Beneath the Surface

by Joya Fields

  “Yeah. Cooper’s at the scene. She’ll be at the hospital soon,” Diego said.

  “Thanks.” Garrett flipped his phone shut and turned to the elderly woman. “Ma’am, you’re good to go. Don’t ride on this spare for longer than a few days. The tread’s pretty thin.”

  A giant smile split her wrinkled face. “You’re a sweetie,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck for a quick hug, then tying her scarf around her hair again and hustling to the driver’s seat.

  He hopped back on his motorcycle.

  She peeled wheels and the Mustang tires spit out gravel as she tore off and waved at him in the rearview mirror.

  He said a quick prayer that she would arrive at her destination safely as he kick-started the Harley. Why did people believe bad things only happened to other people?

  ****

  Brooke let Gilly help her sit on the edge of the skiff, then reached for her prosthetic. The boat listed to the side, but was anchored in the sand. Her leg had slipped in the socket while she’d been giving Linda CPR, but she couldn’t take the time to readjust it at that moment.

  “Sorry,” the deputy mumbled, “I thought it belonged to the woman in the ambulance.”

  Brooke rolled her jeans up to her knee and slid into her prosthetic. She sensed the stares of the deputies, the fishermen, and some bathing-suit clad vacationers who’d been curious enough to make their way toward the explosion. She didn’t care. Two years of stares had gotten her used to gawks. Besides, she didn’t have time to worry about it—she had to get to Linda before the ambulance took off.

  “I need to ride with Linda.” Brooke hated that her voice sounded shaky. “We’re like family—I’m all she’s got,” she added, afraid they might not let her ride in the ambulance if she wasn’t related. “Her parents are in Japan visiting relatives.” She glanced at the thickening smoke and added, “We need to find Jeff, her boyfriend. He’s still out there.”

  She stood, relieved to find she felt stronger. Gilly hovered nearby, but let her get up on her own.

  The deputy nodded. “Coast Guard is searching for him now.”

  She noted his name badge—Deputy Fisher.

  “Okay,” he said. “Ride with her, if it’s okay with the EMTs. We’ll talk to you at the hospital.”

  Nodding, Brooke blinked the sting from her eyes. The humid air was thick with the stench of burning gasoline.

  Still shaking from head to foot, she ran through the sand toward the ambulance. “Wait!” she shouted as the attendant shut the first door. She ran as fast as she could and her lungs stung from the exertion. “Please…let me ride with her!”

  The blond-haired guy inside looked more like a lifeguard than a paramedic. He raised a brow. “Okay, but you have to ride up front.” He hopped out, moving fast as he opened the passenger door for her, then ran around to the back again, jumping in and nodding to the driver.

  Brooke climbed into the passenger seat and twisted around to see the technician working on Linda.

  He double-checked the oxygen mask over her nose and taped an ice pack to a bruising lump on her temple. She had several small gashes on her face and neck, secondary injuries compared to the life-threatening ones. The EMT barked Linda’s symptoms into a two-way radio.

  Brooke cleared her throat to rid her nose of the smell of rubbing alcohol and to drown out the semi-muffled sound of the siren from inside the ambulance.

  “Buckle up, ma’am,” the driver said. She snapped out of the trance and in an effort to keep her mind occupied, she decided to call him Fred. And the one in the back would be Ed.

  She pressed her back against the cold ambulance seat and willed away the nausea in her stomach. “Is my friend going to be okay?” she asked no one in particular. She put on her seatbelt.

  Ed checked one of Linda’s monitors.

  Fred cleared his throat and threw a glance to the back of the ambulance. “She’s breathing and she has a pulse,” he said, keeping his gaze on the traffic as they whizzed past vehicles. “Both good signs.”

  “Why isn’t she regaining consciousness?”

  “Too soon to know, lady,” Ed answered from the back.

  “What hospital are you taking her to? What kind of reputation does it have?” she asked.

  Fred sighed. “Flagler Hospital. Almost there. Just a five-minute ride.”

  “How about Jeff? Can you radio to see if they’ve found Jeff…her boyfriend who was on the boat?”

  The radio crackled as Ed asked the hospital for an update. A hospital representative answered, “Male en route.”

  They were all business. She could do that. She would look at this in a professional way. She would see that Linda and Jeff got the best care. She’d ask questions, seek second opinions. She’d put all of these memories of hers in a deep, dark corner of her mind and focus on helping her friends.

  They pulled to a stop in back of the hospital and the driver turned to her. “You have burns on your arms. You should have the hospital take a look at you, too.” A second later, he moved out of the ambulance and to the back door to help the technician.

  Brooke’s hand shook again as she fidgeted with the seat belt strap and noticed blisters on her arm. When had that happened?

  She had to call Linda’s parents. Turning to search for her purse, she remembered again that she’d left it in her rental car—back at the pier. A cell phone lay on the dash. The medic’s? She could borrow it to call Linda’s parents… Wait, no she couldn’t. Damn. She didn’t have their phone number memorized, only stored in her phone.

  She hopped out of the vehicle as the two deputies from the dock skidded to a stop at the curb and jumped out. Nausea ate away at her gut again. Were they here to deliver bad news?

  The paramedics and the hospital attendants wheeled the gurney past her and the deputies approached. Brooke held her hands to the sides of her face, horrified at the sight of Linda’s still body.

  With tears welling in her eyes, she followed the gurney.

  The busty, short-statured deputy stepped up. “Ma’am,” the woman said. “I’m Deputy Cooper. Can we ask you a few questions before you go inside?”

  Brooke nodded and slumped against the brick wall. “Why did the vessel explode? How could an accident like this happen?”

  Deputy Fisher moved in front of her, took off his cap and scratched his head. He studied her with narrowed fierce blue eyes. Why was he looking at her that way? Pity?

  Opening his notepad, he said, “What makes you think this was an accident?”

  ****

  The man smiled from his perch on the rented cruiser as it bobbed in the current. He tucked his binoculars into their leather case and snapped the lid shut. He’d enjoyed the show, but not the ending.

  Only two of them had been on the craft. And they’d been taken away in ambulances instead of body bags. He adjusted his baggy fishing hat. Not his usual style, but it helped him blend into the surroundings.

  He jingled the boat key in his hand, then turned to insert it into the ignition. Before starting the engine, he glanced at the dissipating smoke. If they survived, he’d find them. He needed to shut all three of them up. They knew too much. They had to die. He’d find a way.

  ****

  Brooke suppressed a shiver as the air conditioning in the hospital waiting room kicked on and blasted cold air on her. She hadn’t even realized her shirt and jeans were wet until she’d sat. She brushed grains of sand from between her fingers and the granules flittered to the floor.

  She clenched her jaw and struggled to ignore the scent and sounds that awakened horrible, haunting memories. The pictures came anyway—her mother’s body, covered with a bloody white sheet…her father’s body, in one of the many black body bags.

  The doctors couldn’t believe Brooke was still conscious as they wheeled her through the hospital halls. She’d lost so much blood. But she hadn’t felt the pain in her leg at that time. She’d only felt the pain of losing both her parents in the earthquake. Doctors had war
ned her that the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder she’d been diagnosed with could return if she ever experienced another catastrophe. She had to keep it together. She stood and forced herself to look at the clock again. Only two o’clock? Only two hours had passed since the explosion? She wished she had her cell phone so she could double-check the accuracy of the hospital clock.

  She moved to a new chair, further away from the air-conditioning ducts. The deputies had been in and out of the hospital waiting room for the past hour. She’d tried to corner them, get answers to her questions about the boat explosion and an update on Linda and Jeff. They were two graduate students having one last week of vacation before school started up again and now they were both in the hospital.

  The sheriff and his deputies wouldn’t tell her anything except the Coast Guard, police, and sheriff’s office were working in tandem. Shouldn’t that mean she’d get answers quicker?

  As if her thoughts had produced him, Deputy Fisher deposited himself in the seat to her left. The glare off the top of his bald head from the fluorescent lights made Brooke squint when she glanced at him. She spotted suspicion in his eyes.

  Deputy Cooper—the petite, busty deputy—pulled a chair in front of Brooke and settled into it, giving her a smile. “Mind if we ask a few more questions?” she asked, her voice low and sweet. She must be the good cop in the stereotypical “good cop/bad cop” scenario.

  Brooke nodded.

  “Who loaded the oxygen tanks?” Fisher bent to open his notepad, intensifying the glare off his head in the process. In a minute, she’d need to put on a pair of sunglasses.

  “I handed the tanks to them from the pier,” Brooke said. “Did the tanks explode?” Was she a suspect?. If they focused their investigation on her, they wouldn’t find the real culprit.

  He ignored her question. “Why didn’t you go on the boat with them?”

  She let out a quick gasp and realized she’d missed her doctor’s appointment. “I had a doctor’s appointment. I was going to head there after I left Linda and Jeff at the pier.” It would take months to reschedule with the plastic surgeon who specialized in making realistic prosthetic “skin.”

  “Could you give us a name, an address…so we can verify this appointment?” Fisher asked.

  Out of habit, Brooke reached for her purse. “I don’t have his card with me. His office is here at the hospital. Dr. Merrick.”

  He scribbled in his notebook.

  “You were with them the other day when they found a box on the ocean floor?”

  “Yes,” Brooke answered. “Well, not under the water. Only on the vessel.”

  “Do you own a firearm, Ms. Richards?” Fisher leaned forward, close enough that the glare from his head was completely blotted out by his face.

  “No,” Brooke said. “Why? Did someone shoot the boat?”

  From his sideways glance to Deputy Cooper, Brooke realized it was at least a possibility.

  “How about Jeff? Does he own a firearm?”

  “Jeff?” The thought was laughable. He was about as nerdy as they came. Nerdy and sweet. “Uh, no. I don’t think he owns a firearm.”

  Brooke cleared her throat. “Where is Jeff now?”

  “He’s here at the hospital,” Deputy Cooper said.

  “Can I see them?” she asked. “The receptionist told me she’d call me when they could have visitors but Jeff hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe you could help get me in to see them?” She glanced at the reception counter. Maybe she’d plead her case to the woman behind the desk.

  “As soon as we finish our questions here,” Deputy Fisher said.

  With a sigh, Brooke narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “Why did the boat explode? Can you tell me that? It was a rental. Did the craft have a mechanical problem?”

  Fisher raised a brow. “The investigation is ongoing.”

  Brooke straightened in her uncomfortable brown plastic chair, and realized she couldn’t sit still anymore. Now that her initial shock had worn off, anger started to burn inside her.

  Linda and Jeff were like family. Ever since she and Linda had been roommates in college, they’d been like sisters. Brooke had a right to know what was going on.

  She’d cooperate with the police, but first things first. Time to check on Linda and Jeff, then get her phone so she could contact their families.

  “If you have any more questions,” Brooke glanced from one deputy to the other, then stood to smooth out her wrinkled and damp t-shirt and jeans. “I’ll need a lawyer.”

  Fisher raised a dark brow and Cooper’s lips twitched at the edges.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to Linda and Jeff.” Brooke brushed between the two deputies.

  Deputy Cooper said something under her breath that Brooke couldn’t make out and then took Brooke’s elbow. “Here, let me take you up there.”

  Brooke didn’t care who went with her. She needed to get to Linda and Jeff.

  The woman behind the emergency room desk motioned to the double doors behind her. “I don’t know if they can have visitors yet. Linda’s going to be admitted and will stay on the third floor. Go ahead, though. They have a small waiting room up there. Through those doors, follow the red line on the wall, then take the elevator to the third floor.”

  The elevator dinged and they climbed inside.

  “You probably saved your friend’s life today, giving her CPR.” Deputy Cooper pressed the button for the third floor.

  The elevator doors slid closed, but just before they came together, a sturdy black boot and jean covered leg thrust between them preventing the panels from closing.

  Chapter Three

  Brooke’s gaze traveled upward to the man’s taut torso and the tanned arms holding the elevator doors apart.

  “Deputy Cooper.” The man nodded at the woman and stepped onto the elevator.

  “Detective Ciavello.” The deputy nodded back at him and then leaned forward to press the button to close the doors.

  “Brooke Richards?” The man’s intense gaze fixed on Brooke. His thick dark hair was cut stylishly short and his suntanned skin crinkled around his deep golden-brown eyes when he smiled. In spite of the smile, those eyes were shrouded with…something. Pain? Worry?

  “Yes, I’m Brooke Richards.”

  The elevator dinged, signaling the second floor, and he stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “I’m Garrett Ciavello, Flagler Beach Police Department.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, feeling the pull of his eyes.

  He smelled like sawdust—a woodsy aroma—and she relaxed. His tentative smile crinkled his tanned face again, making tiny lines around his eyes. An unexpected warmth filtered through her as she shook his hand. It felt like home…comforting and strong. She didn’t want to let go.

  The elevator stopped at the third floor. When the doors slid open, he gestured for them to exit first as he held the door, then stepped out behind them.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the explosion. I’m planning to search the area where your friends were diving the other day,” Garrett said.

  Brooke glanced across the Critical Care waiting room, wondering which room her friends might be in. “I’d like some answers about the explosion, too. I’m sorry. I’d like to help you but I need to get to my friends. I’ve told the police everything I know.” She lifted her chin toward the petite blonde beside her. “And Deputy Cooper can tell you everything.”

  “I understand,” he said. “I’m not here officially—I’m off duty. I have a personal interest in...” he hesitated. Again, Brooke noticed a flash of something in his eyes. Pain. She was pretty sure it was pain. He cleared his throat. “I plan to search the area where you and your friends found the box the other day. I have an interest in that container and I’d like to get a closer look at it.”

  Deputy Cooper’s police radio squawked and she pressed a button to silence it. “Gotta go,” she said, one hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “Good luck with everything.” She fished a busines
s card from her pocket. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

  “Thanks…for everything.” Brooke shook the deputy’s hand and turned her attention back to Garrett.

  “Let me help you find your friends. I don’t mind waiting to talk to you. I understand you’d want to be with them,” Garrett said. He walked toward the nurse’s station.

  Figuring a cop might help her get quicker answers, Brooke followed him.

  “Mr. Siebert is refusing treatment,” the nurse said. “Over there.” She pointed to a small seating area in the corner.

  Brooke followed the woman’s direction and spotted a rumpled-looking man seated on an orange vinyl sofa, cradling his head in his hands.

  Jeff.

  She couldn’t tell if he was injured or upset, but from the looks of it, he was not doing well. Two policemen flanked his sides and his almost fetal position made him look scrawny between them.

  “Jeff…” she whispered. She ran, closing the twenty-five yards between them.

  The two officers stood quickly in unison, then spotted Garrett.

  “She’s his friend,” Garrett said.

  “Jeff, are you okay?” She bent to meet his gaze. Jeff raised his head from his hands and squinted at her. His pale, soot-covered face and bloodshot eyes gave him the appearance of a man much older than his twenty-six years. The deep cuts that criss-crossed his face had been covered with butterfly bandages, and his short brown hair poked out in all directions. The red slash on his nose where his coke-bottle glasses usually sat gave him a vulnerable look. Her heart squeezed with concern.

  “Brooke?” He sneezed. Then he sneezed again. And then he sneezed a third and fourth time.

  One of the policemen handed him a paper cup of water as Jeff sneezed yet again. Jeff had a lot of allergies.

  The tallest cop ran a hand across his brow. “He refuses to get treatment for himself until he sees his wife…”

  “Linda…” Brooke said, ignoring his mistake. What difference did it make if they said “wife” or “girlfriend”? “How is she?” Critical Care was the place they took people who needed a lot of medical help, wasn’t it? Patients died here, didn’t they? No! She wouldn’t let herself think like that.