“We’ll take it easy,” he reassured her, guiding the Chinook toward the airport. “A little scuba diving, walks on the sand in our bare feet, and we’ll watch the gulls sail on the wind.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Sloan said, meeting his eyes for a moment. She could feel Dan wanting her, wishing that she would have agreed to stay and camp out on the beach. It was such a balancing act and stressed her out more as a result. Nothing was easy.
*
They rented a truck at the airport, and it took him fifteen minutes to drive to the coast, the sparkling sea flowing out from the yellow beach of fine sand. There was a huge, curved hook of land sheltering a large area between it and the beach where they checked their gear before wading into the water. They changed on opposite sides of the truck. The place was deserted and pristine at this time of the morning. Far out on the Red Sea, Dan could see several tanker and container ships in their lanes. There were many, many wrecks beneath the water because the reefs that extended out from the beach were plentiful and treacherous. Those same reefs were a draw for scuba divers from around the world.
Dan put on his weight belt, air tank, and breathing gear, hanging it over his shoulder. He looked forward to swimming into that wonderland, remembering how he and Sloan used to scuba dive together. They would take a flight from Bagram to the Hawaiian Islands, or somewhere closer, and spend five days diving in the surrounding seas. Those had been some of their most enjoyable times.
He pulled the fins out from the box he’d placed in the rear of the truck. His gloves were tucked into his weight belt. He never went into the water without a good knife in a scabbard attached around his lower right calf, also. There were a lot of hammerhead and aggressive bull sharks in this area. Many of them frequented the shallow reefs because of the old shipwrecks where the fish of the sea lived. Those fish were their meals. Because of this, scuba divers who wanted to appreciate the beauty and color of the reefs along the coastline also had danger at every turn. It wasn’t for the faint-of-heart, and divers had to stay on guard and alert.
Dan stood by the hood of the truck, his back to it, giving Sloan her space so she could climb into her dive gear. Since she’d blurted out that she’d fallen in love with him at Bagram, he’d been bothered by the admission. Dan didn’t know what love was—never had. Rubbing his chest, he scowled. Was this love he felt?
As he stood there, watching the gulls sailing parallel to the beach looking for critters that had washed up the night before, he once more felt like a loser.
Cursing softly under his breath, he heard Sloan walking toward him and turned. She had put her hair into a ponytail. Everything she would need he’d rented and packed for this outing. She wore a 5mm black neoprene skin with a pink accent on the arms and the sides of her thighs. She was dressed in her gear and out of habit, Dan checked the harness for the air tank she carried on her back. She looked happy, and he felt his joy ramping up, giving her a slight smile. “You look like you’re ready to go diving,” he teased.
“Who wouldn’t be?” She gestured toward the empty beach and sea beyond it. “This is perfect, Dan. It’s the right time of day, no people, and we have this place all to ourselves.”
He smiled and pulled on his dive boots and gloves, walking with her down the slight sandy incline. “It’s a favorite place of mine.” He carried a spear gun as a matter of habit, and a net bag tied onto his waist belt for any fish he killed to eat. “I’m going to try and hunt for some fish, and when we come out to change air tanks, I’ll put them in a container in the truck. We’ve got two spare tanks in the back of it so we’ll be able to make two dives. I figure by that time it will be near noon when we’ve run out of air. We’ll make a campfire, and I’ll bring the grate and other things we need to roast those fish and have a good meal before we fly back to the hangar. Sound good?”
“Does it ever! This brings back so many memories from when we would escape Bagram and spend four or five days at some seacoast and do just this.” She held his warm gaze, desperately wanting to kiss him.
“Yeah, those were good times,” he agreed. He halted at the edge of the warm water. “Let’s do a final breathing and harness check.” Sloan turned her back to him, and he quickly skimmed the hoses and the regulator, making sure everything was snug, and there were no cracks in the hoses or anything else that could endanger her life when underwater. The steel tank was full of oxygen, and he checked the fittings. Onshore, the tank weighed twenty-five pounds. In water, it was roughly eight and a half pounds, full. “You’re good to go on the back. Turn around,” he said.
She turned, meeting his narrowed eyes. His fingers moved with knowing precision focused entirely on a safety check. Even through her wetsuit, her flesh prickled pleasantly as his fingers slipped beneath the nylon shoulder harness, testing it, making sure it wasn’t too tight or loose upon her body. She could smell the salt air around them, but as he leaned in to check the goggles and mask hanging over her right shoulder, she could smell him, and it was a wonderful aphrodisiac.
“Okay,” Dan murmured, removing his hands from the equipment, “your turn to check me out.” He turned his back to her. He trusted Sloan completely because she’d been a diver since her late teens. Just having her this close, those knowing touches here and there, checking the equipment, sometimes brushing against his neoprene skin, made pleasure hum through him.
“You’re set,” she declared after checking him front and back. It wasn’t lost on her that she could see a partial erection on the skin tight neoprene wetsuit he wore. There was no way to hide it. She swallowed and kept her eyes above his waist as she pulled on her gloves. “I think we’re ready to go.”
Dan nodded. They waded into the water, leaned down, wetting their fins and then slipping them on over their boots. “I’m going to take us a specific way as we swim in and around the reef,” he told her. “There’s a cranky moray eel in one place, and we’re avoiding him for obvious reasons.”
“I’ll be happy just to follow you,” Sloan assured him with a grin. “This is your home turf. I know nothing.”
“Swim beside me,” he urged, giving her a warm glance. “You don’t need to follow me. You’re a seasoned diver.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, eagerness, and joy. It made him feel good. If only he could atone for how he’d inadvertently hurt her in Bagram.
The seawater became a darker green as they waded out into it. Above, gulls were circling and calling to one another. To Dan, it was as if all of nature was holding its breath, the quiet in the area invigorating. They were the only ones around for as far as he could see in either direction. As he got waist deep, he glanced over at Sloan who was putting the mouthpiece in place after turning on the oxygen from the tank. Her goggles were already on. She was ready to go. He gave her a boyish grin and pulled the mouthpiece in between his lips, turned on the oxygen, and pulled on his goggles. The splash next to him was Sloan diving into the water, the wavelets spreading out until she dove beneath the surface, her long legs with those long fins powering her forward with ease. She was his water baby. Warmth cascaded through his chest as he followed suit, the water closing in around him. The glass in the goggles was specially made, and he could see clearly, holding the spear gun in his right arm as he kicked powerfully, catching up to her. They swam about six feet apart.
Dan led her with a gesture to her left, and he could see the white coral ahead. She threw him a thumbs up as they swam closer, the colorful, pancake-shaped fish moving in and around the large towers. He knew she loved investigating such reefs because of all the fish, the color of the coral, and other animals that made this their home. Up ahead, he saw a reef shark swimming, about ten feet in length, trolling lazily parallel to them, sniffing the water for a scent that would turn him into the predator he was. Sharks were always to be respected, but Dan had never had a problem with this variety. Hammerheads sometimes wandered in and were a curious lot in comparison.
The bubbles released, dancing through the water and popping to the su
rface about twenty feet above them. This was what Dan referred to as a shallow reef area. The elevation was between five feet below the surface of the white sand to forty feet. It wasn’t a hard dive in that sense. He looked down, checking his instruments to make sure everything was functioning as it should. Glancing toward Sloan, he saw her make the same check. One would tell her how much oxygen was left in the tank, which was very important. Another gave her the depth of what she was swimming at. She was in top athletic shape and sliced through the green crystal depths as if she lived here and was not just a stranger visiting this colorful alien world. An odd ache centered in his chest and for a moment, Dan felt such serrating grief, that he didn’t know how to deal with it. He shifted the spear to his left hand, moved to the right, and saw her turn to look at him, a question in her eyes over what he was doing. Dan slid his hand along her cheek, giving her a look he hoped she could interpret. Her eyes widened in shock and something else in them. Something he dared not hope for but was there. Allowing his gloved hand to fall away from her cheek, Dan gestured for her to follow him to a huge, brown coral colony. There were beautiful, rainbow-colored parrotfish that lived in and around it. He turned, treading water, and pointed to the waterproof camera he had attached to his belt. That was a silent signal for Sloan to get ready to photograph. He saw her bob her head, pulling the camera up and preparing it.
As he approached the brown coral, there were fans of dark pink, bright red and green attached to the limestone. Yellow butterflyfish with vertical orange stripes across their bodies were everywhere, a blaze of color. He moved away and in front of her, pointing down toward the formation ten feet below them. He smiled when he saw the first parrotfish bumping along the surface of the coral, its beak-like mouth eating the algae from it. It was as if the parrotfish knew she was coming, and suddenly, treading water within six feet of the first one, about a dozen others swam languidly from behind another huge, cake-like brown coral. He watched her, joy cascading through him as the parrotfish seemed to realize Sloan was in love with them and not a threat. Two of the larger parrotfish came over, swimming up to the camera, and around her hair, floating behind her. They were as curious about her as she was about them.
Dan turned, treading water again, looking around. To his delight, he saw a brown and white hawksbill sea turtle swimming nearby. He caught Sloan’s attention, pointing that direction. She quickly flittered away, heading toward the turtle. They were shy, beautiful creatures, with curious dark eyes. It slowed down as it approached Sloan, its flippers white with large brown spots all over them. She moved aside, not wanting to bar the turtle’s path. She reached out, barely touching the turtle’s crescent-shaped flipper. The turtle stopped swimming and turned toward her with its black, intelligent eyes, their heads no more than three feet apart. Sloan reached out again very slowly and began to scratch the turtle’s head. If Dan could have laughed, he would have. Turtles loved to have their head scratched, and this one was no different. It floated a little closer to Sloan, eyes half closed with pleasure as it moved her gloved fingers to all the itchy parts of its skin that it couldn’t reach. Dan pulled out his camera, taking photos, branding this moment in his heart, as well.
The hawksbill was an endangered species, and here along the Sudanese coast, it was hunted even though it was illegal. It was the colorful shell that was in high demand because it could have white with brown, yellow or orange spots across it. This one had a reddish sienna color to its spots, making it look beautiful as the sunlight shimmered down through the water, embracing all the colors. Dan estimated this was probably a female and weighed at the top of the hawksbill chart—around a hundred and fifty pounds. She was a big, mature hawksbill and seemed unafraid of Sloan. Dan took more pictures. He thought it was a rare gift to see such a turtle this close to the Sudan shore. Men came out here hunting them at night, especially when going up on shore to lay their clutch of eggs in the sand. They killed them, separated the beautiful shell from the dead turtle, taking it like a trophy.
He’d already seen reports in the Khartoum newspaper, pleading with the poachers to not kill these innocent and beautiful creatures. But these men were poor, had no education, and no other trade or skills, except to kill slow-moving sea life, like the turtles, who used these sands to lay the next generation of eggs.
All too soon, they would have to leave. They had forty minutes of air in total. He gave Sloan a sign, pointing to her oxygen instrument. She nodded, lifted her hand and gently slid it over the hawksbill’s head. The turtle’s eyes opened, and she continued to hang there in the water, hoping she would scratch her some more. Dan chuckled to himself. Soon, Sloan joined him, and they slowly swam back to the area where they had originally started. One time, Sloan looked over her shoulder, and the hawksbill was following them like a dog would its master. He could feel the joy around her as she shook her head.
CHAPTER 8
By noon, Sloan was starving. They had gone out twice to dive and explore the reef. She sat beneath one of the few trees high up on the beach. The shade felt good against the intense, dry heat of midday. Dan was about twenty feet away. He’d cleaned and gutted a small grouper that he’d shot with his spear on the second dive. He had thought of everything from the grate over the fire, to the frying pan, butter, salt, and pepper. Her mouth watered. Dan brought her a bottle of cold beer from a small ice chest and served himself a cold bottle of water.
Sloan was relieved to see he wasn’t drinking and flying. She never thought Dan would do that, anyway. Since she’d arrived, she hadn’t seen him tucking beer away, and she was with him until they went to their separate apartments each evening. He looked so much younger right now, he was barefoot, his hair tousled and drying in the sunlight. He wore a white T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders and chest, and a pair of dark blue shorts that fell halfway down his hard thighs. The tension he usually carried in his face was gone. Sloan understood how diving, being in the arms of Mother Ocean, cleaned her off and made her feel good once more. It did the same for Dan.
She sat with her back against the bark of the trunk, her arms around her drawn up legs. “This is the first time I’ve dived in the Red Sea,” she said.
He lifted his chin and nodded, moving the frying fish around in the skillet. “I didn’t know about the reef system until being assigned here. When I came here two years ago, I was going out of my mind with nothing to do to offset my work. There’s not much here at Port Sudan, and there aren’t any expats around to make friends with.”
“I can’t imagine,” Sloan said, watching him work over the thick, white flesh of the grouper. The breeze changed a little, and she could smell the butter the fish was frying in. Dan had given her the paper plates, napkins, and flatware earlier when he’d brought out a small blanket. He’d opened it beneath the tree where the shade was heaviest. While he’d done that, Sloan had gone to the truck, peeled off her wetsuit, and climbed into a pair of light blue cotton cargo pants, her sandals, and a sleeveless white tee. Dan had even brought a comb for her wet hair. Now, it lay around her shoulders, nearly dry.
“This place gets lonely,” he admitted.
“So you do a lot of diving when you have to fly to keep your skills up?”
Nodding, Dan flipped the grouper in the skillet, the fire small but intense beneath the grate. “Yes.”
“I would think you would have a girlfriend or something,” she teased. The look he gave her told Sloan that wasn’t in the cards. “No?”
“No. After I broke up with you, I never found anything as good as what we had. And when you have what we had, there isn’t any settling for seconds in my future.”
Her heart pounded as she saw the serious light in his eyes, the way his mouth was set, the regret in his voice. “Oh,” she whispered.
“What about you? Is there a guy in your life? Maybe back in Alexandria waiting for you?”
“No…no one,” she admitted. There was relief in his eyes when she said that.
“Why?” he demanded. “
You’re young, beautiful, intelligent, great body.” He grinned. “You’re the whole package.”
“I guess I’m in the same boat as you,” she said.
“No one else measured up to me?”
Sloan was tired of battling her desire for him. Being around him was wearing her down. It wasn’t Dan’s fault. It was just that she now realized she had never stopped loving him—and that hurt a lot.
“No, no one has ever measured up to you, Dan.” There. It was the truth. She watched his mouth thin for a moment, and he looked away, as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t.
Dan rose with the skillet in hand, the grouper done and sizzling. Sloan laid out the two paper plates for him, and he divided the fish between them.
“Lunch. Doesn’t get any better than this,” he said. He rose and walked over to the fire, pulling the metal grate off and set the skillet on it. He pushed his fingers down his shorts and returned to where Sloan sat. She handed him the paper plate along with some flatware. He came and sat opposite her so he could face her, resting his plate on one knee.
“Mmmm,” she said, “this smells so good, Dan. Thanks for fixing it.”
He nodded. “Just like old times, isn’t it? You, me, diving, spearfishing, making our lunch or dinner on some deserted beach?”
She cut off some of the firm, flaky meat and dipped it in a bit of the butter, salt, and pepper. “It is.”
“Did you miss doing this kind of thing after I walked out on you? Because I did.”
“Yes,” she answered eventually, swallowing the sweet, flaky fish. Moving her fork around on the plate in her lap, she felt herself opening up to him. “I often dreamed of those times we shared.”
“We had it made.” He grimaced, cutting the fish into large chunks with his fork. “And I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.”
Dangerous: Delos Series, Book 10 Page 8