Cold Evidence (Evidence Series Book 6)

by Rachel Grant

  “Maybe one of the investigators found something and they came back to get it,” Luke suggested.

  “What on earth could they find here? It’s not like the sub was full of gold. There’s no record of any ship loaded with treasure being lost in this area.”

  He ran a gloved hand through the silt berm that formed a ring around the excavation. “Take a picture. I’ll contact the Coast Guard investigators and ask if they know anything about this.”

  “Okay.”

  After she photographed the seafloor, she led him back to where they’d dropped the line. He used his spotlight to search for the yellow rope. He spotted it and reached for it. His thickly gloved fingers sank into the soft silt as he tried to grab it. Slight loss of motor control. Expected, but a good indicator that they were nearing the end of their allotted time.

  His hand brushed against something under the silt as he got his fingers to obey his mental commands. He reached down for the object. Could be a rock, but the light had caught something rust colored. He brushed off a four-inch-wide piece of oxidized metal, finding an edge.

  “What have you got there?”

  “Not sure. Part of the sub?”

  “Complete, whatever it is. No jagged edges.” She pulled out a knife and poked at the silt until she found another edge. They had a corner. Between them, they cleared all four sides and pulled it from the sea floor. It was a small, corroded metal case the size of a laptop, or, more accurately for the time frame in which it was lost at the bottom of the sea, a typewriter or portable record player case.

  “Do we leave it here?” Luke asked.

  “I’m authorized to collect diagnostic artifacts from the sub. With electrolytic reduction, we could open this and see what’s inside. It falls within the purview of diagnostic pieces.”

  “Well, then, I guess this is my boon.” He slipped the box into a mesh bag and grabbed the rope, leading her back to the anchor line.

  They left the wreck and swam upward, using the anchor line as their guide. They removed the full-face masks and switched to pure oxygen provided by a hose from Ray’s boat at the decompression stop. Unable to speak without the masks, they passed the twenty minutes in silence.

  He watched Undine carefully, searching for signs of stress or anxiety. This was the point at which the Petrel had exploded.

  She didn’t look happy, but she also didn’t look like she was about to lose it. The woman had guts. It had taken a steel spine to approach him to take her down, but he understood why she did it. Hell, it was probably part of why he said yes. He doubted there was another person on the north coast who had as much dive experience as he had. She could relieve at least one anxiety by lining up a strong dive partner. He just happened to be her best choice.

  And here he was with Undine Gray back in his life.

  And he didn’t hate it. Although he should. He really should.

  An hour from now, they’d be back on shore. He’d drop her at her rental cabin, and he’d go to the research housing east of town. Another researcher was driving to Port Angeles tomorrow and had already agreed to drive her back. Luke didn’t even have to spend another two hours in the car with her. For the second time in his life, all association with Undine Gray would be severed.

  It was what he should do. What he needed to do. He had a job and a life and didn’t want his messy past to interfere with his pretty damn good present. And yet he wondered if he’d be able to walk away from her, or if this pull of attraction would prove he was a glutton for punishment.

  Because no way could anything happen between him and Undine without opening them both up to a world of pain.

  Luke’s SUV pulled up in front of Undine’s rental cabin near the edge of town. It was one of ten identical units in a row that ran in a perpendicular line to the main road that separated the town from the bay. Since salmon season had ended in late September, only a third of the units were in use on a Monday night.

  Luke grabbed her large suitcase and the case they’d taken from the wreck from the back of his SUV while she collected the cabin key from the rental office next to the road. After she unlocked the door, he carried the items inside and set her suitcase on the bed. “What do I do with this?” he asked, holding up the rusted case.

  “Just set it on the table. I’ll get a cooler from the general store and keep it wet with seawater overnight while I figure out where and how I’m going to do the electrolytic reduction.”

  He placed the item on the small corner table, then leaned against the open doorframe.

  “My boss is probably going to ask me to dive on the Wrasse again,” she said, “to document the extent of the digging. Are you available for another dive?”

  After a long pause, he finally said, “No. I have work to do here in Neah Bay. No time.”

  She nodded. She took a deep breath, bracing herself to say good-bye to Luke Sevick for the last time. She pushed out the air from her lungs through her nose, like she was underwater and needed to clear her mask. “I understand,” she said. The sad truth was, after the banter underwater and the surprising chemistry they’d shared, she was unprepared for this good-bye. He’d awakened her libido, and she was certain he felt the hot undercurrent too. “Luke, do you have plans for dinner?”

  He turned in the doorway and faced out, toward the trees and empty campground across the parking lot. His beautiful wide shoulders shrugged. His muscles were hidden now under a dry NOAA sweatshirt, but she knew what treasures the baggy garment hid, and that was all she saw when she looked at him—the world’s most spectacular biceps. Muscles she wanted to trace with her lips before she pushed him on the bed and took him deep. “I haven’t really thought about it.” He turned to face her. “Are you asking me to dinner?”

  The town had only three restaurants, one of which was really just a minimart that sold pizza by the slice. Given the limited choices, dining together would be expedient and wouldn’t resemble a date, even if that was what she wanted it to be. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I am. As a thank-you, for helping me.”

  His gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth, then dropped lower before bouncing upward with lightning speed. “No need to thank me.”

  She flashed what she hoped was a winning smile, but guessed it fell short. “But I’d like to anyway.”

  He frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He sighed. “You seem like a nice person, Undine. I actually enjoyed today—which was a surprise. Maybe, if we didn’t have history, we could be friends. But the truth is, for me, you’ll always be the girl who fucked with my life.”

  His words shouldn’t sting so much, because they were true, but still, she felt the bite. “So you were narking earlier.”

  “No. For a minute there, something just…clicked between us, and I allowed myself to forget and enjoy. And I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry. Thank you for your honesty. Good-bye, Luke.”

  He nodded. “Take care, Undine.”

  She closed the door behind him and leaned against it, listening to the sound of him driving out of her life.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m sorry, Greg, we didn’t have time or visibility to look for trencher tracks. The clearing was so unexpected. I wasn’t prepared.” Undine sat at the tiny table and glared at the half-eaten slice of pizza next to the computer as she spoke to her boss, Dr. Greg Mulholland, director of the Underwater Archaeology Branch of Naval History and Heritage Command, on a Skype call that kept cutting out due to the weak Wi-Fi. Her cabin was too far from the office to maintain a strong signal. She’d forgotten to buy a prepaid cell phone for this short trip to Neah Bay, which had only one cell phone tower and her carrier didn’t own it.

  “If you think we’ve got an SMCA violation, we’ve got to pursue it,” Greg said, referring to the Sunken Military Craft Act, which was enacted in 2004 to protect all underwater US military vessels, which could be hazardous, historic, fragile, contain military secrets, and/or, as with USS Wrasse, gravesite
s. “But there is no way the Navy will be able to get a team of divers out to inspect the wreckage any time soon. Not to mention that we need to identify who is digging on the sub.” He paused. “You’re certain no one used a trencher to investigate the explosion?”

  “No. Verifying that is next on my to-do list. But even if they did…the excavation was recent. Like two days ago recent. The sea is active out there, so close to where Juan de Fuca meets the Pacific, and there was a storm five days ago that would have churned the sediment.”

  “I’ll make some calls, Undine, but in the meantime, do you think you could dive again? Get a better scope of the scale of the excavation? Hell, if you could photograph tracks from the cable trencher, we might have something to go on.”

  Undine dropped her head into her hand and massaged a temple. It was nearly six in the evening, and the wind had started to kick up. She slid off the stool and opened the cabin door. A glance to the left gave her a limited view of the sheltered bay. This time of year, it got dark early in Washington, and the sun had set an hour ago. Rigging clanged and boats rocked in the glow of halogen marina lights.

  A long spit protected the bay from the strait, but beyond the arc of the breakwater, large waves were likely forming in the Salish Sea. She leaned back inside the cabin and projected her voice toward the computer. “The weather isn’t cooperating. According to the forecast, it’ll be two, maybe three days before the water is calm enough for another dive.”

  “I realize that today’s dive was on your own time and expense, but if you can do another one, I’ll see if I can get financial to get you travel orders with a job order number. Then we can pick up your lodging costs and you’ll be covered by the department’s insurance for the actual dive.”

  “That would certainly help, but there’s another problem. I need a dive partner, someone who can handle that kind of depth with scuba. According to Navy regs, it should be a technical dive, but we don’t have the setup for mixed gases. Petrel was the best-equipped dive boat in the region, and it’s gone. The nearest boat with the proper equipment is probably my dad’s, which I think is somewhere along the Oregon coast right now. But the Navy can’t afford to hire Nereid, not for something like this, and my father can’t afford to let us use her for free.”

  “What about the man you dove with today, Lt. Luke Sevick?”

  “He’s not available,” she said.

  “If it’s a work conflict, I can contact his supervisor at NOAA. We’re both federal agencies. We might be able to borrow him.”

  “No,” she said sharply. Too sharply.

  “Why?” Greg paused. “Is something wrong? Was he a…problem? If he was at all inappropriate—”

  “No! No.” Oh God, the last thing she needed was for Greg to insinuate Luke had sexually harassed her to his superiors at NOAA. “No. He was fine. Great, actually, to help me out. I just don’t think he’d appreciate being jerked around when he has a job to do. He agreed to take me down once as a favor. I can’t ask more from him.”

  “You aren’t asking, I am. This is a Navy project, and unauthorized excavation of the Wrasse is rather serious and needs to be investigated. He’s there. You’re there. He’s more than qualified for us to get a waiver from SecNav to exceed the depth limits for scuba if he’s your partner. He’s the perfect solution.”

  She closed her eyes. Greg was right. But asking Luke for another favor was out. He’d made it clear he was done. He never wanted to see her again, and she never again wanted to face the judgment in his eyes.

  Twelve years hadn’t diminished her guilt. She didn’t need to add his ongoing condemnation to her already full plate of self-recriminations. “I’ll see if I can find a dive partner. There was a guy with the Coast Guard, who tried to take me out last week.” She refrained from telling Greg she’d had a panic attack. She didn’t need that in her work file. “He might be available. If not, Ray, the skipper, might know someone.”

  “But you’ve already identified the perfect partner, and it would be faster if I contact NOAA. Speed is an issue here.”

  “I said no, Greg, and I mean it. Officially, I’m on leave. I don’t even have to do this dive.” She couldn’t believe she’d just spoken to her boss that way, but she absolutely could not let Greg Mulholland pull strings to get Luke back in the water with her. Luke would think she was behind it, and whatever small peace there was between them would be utterly gutted.

  “Someone from the Underwater Archaeology Branch needs to check out the disturbance to the Wrasse. Erica can’t dive because she’s pregnant, and Cressida hasn’t gone through Navy dive school yet, so we can’t get a waiver for her to use scuba at that depth. That leaves me as the only other UAB diver who qualifies. If I have to, I’ll fly out. I can be your dive partner, but it would be more cost efficient and expedient if I could get NOAA to lend us Sevick.”

  Undine stiffened. The last thing in the world she wanted was to be stuck in tiny Neah Bay with her boss. “I’ll do it, but give me time to find a dive partner before you force the job on Luke. I’ll get working on that right now, actually. Thanks.” She closed Skype before he could reply.

  Shit. She’d just essentially hung up on her boss. It was entirely possible her days at UAB were numbered. She felt nauseated and wasn’t sure which was worse, that she’d just pissed off her boss, or that she’d have to dive again on the Petrel and Wrasse wrecks with—or without—Luke Sevick.

  She considered calling Erica just to have someone to talk to, but Erica was second in seniority in the branch, and complaining to her would put her in a difficult place. When Erica stayed with her after the accident, Undine had finally told her about Luke, so she’d understand why Undine didn’t want Greg to force another dive on him, but as a supervisor in UAB, Erica would also understand Greg’s reasoning.

  No, best to reach out to Trina, who could listen as a friend, not a boss. She used Skype to call Trina’s home phone and hoped the Wi-Fi wouldn’t cut out.

  Trina’s boyfriend, Keith, answered. “Hey, Undine, what’s up?”

  “Hi, Keith. I wanted to whine to Trina a bit about Greg, men in general, and maybe former Navy SEALs in particular. Is she home?”

  Keith, also a former SEAL, laughed. “They can’t all be as perfect as I am, doll. And you know Trina loves to listen to you whine, but she’s out. Wine-tasting night with Mara, Cressida, Isabel, and Erica.”

  “Oh, man, I forgot it’s first Monday. Now I’m homesick.” For the last few years, on the first Monday of the month, Undine had met with her NHHC coworkers for girls’ night. It had started out as a book club, but at some point, they’d ditched books in favor of pinot noir. Sometimes they went out for wine or beer tasting, but usually they gathered at one apartment and prepared a fancy meal to go with the evening’s drink selection. The conversation was lively, intelligent, and always a blast. A year ago, they’d welcomed Isabel Dawson, Senator Alec Ravissant’s fiancée, to the group, and in September, former intern and new UAB permanent hire, Cressida Porter, had joined the fun.

  “You should call,” Keith said. “They booted Lee out—he and Alec are here—and are hanging out at Erica’s tonight. They can put you on speakerphone, and it’ll be like you’re with them.”

  “Thanks, I’ll consider it.”

  “The former SEAL you want to complain about, is he the one you asked me about before? Luke Sevick?”

  “Yeah. But it’s no big deal. He’s a good guy. I’m the one who screwed up.”

  “I should probably tell you that Trina…might have nagged me to tap some sources for information on him.”

  Undine’s belly flopped. First Greg, now Keith. Was everyone going to get up in Luke’s business because of her? “What did you do?” she asked in a guarded voice.

  “Just a simple inquiry.”

  Undine felt a flush coming on. “You didn’t…you didn’t mention me, did you?” Jesus, if Luke somehow got word she was checking up on him. Stalker much?

  “Lord, no,” he said. “It was all abo
veboard. I listed him as a potential recruit for Raptor, which means we do a preliminary background check,” Keith said. “Trina was most interested in his service record.”

  “She still thinks I’m hung up on him.”

  “Maybe. Probably.”

  Undine closed her eyes and shook her head, wondering if Trina was right. She couldn’t resist asking, “So, he looked good on paper?” Not that it mattered. It couldn’t matter. She was out of his life for good, no matter what crap Greg might pull.

  “Let me put it this way: If I didn’t want to hire him before, I do now.”

  The idea of Luke moving into Undine’s inner circle of friends in DC brought another wave of nausea. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t worry, doll. Trina would kill me.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about Trina asking you to check up on him.”

  “I told her you’d be pissed. But she asked me to do it because she loves you and is worried about you.”

  That quickly, tears came to Undine’s eyes. Trina had been such a good friend to spend a week in Port Angeles with her after the accident. “Tell her I love her too. I’m not going to call and interrupt girls’ night. I’m too much of a Debbie Downer right now. I won’t spoil their fun.”

  “You know they won’t mind.”

  “I do. But I still won’t call.”

  “Okay. Take care, ’Deen.”

  “You too, Keith.”

  She ended the call and stared at the computer screen. She wouldn’t be surprised if her friends tried to check in on her, and she really didn’t want to bring the group down. Erica would get a full briefing on the Wrasse project from Greg tomorrow anyway. She closed Skype and her laptop. They wouldn’t be able to reach her if she wasn’t online.

  She swiped at her eyes, berating herself for being so upset about…everything. She’d seen a piece of Petrel underwater. Greg had threatened to fly out and make her dive with him. And Luke…he’d turned out to be a hot, amazing man—and he couldn’t look at her without resentment.