Dark Hunt: A Ryan Weller Thriller

by Evan Graver

  Texas Ranger

  Over the wreck of El Paso City

  As soon as Emily and Shelly were clear of the landing platform on the crane ship, the helicopter lifted off and raced back toward shore.

  Emily was no stranger to ships. It was her job to know them well, and she had been on everything from a rowboat to a Panamax freighter, but the Texas Ranger boasted the biggest crane she’d ever seen.

  The two women made their way to the accommodation ladder hanging from the side of the vessel. At the bottom of the steps, they boarded a twenty-five-foot SAFE Defender rigid hull inflatable boat, or RIB, with twin Mercury outboards. They took seats in the air-conditioned cabin, and the pilot ordered the lines cast off, then maneuvered the RIB away from the much larger vessel. He spun the wheel and threw the throttles forward, making a wide circle around the fleet of workboats. Emily was thankful for the specially designed shock-mitigating seats as they bounced over waves and wakes.

  She looked eagerly out the window at the Peggy Lynn’s red hull and took deep breaths through her nose, slowly exhaling out her mouth, trying to control her heart rate. Get it together, Emily, she told herself. Never in her relationship with Kyle had she felt like a giddy schoolgirl ready to see her crush, which was the only way she could describe the butterflies in her stomach and her racing heart in anticipation of seeing Ryan. Emily gripped the bar on the seatback in front of her to stop her hands from shaking.

  “You okay?” Shelly asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Shelly nodded, but Emily imagined that she knew the real answer: she was both elated and terrified to see Ryan again. She needed to focus on her work and forget about the rest, but that was easier said than done.

  The Defender came alongside Peggy Lynn, and the two women climbed aboard. They greeted the people on deck, all of whom Emily had met, except for Anthony and Gary.

  “Ryan’s in the recompression chamber,” Stacey informed her. “Just in case you were wondering.”

  “Okay,” Emily said, struggling to keep her voice neutral, even though she wanted to add snarkily, ‘I wasn’t.’

  “Come up to the bridge and we’ll go over the operation,” Stacey said.

  Dennis politely asked if any of them wanted coffee or something else to drink. All declined, and Stacey explained how the ghost ship had collided with the EPC and the work they were doing to recover the ship. “We’ve already pumped out the fuel to mitigate risks to the environment, and with the subsea cable out of the way, we’ll roll the barge upright. Once we get a clear picture of the damage, we’ll know what we’re facing, but for now, the plan is to weld temporary plates over the holes in the hull. We’ll pump out the water and stabilize her with lift bags while the Texas Ranger picks her up.”

  “What if you can’t lift her?” Emily asked, examining the barge’s deck plans.

  “Then we’ll cut off her superstructure and remove the rest of the equipment from her deck.”

  “The ship will be a total loss if you do that,” the insurance investigator stated.

  “More or less,” Shelly replied.

  “What do you think, Captain Law?” Emily asked.

  “It’s a sound plan.” Dennis sipped his coffee and watched the men working on the subsea cable carousel, which now sat on the barge that Star of Galveston had brought out several days ago.

  Shelly added, “We hope to get EPC up and send her to a dry dock for full repairs and refit.”

  “What about the cable?” Emily inquired, joining Dennis at the window.

  “We’ll take the carousel off Fort Stockton and put the EPC’s carousel on her. The tangled cable will take longer to lay, but hopefully it will unspool with minimum fuss.”

  Emily asked, “If it doesn’t?”

  Dennis shrugged. “That’s not my department.”

  “How far behind are you on the job?” Emily asked.

  “The entire operation was supposed to take ten days,” Shelly said. “Right now, we’re two weeks behind, and we’re losing money every day.”

  “When can I look at the wreck?” Emily asked.

  Stacey ran a hand through her purple hair. “You can do it now or wait until we roll her over.”

  “I have to do it now.”

  “I’ll send you with Gary. All my other divers are doing their surface intervals.”

  Emily nodded, even though she would rather dive with Ryan. She trusted him underwater, and he’d saved her life when a swift current had swept her off a wreck and she’d breathed her tank dry. “Can we go now?”

  Stacey leaned out of the bridge door and shouted for Gary to join them. The Marine ran up the stairs and stood in the doorway. “Emily wants to dive on EPC. Get a couple of tanks ready while she gets changed.”

  “Roger that,” Gary said, and he went to prepare his dive gear.

  Stacey took Emily down to her stateroom, and Emily changed out of her clothes into a red bikini before pulling on her wetsuit. Back on deck, she removed her Dive Rite harness and wing from her gear bag and strapped it to a steel tank Gary had prepared before she screwed her regulator set to the tank valve. He told her the tank would provide all the extra weight she would need.

  “You have a seven-foot hose on your primary regulator,” Gary stated, checking her setup.

  “Ryan built this for me a long time ago.”

  Gary looked up sharply. “You’re that Emily?”

  Nodding sheepishly, Emily admitted that she was. She was already sweating in the wetsuit, and the interrogating look Gary was giving her was making her feel even hotter. A flush of red crept up her neck and colored her cheeks.

  The bear of a man stuck his hand out. “Glad to meet you, despite what that jerk Ryan says about you.”

  Emily shook his hand and said, “Likewise. What does that jerk say about me?”

  As she sat down on the dressing bench, Gary said, “He’s never said anything bad about you. I just like busting his chops.”

  “Oh,” was all Emily said before slipping on her fins and shrugging the harness’s straps over her shoulders. She stole a glance at the recompression chamber, wondering how long Ryan would be in it. She didn’t know why it surprised her that he’d said nothing bad about her. He had every right to.

  “You ready?” Gary asked.

  “Yes.” Emily snapped her camera housing closed and clipped it to her BCD.

  “Good. The current isn’t bad today, so we’ll make a free descent to the wreck, check out the damage on the bow, and come up the mooring ball rope located there. If you need something or want to cancel the dive, use the tank banger.” He pointed at a small plastic ball on a piece of bungee cord wrapped around the tank. The snap of the ball against steel would create a loud bang, attracting the attention of anyone nearby.

  “You don’t have to worry about Em,” Stacey said. “She’s a great diver.”

  Emily gave her a thankful smile, then pulled on her mask, put the regulator in her mouth, stepped over the rail behind Gary into the glistening blue water. She felt self-conscious with Gary right beside her, but as they swam, he seemed to relax and give her more space. She took lots of photos of what she could see of the collision impact point, as the barge’s position on the seabed hid most of it. The unforgiving sea was already trying to claim the wreck for herself, coating it in a layer of slime. Big silver barracudas lingered in packs along the wreck, their predatory snouts jutting into the current. A nurse shark lay in the sand close to the hull.

  It was Gary who signaled for them to go up. Emily glanced at her computer. She had plenty of air left, but they were almost into their no-decompression limits. They swam to the mooring line hooked to the barge’s bow and slowly drifted up to fifteen feet for their three-minute safety stop. Emily snapped a few more photos and hooked the camera to the D-ring on the shoulder strap of her BCD.

  Aboard Peggy Lynn, Emily stripped off her gear and used a freshwater hose to rinse the salt from it before she showered in Stacey’s cabin. When she returned to the main deck,
she found Gary, Stacey, and Travis sitting on the dressing bench, talking to Ryan.

  She stopped for a moment, taking in her ex-boyfriend’s six-foot frame clad in surf shorts, his muscles rippling under his glistening tan skin. The butterflies returned to her stomach. His hair was longer, and he appeared happy, laughing at something one of them had said. Then he looked right at her and smiled.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ryan’s breath caught in his chest as he smiled at Emily Hunt. She was more beautiful than he remembered.

  She was there because her job was to investigate wrecks and accidents, and to ensure the companies weren’t trying to scam Ward and Young, but it surprised him that she had come and not another investigator. He turned away, not wanting to show how much he still cared for her, although he was sure it was evident in the stupid smile that made his cheeks hurt. He’d watched her gear up through the tiny porthole in the recompression chamber, and when she’d cast a glance his way, he’d jerked back and slammed his head into the roof. The back of his skull still hurt, but nothing compared to the ache in his heart.

  Emily walked over and sat down beside Stacey. Ryan shifted to his left, slowly moving away from the group, and walking to the bridge.

  Dennis glanced at Ryan as he entered. “Avoiding the ex?”

  Ryan shrugged. Dennis had married his Peggy, the salvage boat’s namesake, shortly after he’d graduated high school, and they’d had three children together. The sea captain and Peggy had been together for over forty years before she passed away from cancer. The old man hardly talked about his marriage, children, or grandkids, but Ryan knew he missed them. Dennis also rarely offered relationship advice, and when he did, Ryan usually shut up and listened. Today, the older man just turned back to the window, watching the other ships at work.

  Tomorrow, one of DWR’s crew boats would arrive with more divers, and the work would begin in earnest on raising El Paso City, giving the divers on Peggy Lynn a much-needed break.

  “You okay, Dennis?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You sure? You haven’t seemed like yourself lately.” Ryan had noticed that he’d been more quiet than usual since breaking his arm.

  Dennis continued to watch the ships and took a sip of coffee. Ryan wondered how much Jim Beam was in the cup. The captain’s use of the alcoholic beverage to self-medicate had its ups and downs, and when Dennis got into a mood, he drank more.

  “It’s about time to hang up my spurs.”

  “I didn’t know you were a bull rider,” Ryan quipped.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Dennis’s tone told Ryan to quit making jokes; this was a serious conversation. “What are you talking about?”

  “After this job.” He took another sip and turned to face Ryan. “I’m giving Peggy to Travis and Stacey.” Ryan’s expression must have betrayed his disappointment because Dennis went on. “They love this old gal and they’ve made it their home. I’d give her to you, but you’re always gallivanting off to do something or other.”

  Ryan nodded. “What about your kids?”

  “They don’t care about this old tub, never have. You know that.”

  He understood, but this was a double blow. First, Emily had shown up, and now Dennis was quitting. He felt like his world was spinning off its axis. “Have you talked to anyone else about this?”

  “Emery. He’s ready, too. He’s eighty-five and having a harder and harder time getting around the boat.”

  “I’ve noticed, but I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “Well, don’t,” Dennis said bluntly. “This is our decision, and I don’t want anyone to know about it until we’re ready to tell them.”

  “So why tell me?”

  “I wanted you to be the first to know.” Dennis sipped from his mug. “Are you going back in the water?”

  Ryan shook his head. “No.”

  “Join me.” Dennis motioned to the bottle of Jim Beam on the counter by the coffee maker.

  Ryan poured himself a healthy dose of whiskey into a coffee mug. “What are we drinking to?”

  “To old friends who pulled me out of a funk and got me back to living. Thank you.”

  The liquor burned down Ryan’s throat, and warmth spread through his rib cage. Neither of them had the words to express what the other meant to him, so they just shared a silent moment together.

  Dennis filled in the gap. “It’s like this, Ryan. I’m telling you because you deserve to hear it from me. You put together this crew, and we’ve had some good times and some bad. It was hard on all of us when we found out you were in prison, but we pushed on. We had work to do and it was good for us.”

  “I sense a ‘but,’” Ryan said.

  “Yeah, there’s a ‘but.’ My sea legs aren’t what they used to be. Travis is a damn fine leader, and Stacey reminds me of Peggy; she’s smart and capable and a planner. You need yourself one of those.” He patted the ship’s wheel with love and reverence. “Those two kids will do all right with Peggy.”

  Ryan held up his mug. “Here’s to your retirement. Fair winds and following seas.”

  Capt. Dennis Law clinked his cup against Ryan’s, and they shot back the bourbon whiskey. Ryan filled his empty cup with coffee and took a sip. The first day he’d met Dennis, he’d had a pot of strong, bitter coffee brewing, and despite his attempt to change the man’s taste in coffee beans, the coffee hadn’t changed. Ryan figured that what he was drinking now could strip paint. He swirled the coffee in his cup, staring into the black void.

  Just how I like it, he thought. Black like my soul. He felt little joy today. Have all my negative thoughts manifested themselves today?

  He should have been elated to see Emily, but he had no idea how to handle the situation, or if he should even approach her. In the end, he decided it was safer to stand on the bridge and drink coffee. It was better to pine secretly than to be rejected twice.

  Shelly Hughes stepped onto the bridge. “Ryan, grab your kit. Greg wants you on the beach.”

  Dennis turned and put a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck, son.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Fifteen minutes later, when Ryan climbed aboard the RIB, he wore running shoes, gray cargo pants, and a blue moisture-wicking polo shirt bearing the DWR company logo of an old brass dive helmet surrounded by the words ‘Dark Water Research’ on his left breast. He carried his Walther PPQ on his right hip. He preferred this gun to the Glock 19. It fit his hand better, and he liked the fit and finish of the German pistol with its specially designed trigger for use if the gun became submerged in water. Plus, Ryan was an old sailor, and anything designed for the Navy just had to be better in his mind.

  Shelly and Emily waited for him to drive them to town. He took control of the Defender and ran them to shore, having to negotiate around the heavily laden ferry traveling between El Bluff and Bluefields. Ryan made his way around it and cruised into Bluefields, looking for a place to dock the RIB. He found a slot at the municipal dock and saw Wyn loading his fishing boat for a charter. The two men exchanged pleasantries while the women walked up the street. Neither had said a word to him on the run in.

  When Ryan had left Bluefields to find the Galina Jovovich, it had been early morning and the docks were nearly empty. Now, colorfully dressed men, women, and children crowded the sidewalks and streets, waiting for the ferry beside trucks overladen with luggage, giant bunches of bananas, and crates of oranges, pineapples, and papayas. Street vendors sold roasted nuts, cooked and fresh fish, lobster tails, and meals of meat, rice, and vegetables. The smell of grilled corn and roasting pork filled the air.

  His gaze took in the people from one end of the street to the other. Most of the men wore blue jeans and soccer shirts; others wore only shorts. The women wore bright dresses, and many bounced babies on their hips. He paused to look over a set of low tables piled high with freshly caught fish. The proprietor rolled them in newspaper for his customers and squatted beside the curb, smoking cigarettes
, and fidgeting with his blue straw fedora.

  Ryan bought a glass of mixed fruit juice, squeezed while he watched, from a vender with a rolling cart and sipped it as he walked to the hotel and up to Greg’s suite. He found his friends gathered around the table.

  “What do you need, Greg? We’ve got diving to do,” Ryan said.

  “I want you to take Emily to the breakers, so she can look at the Galina and see if her client’s ship is there.”

  “What’s the point of looking at the ghost ship?” Ryan said. “They’ll break it and we’ll get paid our claim.”

  “Someone once told me that every stolen vessel has a story to tell,” Emily said, staring right at him. “In order to interpret that story, you have to treat it like a crime scene and put together the pieces of the puzzle.”

  Ryan snorted. It was a line he’d used when they’d first met, and he’d intended for it to convince her to go to Key West with him, not to be used as a mantra. Besides, the Galina wouldn’t tell any stories. She was just another derelict ready for the scrapheap.

  Greg laughed. “That’s an interesting thought.”

  “If you could feel it, I’d kick you in the shin,” Ryan said.

  With a grin, Greg jokingly pulled back his fist. “Want to see who can punch in the leg the hardest?”

  “Calm down, boys,” Shelly admonished.

  “Seriously, I just want to see the Galina Jovovich for myself,” Emily said, “and look for the Explorer.”

  Ryan knew he wasn’t going to get out of this, and besides, it was a chance to be alone with Emily, so he didn’t know why he was balking so hard. He nodded. “You ready to go now?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Ryan led Emily back to the Defender. After paying the bill for leaving the boat alongside the dock, they climbed in. He started the engines and eased them away from the crowded marina. They had to cross the shallow Bay of Bluefields to reach the shipping channel that led up the Escondido River, and as they idled out the channel, Ryan pulled alongside Wyn, who was also making his way across, and yelled, “Wanna race?”