Dangerous Waters Read Free

straight to the surface. Dammit . He dragged him back down. His dive computer said they needed to decompress for a few minutes or they’d face the very real possibility of getting bent. He held Thom determinedly in place, stared into his eyes, and willed the man back from the ledge of crazy.
    Thom’s skin was so waxy that, up close, his face shone like a full moon. Finn had never seen him so distraught—well, not in decades.
    They’d known each other a long time.
    They’d trusted each other a long time.
    He willed Thom to trust him now. To get him safely to the surface and out of this mess alive. Slowly, Thom’s juddering breath settled and his eyes calmed. Finn checked his watch, his gauges. He flashed him the OK signal, silently asking the question.
    Thom nodded, gripping Finn’s arms and closing his eyes, drawing in a huge lungful of air. Finally he returned the signal, thumb pressed to index finger, other fingers upright. OK.
    Everything was going to be all right.
    Finn gave the signal to surface, taking it slow, forcing air out in deep breaths to stop his lungs from exploding as the air expanded. He had to remind Thom to do the same, which told him the guy—an experienced diver—was in bad shape.
    Breaking the skin of the inky surface, they followed the gerry line back to the boat that bobbed gently on the incoming tide. Neither said a word. They threw their fins up on deck, climbed aboard, and shucked off their heavy equipment. Sat breathing heavily, looking at one another for a long, drawn-out moment. Ghosts lingered in Thom’s eyes.
    “I have to report this to the police,” said Finn. The image of the diver hanging lifeless in the water burned through his brain.
    Thom swallowed thickly. Nodded. He pulled out a small sample jar and looked at his prize floating gently in the water. Then he rested his head in the palm of his hands and started to cry.

    Holly Rudd stepped off the speedboat and looked around. Vancouver Island was the size of Scotland, but with a population of only three-quarters of a million people, most of whom where based in the provincial capital, Victoria. The rest were scattered among tiny outports and communities like this one—Bamfield, population one-hundred and fifty-five hardy, adventurous souls, according to the last census.
    “You can’t moor that there.”
    She looked the guy up and down. Surfer blond hair and bare feet. Rugged good looks and attitude to match. She dumped her bag at her feet and turned to the guy who’d ferried her over from Ucluelet. Tipped him fifty bucks. “Thanks for the ride.” He waved as he sped away.
    She turned back to the dude who stood with arms crossed over his broad chest, radiating impatience and hostility. Sexy as hell. She was tired from lack of sleep, exhilarated by the thought of what the day might bring, but she sure as heck wasn’t blind.
    “This is private property.” Blue eyes glittered. Pale hair glowed like white gold in the rays of the rising sun. Hot, tanned, gorgeous. Just her luck.
    She raised a brow and checked her watch. “I’m meeting someone here.”
    “Public dock is another minute that way.” He jerked his thumb down the inlet.
    She smiled coolly. Twelve long years on the job and she was still dealing with macho bullshit. “Except someone’s dropping a car off for me here .” She pointed up at the Department of Fisheries and Oceans sign on the side of a large wooden building and started toward it.
    He blocked her path. “There’s no one there today.”
    She rocked back on her heels, let her eyes range over the square jaw and heated eyes. “You’re not very friendly.”
    He didn’t crack a smile. “Not in my job description.”
    Not in hers either, but she found smiles worked better than growls when gathering information.
    His mouth pinched, then he backed off, relenting. “Tell me who you’re supposed to meet, and I’ll get someone to track them down.”
    “Who are you?” She had a feeling she knew.
    He