Piper turned to West and forced her lips to hold the fake smile she’d slapped on. “Sure. I’ll get changed and wander down to help Bill and Claire in the kitchen.”
Piper focused on the bridge of his nose, pretending to make eye contact.
Because damned if she’d let him see her soul raked to shreds at his indifference.
Chapter 19
The four mates making up the tour group on her last shark cage dive were weenies.
But they were paying weenies.
A banker, a sales rep, a real estate agent and some computer something-or-another hotshot. All out to prove they were real men by strutting around with their wetsuits peeled to the waist to show off their real manly chests. All laughing and shoving each other as they descended into the cage, and all going strangely still when the first Great White appeared out of the gloom.
Piper floated at the far end of the cage, making sure the real-men’s masks hadn’t fogged up or their air lines tangled. So far two sharks had visited. One, a huge mature female with a ragged dorsal fin she’d nicknamed Shabby Sally, and the second, a juvenile male she hadn’t seen before.
The female glided by, regal and powerful—eying them with her beady black eye as she swept past with lazy tail sweeps. After dives, their clients often gushed about how beautiful these creatures were. But to Piper? Oh, hey, look, a tank with teeth. Not beautiful. Majestic, impressive, memorable—she conceded. But an animal with a one ton bite capable of chomping off a limb if you were dumb enough to poke it out of the cage didn’t deserve “beautiful” as an adjective.
She tapped the guy next to her on the shoulder and positioned her gloved fingers into an “okay” sign. Eyes wide behind his mask, Raymond-the-banker didn’t appear to require an adult diaper just yet. She bent forward to check on the other three men and a grey blur exploded into her peripheral vision.
A shark’s conical shaped snout jammed into the horizontal gap of the cage, its body whipping and shuddering. Her heart bolted into a gallop and she jerked back. Crap!
Pandemonium erupted as the four real men panicked. Raymond flailed backward, ripping the regulator from her mouth in an eruption of bubbles. Keeping her lips sealed, Piper swept her hand through the chaos to relocate her regulator, but good ol’ Raymond still thrashed around like a total spaz keeping it from her reach. Double crap!
Two of his mates vamoosed out of the cage and the other cowered in the back corner. The juvenile shark, smaller and more agile than the female, twisted forward wedging its bullet-like head and toothy maw further into the gap. The Great White might give her a case of the screaming heebies, but its bulk couldn’t squeeze through solid steel. At least, she hoped not. But West couldn’t raise the cage with two terrified clients and one instructor with no freakin’ air, all while a two-thousand-pound teenage shark had a hissy-fit, half in it.
Sudden motion to her right. A foam of bubbles cleared as legs clad in black board shorts, followed by West’s bare chest and grim face, appeared in the cage beside her. He held a fishing gaff in one hand and moved to her side, using the top bars of the cage to steady himself as the shark struggled. Whether it still wanted to eat them or had changed its mind and was trying to free itself, she didn’t know. But West seemed unconcerned that Jaws attacked only inches away.
Real man number three in the cage corner unfroze and floundered up the boat ladder. Piper recovered the regulator and shoved it back in her mouth, sucking in great gulps of air. Raymond-the-banker looked near to a coronary episode, so with a meaningful glance at West they each grabbed a wrist and stilled his flailing arms.
She dragged the regulator from her lips and held it out to West, who just rolled his eyes behind the face mask. Yeah, got it. Free-divers didn’t need bottled air—show off. She patted the banker’s arm, willing him with her intense stare to calm the hell down.
West turned in a tight circle and aimed the blunt wooden end of the gaff at the shark’s head. A couple of well-aimed jabs to the gills and a smack across the snout made the shark fight more. The cage vibrated and clanked, while above, voices shouted in hollow booms.
Piper sucked in another gulp of air and although her heart still thudded in a quickstep, the sick, spilling-over feeling of panic didn’t follow. Though the Great White’s razor-sharp teeth flashed close to her face, her concern was directed toward the trembling banker hiding behind her. And West. West who jumped into the cage with only a fishing gaff and a face mask.
West jabbed the creature again and it wrenched away from the cage in a flurry of white water, disappearing into the murky gloom. West turned back toward them, since he’d placed his body between her and the shark, and gestured to the ladder. This time she didn’t argue. Raymond-the-banker didn’t need to be told twice either.
Fifteen minutes after West shook off the backslaps and hails of, “You’re a bloody legend, mate,” from the real men, he cornered her in the galley.
“You okay?” He placed his hands either side of her hips, trapping her back against the counter.
No doubt he meant: You’re not going to wig out on me, are you?
“I’m fine.” She tried to shove one of his arms away, but his muscled forearm under her palm wouldn’t budge.
He raised an eyebrow and she sighed. “I am, West. A little shaky, but I’m not about to hyperventilate or bawl my way through a box of Kleenex.”
“That’s my girl.” West shifted his hand to her hip, squeezed. “Tough as nails.”
“Speak for yourself, Westlake. Your four groupies out there are hailing you as the Kiwi version of Bear Grylls and Steve Irwin rolled into one.”
“Would’ve looked bad if I’d stayed on the boat squealing with the other two guys.”
Piper squirmed when West’s other hand dropped to her hip and then slid around to cup her bottom.
“Squealing, huh?” she said.
“Like little girls.”
“I suppose I’m grateful you showed up when you did.”
“Well, your banker may have drowned himself with clumsiness before the shark decided his skinny ass wasn’t worth the bother.”
“So you didn’t jump in to save me?”
He stared at her thoughtfully. “This is one of those female trick questions, isn’t it? Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
“Answer the question.”
“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Pipe, but I also knew you could hold your own. Consider me your backup shark wrangler.”
“You’re still my hero.” She meant the words to come out with a heavy note of sarcasm, but as West’s lips grazed a sensitive spot under her jaw, they instead sounded breathy and soft.
West hauled her into a bone-crushing hug. Piper clung back, burying her face in his throat. His pulse hammered so fast it bumped against her lips. She kissed the throbbing bump and closed her eyes. The hard length of him warmed her from chest to knees and she inhaled eau de West, the salty, earthy scent of his skin.
He’d saved her, and not just from the shark. West believed in her like no one else ever had. He’d jumped in the cage not because he doubted her ability, but as an equal partner. Once, she’d been devastated when West called her tough. Now the look in his eyes told her that “tough” in his vocabulary translated to “hot.”
But would that be enough to warm her on all the empty nights yawning in her future after this weekend?
***
Piper walked into The Great Flat White café, the grumble of The Mollymawk’s engine receding as it chugged toward the marker buoys in Halfmoon Bay behind her. West would lay anchor and meet them inside for a brief rundown before they headed to Due South for another evening shift. Though greasy dishwater appealed a lot more than suffering through Ben’s teasing about “Piper-shaped shark bait.”
West radioed in earlier to let Ben know their clients were safe, and the four real men bragged the whole way back. Their city friends would no doubt hear a modified version of events—one in which they were cool and heroic. She hoped
it would boost Ben’s business.
“No shark jokes.” She sat at Ben’s table and pinched a French fry off his plate. “I heard every variation on the way in.”
Ben’s lips twitched, the only indication of amusement since his brown eyes remained steady. “You’re okay?”
“It was a freaky fluke. No harm, no foul.” She finished the French fry and stole another. “The shark was probably more unhinged than me.”
“Could you climb into the cage again?”
Piper upended the tomato sauce bottle over Ben’s plate, the thick red sauce oozing onto the white porcelain. “Are you implying I’m a wuss because some dumbass shark got disoriented and thought we were dinner?”
“You’re the bravest woman I know.”
Piper froze, her half-eaten fry hovering between Ben’s plate and her mouth, fat red globules dripping onto the table. Had lightning struck, or had The Rapture started?
“Did you just pay me a compliment?”
“I’m serious. And I need to know, could you take another tour into the cage?”
Nibbling on the fry, Piper leaned back in her chair and crossed her ankles. Could she do it? Even with a lost regulator and a big-ass shark snapping its jaws in her face, she’d remained focused. She hadn’t panicked.
“Yeah, I could.” For some reason sharks no longer worried her as much as the thought of coming across another drowning victim. “Have you got another booking this week?”
Ben shook his head. “So, are you still planning to board that ferry on Saturday?”
She’d reached across the table for another fry when Ben’s words killed her appetite. She dropped her hand, her fingers clenched. “Already bought and paid for my ticket. Plus the connecting flight from Invercargill to Wellington.”
“Back to police headquarters. The guys miss you, huh?”
“They do.” She blew out a breath. “But I’m going to resign from the squad.”
Ben’s gaze shifted to the windows opening out toward the harbor. In the distance The Mollymawk bobbed on the swells with a circle of gulls wheeling overhead. A tiny figure moved around on deck.
“Your decision, but you should be proud of what you’ve achieved.” Ben’s voice dropped. “Because we’re all proud of you.”
“Thanks,” she managed before her throat clamped shut.
He leaned forward, his large hand covering her fist. The unexpected touch turned the lump in her throat to a boulder. “I’ve been a sorry excuse for a brother and you know apologies aren’t my thing, but I’m sorry. For everything.”
She blinked and looked down at their hands.
“So I’m asking you for time to make up for being such a jerk all these years. You don’t have to go back, Pipe. Stay, and work with me.”
“As your safety diver?”
“And to run your weekend shagging cruises, which, yeah, yeah, have turned out to be wildly popular. I also thought we could offer more comprehensive learn-to-dive training courses—that way, you could spare your squad some work.”
“You want me to work for you?”
“Nope. I want you as my partner.”
So much swirled around in her head, her palms sweaty at the idea of staying and working with Ben, that she repeated his words like an imbecile. “Be your partner?”
His brow creased and he rapped two knuckles against her forehead. “Didn’t I just say that?”
She swatted his hand away and he grinned. They were good now. Or, on the way to being good.
Studying his face, she said, “I’ll have to think about it.”
Ben turned his head toward the window and she followed his gaze. Out in the harbor West rowed the dinghy back to shore. Pressure, like boiling magma, bubbled in her belly and seared her lungs.
Ben offered her a way back to her roots, a way back to herself—if she could admit these last six weeks diving recreationally were the happiest she’d spent in the water for years.
“Will you tell him?”
Her gaze darted back to Ben’s face at the tone in his voice. “Tell him what?”
“Tell him you’re considering staying? You ripped his heart out last time you left.”
“I ripped his heart out?”
“At first I thought West was just busted up about Dad dying, like me. Then I caught him with your photo—and twigged to why he was a basket case for months.”
“But he dumped me.”
Ben barked a harsh laugh. “No kidding?”
“He told me I meant nothing more to him than a quick summer screw.”
Ben winced and shook his head. “I really didn’t need to know that. But still, you believed him?”
“Yeah I believed him—he was very believable.”
“Maybe I should step outside and kick his sorry ass for treating you like that.”
“Yeah, that’ll help.”
Ben leveled a piercing Harland stare at her. “What’ll help is if the two of you stop dancing around the flaming obvious.”
Piper snorted.
“You’re in love with him,” said Ben. “And he’s in love with you. If you both weren’t so bloody proud and tied up in knots, you’d tell each other and be done with it.”
She jerked upright. God, were her feelings for West so transparent that even her I don’t talk about girly emotions brother felt compelled to point them out?
“I’m not in love—” Realizing how loud her voice had become, Piper stopped and sucked in a breath before continuing in an octave lower. “We both knew our relationship was casual, temporary at best. And this is so not a topic I’m discussing with you.”
She stood, and her chair screeched on the wooden floor. “I’ve got kitchen duty with Bill.”
Ben grinned up at her, all smirky and smug, flapping his elbows and making a clucking sound. “Running away, my little feathered sister?”
Piper bared her teeth. “Well, I could spare another five minutes to grill you about your sex life.”
Ben’s smile faded and he folded his arms. “Not going there.”
“And you call me chicken,” Piper threw over her shoulder as she walked away from him and stepped outside into a brisk sea breeze.
Piper hustled her butt off the wharf and along the road to Due South. In the distance West drew closer to shore in the dinghy. She walked faster. Coming face to face with him right now? Such a bad idea. Not when she felt so vulnerable, her heart having finally rolled over to expose its soft underbelly.
Was Ben right? Was she really in love with him—a forever-kind of in love with him? And if so, did she dare deliver her heart into West’s hands again?
***
West opened sleepy eyes to find an empty bed. Normally he woke before Piper, wrapped around her like a pretzel. Last night they’d worn each other out, the intensity of their lovemaking a silent illustration of time slipping away. West kicked off the sheets and pulled on discarded jeans and a shirt.
He padded through the house, the first burnished rays breaking over the harbor and spilling through the windows. Piper wasn’t in the office surfing the net or in the kitchen brewing their morning coffee. He glanced outside. Donny’s tail and half of his body wagged as he ambled down the driveway.
West slipped on a pair of battered sneakers and followed his dog, finding Piper picking flowers at the property edge. Nothing too odd, except dawn was way too early for flower arranging, and today was their last morning to cuddle, aka fool around. Tomorrow Piper would hop on the Stewart Island ferry and out of his life.
Piper turned, clutching a fist of battered-looking daisies.
“Oh. You’re up.” She tucked in her lips and kept her eyes downcast. Like that would hide her tear-wet cheeks and reddened lids.
Donny scooted over and plopped down on her feet, leaning his head against her knee and whining. Piper was a total sucker for his mutt’s woe-is-me act, but this morning she didn’t even glance at him. Something was wrong.
“So you’re…trimming the shrubbery?” he said.
“I’m going up to Dad’s memorial and I wanted to take something.” She gave a half shrug and waggled the makeshift bouquet. “Pretty sad specimens, aren’t they?”
“He wouldn’t have minded.”
“No. I don’t suppose he would’ve.”
West canted his head. Piper had grown from mischievous kid, to awkward teenager, into an amazing, courageous, and beautiful woman. More than anything he wanted to watch her grow into a feisty old lady who’d continue to stick her freezing cold feet on him every night of their long, long lives together.
He wanted to tell her that, but he wouldn’t use her emotions and vulnerability to convince her to give up the career she’d fought so hard for in Wellington. How could he ask her to give up something she loved? Something that gave her an identity and purpose?
He shoved his fists into the front pockets of his jeans, bracing his spine for an argument. “I’d like to come with you.”
She gently nudged Donny off her feet. “Okay.”
That was it? No thunder and lighting and barbed comebacks? West upgraded something wrong, to something very, very wrong.
They walked the winding road to the cemetery with Donny trotting at their feet, the trill of a tui fluttering from flax bush to tree ringing through the still morning air. Michael Harland’s memorial stood away from the other graves, in a section Glenna had purchased after he died. Glenna intended to be buried beside the memorial she told West once, even though the sea had stolen her soul-mate and never returned his body.
And as far as he knew, Piper hadn’t returned to this spot since the day she left Oban.
Piper stood in front of the memorial, a pyramid shaped stack of river rocks, Michael’s name and dates inscribed on a plaque at the base. To one side lay a browning rose stalk, the petals long blown away by the sea wind rippling across the grass.
A rose from Glenna’s garden.
Every Sunday morning Glenna walked past his road to the cemetery. Would he ever feel that same dedication, that unswerving love and loyalty for a woman? Piper dipped into his line of vision as she laid her daisies on the other side of the cairn. Yeah, he felt it all right. The real question—would he ever feel it for anyone but her? A resounding no.
In Too Deep Page 28