by Joya Fields
He turned the bike into his driveway and steered it up the short hill. No matter what the Coast Guard said, no matter what the police investigation turned up, he knew in his gut that the boat explosion had to be related to the box. Brooke could be in serious danger if the person who blew up the craft had been trying to stop the dive. If anyone found out that she knew where to find the metal box, they might try to quiet her, too.
Rico. The name burned in Garrett’s brain as if branded there. The kid had to be behind all of this. Tessa’s disappearance, the boat explosion. The punk was mixed up in gangs and drugs. No doubt in Garrett’s mind, Rico was capable of murder.
Garrett jabbed the garage door opener, then rolled the motorcycle inside. After closing the door, he slipped out his cell and dialed Diego’s number. He’d arrange for a patrol car to traverse the area around Brooke’s motel tonight. Maybe they could even station someone out in the parking lot if it was a slow night in Flagler County. Heck, maybe he would drive his truck over there and sit in the parking lot himself.
He left a voicemail for Diego, then walked inside, straight to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. His thoughts drifted to Brooke and he pictured her slow smile and expressive face. Brooke wasn’t hard on the eyes, no doubt about it, but there was more. Something about her determination and her drive.
She’d watched her friends’ boat explode, been burned by debris, given her friend CPR, dealt with questions from police and spent the entire day at the hospital. A lesser person would have crashed. But Brooke did what she needed to do to get answers and help her friends.
Something in his gut told him that she could be the key to finding the box and finding out if the red hair trapped under the lid belonged to his cousin.
Was he being selfish by involving Brooke? He stepped out onto his deck and let the breeze from the canal calm his fears. She had the background to help them find the crate. But was he putting her in greater danger if he let her help them?
Chapter Four
Brooke’s alarm rang at nine a.m. the next morning, waking her from a nightmare. She’d dreamed that her parents were trapped on the ocean floor—their wetsuits caught on rough coral—and they were reaching out to Brooke for help. But she couldn’t get to them…something pulled her to the top of the water, away from them.
She moved slower than usual, sadness weighing her down. She stepped into the shower and used extra-hot water to steam away her thoughts.
An hour later, she slid into Garrett’s pickup truck with a renewed attitude.
“Coffee?” He held a steaming Styrofoam cup out for her.
“Thanks.” She took a sip of the strong, fragrant brew.
“It’s black. I wasn’t sure how you took it.”
“It’s perfect.”
“And breakfast.” He handed her a white paper bag and pulled out of the motel parking lot.
Brooke wasn’t hungry, but she accepted the bag. She inhaled the warm, sugary scent of pumpkin and her stomach growled. She broke off a piece of the pumpkin-pecan muffin and popped it in her mouth. Flavors and spices formed a symphony of delicious tastes—way better than the half of a stale turkey sandwich from the motel diner she’d eaten last night.
“Wow.” She chased the piece of muffin down with a sip of coffee. “Incredible.”
He peered at her over mirrored sunglasses and smiled, then looked back at the road. “How’s Linda?”
She swallowed and stared out the passenger window at the palm trees and sandy soil along the highway and tried to erase the image of Linda’s weak body in the hospital bed. “I called as soon as I woke up. She’s still in critical condition. No change.”
He nodded and merged into traffic. “If she didn’t get worse, that’s good news. The first twenty-four hours are critical.”
“Her parents will be here tonight. I think that’ll help Linda. And Jeff, too. Jeff doesn’t like having to make all the decisions.”
She broke off another piece of the muffin and savored the woodsy taste of the pumpkin.
He raised a brow and shot her a half-smile. “My sister would be glad her muffins are appreciated.”
“Your sister made these?”
He chuckled. Her heart thumped against her ribs as she admired the way his tanned skin creased around his eyes, the dimple that dented his cheek, and his generous lips that curved around straight white teeth. Again, she felt a pang of guilt. She shouldn’t be checking out a guy when Linda was in critical condition.
“My family owns a pizza place. Alisha talked my mom into letting her add desserts—gourmet coffee, pastries—it’s been a hit with customers.”
“Wow, she has talent.” Brooke had eaten almost the entire muffin. And as much as she hadn’t felt hungry—didn’t even want to think about food—the muffin had actually settled her stomach. “I’ll bet people buy these by the dozen.”
“That, they do.” He smiled, but his brows furrowed.
She mirrored his expression and her thoughts turned to the job ahead of them. “Your police friend is meeting us at your boat?” She brushed crumbs from her lap onto a napkin and folded them inside.
“Yep. Diego. We’re set.” His frown deepened at the mention of the task before them. His generous lips—the ones she’d been admiring just seconds ago—pressed tight against each other. If the metal box contained a body like Linda and Jeff thought, there could be a sad ending to today’s search.
Brooke smelled his shampoo—a fresh, clean minty scent. No sawdust smell today. His casual attire—t-shirt, khaki shorts and worn white running shoes—showed off a tight body. One that spent a lot of time outdoors.
Garrett steered the truck up a short cement driveway and pushed a button on his dash to open the garage door. He pulled into a two-car garage and parked next to the bike they’d ridden last night. Her mind flashed to the memory of how nice it felt to be pressed up against him.
The garage door closed behind them and shrouded the truck’s cab in dim shadows. He turned and his dark eyes gleamed with moisture.
“Thanks for coming today,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.
****
Brooke had expected his boat to be docked at a public pier or yacht club, but it was docked in his own backyard canal. She walked through Garrett’s small but tidy house on the way to the back door and his pier. She lingered a few seconds longer than necessary to admire the framed pictures and sturdy furniture throughout the rooms.
Heavy-duty, refurbished furniture—rustic, but not too worn, and beautiful, warm brown tile floors ran throughout the house, creating a comforting, inviting atmosphere that made her feel relaxed. Just like its owner.
When she walked outside to the deck, the view almost knocked her off her feet. The decking wasn’t quite finished, but the plan was obvious; a three-tiered deck that led down a hill to a cobblestone path to the canal and a small private pier.
“Wow.” She knew the word didn’t adequately relay her impression of this spectacular view. If she had a view like this out her back window, she might never leave her house. The water was like a Siren call for her—inviting her to explore.
Garrett leaned on the railing and smiled. He followed her glance to the water. “Yeah…I need to do some more work, but it’s almost finished.”
She opened her eyes wide. “You built this?”
He blushed a little and pocketed his hands in his shorts. “Refurbished the house, too. Bit by bit over the last five years.”
She blinked, looked at the house, then back out at the canal. “Incredible.”
“We’d better hit it.” He slid his sunglasses down his nose. Her face warmed as he gazed at her. “Anything you need from the house? Jacket? Sunscreen?”
She shook her head, adjusted the strap on her oversized handbag, and patted it. “Got everything right here. Sunscreen, hat, camera, pen and paper for notes.”
The intensity of his gaze made her uncomfortable and sent ripples of apprehension and desire through her body. What would it be like
to have those deep brown eyes staring down at her in the heat of passion? He pushed his sunglasses back into place. Did he feel it too?
“Follow me,” he said, casually taking her hand.
But there was nothing casual about the shivers that dashed along her skin at the feel of his rough hand holding hers. A little voice inside her head screamed for her to pull away. She told that voice to shut up.
He led the way down the steps and she admired the way his calf muscles bunched and flexed. She forced her eyes upward and gazed at his butt. What would it feel like to put her palms over his firm muscles during a slow dance?
When they hit the cobblestone pathway, he faced her. “Diego picked up a wetsuit and tank for you.”
His words stopped her steamy thoughts instantly. She let go of his hand. He thought she’d dive with them? She was an underwater archaeologist, but after the earthquake, she stuck with teaching it—not practicing it. She couldn’t dive anymore. Not without her parents. It would be too hard. She had no idea he’d expected her to dive.
Brooke opened her mouth, ready to explain the mistaken assumption, but Diego hollered from the pier, drawing Garrett’s attention to the vessel.
“I’d better help him,” he said, and sprinted off.
She walked faster in order to catch up to Garrett before he got to the boat, trying to figure out a polite way to decline his offer. She’d help them find the spot, but she was not going in the water.
Diego waved with one hand from the twenty-six foot fishing boat with the name Amigo painted on the stern. He piled the diving gear in a corner of the bow. Brooke’s mind flashed to yesterday when she’d helped Linda and Jeff load their supplies. She pushed the scene to the back of her mind, determined to focus on guiding Garrett to the correct spot in the ocean.
She got to the craft as Garrett and Diego loaded two coolers. They lowered them to the floor and Garrett stepped toward her and held out a hand.
She hesitated. The boat was a full two feet above the pier…her leg could snap. Garrett gazed into her eyes and let her know without words she would be fine. His eyes asked her to trust him.
She nodded in response to his unspoken prompting and reached for his outstretched hand. Gaining strength from his firm grip, she stepped, right foot first, onto the boat. She swung her left leg onboard and sighed in relief when the other knee held.
The casual, basic multi-purpose vessel could be used for fishing or scuba diving. It was also big enough to carry a group of friends out for a day of fun on the water. She thought about Linda and Jeff—how happy they’d looked as they’d boarded their boat. And then mere minutes later…she shuddered at the still-fresh memory, and then glanced up when a tall Hispanic man approached her. She noticed a slight limp.
“Hey, Brooke…” Diego wiped both hands on the sides of his shorts and stuck out his right one. He wore Hawaiian print swim trunks with huge, colorful flowers on a navy background. His chest was bare—a deeply tanned, muscular chest. A little huskier and broader than Garrett’s, but very nice. The kind you’d find on a fireman calendar. “I’m Diego. Thanks for helping today. I hope we find something.” He glanced over his shoulder at Garrett, who was busy at the helm.
Brooke smiled and reached out to shake the strong hand Diego offered and wasn’t a bit surprised by his firm grip. Immediately, she thought about the metal box. These were exactly the type of hands they’d need to bring a big crate to the surface.
With a frown, Diego looked down at her legs. “Won’t you be hot in jeans?”
She’d worn a comfortable and functional pastel blue halter top, but covered her legs in jeans and her feet with tennis shoes. Forecasters predicted a high of ninety-two today. She’d rather sweat than wear shorts.
Garrett started the motor. She smiled and shrugged at Diego, happy that the roar of the engine kept her from having to answer.
Diego untied the ropes, and then knelt to double-check the strap. Brooke helped him holster the oxygen tanks as the boat rocked in the slight current.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Garrett yelled over the sound of the engine. He gestured with his chin toward the padded benches in the bow of the craft.
Brooke nodded and moved to the front of the boat, fearful with every step that she might fall and make a fool of herself.
She found a seat and inhaled the salty spray as they motored along the canal. She started to relax when seagulls flapped overhead and water bubbled in the wake behind them. A gorgeous day for a grim task. She opened her bag and pulled out sunscreen, sunglasses, and a bright yellow hat.
Diego studied a clipboard and then moved to join Garrett at the helm.
“We’re following Jeff’s coordinates…should be there in about fifteen minutes,” Garrett shouted as he steered the vessel into the Intra-coastal Waterway.
She gave him a thumbs-up so he’d know she heard him. Then she nodded and turned her head, pretending to check out the view. It beat watching the breeze plaster his lightweight t-shirt against his chest, and picturing him without the shirt.
Brooke dug in her bag for the paper on which she and Jeff had drawn. Garrett had the coordinates, but Jeff had said she’d also need to “eyeball” it. The coordinates would get them close, but she’d need to rely on memory to help her pinpoint the spot.
They motored along the waterway and her mind wandered to Linda. She did a mental check to be sure she’d done everything the doctors had asked her to do this morning, specifically, obtain Linda’s social security number and insurance information from Linda’s mom and leave pertinent cell phone numbers—including her own—with the nurses. She’d even phoned first thing in the morning to make sure the nurses on the afternoon shift knew she’d be out on the water today. Cell reception on a boat could be sketchy at times.
Garrett steered the vessel out of the waterway and into the Atlantic Ocean, bringing her thoughts back to the present. The water grew choppier, and she held onto the sides of her seat to steady herself. She glanced around and noticed a few fishermen, but no water-skiers or tourists on jet skis. Once the school year started, the waterways grew quieter. A quick glance at the sunny morning sky confirmed only a few clouds, so they’d have plenty of time to search today without worrying about weather. And one thing she knew about Floridians—there’d always be plenty of warning if bad weather was coming.
She bit her lip. What would they find when they reached the site? Would there be a dead body in the box? Would they be able to lift it? Linda and Jeff hadn’t been able to pull it out of the sand because they’d run low on oxygen and had to surface. Maybe this time they’d find the crate sooner, successfully dislodge it, and bring it up.
The thought of a dead body on board made Brooke’s stomach turn. There was always the chance it would turn out to be something other than red tendrils sticking out of the watery coffin, but Brooke doubted it. While Jeff had been somewhat sure that it was human hair, Linda had been absolutely convinced.
“This is the spot.” Garrett eased off the throttle and idled the engine. In the quiet that followed, the waves lapped against the hull. Brooke stood and made her way to the helm.
She scanned their surroundings. “Close but...” She glanced at the slip of paper in her hand. She and Jeff had been using educated guesses about which way the currents and undertow might have pulled the box during the tropical storm. “Let’s go about one hundred yards that way.” She pointed out into the expansive ocean.
Garrett revved the motor and steered the craft in the direction she indicated, brushing against her and sending a jolt of electricity along her arm. She took a deep breath to control the sparks that traveled all the way to her toes and shifted away to concentrate on the task at hand.
“There?” he asked.
“Yes.” She glanced at the surface of the greenish-blue water around them. “This is the spot.” His brown eyes—so full of energy and life a few minutes ago, suddenly grew distant and sad. She touched his forearm gently. “Why do you want that box so badly?”
>
He shut off the engine and heaved a sigh. He glanced at Diego, then looked back at Brooke. “It might be my cousin, Tessa. She’s been missing for two months. She had long red hair.” He slid his sunglasses atop his head, then swallowed hard and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were wet.
Brooke shook her head. Not someone from his family. His cousin might be in that box?
“But it might not be her, right? She might be okay?” Brooke asked.
His eyes met hers. As if in prayer, he whispered, “God I hope so.”
****
“Are you sure you don’t want to come down with us?” Garrett asked, checking Diego’s oxygen monitor.
She nodded, glad they’d understood her reluctance and fear. “I’m sure.”
Diego gave her a smile that was probably meant to be supportive. She could only assume that Garrett had told him about her leg. They probably both thought she didn’t want to dive because of her prosthesis.
Garrett faced her and placed his hands on her shoulders while Diego walked to the port-side edge to pull on flippers. “You’ll be okay for forty-five minutes by yourself?” He turned her around and pointed to the helm. “Radio is there. Keys are in the ignition…”
She laughed and tried to ignore the way her pulse raced when his hands touched her and held her so close. “I’m an underwater archaeologist. I think I’m capable of taking care of myself on a boat.”
She caught a twinkle in his chocolate-brown eyes.
“I know…that’s why it would be nice to have you down there with us.”
She tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. She enjoyed the way his hands held her…possessive, yet careful. “Maybe another time. Not today.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, gave her shoulders a squeeze, and then nodded. “Okay. See you in forty-five minutes.”
He flippered across the deck and joined Diego on the edge. Then, he spit in his mask to clear the fog. Within seconds, they both leaned back and disappeared into the water.
Brooke moved to the port side and all she could see in their wake was bubbles.