Dangerous Waters (3 page)

She didn’t trust him, and he didn’t blame her.

It wouldn’t be hard to pin her down and pull the regulator out of her mouth and watch her suck in water. If he was a killer, taking out a fresh-faced girl who was also a cop would probably get his rocks off. Then he’d let the sea take her body and say she panicked on him and took off. No one could prove different. Or he’d disappear. It wasn’t that hard. He’d rather slit his own throat than raise a hand to a woman, but she didn’t know that, so being wary of him was a smart thing, just as long as it didn’t fuck up their dive.

He could tell she thought she could take him on if she had to. Crazy, even for a cop. A quick background check wouldn’t reveal much other than the fact he’d been in the army.

He checked their gauges, made her switch tanks because she’d guzzled more air than he was comfortable with, and if there was a problem with the second tank, he wanted to know before they went farther. Exasperated patience shone in her eyes now, and it caught him so unexpectedly he grinned. Then sobered. This was not the time for amusement on any scale.

He led the way, holding his beam of light aimed straight at the hatch they needed to go through. The unwavering light was their beacon, and he hoped Holly had the nerve to follow through with it. He waited at the opening and felt a current next to his body as someone came alongside. Holly squeezed his arm and flashed the OK sign in his beam of light.

He steeled himself to what lay inside the chamber. He carefully inched forward, using the sides of the hatch to pull himself through and into the heart of the shipwreck.

Holly followed, bumped into him, and he gripped her around the waist to stop their forward propulsion. He felt her freeze at the contact and then force herself to relax. She watched him through the bubbles, questions clear in her eyes. He maneuvered her until she faced the right direction and held tight as they both took in the corpse. The diver hung in the water with his arms and legs dangling. He wore a shabby old wetsuit and his mask was askew. His air cylinders were gone. A big-assed knife was strapped to his thigh.

An even bigger knife stuck out of his chest.

Finn let Holly go with a warning squeeze.

He’d seen plenty of death in his time, but he didn’t know what sort of person would purposefully pursue it. Homicide investigator seemed like an odd choice of career for a beautiful young woman like Holly Rudd. She flinched as she got close enough to run her light over the damage the fish had wreaked on the guy, which proved she was at least human. There was frayed flesh where his lips should have been, teeth prominent in the murk. Flesh on the hands had been eaten away too. Holly took a series of photographs. Finn edged closer. The knife jutting out of the diver’s chest was pretty indicative of murder. The hilt was heavy and black, the grip worn down by age.

Shit
. He frowned, his heart contracting extra hard. He recognized that knife.

He checked his gauges then tapped Holly on the shoulder to do the same. She glared at him for a moment. She was caught up in cataloging the details important to her, much the same way Thom had been caught up in his treasure last night. Finn pointed to the dial. Her second tank was almost empty, and she blinked in surprise. Her body wasn’t used to this depth; she should have been checking more regularly. This was why novices didn’t do their first wreck dive at thirty meters or their first thirty-meter dive in a wreck. A double whammy.

He passed her the regulator to her half-full first tank and adjusted the discarded regulator until it sat under her chin. While he had her attention, he pointed to where he’d dropped the weight belt. She nodded and was about to dart off when he tightened his hold and pointed to her flippers, which had stirred up a wave of sediment. They couldn’t afford to whip things up if the dive unit hoped to find the body when they arrived. He didn’t appreciate how much he enjoyed touching the confident, sexy cop. Given time and the right circumstances, she was exactly the sort of woman he’d like to explore in much more detail. But he didn’t have time, and these definitely weren’t the right circumstances.

He checked his dive computer.

Time to go. He tapped Holly on the shoulder after she took another set of photographs of the weight belt, but she shrugged him away. He did it again and she batted his hand. Pissed now, he stuck his hand in her face, giving her the thumbs-up signal. Her body tensed and she blew out a plethora of bubbles. She flashed him back the same sign.

He waited for her at the hatch. It felt wrong to leave the dead guy dangling in the breeze, so to speak. Holly reached his side, and he indicated she should lead the way out through the stairwell. They both paused, watching a school of small fish feed on a long pink blob. It took a moment to figure out the blob was an eyeball. A reflex gag hit him, but he choked it down. Holly’s face was ashen in the beam of his dive light, but at least she hadn’t thrown up. He dug in his bag for a sample jar and captured the object, putting the exact nature of the thing out of his head. That was how he coped. That was how he’d learned to do the things that scared the shit out of him. He slipped the jar into a bag, then tilted his head to get her to swim out ahead of him. He followed her slender form through the dark tunnel.

When they exited the ship, four black-suited divers were waiting for them. They’d just started photographing the ship’s exterior. Finn used hand signals to ask one guy to take Holly to the surface. She shook her head vigorously. Trying to defy him.

He dug for the eyeball jar, knowing there was a chain-of-evidence thing she needed to follow. She took it with a blast of air bubbles. He pointed to her air gauges, which were approaching the red zone, and repeated the thumbs-up gesture, then indicated on his computer screen how long and where she would need to decompress. Her expression was livid, but he ignored it. Keeping her alive for the duration of this dive was his responsibility, and he knew how to do his job.

With another huff of air, Holly finally followed the cop up the anchor line. Finn turned back to the vessel. He checked his air and pointed to the other men to follow him. Police divers were professional and experienced, and he didn’t worry about telling them what to do. He’d show them where the body was and leave. This was the very last time he was ever going into the bowels of this cursed wreck.

Holly broke the surface and nodded thanks to her escort, torn between gratitude to Finn Carver for taking her down and resentment he’d made her surface so quickly. The diver from the Underwater Recovery Team slid back into the water and disappeared from sight. When she looked up, she found eight pairs of eyes glued to her, a group of officers hanging over the side of the Coast Guard ship, including one pair she’d hoped never to see again—Staff Sgt. Jimmy Furlong.

Shit
. Inside, her heart squeezed into a tight little ball, but outwardly she smiled and lifted her hand in greeting, mentally tallying her favorite swear words, and swam to the small boat Carver had brought them out on. She climbed on board and carefully disposed of her equipment, stacking it the way Carver had earlier.

Jimmy Furlong. Of all the twists. In this part of Canada, murders were investigated by a group of dedicated police officers led by a primary investigator—her—but overseen by a team commander. She’d transferred to the major crime unit on the island when she’d heard Furlong was moving to the integrated crime unit in Surrey, and yet here he was. When resources were stretched, they sometimes pulled personnel in from other sections. She had to be the unluckiest woman alive. The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her heartbeat slowly settled. She could get through this.

The victim was more important than her own fractured pride. She’d pushed her luck with Carver in the wreck. He’d been pissed with her at the end, but she’d got what she needed and neither of them had died, even though she’d almost swallowed her tongue when that damned eyeball had bobbed their way. Human eyeballs shrank in seawater. The prof she’d been working with at Simon Fraser University was going to be very interested in the fact that it had come loose.

She found the zip of her suit across the back of her shoulders and tugged to get it undone. Pulling her way out of the neck seal was like trying to pry a turtle out of its shell, but eventually the neoprene stretched over her head. She swore as it ripped out a handful of hair.

A small inflatable sped toward her. Staff Sergeant Furlong was driving, and it was just moments before he pulled up beside the marine lab’s boat.

“So do we have a homicide or not?” he yelled over the wake and engine noise.

“Knife to the heart suggests we do, sir.” She schooled her features to give nothing away. “If you give me five minutes, I’ll get dressed and bring everyone up to speed.”

There was a thick pause. “How are you, Holly? I heard you got injured during your last assignment.”

“It was just a scratch. I’m fine, sir.” She picked up a towel and scrubbed at her hair. “How’s Penny and the baby?” she asked brightly.

“They’re great.” His teeth gleamed as his eyes ran over her in a familiar way. Nausea swirled in her belly. “You got here fast.”

“I was in the right place at the right time. Dad and I decided to take our yearly vacation before I started the new job in Victoria. We were learning to scuba dive near Tofino. We cut the trip short when I heard about the case.” She locked her teeth together.

His lips compressed. “This is your first case as primary, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”
No pressure
. She plucked at her sopping, bedraggled hair. “I need to get dry before I get too cold.” She picked up the evidence jar and pressed it into his hand, taking care not to connect with any skin. “Meet the victim. Part of him, anyway.”

“I see.” A frown furrowed the skin of his tanned brow. “Is this going to be a problem—us?”

She laughed and was pleased at how it came out, all tinkling and light rather than rabid and nasty. “There is no ‘us,’ so there’s no problem, sir.”

He nodded, and a rush of water at the end of the boat made her flinch. Finn Carver hauled himself on board the dive platform and started peeling off gear. How long had he been there? What had he heard?

Staff Sergeant Furlong gave her a nod. “I’ll see you on the Coast Guard vessel in thirty minutes. They’ve offered us space to begin our preliminary work.”

She stood straight. “Yes, sir,” she clipped out. And then he was gone.

Silence hung in the air. The blue sky and gentle lapping of water against the hull seemed inappropriate for her mood, but a hurricane wouldn’t be good either. “Thank you for taking me down today, Mr. Carver. I can appreciate why you weren’t so keen.”

A sexy dimple appeared in his cheek as he casually stripped down to board shorts. “Call me Finn.”

“Finn.” She must have been distracted earlier because she hadn’t noticed the sheer quality of muscle packed into that body. This was a man in peak physical condition, with superb observational skills. He caught her looking.

“Checking me for weapons?” He raised one Viking brow.

She was a little unsettled by the thought of frisking him in any capacity, especially so soon after talking to Jimmy
forgot-to-mention-I’m-married
Furlong. “Just keeping an eye on you, Mr. Carver.” She peeled off the wet neoprene and realized she stank. She sat there bedraggled and shivering and figured there were days when the deck was heavily stacked against being a woman.

“There’s a shower downstairs. Go grab one before you have to report in.”

Considerate men were the most dangerous. Jimmy Furlong had been a hell of a considerate guy, all the way to the bedroom. And it must have given him a goddamn heart attack when he’d found out who her father was.

She pulled her wet hair off her forehead. “You need to come over there too. I need to take an official statement.”

He grunted. “I need to get back to work, Sergeant Rudd. Come by the marine station when you’re done here. You can interview me and my dive buddy from last night at the same time.” He looked over toward the two boats guarding the scene. “I’ll even tell the cook to put on a big pot of stew in case your guys get hungry. Students can eat it tomorrow if you don’t.”

Her brows hitched in surprise. People rarely defied her, but this plan made sense. She grabbed her bag and started down the steps.

“Guys like that always cheat. You know that, right?”

She froze.

“You should pity his wife.” He’d spotted the ring Jimmy Furlong hadn’t been wearing the week they’d met during a FBI Academy training session.

Her fingers curled tight around the banister. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I hope you nailed his balls to the wall when you figured it out.”

She stood frozen on that top step as if it were a hundred-foot drop beneath her. She looked over her shoulder, but she kept her mouth shut tight. A hint of sympathy twisted his lips, but she didn’t want pity. She’d rather get a punch in the face. She nodded and headed for the shower.

She’d been played for a fool, and it had been a hell of a lesson. In truth, she was grateful to Staff Sgt. Jimmy Furlong. He’d taught her one of the most important lessons in life. Trust no one, not even her fellow cops.

Finn tied up the boat. His jaw ached because it had been clenched ever since he’d gotten a look at the knife sticking out of the dead man’s chest. He needed to refill cylinders, check seals, and hose down the equipment to prevent salt damage. He needed to pack up the equipment they’d used on the dive last night so the cops could test it for god knew what. To log in, check nothing important had happened in the last few hours, and make sure everything was ready for tomorrow’s rescheduled dives. As he’d told Holly, he had work to do.

A black cormorant sat in judgment on the end of the pier. Gulls were curiously absent.

The smell of brine washed through the air, a constant in this damp, temperate region. His feet pounded the wooden boards as he scanned the surroundings. It was quiet. No one was around. They were running two courses, but both had switched to lectures and labs today as opposed to scheduled fieldwork. Seeing no one, he went inside the dive shed and straight to Thom’s locker. He checked rapidly through his stuff. His hand lingered on the brand-new dive knife on the top shelf of the locker.
Fuck
.

“Finn, you in here?”

He turned slowly.

Mike Toben, whose family owned the hardware store, stepped through the open doorway, eyes sharp. “Got the RCMP cruiser outside. Thought I might leave the keys with you?” The cops kept a vehicle stored in town in case the West Coast Marine Service needed to do land-based inquiries. The Tobens rented them storage space in their warehouse.

Mike reached up above the desk that held a whiteboard full of the week’s dive schedules. There was a rack of keys on the wall.

“Leave ’em behind the sun visor.”

Mike’s eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead as he held on to the keys. “How come? What’s going on?”

“I’m going to start locking the outside door.”

“Why? Something been stolen?” Unlike Finn, Mike had never left the area. They had beers occasionally, but that was as far as it went.

Finn wasn’t about to confide in the guy. “We’ve got a lot of expensive equipment here. I don’t want it walking.” He herded Mike outside.

The younger man eyed him narrowly. “Something’s going on. What is it?”

Finn strode down to the boat and started hauling equipment up to the shed.

“Need a hand?” Mike offered.

Finn stared unsmiling at the other guy. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. “I can manage.”

On cue, a car horn honked, and Mike turned to wave at his dad, who was waiting for him at the top of the hill.

“See you at O’Malley’s later?”

“Sure.” Finn turned on the hose and started washing down the dry suits. He wasn’t going anywhere near O’Malley’s or any other damn place where he’d be interrogated by the natives. He needed to figure out how Thom’s old dive knife had ended up hilt deep in the body of that diver. And he needed to make sure no one else knew about it.

“Any clues as to the identity of our vic?”

Holly shook her head as she handed her underwater camera over to Cpl. Steffie Billings, the exhibit custodian for the command group that had been set up to investigate this murder. She’d worked with Steffie in Chilliwack years ago, and they’d been close friends ever since. She was looking forward to working with the no-nonsense blonde again. “Download these, will you? There’s a timestamp on them. You got the eyeball?”

“I did.” Steffie gave her an arch look over her spectacles. “Thank you for that.”

Holly grinned. “Sorry. We couldn’t exactly leave it floating around being nibbled on by baitfish—”

“Too much information.” Steffie held up her hand. “I’ll get to see all the gory details during the postmortem, so I really don’t need to hear about it now.” She gave a shudder. “Floaters are always the worst. Well, except for children.” She stopped talking for a moment and they both paused. Certain aspects of their job made grim look like sunshine. The only thing that made it worthwhile was incarcerating bad guys so they didn’t hurt anyone again.

“I passed the eyeball on to the guys from forensic identification.” She pointed to one side of the room where three IFIS guys were unpacking an array of machines and tubes. One had the sample jar next to some monitor. “They drove in from Port Alberni. Said the road’s a bitch.”

Holly’s lips tightened. Nothing she could do about the road or the location, but it made everything more complicated. Most officers had flown in from Victoria via Comox. She hadn’t even made it into headquarters to start her new job. But she relished the chance to prove herself, and this was exactly the sort of case to do it.