourselves killed this afternoon?”
“I have no idea.” But he did. Why was he still not coming clean with her?
Because old habits die hard.
“Working. That’s what I was doing. Want to know what I discovered?”
The waitress arrived and gave Samantha a slow once over before placing a tumbler in front of each of them.
“Oh, no, thank you. I’m on the job.” Samantha pushed the drink back toward the waitress.
He placed his hand over the glass. “Keep it. You need to relax, so we can talk.”
Samantha eyed him warily.
The waitress raised an eyebrow, and then smiled at them before leaving.
Slowly, he slid the drink in front of Samantha, hoping his smile would disarm her enough that she would at least take a good chug.
She ignored both the smile and the drink.
Her defiance only raised his body temperature another degree. Damn, he wanted to reach out and touch her, just to see if her skin was as cool as her stare. Instead, he picked up his newly delivered drink and took a slow sip.
She cocked her head. “While you were cave diving, I was online looking up Jackson Hunter.”
He held his features in check, sipping his drink. So, she’d found out. What had he expected? The first thing any good reporter would do was dig for information on the people who had died on these vacations.
“I found out your uncle died while on an X-Force Adventure Vacation one year ago this week. Imagine my surprise when I learned you were taking my cameraman on the same dangerous dive your uncle took. And then you abandoned George after the accident.”