Between Roc and a Hard Place

by Heather Graham

“Hi, Dad!” she murmured to her father. He could be off on his own, but he was standing here, just about doing somersaults to help her. She felt an overwhelming tenderness for him and wanted to hug him fiercely.

  “Well,” Jonathan said matter-of-factly, “I really wouldn’t want to break up whatever it is that’s going on here, but I think you should know that Eric has divers down below. Don’t you have anything on which to base a claim?” he asked Roc.

  Roc’s hands eased from Melinda’s shoulders. “Melinda has found a few things,” he said. “But I still don’t have a fix on the ship itself.”

  “Radar isn’t yielding—” Jonathan began.

  “Radar gives us a World War Two wreck,” Roc said.

  “Well, I’ve got a suggestion for you,” Jonathan said. “I’ll take Melinda back to my boat with me, along with another diver or two. Let me get back, looking as if I’ve just come to rescue my daughter from your clutches, then you hightail it into shore to make your claim. Melinda can go down and keep up the hunt. If you’ve come this close, it has to be right under your nose.”

  “I don’t think Melinda will want to dive again on my behalf,” Roc said smoothly.

  “Yes, she does,” Melinda announced icily. “Melinda is just dying for you to make this claim. She would give her eyeteeth to find the ship and cram it—”

  “Melly,” her father interrupted her swiftly, “there’s not a lot of time left.”

  “I don’t want her doing it!” Roc said flatly. “I’m not going to leave my wife out here—”

  “I’m not really your wife anymore.”

  “Yes, you damned well are.”

  “I will not—”

  “Excuse us for just one minute, will you?” Roc suddenly demanded of the group. With an exasperated sigh, he suddenly grabbed Melinda and dived into the water.

  Their combined weight sent them both deeply downward; then he kicked strongly to break the surface again.

  Sputtering, Melinda stared at him furiously.

  “Damn you!” she cried. “You already half-drowned me once today! What more—”

  “It was the only way I could think of to have any privacy!”

  “Trying to drown me again?”

  “I didn’t try to drown you. I just tried to get you alone for a few lousy minutes. You won’t listen!”

  “I won’t listen! Oh, that’s rich. I’ve begged and pleaded, I’ve made a fool of myself. I’ve been honest—”

  “Yeah! Right after you crawled out of that net, right?”

  She ignored that. “You haven’t listened to me since I came aboard, not once, no matter what I said.”

  “I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  “But it doesn’t mean anything!”

  “Damn it, Melinda, you made mistakes, I made mistakes, but the point is—”

  “You’ve made a hell of a lot more of them recently than I have!”

  “Yes!” he agreed. “Yes! I have.”

  “I’m going to my father’s boat, as he suggested. I’m going to find that stinking Contessa for you. And then—”

  “Then you’ll talk to me, or I’ll abandon the damn thing right now and let Eric Longford have it!”

  Staring at him, seeing the passion, the fury, in his eyes, Melinda knew that he meant what he said. Her salt-laden lashes swept her cheeks. Maybe he was right; maybe they both had to put the past behind them.

  “All right,” she said softly. “We find the Contessa. Then we talk.”

  He reached a hand across the water in silent agreement.

  “I can swim very well myself, thank you.”

  “I know,” he told her, but he caught her hand anyway, and a few very powerful kicks brought them to the ladder at the bow of the Crystal Lee.

  “I don’t quite get this,” Jonathan Davenport said, reaching down to help his daughter aboard, his eyes looking over her shoulder and focusing on Roc. “You’ve spent years talking about the Contessa. Months searching for her. Weeks on the brink of discovery. And now she’s right beneath your damn feet, and the two of you are wasting time arguing!”

  “We’re not arguing,” Roc said.

  “We’re discussing,” Melinda grated out.

  “And?”

  “Roc’s going to take the Crystal Lee in. I’m coming diving with you.”

  “Fine,” Jonathan said in a determined voice. “Let’s get going, then, eh? Eric’s got divers in the water, and who knows, when you lead a horse to water, sometimes it does drink.”

  “Roc, Bruce and I are going to dive, too,” Connie said quickly, still wearing a look of guilt and apology.

  Roc sighed with exasperation, his shoulders slumping. “It’s fine, Connie. It’s fine.”

  “Roc—” Connie began.

  “Connie, let’s go,” Melinda told her.

  She stared at her husband one more moment, gritting her teeth, fighting tears and the wild urge to fly across the few feet between them and throw herself into his bronze arms.

  Not now. Not now! She was still aching.…

  She forced herself to turn away, but she could feel the heat of his stare as she climbed down the ladder to her father’s dinghy.

  Connie followed, then Bruce. Jonathan came last, picking up the oars, and sending them shooting across the water to his boat.

  “Tanks!” Melinda said suddenly.

  “You don’t need to worry about a thing, I promise,” her father told her.

  “Melinda,” Connie said suddenly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “There’s nothing for anyone to be sorry about at the moment. All’s well that ends well, and we haven’t finished this yet,” Jonathan said.

  “The Contessa is somewhere right beneath us,” Bruce reminded them all quietly.

  The oars slapped the water, and that was the only sound they heard as they finished the trip to Jonathan’s boat. Jinks was there to help them aboard, waiting in the bow with diving tanks.

  Her father had been awfully sure of himself, Melinda thought. And she almost smiled. Then a startling misery seemed to overwhelm her, right after Jinks, tall, gnarled, as gentle as ever, gave her a welcoming hug.

  She found herself suddenly in her father’s arms, whispering softly, “He didn’t believe me. He didn’t trust me, Daddy,”

  Jonathan lifted her chin, and she saw the tenderness and determination in his eyes.

  “He’s just a little raw, Melly. He thought his wounds had healed—and then they were all opened up again. But it’s going to work out.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he loves you.”

  She smiled, unable to say anything in reply.

  “Jinks, help me with my tanks,” she said instead. “Do you have my favorite flippers?”

  “Yes, Melly, that I do,” Jinks told her. In a few moments she was suited and ready, so she sat at the edge of the boat, waiting for Connie and Bruce. She stared out at the Crystal Lee. Any second now, she would disappear across the blue.

  And Melinda was suddenly very determined that when she returned, she was going to have the Contessa on a platter to hand to Roc.

  “There’s something funny about this regulator,” Jinks told Jonathan, frowning over Connie’s equipment.

  “Then get another one,” Jonathan said. Melinda smiled at her father. Safety was one of his major concerns. Like Roc, he had often been angry with her for her recklessness. But it suddenly seemed as if everything was taking too much time. “I’m going down,” she said.

  “Melinda, Roc doesn’t like you down alone,” Bruce began.

  “You’ll be with me in minutes!” she assured him.

  “Melinda!” her father called, but it was too late. She had already gone over, shooting through the depths, ending up right by the ledge.

  The water was exceptionally beautiful. The afternoon sun was shining through, and the bright, stunning colors of the sea life surrounding the coral were vividly there before her. She saw the ledge and the edge of the World Wa
r Two wreck that had been intriguing her. She had found the casket wedged beneath it.

  She swam deeper, studying the ledge, then caught hold of a rod protruding upward from the ship and tugged on it. At first nothing happened, so, in exasperation, she tugged again. It gave. Not a lot. Just an inch. She clenched her teeth and pulled again.

  Suddenly it came free in her hand, and she went pitching backward with startling force. Sand spewed up all around her. There was a groaning sound as part of the World War Two wreck broke free and went tumbling, in slow motion, over the edge of the shelf.

  Her heart hammered as she fought to maintain her position in the swirling waters. She saw a board sticking out from the bottom and she caught hold of it.

  Slowly, the water around her began to settle. She stared at her hand, trembling inwardly.

  Then she stared harder. She was holding on to a piece of lumber with a jagged tear beneath it. A very old piece of lumber. And now, with the piece of the other ship having fallen away, she went deeper, keeping her hand on the wood and tracing it to its source.

  She nearly jumped. She’d come across a figurehead. The features were marred, eaten away by time. But there was a giant head before her, with long waving wooden hair.

  Her heart slammed against her chest. She had found it. The Contessa.

  The sun above her was suddenly blotted out. Frowning, she looked upward.

  A boat was blocking the light above. No … it wasn’t a boat blocking the sun, not alone. There was something else going on. It was hard to see. The water still hadn’t really settled. It was churning, it was dark, it was …

  It was red!

  She swallowed hard, nearly losing control over her breathing, as she slowly realized just what was happening.

  There was a boat above her. And the water was red.

  The water was red because someone was chumming the water, throwing out gallon after gallon of blood and guts and dead fish and trying to summon every shark in the vicinity.

  Even as she watched, the sharks began to move in, creating a frenzy of motion. She felt ill. She’d never been afraid of sharks in the water before—she kept her distance from them, and they kept their distance from her. She’d never done much diving in waters where great whites were prevalent, and she’d never seen one, though she had encountered lemons, blues, tigers and hammerheads. Sometimes they showed interest, and someone in the party would usually butt them away with a shark stick.

  Most shark attacks, she knew, came when a shark was confused and thought that a person was his natural prey. It was one of the reasons there had been so many great white attacks off the coast of Northern California. The sharks looked up and saw the surfers’ arms and legs paddling alongside their surfboards and thought they were sea lions, the creatures’ customary diet.

  She had never been afraid before, not really. But she was terrified now.

  They weren’t that far above her. Not forty-five feet. And there were more and more and more of them.… Some small, perhaps six feet.

  Some larger … perhaps ten feet or so … And all of them thrashing, hideously thrashing, swimming in a frenzy, even snapping at one another.

  She stared at them horrified. One swam downward in a sudden motion, then shot toward the food supply again. She edged against the body of the ship she had finally discovered.

  Eric had discovered it, too, so it seemed. Or had been sure that she would.

  Dear lord, she couldn’t believe that someone she had known could want the treasure so badly that he would …

  Murder her, she thought.

  She had no defense against the sharks, none at all. And the water was growing bloodier by the second.

  Eyes tearing, she fought the wild pull of desolation. It was so hard! All she could remember was wanting to run across the deck and throw herself into Roc’s arms. She could remember the cobalt fire of his eyes. She could almost feel his warmth.

  But she hadn’t run to him, she had run away from him. She hadn’t forgiven him.…

  And now maybe it was going to be too late. He would come back and find the pieces of his Contessa, all right. And he would also find the pieces of his wife.…

  She inhaled slowly, fighting desperately not to give way to fear. To hold on, to wait. She checked her watch. She needed to see how much time she had left in her air tanks.

  Just then something bumped against her back with startling force, and in the bloodred depths of the water, she let loose a strangled scream.

  Chapter 13

  It was amazing how quickly things could change. One minute he was feeling the warmth of the late afternoon sun touching his shoulders as he cranked up the anchor, his heart weighted down by the fact that he might really have gone and done it this time.

  Time had taught him that pride meant nothing in the darkness of the night. Well, he should have learned his lesson better. He had walked away once, so sure that he had been betrayed, so righteous.

  Well, hell, maybe he had been right. It just didn’t matter a lot. This time, he’d been wrong as hell. That just didn’t matter, either.

  He didn’t think he would be able to bear it if he lost her a second time.

  Those were his thoughts—about losing her—when he suddenly saw Jonathan waving frantically to him. “Hey, captain!” Peter called out at the same time. “Holy Mary! Look at the water!”

  He did. He looked and saw a growing pool of blood in the water.

  His heart jumped instantly to his throat.

  At the same moment he noticed that the third boat—the uninvited boat, Eric Longford’s boat—had already taken flight, skimming rapidly away over the water.

  Panic seized him as his mind conjured up a terrible picture of a diver caught in the blades of a motor, ripped to shreds, bleeding.…

  Bruce? Connie?

  Melinda?

  Oh, God …

  Then he realized that Jonathan had brought his own vessel to life, and the boat was nearing him at a dangerous pace. Finally, just in time to avoid a collision, the motor was cut. He could hear Jonathan shouting.

  “That bastard! That damn bastard!”

  “What in God’s name?” Roc shouted to him.

  “He chummed the water! The idiot must have found something, and he’s trying to stake the first claim. Look at the damned water! And Melinda is down there!”

  Once again Roc’s heart slammed against his chest. Hard. A second ago he’d been afraid of losing her. Now they could all lose her—for good.

  Steady, capable Jinks, who’d been with Jonathan for as long as Roc could remember, was pulling out gear. For a moment, staring at his father-in-law’s face, Roc thought that Jonathan was going to jump in without tanks or mask, he was so desperate to reach his daughter.

  “Wait!” Roc cried.

  “There’s no time to wait!” Jonathan cried back. “She only has an hour’s worth of air. I’ve got—”

  “You’ve got to pull your boat around over there, away from all the blood. I’m going down for her.”

  “I’m going—”

  “Damn it, Jonathan, face it. I’m the fastest, and probably the best.”

  “She’s my daughter!”

  “She’s my wife!”

  “Eh, my friends!” Joe Tobago interrupted swiftly. “Whoever goes down first needs to be prepared. It seems to be a group of blues, though I think I saw a lemon or two. Nasty sharks. Mr. Davenport, if you take your boat around, I can pull the Crystal Lee into the middle of the swirl, shoot a few, and keep the others busy so that perhaps Cap’n Roc can bring your daughter up to you, eh?”

  “It’s the best way, Jonathan!” Roc shouted.

  Peter had tanks, fins, a mask and regulator ready for Roc even as they spoke. He’d also brought a weight belt, with sheaths for two knives, and two shark sticks—six feet each, and primed to give a shark a good electric jolt when the point punched into the animal’s tough flesh.

  In all his years as a diver, Roc had used the electric prods only twice. He’d
never been big on shark hunts; he’d always felt they had their place in the sea. Now he prayed that Peter could shoot the whole lot of them. There were plenty of big, sharp-toothed fish in the sea.

  There was only one Melinda.

  He got suited up amazingly swiftly, with Peter assuring him that he would have a solid hour’s air to share with Melinda once he’d reached her.

  Once. Peter stumbled over the word a little, almost saying if instead.

  Well, if he couldn’t reach her, it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to come up alone. He knew that now. No matter what the future held, he wouldn’t come back without her.

  “I’m going over!” he shouted to Jonathan. “Get your boat into position!”

  “Get clear of the blood!” Jonathan shouted to him.

  He was clear enough of it. He was afraid that if he didn’t get down swiftly, he wouldn’t find Melinda in time. He raised a hand in agreement, then sat on the edge of the Crystal Lee and let the weight of his tanks take him backward into the sea.

  He splashed swiftly into the water, then sank into the once azure sea. He allowed the impetus of his fall to take him downward quickly, ten feet, twenty, thirty.…

  Then he stabilized himself. He could free dive deeper without causing himself any pressure difficulties, but the last thing he needed now was a case of the bends. Encumbered with gear as he was, he tried a slower drift to the ocean’s depths.

  Peter, he saw, was already at it with his gun. One of the sharks, a blue, about five and a half feet long, had been struck through the head with a bullet, pulling it and the frenzied throng around it away from Roc—and away from the ledge where Melinda had gone down.

  For a moment he found himself watching the tempest with an awed fascination. It seemed that along with the blood and chunks of fish guts Longford had cast into the water, he had left some big bait, too, split tunas, good-sized groupers. The whole conglomeration was now floating around in a sea of blood, eerie, half eaten, sightless eyes staring about.

  The sharks turned on the shot blue, whose nervous system had been hit. It thrashed and jerked wildly in the water, like a robot gone amok.

  Roc drew his gaze from the tempest going on above him. The sharks—dear God, twenty of them? thirty?—hadn’t paid him the least heed as yet. They were intent only on one thing—food. Within minutes the blue was half consumed, dinner for its kind before it had even succumbed to death.