by Dani Pettrey
It was a shame Lucas hadn’t inherited any of his uncle’s discipline or fortitude. He was a floater like his mom, drifting from one thing to the next—never finishing anything.
When Caleb learned Lucas wasn’t in school, he’d freak. Rissi hated to be the one to tell him.
Ed stopped at the edge of the char marks marring the concrete and running up the outer wall of the separator building. “It was a high-temperature fire,” he said.
“Man overboard!” The shout echoed over the whirr of the machines. “Port side, amidships.”
Mason followed the holler to find Adam standing on the railed passageway on the top floor of the tower. He was pointing to the port side, his arm waving frantically.
Mason rushed to the port-side rail, followed by Ed and Rissi as a shrill alarm rent the air.
A spotlight flashed across the choppy sea below. Its beam swept over movement in the water. A man’s flailing arms.
Mason climbed up the railing, straddling it.
“What are you doing?” Rissi asked, her eyes widening.
“Be right back.” He jumped off the side feetfirst.
“Maaasonnn.” Her beautiful voice echoed from above.
Air rushed up to meet him until he smacked into the ocean—a column of water enveloping him. Moving with the current, he kicked for the surface. Rising above the churning sea, he did a one-eighty until his eyes locked on the spotlight. He caught a glimmer of a hand a few inches above the waves and swam for it before the man sank entirely.
A splash of water smacked behind Mason as he grabbed the hand slipping beneath the surface. Locking on the man’s wrist, he heaved up until the man’s head rose above the water.
The man spluttered, seawater spewing from his mouth as he clawed for Mason.
He heard someone swimming toward them but dared not turn, lest the man shove him under in an effort to save himself.
Despite the salty scent of the sea and the fresh air, the heavy odor of strong alcohol oozed from the man’s breath.
“Stop!” Mason hollered as the man scrambled to climb up on him in an attempt to find stability, but he was only managing to push Mason under.
Having no choice, Mason jabbed his elbow back hard. A splintering crack resounded, and the man let go. He sputtered, trying to cover his nose as waves washed over him.
Mason took advantage of the man’s confusion and moved around him, placing him in a choke hold from behind.
“Well done,” a burly man said, swimming up to them as yet another man jumped into the water. “I can take him from here.”
“Sure,” Mason said, letting him swap places.
“Thank goodness you were bold and jumped,” the man said. “Jayce was crashed out in his bunk, and I was in the shower. By the time we made it into the water, it might have been too late for Peter.”
“Peter . . . as in Greg Barnes’s roommate?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“You must be Garrett. Part of the damage control team,” Mason said as a rubber raft rounded the platform for them.
“You got it,” Garrett said. “You’re CGIS?”
“Yes. Mason Rogers,” he said as a second man—just as burly as Garrett but with lighter hair—joined them.
“That was a bold move, dude,” he said.
“More instinct, I think.” He reacted rather than thought when it came to those situations, and it’d earned him a rep in the Coast Guard. “Always pushes limits” his quarterly reports inevitably read. A vein of recklessness still coursed inside. He didn’t think that would ever fully dissipate, but the angry-at-the-world pain he carried as a teen had ebbed when he accepted Christ as his Savior.
The raft bobbed beside them.
After Garrett rolled a stunned and cussing Peter into the raft, Mason climbed in and the second swimmer followed.
“You must be Jayce,” Mason said.
Jayce took a seat. “One and the same.”
Mason shifted as pent-up adrenaline loosened its grip, releasing warmth through his chilled limbs. He didn’t believe in curses, but even he had to admit the Dauntless seemed to beckon danger.
NINETEEN
Mason stepped onto the dive platform as Garrett and Jayce headed for the medical bay with the very inebriated and disoriented Peter.
Rissi handed Mason a mariner-style blanket and helped him wrap it around his shoulders. “I’d ask if you’ve got a death wish, but . . .”
“But?” he asked at her dropped sentence.
“Your . . . let’s just call it bravery, saved a man’s life.”
He didn’t know about bravery. For him, there wasn’t any fear involved, and he’d been told that true bravery meant acting in spite of fear.
“Let’s get you another set of dry clothes,” Ed said, leading Mason toward the tower.
“And something hot to drink,” Rissi added.
Ten minutes later he was outfitted in a new set of Textra Oil sweats. Along with an extra pair of Ed’s boots—thankfully close enough in size to work. He joined Rissi and Ed back on the main deck, where a westerly wind howled through the metal corridors that the machinery’s placement formed, to continue the conversation they’d begun regarding Greg’s death.
“I thought it would be helpful to have Garrett and Jayce join us as they can speak to the fire itself and better detail the event for you. The rest of us just stared in horror as Greg . . .” Ed inhaled and, lowering his head, pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I can’t imagine,” Rissi said, giving him a graceful cutoff.
Mason couldn’t imagine seeing a coworker—seeing anyone for that matter—burning to death. It had to be horrific.
“Garrett and Jayce should be out here shortly,” Ed said. “After escorting Peter to the medical bay for Karl to tend to, they went to change out of their wet clothes.”
“In the meantime,” Mason said, “why don’t you walk us through what you saw.”
“Sure,” Ed said. “I was in the control room. We’d had a seamless crew rotation, minus the two men from crew two who called out.”
“Called out because?” Rissi asked.
Ed shook his head with a hearty exhale. “You aren’t going to believe me, but Rob and Joey bought into this whole asinine curse nonsense.”
“Curse?” Mason said.
“Oh, right,” Ed said. “You wouldn’t have heard.”
“Actually, we heard about it,” Rissi said.
Ed arched his brows. “Oh?”
“One of the old fishermen in town was talking about a curse—Henry’s curse—but we couldn’t stay and listen to the whole story.”
“Those old fishermen love to tell tales.” Ed clasped the side rail with his right hand, propping his booted foot on the lowest rung. “It’s all nonsense, just stupid superstition, but some of the guys have bought into the legend. You put an idea in someone’s head, put them out to sea for three weeks, and they’ll start seeing signs of the curse in everyday occurrences.”
“Everyday occurrences like . . . ?” Rissi asked.
“Like Greg’s death. Some of the men are blaming the curse.”
“But you don’t believe that?”
“Of course not.” Ed snorted. “Greg’s death was an unfortunate accident.”
“You feel confident it was an accident?” Mason asked.
“Absolutely.” Ed’s brow furrowed. “Don’t tell me you two have curse fever too?”
“No,” Rissi said. “Absolutely not.”
“What we’re asking is whether you’re confident it was an accident and not foul play?” Mason said.
Ed’s forehead bunched. “Foul play?” He shifted his stance. “What are you suggesting?”
“Not suggesting anything,” Mason said. “But it’s our job to determine if Greg’s death was an accident or—”
“Or what?” Ed asked.
“Or if his death was intentional,” Mason said.
Ed’s craggy blue eyes narrowed. “As in murder? Is that what you’re
saying?”
“Murder?” Garrett stepped up behind them, now clad in dry clothes.
“Shh,” Ed said. “Don’t start circulating that nonsense.”
“We’re not saying there was foul play,” Rissi said. “We’re saying it’s our job to confirm whether or not it was an accident.”
“But the alternative to an accident is murder,” Jayce said, joining them.
“We don’t want to spook the crew,” Mason said. Especially if they were already freaked about some curse. But figuring out what happened was their job.
“This is my teammate, CGIS Special Agent Rissi Dawson,” Mason said to Jayce and Garrett before they continued.
They greeted her, shaking her hand in turns.
Ed turned to Garrett and Jayce. “Could you guys walk the agents through what happened?”
“Of course,” Garrett said, his voice deep.
“Actually, Ed,” Mason said, “let’s go ahead and finish with what you saw before we move on to Garrett and Jayce.”
“Sure,” Ed said. “Where was I?”
“You were in the control room.”
Ed inhaled and released it in a stream. “Right, I was in the control room. Shift one—7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.—rotated off. They were heading to the galley to eat. Shift two was starting their twelve-hour shift. Everything appeared to be routine. Then all of a sudden the fire alarm goes off. Seconds later, I get a frantic radio call from Adam yelling someone was on fire.”
“Did he say who?”
“No. I don’t think he knew at that point. He’d come out of the separator building and heard screaming. He rounded the corner and saw—” Ed swallowed. “That’s when I called Garrett and Jayce, who were already pulling on gear and rushing out. I raced out after them.” He paused, appearing uneasy about continuing.
“And then?” Mason asked, wanting to keep them on a roll. Wanted the information to flow without them pausing to think. That’s how he got the most accurate information. When people stopped to think, they often analyzed and prefaced things rather than just saying it straight.
“Then Garrett and Jayce took over,” Ed said.
“How’d you put out the fire?”
“With AFFF,” Garrett said.
“It’s a foam concentrate used for chemical flame inhibition,” Jayce explained. “It interrupts the chemical chain reaction and kills the flame. It’s the preferred method with gas or liquid fuel.”
“How’d you know it was a gas fire?”
“I watched the flames,” Jayce said. “You can tell what’s feeding the flames by how they move.”
“Did you smell gas?” Rissi asked Ed.
“No.” He shook his head. “In its raw state, natural gas has no scent. It’s why we rely so heavily on the gas sensors to alert us to leaks.”
“And it didn’t go off?” Rissi asked.
“No,” Ed said, slipping his thumbs into the belt loops of his weathered jeans.
“And you said that hasn’t happened before. Is that correct?” Mason asked.
“Not on Dauntless.”
“So Greg would’ve had no idea there was a leak before he lit that cigarette?”
“With natural gas being odorless, I don’t see how he could have,” Ed said.
“Poor dude,” Jayce said. “He was so nervous about the curse with everything going on, probably figured the smoke would calm him down.”
Rissi’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by ‘everything going on’?”
“A lot has gone wrong since we started,” Jayce said. “People getting sick . . .”
“Lack of hot water,” Garrett added.
“Parts overheating . . . You name—” Jayce looked at Ed and stopped short.
“It’s just . . . uh . . . what I’m . . . uh . . . hearing.”
“Thanks, boys,” Ed said through thin lips. “I think we’re done here.”
He looked at Rissi. “Is that right, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you. If we think of any follow-up questions for you two, we’ll find you.”
Garrett and Jayce nodded and strode away at a fast clip. But not before Mason caught a glimpse of Garrett punching Jayce in the shoulder. Rambling on about the curse in front of the boss probably hadn’t been the best idea. No wonder Ed was so frustrated. Things going wrong on a vessel with such a complex operating system certainly didn’t mean curses existed. But as Ed said, you put an idea in a man’s head, and he’ll start seeing it in everything.
“When will you know what failed in the compressor to cause the gas leak?” Mason asked.
“I have my best mechanics tearing it apart to find out, but it’ll take at least a full day’s work, if not more, to get it completely disassembled and determine which part failed.” He shifted his stance. “When Joel is discharged from the hospital, and we get him out here, he will do a full investigation and review. I’ll make sure you get a copy of his report.”
“Thank you,” Rissi said.
“Hang on.” Mason’s stance widened. “You’re saying there were two different equipment failures in one night? The leak and the gas sensor failing?”
Ed shrugged. “Had to be.” His gaze narrowed at Mason. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but no one on my crew would intentionally harm another crew member. We’re family. A family of roughnecks, maybe, but a family all the same.” He cast his gaze out over the water. “If any foul play was involved—and that’s a big if—you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“Oh?” Mason’s brows arched.
“If anything was done to intentionally harm someone on this platform, it’s them”—Ed pointed at the Freedom anchored less than two hundred yards off their starboard side—“you should be looking at.”
“The Freedom crew?” Mason asked, surprised Ed agreed with Chase’s earlier accusation.
“Those dang protestors have been hounding us since we anchored. They were here for the drilling, and now they are harassing us all through production.”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “No one aboard the Freedom seemed happy about your presence.”
Monstrosity had been the term they’d used for the Dauntless, if he recalled correctly.
“They are like buzzing gnats. They never let up. I’m surprised they’re quiet now. They usually work in shifts to keep up the protesting around the clock.”
“They know there was a death on board. Maybe their silence is a sign of respect.”
Ed snorted. “Sign of respect?” He shook his head with a whistle. “They have zero respect for us.”
“The majority of them being marine biologists or other scientists, I’m sure they are worried about the impact Dauntless might have on the environment,” Rissi said.
“We’ve already been through this.” Ed sighed. “We adhere to the stiffest regulations. They are just mad that we’ve found oil off the Eastern Seaboard.”
“I imagine they think if you’re successful, Dauntless will be just the start of oil production along the East Coast.”
“They can think or worry all they want, they aren’t going to stop oil companies. Look at the Deepwater Horizon disaster. They had the two corporate rig supervisors, Donald Vidrine and Robert Kaluza, up for manslaughter for the eleven deaths and the charges were dropped. They got off scot-free. Oil companies are out of reach. You can’t stop them. You can get fines out of them, but millions are like pennies to them.”
“Doesn’t sound like you respect the industry you work for very much,” Mason said.
“I respect my crew. I was raised with a good work ethic, unlike a lot of folks today, and I love being on the water. I do my job well, and I take pride in it. When a man goes down on my crew, I will find out what happened. But if there was foul play, I’m telling you, you’re looking at the wrong vessel.”
“Okay, let’s say hypothetically that foul play was involved,” Rissi said, “and someone on the Freedom was responsible, how would they get on board without anyone seeing them?”
“
This platform is huge. We can’t be everywhere at once. And we’ve already caught them diving underneath the vessel.”
“Right, the buoyancy cakes,” Mason said.
“Exactly. It wouldn’t be that hard to use one of the ladders to come up and then back down, disappearing beneath the surface.”
It sounded a bit farfetched to Mason, but if foul play was involved, he understood it was easier for Ed to think it had been an outsider rather than one of his own crew. And he had seen people go to great lengths—even deadly ones—for a cause.
He prayed Greg Barnes’s death was a horrible accident, but the chances of two equipment failures in one night, along with a helicopter crash, seemed beyond slim. They were definitely missing something.
TWENTY
An hour and a half and several cups of tea later, Finn finished processing Brooke’s house. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe. “I called Noah,” he said to Brooke. “I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t feel right, with us heading across the country, for you to be dealing with this on your own. Noah will be here anytime you need him.”
“That’s sweet of you, but not necessary.”
The doorbell rang.
“That would be him.” Finn pushed off the doorframe and headed to the front door. “Hey, man.”
Brooke and Gabby stood and walked into the front room.
“Thanks for coming over,” Gabby said as her brother, Noah, stepped inside, ducking his six-three stature to pass through Brooke’s five-ten entryway. Apparently, the builder and original owner felt that was a tall enough doorway. Brooke liked the quirkiness of it and the many other idiosyncrasies of the house, but it made it interesting for the taller people who visited.
“Yes, thank you.” Brooke reached out and shook his hand. His touch was warm and soothing. He always exuded a measure of calm assurance. Their paths had crossed professionally many times, but it was only at the family gathering at Nana Jo’s last weekend where she really got a glimpse of him outside of work.