by Lee,Molly E.
I took a deep breath and counted to five. “This isn’t your fault. Thank you for getting me to the surface so quickly.”
She flashed me a small smile. “I knew you’d want to get back to the island as fast as possible. I’m sure if you get in there and restate the importance of the site, Henrick will side with you. Force Slade to route the pipeline around the Falconer as originally planned.”
I could tell by the way she shifted her weight that she didn’t believe what she said, but it was sweet of her to try to give me a ray of hope in a situation so bleak. This was a matter of money. It had to be. It was always the villain when it came to preservationists battling a corporation that didn’t see the importance of a particular site.
Fuck. If I had substantial proof of both the purple algae’s and the blue seagrass’s potential value, it could tip the long list of important and sustaining functionalities of my site. Without it, I knew it would be a battle to get the Head of Government to see anything over the dollar signs I’m sure were flashing before his eyes, thanks to Mr. Slade.
Well, he didn’t know who he was dealing with.
Once Liz got me on land, I’d be sure to show him.
Connell
“CONNELL! GET YOUR ass up here, man!” Ryan shouted from the grated floor just above my tiny room in my current home—the Slade Pipeline vessel. “Bossman says it’s urgent.”
“Yeah,” I said, slowly tossing the thin sheet off my legs. Never failed, the second I got a moment to sleep, someone would fuck up and I’d have to rush off to fix it. I didn’t bother slipping on a shirt, instinct telling me I’d have to suit up anyway.
It didn’t really bother me. It’s why I was here. I fucking loved my job. There was a freedom in underwater welding that I couldn’t get anywhere else in my life. Something about being under the water with nothing but me and a hunk of steel, a blast of sea life, and the power of the tools in my hands. I claimed I chose gigs off the highest bidder, but that was a bold-faced lie. I went wherever the danger was greatest, the risk highest.
I needed an everyday reminder that I was still alive when my brother wasn’t.
“Today, Murphey,” Slade’s gruff voice urged me from his office on the top level of the vessel, and I slowed my pace. The guy was a stick-up-his-ass asshole, and I could tell from his tone no one’s life was in danger. This was just a job that needed to be done quickly, and who better to ask than the dog he hired to work like one.
Ryan practically bounced on the balls of his feet as I walked into Slade’s office. The kid was only a few years younger than me, but he was the highlight of this gig. Funny as hell, and a decent worker under the water but even better topside. He manned the controls for me while I was under—maintaining my gas levels and fueling me with the proper amperage when I directed him.
And he didn’t push for information, which I valued highly on the list of zero friends I had. Traveling as much as I did for work didn’t exactly give me the chance to bromance it up with anyone, not that I’d ever attempted. After Conner . . . well, I liked to keep the fuck to myself and appreciated anyone who let me do so.
“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep,” Slade said from behind his desk. The man had over three billion in the bank but insisted on being present on each and every major pipeline production. When I first took the gig, I thought it meant he had an exceptional work ethic and a humble sense of self. Not the case. In truth, he was a major control freak who liked to motivate his employees with threats instead of encouragement. Not that it was any of my business. I was here for a paycheck not an HR investigation.
I raised my chin at him and kept my mouth shut.
Ryan’s gaze jumped between us.
“Welder on shift stripped a joint on the current pipe being laid. Need you to fix it.”
I nodded and turned around, heading for the door and my gear that rested in my locker on the sea level.
“Murphey!”
I stopped in the doorway, waiting.
“You might want to know which coordinate it’s in.” Slade huffed.
Ryan stepped toward me. “Section eight, four meters in.”
“Got it,” I said and gave Slade a few more seconds to add anything if he felt the need.
He glanced at me before looking at Ryan. “Does he ever say more than four words?”
Ryan pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh, and shook his head.
I winked at him before bolting down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time to get to sea level. I could hear Ryan on my heels, working his way to the control room. My heart rate spiked, hammering inside my chest like I’d taken a hit of speed.
Slipping into my gear quickly, I triple-checked my readings, and the wire basket equipped with my tools, but I could do this with my eyes closed. I’d been doing it since I was eighteen. Fuck, that was ten years ago.
Securing my mask over my face, I stepped through the small doorway that led to the exterior of the vessel. The grated floor was orange beneath my flippered feet, and I walked to the edge and peered downward into the deep blue ocean.
This is what I lived for. This feeling. My blood was on fire; the knowledge that one wrong move beneath the waves could be my last burned through my common sense in a matter of seconds. It never failed—this sensation—it pushed me to live in the moment, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what the drugs had done for Conner.
We’re not so different, brother.
I quickly checked my umbilical line that supplied me with the oxygen mix I’d need at the particular depth. Good to go, I jumped in, and let the ocean swallow me.
I sunk, the combined weight of my drysuit layered underneath my coveralls—to keep any stray molten metals from burning through my suit—helped pull me downward, and I didn’t fight the feeling. I let it wash over me like a comfortable blanket. The sea was my home. Everything sounded familiar here, like nothing I could get on the surface. A certain melodic quality that turned even the noise from my stinger—my personal handheld flame—into hauntingly beautiful music.
Pushing forward and down, I propelled myself toward Section Eight, knowing the route from numerous submersions in my five months of working on Slade’s vessel. There were plenty of other divers currently working down here, too, but none where I headed. The experience needed to fix a stripped joint was only something I could offer to Slade’s current crew, and it didn’t hurt that I wasn’t afraid to work under any conditions—covered, uncovered, enclosed, or backwards—didn’t matter. As long as it was a challenge, I was game.
I nodded to a few of the divers who waved as I swam past them, but I didn’t bother answering a radio attempt. They knew better. If I needed to talk, I would.
If only Mom understood that.
She’d tried to call again, going as far as contacting Slade in an effort to get me to reconnect. Didn’t work. She’d cut me out of her life—rightfully so—years ago. There was no point in healing that wound—I’d only end up disappointing her again, or worse, hurting her.
I hung my weighted basket of tools on a small piece of metal that jutted out slightly near the stripped joint. The pipes were twenty feet long in each section, and the mouth of this behemoth had nestled itself underneath a large part of the vessel’s steel legs. It made the work ten times more dangerous because my umbilical could easily be severed, tangled, or caught if I didn’t take caution.
Perfect.
“I’m ready for amps,” I radioed to Ryan above.
My heart hammered as I felt the current of electricity sizzle through the water, attempting to penetrate my thick leather gloves. I ignited my stinger, the brilliant blue flame even more gorgeous beneath the water. The strength of the fire forced a surge of bubbles to surround the area, cutting me off from any reality outside of the job, and a comfortable weight settled on my chest. This was my favorite place. Alone in the cold, closed-off ocean where nothing could touch me, not even my guilt.
Except death. Death could touch me here. He was ov
er my shoulder each time I worked, sending me messages I pretended were from Conner. I liked Death there . . . he was an old friend who never let me forget I was living when my brother wasn’t.
An hour later and I was topside again, wishing the job had been more involved. I wanted a gig that would force me to be under for hours just to get it done. Every time I surfaced, I had to face reality. My life. Whatever I’d chosen to do—or not do—with it.
Still jacked from the dive, I stored my gear and went to hunt down Ryan. Maybe he’d want to take the jet skis back to the island for a drink. I could use a few. Something about today had Conner and Mom on my mind more than usual. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the anniversary of his death approaching.
The search ended at the top level, which nearly killed my desire for a beer with a friend. Why the kid was up near Slade’s office after the gig was beyond me, but the commotion coming from within it drew my curiosity.
“You can’t be serious!” A female voice shouted from inside, and my eyebrows shot up my head. I’d never heard any of Slade’s crew raise their voice to him. This I had to see.
“Mind your tone, Ms. Jenkins.” Slade sounded more than ruffled as I stepped inside the opened doorway. His office remained the same as it had been an hour ago—immaculate desk, thousand-dollar suit jacket hanging in the corner, an oversize monitor just to his left—but Slade, he was different. He was pissed, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the billionaire looked scared.
Of what? The pretty little number with her hands propped on her hips?
I arched an eyebrow, my eyes trailing her body. She had long, tan, toned legs that stuck out of a pair of hunter green cotton shorts. A white tank top covered an even toner stomach, and long, golden-blond hair brushed the tops of her bare shoulders. I swallowed hard when she fixed her gaze on me, nailing me to the floor with the most gorgeous brown eyes I’d ever seen—eyes like melted chocolate.
“Murphey, about time.” Slade jerked up from his leather rolling chair and came around his desk. He motioned me farther into the room, and I obeyed, but more to get closer to the woman than to follow his beckoning.
Ryan sat in a corner with his chin in one hand and his eyebrows screwed together like he’d tasted a sour piece of fish. I tilted my head at him, but he just closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Connell Murphey, this is Ms. Sadie Jenkins.” Slade held out his hands between the two of us like we were all old friends getting reacquainted.
“Okay,” I said, focusing on Slade. “Joint is fixed.”
Slade shaped his face with a tight-lipped smile. “Wonderful. Now—“
“Excuse me, Mr. Slade, but we’re not finished.” Sadie gave me a quick glance before stepping in between Slade and myself.
A vein in his forehead throbbed, and I couldn’t contain my grin. The chick had balls. I liked that.
“We are, Ms. Jenkins. As I said before, we can take this matter to the Head of Government and see if he deems it worthy of approaching the Prime Minister with it. Though I assure you, he’s already been brought up to speed with the changes, and approves of them.”
Whew. She did not like that. Her cheeks flushed bright red, and her eyes turned to slits.
“I’m sure you persuaded him with your bank account. Excuse me while I try to appeal to his moral center.” She stormed from the room, bumping my shoulder in the process so hard she nearly knocked me off balance. I craned my head out the door, following her movements as she made her way down the hallway.
“What was that about?” I asked, returning to the room.
“He speaks!” Slade grumbled as he made his way back to his throne-like chair behind his desk. “That . . . happens to be your next job.”
Ryan hissed through his teeth—somewhere between repulsion and amusement.
“Excuse me?”
Slade looked at Ryan before motioning to the door. He quickly jumped up and shut it while Slade steepled his fingers over his desk. “The girl is a threat. I need you to placate her.”
“That’s not in my job description,” I said. “What the hell threat could she pose to you?”
“She’s one of the top marine preservationists on the island, and the local government respects her opinion. The current site she’s trying to salvage happens to be lying smack dab in the middle of the quickest route for my pipeline.”
“Can’t you go around?” I arched an eyebrow at Ryan, who gave me the slightest of nods.
“Of course, we could go around it. If we wanted to spend an extra one-hundred and twenty-million in supplies, labor, and equipment to appease her thirty-mile distance safety regulation to preserve the ecosystem or whatever. Which I don’t want to do. Her site is nothing but an old WWII ship with some pretty plants and fish around it. She’ll get over it. I won’t get over a loss of one-hundred and twenty-million.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” I headed toward the door.
“Murphey, stop. Did you not hear me?”
I raked my hands through my hair and turned to look at him.
“She’s got pull with the locals. I think I’ve convinced them, but I can’t be sure she won’t sway them. I need you to get close to her. Act as a representative of Slade Pipelines, say we’re taking her requests to heart and surveying her site for potential, viable reasons to go around and not through it. You’ll be the deciding factor. If she can convince you, then we alter course. If not . . .”
“You blow up her site.”
“Exactly.” Slade grinned, genuine excitement at the prospect lighting up his eyes.
“And if I find her site viable?”
Slade pressed his lips together for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “You won’t.” He fiddled with a pen on his desk. “I’ll triple your payment for this job to make sure you don’t.”
I licked my lips. That was a whole lot more zeros to the already substantial check I received from accepting this job. I could fund Conner’s rehab facility for three years with that kind of money.
I shook my head. It was wrong. “I don’t like men who buy wins.”
Slade shrugged. “It’s business. This pipeline will be a direct route from Nassau to Europe. The first of its kind, transporting billions of cubic feet of natural gas and saving millions in expenses from doing it the old way. Cargo ships and people and gas—it all costs money. This will be a streamlined process, and it happens to be the safest form of gas exportation out there.”
I looked to Ryan, who shrugged and stood from his position in the corner. “That part is true.” He slapped his hand on my shoulder.
Slade cleared his throat. “Besides, you know these preservationist types. They’re all poetic passion and fire but over scraps. I won’t be destroying anything of value to anyone but her. I assure you.”
He had no idea just how well I knew the preservationist types. He wasn’t far off the mark with their passion assumption, but he was out of his mind if he thought this girl would go away quietly with a few assurances from me.
“Fine, more than triple. State your number, Connell. You’re the only one with enough experience to sway her and the government’s thoughts. I know the girl needs a welder on her team, and if you go down to her site, do a few jobs, and make her realize there is nothing worth millions down there, then you’ve done your job, and she can get on to the next site. No harm, no foul. Just loads of money saved.”
My stomach churned with the prospect of doing something so dirty, but the idea of having enough money to set up more of Conner’s rehab centers all over the country? That was enough to make me speak. “I want ten percent.”
“Of what? My soul?” Slade laughed.
“Of the one hundred and twenty million I save you by doing this.”
His grin disappeared. “Five.”
“Ten,” I said. Ryan shifted his weight beside me, and I ignored his awestruck look.
“Seven and a half.”
“Ten or nothing. I’m not the on
e who needs this to happen. You are.”
Slade rubbed his palms over his face. He had turned a shade of beet-red before he took a deep breath. “Fine. Ten.” He pointed at me. “You still have to report here if we have an emergency weld necessary.”
“Deal.”
“And you understand the terms? You side with me at the end of all this, or you can say goodbye to not only that ten percent but every future job you have lined up. I have an extensive reach, and I’m not afraid to use it to trash your name if you fuck with me on this.”
Anger flared in my gut, and I took a step toward his desk, fist clenched. “Son of a bi—“
“How about a beer to celebrate?” Ryan clamped his hand on my chest, stopping my motion. He pushed, successfully maneuvering me to the doorway. I gave Slade one last look, but the cocky bastard was already engrossed in his inbox on the computer screen to his right.
I shook Ryan off as we walked down the hallway. “Asshole.”
“Hey, at least he’s an asshole who’s about to set you up for life.” Ryan led the way to the jet skis we kept stored on sea level.
“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it,” I said, breathing in the salty air as we stepped outside.
The wind pushed my hair back, cooling the sweat that had dotted my forehead. It wasn’t every day I was presented with an opportunity to make more money in a couple months than should even be possible in a lifetime for me, and despite living a simple life, I couldn’t turn it down. Not when I thought about the addict’s lives that could be helped with more funding at rehabilitation clinics across the country. My chest tightened as I wondered if Conner’s had been better funded if it would’ve made a difference.
No. He’d still be dead and you’d still be to blame.
“You think he’ll back out?” Ryan asked—successfully killing the judgmental voice in my head—as we mounted a jet ski each.
“Depends.” As badly as I wanted it I had learned over the years to never get hopeful about anything. Ever. It only makes the disappointment sting that much more.
“On?” he asked.