by Rachel Grant
“The seven retired Navy guys were eager to go for one last sail on the sub, according to a sailor who recorded details that never made it into the tug’s log book—it’s that account of the incident that Trina managed to find in the classified documents. The mothball fleet commander’s account was somewhat different, but then, it really isn’t clear if he authorized or even knew what was going on in the strait at the time.
“In Port Angeles, they fueled up the sub and hooked up the radios, but there was no sonar or radar—which was fine because it was supposed to be a surface cruise only, about a hundred nautical miles to the port at La Push.”
“And this is where the story turns tragic,” Luke said.
She nodded. “They were near Sekiu when Wrasse dove for no reason. No distress call. No nothing. They just went down—but it was controlled. They stayed at periscope depth for several minutes before the sailor on the tug lost sight of them. The tug captain tried to hail the retired admiral. The response was complete silence. They don’t know if the radio failed or if there was some other system failure, but the fact that the dive was controlled was odd. They waited for the sub to surface, and it never did. It was the last anyone saw of the USS Wrasse and her seven-man complement.”
They’d reached a stretch of roadway that ran along the southern edge of this expanse of the Salish Sea, which was the official name of the intricate network of coastal waterways that included the Strait of Georgia in Canada, Puget Sound, which divided the bulk of Washington from the state’s two largest peninsulas, and the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the common name of the body of water to her right. Soft waves of low tide lapped at the shore. It was a beautiful, crisp, early November day, probably not much different from the late October day in which Wrasse disappeared.
“After the crisis was over, the Navy searched for the sub, but given the depth and width of the strait, it was impossible. Mackerel-class subs were the smallest from that era, not like the giant ones we have today that would be hard to miss, and all they had was a starting point. They had no idea how far Wrasse traveled underwater, and no clue why she sank. The sub had more than enough fuel to get them all the way to La Push, but they were blind down there without sonar.”
“How did you find it now?”
“About two years ago, a large piece of metal got caught in a fisherman’s net. He shredded the net bringing it up and then tried to sue the Navy for the damage. They sent out a few divers to see if it really was a Navy vessel, and they found more of the wreck. It fits the time period and sub class. We’re ninety percent certain it’s Wrasse. Our job was supposed to be to confirm it, map it, and work with divers from the Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command to determine if we could recover the remains for reburial. All seven men who died were career Navy, and their service ranged from World War I to Korea.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
“I think NHHC will try again next spring.” She shifted in her seat, her belly turning sour at the idea she might not be able to complete the project, not because the Navy wouldn’t let her, but because she was chickenshit and would never dive again.
Who would she be if she didn’t have diving?
“Does the Navy know you’re planning to dive there today?”
“Erica and Mara know.”
“Who is Erica? You mentioned her earlier.”
She shifted her gaze from the coastline back to his profile, which she’d been avoiding looking at mostly because she was uncomfortable with the fact that she found him attractive. She would never act on it. Finding him easy on the eyes was a far distance from actually desiring him, and her feelings for him were long since dead and buried. But still, he would slam on the brakes and kick her out of the car if he knew she even entertained the notion that his thick brown hair looked good in that short cut, and his eyes had always made her think of an Atlantic blue tang. So much so that she’d given away the ones in her home aquarium not long after she’d ruined his life. But then, the only reminder she’d kept from her time with Luke was a sand dollar collected from the beach where she’d lost her virginity.
“Undine?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I was just… Never mind. Erica Scott is another underwater archaeologist at NHHC. You might have heard of her. She played a role in that scandal years ago—the one that involved all the money and artifact smuggling from Iraq.”
His brow furrowed, then finally he said, “Erica Kesling? I guess she married the senator’s stepson.”
Undine nodded. “I was a bridesmaid at their wedding last spring. This dive was supposed to be her project, but she’s six months pregnant, so UAB sent me.” She settled back in the seat and fixed her gaze on the road ahead. “She came out here for a week, to be with me after the accident. I couldn’t fly home because of my ears and was pretty much a wreck.”
“I thought your father was with you.”
“I sent him back to Monterey as soon as Erica offered to stay with me. My dad and I… We don’t get along like we used to.”
He was silent at that. Did he really believe she and her father could pick up their close relationship after what Stefan had done to Luke?
Her parents had divorced when she was six, and her mother hadn’t batted an eye at granting Stefan full custody. She was tired of the travel and the responsibility. She’d moved to landlocked Arizona and acted put out when Undine visited for one measly month each year.
As a result, she’d bonded twice as hard with her father, and he’d lavished her with enough love to make up for two parents. Their once-close relationship had shattered when she was sixteen, but the rift was one-sided. She couldn’t forgive her father’s actions toward Luke. He’d wanted the man to go to jail and had tried to make it happen. There was no forgiving that.
“After Erica left, Trina—the Cold War historian—took her place for a week.”
“Good friends to drop everything for you.”
“The best.” Growing up around the world as she had, she’d never had friends her own age. She’d been younger than her peers in college and grad school and was at the young end of the spectrum among NHHC employees, but for the first time, she had women friends she was close to, and they were a precious gift, making her realize exactly how lonely she’d been. For a brief time, Luke had filled that lonely gap, but that…hadn’t been fair to him.
Okay, that was an understatement.
There was a certain degree of responsibility Stefan had yet to own. She’d spent much of her childhood and adolescence on boats, traveling the world, and her dad never provided opportunities for her to socialize with other children or teens, so she’d taken on the role of adult, just to fit in. She’d been desperate for attention from the opposite gender, and boys her own age didn’t pass through her orbit with any regularity. Her father had never acknowledged his role in the ugly outcome.
“I don’t know what I’d do without them,” she continued. “They both work for NHHC, so getting the leave approved wasn’t a problem, but blowing vacation time to hang out with a friend who was a complete wreck—I owe them huge.”
“Your dad…” Luke said, then cleared his throat, “he, uh, called me.”
Her spine went rigid. “He did?” She curled a hand into a fist. If her father said anything even slightly rude to Luke, she didn’t know what she’d do. Their relationship was strained enough as it was. “What did he say?”
“He thanked me for pulling you out of the water, then hung up. I gathered it pained him to make the call and figured you’d put him up to it.”
“No. I would never ask Dad to call you.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe it’s a NOAA thing. He really wants in on some research NOAA is doing in the Galapagos, and I gather he’s losing influence there because of his stupid reality show.”
“What the hell is up with that? Sink or Swim has brought his credibility as a scientist to an all-time low.”
She shrugged. “Underwater research is expensive, and documentaries don’t bring in the big bucks like t
hey used to, whereas reality competition shows make stupid money. But yeah, I hate that show and told him it was a dumbass idea.”
They eased into a companionable silence as the coastal road passed beneath the wheels of his SUV. What would it be like to really be friends with this man, if she hadn’t screwed up so horribly when she was still too young to know better?
Luke focused on the road ahead, trying to ignore the irritating tug in his gut. He couldn’t fathom how he could feel any sort of attraction to her; therefore, this couldn’t be attraction. It must be some heretofore-undiscovered form of sympathy. He felt sorry for her ordeal, which inhibited his anger triggers, and unable to feel or process the anger that usually accompanied thoughts of her, he was vulnerable to other emotional reactions to her physical presence, like noticing her warm smile when she spoke of her friends.
Undine’s wide cheekbones, full lips, and green-brown eyes were pretty, but when viewed dispassionately, he’d place them at the unremarkable end of the spectrum. When she was younger, long days in the tropical sun had given her hair natural highlights, but now it appeared she spent far less time outside on the water and her long, straight hair was dark, glossy brown. Pretty, but again, nothing out of the ordinary.
He supposed it had been her personality that gave her looks an extra spark. Her light, flirtatious nature had a magical quality that had, over time, transfixed him. He wondered if she still had that power, if her charm and wit could enthrall him into seeing her as a great beauty again.
Her personality was subdued now—understandable given both her situation and their history—but would she bloom into the orchid he remembered? Dare he risk spending time with her to find out?
He again asked himself what he was doing with her now, and all he could think was that in spite of everything, he couldn’t turn his back on her plea. He understood the hazards of PTSD. But it was also possible some spark of their friendship hadn’t been extinguished as he wallowed in anger.
Or maybe he was just tired of being angry and seized on the chance to let it go. Maybe taking her on a dive would grant him freedom from the ugly emotion that had claimed too much of him over the years.
And maybe he should stop trying to psychoanalyze himself and focus on the damn road.
He’d spent the last fifteen miles trying to justify the fact that last night he’d had sexy dreams about her.
In the past, sex dreams featuring Undine Gray had left him filled with shame, revulsion, and horror. He’d wake in a sweat and immediately need a shower. Hard to explain if a girlfriend was sleeping over. But those dreams had Undine frozen in time, forever sixteen. She was now very much a woman, and a pretty one—maybe even remarkably so if he would stop lying to himself—at that. Last night’s dream had been different from the nightmares he’d suffered in the past. The subconscious encounter had featured the woman who’d brazenly asked for his help yesterday. He’d woken with a hard-on instead of in a sweat, and then cursed himself for agreeing to take her diving as he waited for dawn.
He could psychoanalyze himself from Port Angeles to Neah Bay, but the end result would still be the same: he was attracted to Undine Gray.
If he acted on that attraction, he’d have to be the biggest dipshit on the planet, because even though she’d grown up, if they engaged in consensual, recreational sex, he didn’t doubt that once again her father would find out and come gunning for him with both barrels. Even though there was nothing legally the man could do, he was still the world’s preeminent marine biologist and Luke had finally returned to the profession.
He had too much to lose and wouldn’t risk it for a blowjob. She wasn’t that tempting.
A question that had bothered him for the last twelve years came to the forefront of his mind. “How did your father find out about us?”
She pulled her legs up onto the seat and wrapped her arms around them. “I don’t know. I asked, but he wouldn’t say. My guess is someone at the institute told him.”
“We were careful.” He hadn’t known her age, but she was the boss’s daughter. When it became clear something was developing between them, even before their first kiss, they’d agreed to be discreet. His need to protect his job had played right into her seductive plans.
“We were. But we still flirted.”
“Sweetheart, you flirted with everyone.” The endearment slipped out. He asked himself if he regretted it and didn’t have an answer.
“True. But with you…I was different.” He glanced sideways, catching her smile as her eyes lit up with a hint of mischief. “Really, it’s all your fault.”
Her sheer audacity triggered a sharp, surprised laugh. “My fault?”
“Totally. You showed up at the institute with your movie-star-handsome face, that ginormous brain, and that passion for the sea. And then you had to go and notice me. You listened to me like I was important. I took one look at you, and I just…wanted.”
“Honey, we all noticed you.” Another endearment. What was wrong with him?
“Yeah, but you were different. Your gaze didn’t skip over me as the boss’s daughter. Someone to give token, even condescending attention because I was Stefan Gray’s progeny. You actually talked to me about our research—as if I was the expert.”
That startled him. “But you were.”
“True. But no one else recognized that.” She unfurled her legs, no longer holding herself in a tight, defensive ball. “When you asked me how old I was and I realized you didn’t know…I feared the only reason you were showing me that respect was because you thought I was older. When I told you I was nineteen, it wasn’t because I had plans to seduce you, it was because I didn’t want to lose that respect. I didn’t want your gaze to skip over me like the others. I grew up on my dad’s boat and at that damn institute, and I was so damn lonely. I didn’t even know how lonely I was until you filled the void.”
He’d never imagined she could say something that would make sense of her actions, or that would cause his heart to soften, but then, in all the intervening years, he’d never once tried to understand Undine’s perspective. For the first time, he realized that maybe he’d done her a disservice in turning a blind eye to her role at the institute.
He cleared his throat as he tried to regain his equilibrium. He’d been so clear in his opinions of her. So set in his version of the facts, forgetting that facts were open to interpretation. He could be a crappy scientist at times. “Thank you for telling me that,” he said.
He reached for the knob on the radio and turned up the volume on a Canadian station that played mostly Rush and Bachman-Turner Overdrive, effectively cutting off further conversation. Fifty more winding miles to Neah Bay, and he was already reevaluating everything he thought he knew about her.
Chapter Six
The boat Luke had arranged was skippered by Ray Ferguson, a Makah tribal member who ran a charter dive business for tourists. He occasionally hired out to NOAA for deeper, longer technical dives and had been on Undine’s list of approved contractors to work with the Navy, but he’d had surgery in September and had been unavailable to hire out for the dives on Wrasse, and last week, he’d been out hunting when Undine sought a boat for her dive, forcing her to hire a skipper and dive partner with less deep-water experience.
A calm settled over her as she gripped Ray’s hand and climbed aboard his boat. She didn’t know if it was the seasoned skipper, the clean, well-maintained boat, or her former-SEAL dive partner, but she didn’t think she’d suffer another panic attack today.
Luke handed her his tank. She set it out of the way on the deck as he climbed aboard carrying the bag that held his wetsuit and fins. Her equipment had been lost or destroyed in the accident, but she’d been assured Ray had equipment she could rent. Until last week’s failed dive attempt, she’d never used rental equipment before, and was possibly more uneasy about that than any other aspect of this dive. It was a simple fact that when it came to scuba, she was spoiled.
The weather was perfect, a crisp,
sunny fall day. The kind of day Washingtonians claimed never happened outside of summer, but she’d spent enough time in the Pacific Northwest both last month and during her nomadic childhood to know the truth.
Luke officially introduced her to Ray, adding, “Ray’s the best dive skipper on the north coast.”
The middle-aged Native American smiled, revealing deep dimples in both cheeks. “Still a suck-up, I see.”
Luke laughed. “No. Smart. Always be nice to the man who controls the oxygen line.”
Undine flinched, reminded of Jared, but she covered it. She didn’t want Luke to get any hint she was uneasy about the dive.
“True,” Ray said and turned to Undine. “Before you get suited up, I want to go over the chart with you to get a fix on our destination.”
“Certainly.”
The chart was laid out on a table in the main cabin. She leaned over it and studied the sea floor contours. She knew this chart so well. She’d marked up the one on Petrel with the limited information she had on the sub wreck, dots on the map indicating where pieces of Wrasse had been found.
This chart was blank. A do-over. But not for five other people. Loren, Scotty, Jared, Yuri, and Sandy would never get a do-over again. She sucked in a deep breath.
A hand gripped her shoulder with a comforting squeeze. She looked up to meet Luke’s Atlantic-blue-tang eyes. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded and faced the chart again, then traced a contour line. “The first piece was found in this area.” She slid her finger south three inches. “But we found what might be the intact hull in this area.” Another inch east. “And this is where Yuri and I were supposed to set the last anchor line.” She met Ray’s gaze. “This is where I want to go.”