by Dani Pettrey
He stalked to Noah’s desk. “Do you think it’s smart for them to head to the Dauntless without being properly checked by a medic?” Noah was the station and regional supervisor. He had the authority to order them back.
“Like Finn said, Rissi is independent and strong willed. If she feels she’s okay to continue with the investigation, and Mason with her, I’ll trust their decision on that count.”
Mason with her. The words bit hard. He’d seen how Rissi looked at Mason, and how he looked back.
Caleb exhaled. He had two choices. Audibly tell her how he felt and hope for a miracle. Or silently suffer as he backed off and watched the two of them grow closer. He should have told her months back, when his feelings for her shifted from friendship to—dare he say it—love. He hadn’t wanted to make things at work uncomfortable, but with Rissi being a master profiler, she had to know about his feelings for her. He had to man up and have the conversation he’d been putting off. It was time. Unfortunately, he already knew the outcome.
“Trevor tells me a man died on Dauntless. What happened?” Gwyneth fiddled with a honey stick in her hand. She’d offered Rissi one for her tea, and it tasted splendid.
“I’m afraid we can’t discuss an open investigation,” Rissi said.
Gwyneth continued twirling the honey stick between her long, polished fingers.
Rissi focused on the woman’s perfectly painted yellow nails. Gwyneth was not at all what she’d expected for an environmental protestor. Not that environmental protestors couldn’t be stylish, but the protestors she’d met tended more toward the natural side. None had worn neon-yellow polish.
“Still, if it were clearly an accident, you wouldn’t be out here,” Gwyneth said, her gaze locking on Rissi.
Rissi chose to remain silent.
Gwyneth shifted. “I’m sorry to hear someone lost their life, but it was merely a matter of time.”
Rissi tilted her head. “Why is that?”
“Because not only are those oil production platforms a plague on the environment, they are one of the most dangerous places to work in the world.”
Trevor had used the same term, Rissi noted. Sounded like they had their dogma down pat.
Gwyneth rested her forearms on the table. “Big oil companies like Textra only care about making money. They couldn’t care less about human lives.”
Rissi took a sip of tea, mulling over Gwyneth’s words but more importantly her body language and facial cues.
She was antagonistic, spirited, and quite intelligent. Or at least that’s the vibe she gave off, whether she realized it or not.
“You people are the ones who couldn’t care less about our lives,” Chase said, as if trying to get a rise out of Gwyneth. “You care more about animals than humans, and your concern is solely for them.”
Rissi took another sip of tea. The warm liquid coated her parched throat as she waited to see how this conversation would play out.
Mason sat back, lifted his coffee cup, and draped his arm across the counter behind their bench. His arm rested just above Rissi’s shoulders. Near enough she could feel him, but too far away for a full-on touch. How she longed for the latter.
Focus, girl! You’re not a smitten teen anymore. You’re a strong, sensible woman. So what if Mason’s arrival had resurrected those feelings? Who was she kidding? Her feelings for him had never gone away. How that was possible after all their years apart, she had no idea, but it was true.
“Animals are innocent.” Gwyneth’s pitch rose. “Unlike most men.”
Chase leaned against the counter and shook his head with a snort. “So now I’m guilty. Wow. You really are something. All the guys on the platform talk about your beauty, but they don’t know what a—”
“Let’s keep it clean,” Mason said, cutting Chase off. “There are ladies present.”
Chase’s jaw shifted, and he looked to Rissi. “Lady. I’ll agree with this one,” he said in Rissi’s direction, then shifted his gaze to Gwyneth. “That one is a shark.”
TEN
Never having been on an offshore oil production platform, Rissi hadn’t been sure what to expect. The Dauntless was the first platform off the Eastern Seaboard, and she’d seen all the controversy on the news when it was launched. But none of that coverage had prepared her for the complexity and size of the structure towering over the top deck and up into the night sky. It was as if they’d built a manufacturing plant on top of a tanker.
A man stood on a loading platform, awaiting their arrival. As Trevor idled the raft up to the metal pier, he came more clearly into view. Five-foot-nine, maybe ten, she’d guess. One hundred and seventy-five pounds. Bald with—she waited until Trevor’s floodlight swept over his face—blue eyes. Craggy features accentuated his rugged vibe.
He lifted his oil-covered, calloused hand to wave.
“Seriously?” Trevor snorted. “That guy maligns us daily, but now he’s greeting us?”
“He’s not greeting us,” Nate said, inclining his head toward Rissi, Mason, and Chase. “He’s greeting them.”
“Glad to see you three,” the man said. “Sounds like you’ve had a hellacious evening.” He extended his hand to Rissi.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Chase said, bypassing Rissi’s turn and trudging onto the pier.
“Ladies first,” the man said, his voice directed far more at Chase than to her, but Chase just turned around and stood at the back of the hydraulic platform, irritation lancing his brow.
Ed offered his hand and she took hold. “Thanks,” she said, stepping onto the bobbing metal platform—water sloshing across the edges.
Mason braced his hand on her lower back for support, and a whimper escaped her traitorous lips.
“You okay?” His whisper brushed her ear.
Her back ached, felt bruised.
She loathed bruises. They were a sign of weakness. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh,” Mason said, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on her. He knew better. Always had when she was hurt.
“Ed Scott,” the man greeting them said, and Rissi shifted her attention to him.
“Agent Rissi Dawson with CGIS.” She shook his hand.
“Glad you’re okay.”
“That makes two of us,” Mason said. His heartfelt gaze swept over Rissi before he turned his attention to Ed and extended his hand. “Mason Rogers.”
“Mason, good to meet you.”
The outboard motor hummed, and Rissi shifted her attention back to Trevor and Nate as they idled away.
“I can’t thank you enough for coming to our rescue,” she called.
“You and Mason are welcome,” Trevor called back.
“Really?” Ed said, his hands propped on the brown leather belt resting at the top of his hips. “You’re still taking jabs tonight,” he hollered. “We have two men in the hospital and a missing pilot.”
“And one dead on your platform,” Trevor shouted back. “Who’s to blame for that?”
Ed swatted the air as Trevor and Nate crossed the hundred-and-fifty-yard gap between the Freedom and the Dauntless and disappeared around aft, by the dive platform.
He swiped a hand across his bald head. “Don’t mind them,” he said. “They care more about sea life than men.”
“Surely, some care for both,” Rissi said. There were two sides to every story.
“Not from what I’ve observed of those aboard the Freedom, but yes, I’m sure that many do care about both. I do,” Ed said.
She hadn’t expected that response. Not with his antagonism toward those on the Freedom.
“Environmental protestors, at least the ones I’ve encountered, assume because I work for an oil company that I’m a horrible person who couldn’t care less about wildlife. Not true. Textra Oil adheres to the strictest federal and state regulations.” He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “I grew up on and in the water. Far more than Trevor ever did.”
“The dude can’t even swim,” Chase muttered.
“He can’t?” Rissi asked.
“Nope.” Ed shook his head. “The other day a team aboard the Freedom was trying to tag one of the stingrays to track their migration. Trevor leaned over too far and fell in. You’d think the world was coming to an end. Gwyneth had to jump in and save him.”
“Gwyneth is . . .” Mason began.
“Interesting to say the least,” Ed said.
“You seem to know the Freedom crew pretty well,” Mason said.
“They’ve been pestering us long enough. There hasn’t been a day since I’ve been on Dauntless when they haven’t harassed us. Even when we rotate out for our three weeks off, a group of them harass us on land. Gwyneth even showed up at my house one day, trying to ‘reason’ with me.” He shook his head. “She’s the one who refuses to listen to reason.”
“Harassing you guys on Dauntless how, exactly?” Mason asked.
“Besides shouting, waving bloody signs, and tossing stink bombs on board?” Chase asked.
“Yeah,” Rissi said, wanting to understand the depth of animosity between the two groups.
“This morning after crew one transported out for their leave,” Ed began, “Erik dove down to take a look at one of the risers we were getting a pressure warning on and discovered two of the buoyancy cakes all jacked up. That’s when we called Chase in.”
“Let me guess,” Chase said. “Gwyneth and Nate were diving underneath the platform again?”
“To what purpose?” Mason asked, curiosity dancing in his green eyes, flecks of gray—like tiny storm clouds—dotting them.
“They claim to be protecting stingrays and other sea life our ‘monstrosity of a vessel’ endangers.”
“But you think . . . ?” Mason said, giving him the lead-in.
“All of a sudden one of our risers needs repair? You tell me,” Ed said.
“You think they are compromising parts of the rigging?” Rissi asked.
“I wouldn’t put it past them or the malfunction that cost Greg his life,” Chase said.
Rissi fought to keep her expression neutral. That was some claim.
“Let me get this straight,” Mason said. “You’re saying you believe Gwyneth or someone on her team is responsible for Greg’s death?”
Chase shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”
Rissi tried to wrap her head around that possibility.
“But I’m afraid we need to put this discussion on hold until you all see Karl,” Ed said.
“Karl?” Rissi asked. “The medic Chase mentioned?”
“Yep.” Ed nodded.
“Thanks, but I assure you, I’m fine,” she said, ignoring the pain in her lower right side.
Ed chuckled. “Your boss said you’d say that.”
Her brows perked. “You talked to Noah?”
“He radioed as soon as he heard you were bypassing transport back to the ER.”
Great.
“I gave him my word you’d head to the medical bay as soon as you arrived. If you don’t go, I’m supposed to kick you off the vessel.”
She studied Ed’s deadpan expression. The man wasn’t kidding.
“We’ll go,” Mason said, barely brushing her right side as he placed his hand on her lower back.
She winced, biting the inside of her cheek to stall her grunt of pain. “Mason, I’m fine.”
He dipped his chin, his brows rising. He wasn’t buying it.
“Fine.” She exhaled. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Great.” Ed turned to Chase. “You do the honors.”
“About time,” Chase said, lowering the power switch. “I could have just taken the ladder on the port side.”
“The platform is safer,” Ed said.
“Ladders and stairs are just as effective to get off the platform.” He cranked the handle and the lift rose.
“Hang on,” Ed said as the platform jerked and rose.
Rissi gripped the railing, as did Mason. Chase just linked his arms across his chest. Talk about antagonistic . . .
Reaching the top deck, they found another man awaiting them. Brown semicropped hair, probably an inch or two shorter than Ed, but about the same weight.
“Adam,” Ed said, greeting a man Rissi would peg as only a handful of years older than her. “Would you kindly see these three to Karl straightaway?”
“Of course.” Adam nodded.
“I’ll take a pass,” Chase said.
“No,” Ed said. “You won’t.”
“I don’t work for you.” Chase’s voice was cold, like the ocean air swirling around them.
“You’re contracted by Textra, not to mention on the company payroll. You’re required to abide by company rules.”
Chase released a humorless chuckle. “There’s a rule for this?”
“If you’ve been in an accident or injured in any way, you have to be cleared by the medic before you can return to work.”
“Whatever.” Chase stalked off.
Ed inhaled, then blew it out in a rush. “Ignore Chase. He can be . . .” He shrugged. “There’s no need to go into what he can be.” He turned to the man still waiting at the platform’s edge. “These are CGIS Agents Mason Rogers and Rissi Dawson.”
“Adam Jones,” he greeted them. “Glad you both made it.” He gestured for them to follow him.
“After you,” Mason said, moving aside for Rissi to step down the ramp that started where the platform ended.
Mason had always been considerate as a teen in a gritty, rough-around-the-edges sort of way, but now he was a mature, considerate gentleman. She liked it.
He followed her onto the deck.
Enormous structures—white buildings, yellow pipes, and production apparatus—covered the entire top deck. The whir of machinery spun around Rissi.
“You’ll need to wear these at all times when on deck,” Adam said, pulling white hard hats from a yellow metal cage.
“Got it.” She placed the oversized hard hat on, ignoring, or at least attempting to ignore, the slight smile tugging at the corner of Mason’s mouth. Either he liked the sight of the hat teetering on her head, or she looked like she felt—a total goofball.
Adam slipped one on himself. “Medic’s in the main tower.” He pointed toward the aft of the ship and at what had to be at least a six-story-high building with windows on every level. The top one had an entire row of windows spanning the full, curved front of it.
“That’s the bridge.” He walked as he talked. “Main control room. Rest of the control rooms are also in the tower, as we call it, along with living quarters, rec center, gym, galley, and a shop for things we might forget to bring from home.”
Making their way to the structure, Adam led them through the first door on the left. The tower was white—odd choice for an oil production and storage facility. But other than some scuff marks on the floor, the hall looked surprisingly clean. “Here’s where we get suited up and cleaned off,” Adam said, pointing at the door on their right. “It keeps the rest of the quarters fairly clean.” He indicated the stairs. “Medic’s on level three.”
Adam headed up the red metal steps. “I was sorry to hear about Max.”
Had his voice caught on Max’s name? “Did you know Max?” Rissi asked.
“Yeah.” Adam paused, looking back. “He’s the one who flies—” he inhaled—“flew our crew rotations in and out.”
“Rogers. Dawson!” Rissi turned back to see Ed perched on the bottom step, looking up. “I almost forgot. Agent Rowley asked for you to call him as soon as you’re cleared by Karl.”
“Roger that,” Mason said.
Hopefully Karl cleared them. Worst-case scenario, she had a bruised rib. It definitely wasn’t broken. She’d endured that intensity of pain before, and this wasn’t close.
All she wanted to do was to get on with the investigation. She had zero desire to play guinea pig for the next hour while a stranger examined her—a male stranger. Her stomach flipped. She’d purposely handpicked female doctors, still unable to si
t through an exam with a man.
Besides, she knew her own body and what was best for it. And that definitely wasn’t a male stranger touching her, let alone poking and prodding with stethoscopes or tongue depressors.
“You all right?” Mason asked below his breath as they followed Adam down the third-floor corridor, passing the galley as they went. “Ris?” he said again, not letting her off the hook.
She was hoping she could get away without answering, but she should have known Mason wouldn’t ignore a concern for her. No wonder elation swam through her at the thought of him being back in her life—physically, at least. Mentally and emotionally, he’d been with her all along, dancing through thoughts, memories, and dreams.
Dear Diary,
Today is the first day I’m writing in you. You are a precious gift from Mason.
Every time I write his name, every time I think of him, my insides tumble over. It’s the strangest sensation, but one I don’t want to go a day without.
I wonder what he thinks of me. If he thinks of me.
He must to have given me this gift. I don’t even know how he bought it. It’s beautiful, and it hasAslan’s crest in bronze on the burgundy cover. He remembered how much I adore the CHRONICLES OF NARNIA. Maybe we’ll read aloud in the crawl space again tonight. If he sneaks in after Hank’s asleep.
I pray he comes to see me. He has every night for the last month. He’s the only peace I have here. With him, I feel safe.
“Ris.” Mason’s hushed whisper grew in intensity, his breath tickling her ear. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed, shifting her mind back to the present. “I’m fine.”
He tilted his head. “I know better.”
Great. He still possessed the ability to see right through her.
She exhaled. “I don’t like male doctors.” She pinned her gaze forward. She’d never admitted that to anyone. She swallowed, wondering what he thought of her confession, nervous he’d view her as weak.
Mason offered a gentle smile. “Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?”
She narrowed her gaze. Noah had ordered them to the medical bay. During their time at the children’s home—also known as Hank’s House of Horrors—Mason had viewed Hank’s rules and orders as challenges to break. But those rules had come from a sadistic man, not their CGIS boss.