kiDNApped (A Tara Shores Thriller) Read Free Page B

to make arrangements for his next breath of air. Only when the body became obscured in sand was Dave startled into action.
    That Spare Air thing…
    Whenever he was on the boat, Dave had noticed that Johnson always had a small, yellow emergency air canister tucked into his waistband, semi-concealed under his loose fitting Hawaiian shirts. Dave had guessed that the old man couldn’t swim, and so carried the device as a precaution. He hadn’t wanted to embarrass his new boss if that was the case, so Dave had never asked about it.
    Dave had hoped for many things in his life— please let me pass this class, please let me get a date with this girl, please let me get this job —but he had never, ever hoped for anything so much as this moment, when he prayed with every fiber of his being that the little yellow bottle of air would still be tucked into old Johnson’s waistband.
    His hand was reaching out to the body…touching it…the sand cloud reducing his visibility to near zero, so that he couldn’t tell which part of the dead body his hands were on.
    The urge to breathe was painful now. Dave knew that the first craving was only a warning—that the human body could endure considerably more than what the brain said was enough. But if there was no air source here, he would not have enough time. There were biological limits which could not be exceeded, physical thresholds that could not be crossed.
    Dave fanned at the corpse with one hand, hoping to push suspended sand out of the way and gain water clarity. After a moment he saw a swatch of Johnson’s red shorts—purple now due to the color filtering at depth.
    He grabbed the shorts with one hand and used his other hand to feel along the waistband.
    Nothing.
    Think!
    Dave knew that the emergency air source was sold with a holster that could be strapped to a calf or thigh. He ran his hands along the length of Johnson’s legs.
    Denied, again!
    True panic welled up within the marine biologist. The first sense of, This time I’ve really gotten myself into something I can’t get out of…
    He gripped at one of his boots, its tightness making him want to scream. It would probably take less than a minute to get out of it, but he did not have even thirty seconds per boot plus the ascent time.
    How could I ever have agreed to this?
    He needed to breathe, yet was still no closer to the surface.
    And then the water cleared some more, and he saw it.
    A flash of yellow.
    Clutched in Johnson’s right hand was the slender yellow cylinder that right now represented nothing less to Dave than life itself.
    Of course! If Johnson had the Spare Air he would have tried to use it himself as long as he was alive, Dave thought as he scrambled for the life-giving object.
    But this brought up a new fear: What if Johnson had already sucked all the air from the damn thing?
    Dave knew the reputation that the Spare Air’s had: better than nothing in shallow water situations, but don’t take it too seriously. Filled to capacity at this depth, the little bottle would only provide about three or four breaths of air.
    But what he wouldn’t give for even one of those now…
    He had a few more seconds before his body lost all control…
    He was prying the gas container loose from Johnson’s hand… Literally from his cold, dead hand , Dave somehow managed to think through the fog of his suffering.
    And then he had it.
    He brought it to his lips.
    He had to rip the full facemask part of the way off of his face to be able to insert the Spare Air’s mouthpiece between his lips, which caused the mask to flood. But he didn’t care about being able to see.
    Please let it have at least one breath .
    Dave held the device firmly in his mouth and inhaled.
     

 
     
     
     
    … CGAC 4 CGGC...
    Los Angeles International Airport
    6:57 A.M. local time, Sunday, June 14
    “There hasn’t been a trace of him for three months, Kristen. He’s gone. At some point you’ve got to accept it.”
    “He’s missing,