Dangerous Depths (15 page)

“I thought you’d enjoy a decent meal. Guess I
was mistaken,” he said, anger tingeing his voice.

“I’m sorry O’Brien. Thanks for making
dinner.”

He had gone all out—red snapper in wine
sauce, salad overloaded with fresh spinach, avocado, nuts, and God
knows what else. I carried our plates up top to the cockpit table
so we could eat under the stars. O’Brien brought up glasses and had
a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

“It’s been kind of a bad day,” I explained as
he poured the wine. I told him about Jillian.

“It’s possible that she’s lying,” I said.
“That she’d dropped those pills in Elyse’s tea that night and
turned on the gas. Thing is, I can’t figure out why.”

“Sometimes there is no logical why,” O’Brien
said. “Just some fool kid, acting on an impulse that she later
regrets. Maybe she was high or drunk and Elyse got on her case.
Maybe she’d threatened to go to the girl’s parents. Who knows what
goes through a kid’s mind?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. But the cop in me
wanted logic. I wondered where the logic was in all this? With
Jergens?

“What do you know about the guy who owns BVI
Sail?” I asked.

“You mean Fred Jergens? Why do you want to
know about him?” O’Brien asked.

I told him about my run in with him and the
lug nuts coming loose.

“Good God, Hannah, you could have been
killed,” he said, his voice rising. “What makes you think Jergens
was involved?”

“He threatened me today down at the docks. If
Stark hadn’t gotten between us, I’m sure he would have come after
me. Then when I was driving back to the station he got right on my
tail, swerved around, barely missing my bumper.”

“I thought Jergens had left the island,”
O’Brien said, between bites of snapper.

“Guess he’s back. He was in a rage because
I’d confronted one of his charterers about anchoring in the reef
over at Great Dog. But it wasn’t just me Jergens was pissed at. It
was anyone who put environmental concerns above pleasing the
tourists.”

“That would be Elyse,” O’Brien said.

“That would be Elyse.” I’d finished eating
and had propped my feet up on the cockpit bench. I was leaning
against O’Brien and sipping wine. God, he smelled good, like
sunscreen and the ocean.

“Well, Jergens is an opportunist and he’s
ruthless. He knows nothing about sailing or running a charter
business. He picked up a few boats cheap and thought he’d exploit
the industry down here. I give him maybe another year before he
loses everything.” O’Brien took a long sip of wine, struggling to
keep his anger in check.

“Do you think he’d be desperate enough to go
after Elyse?” I asked.

“Desperate, no. More like vengeful. He’d go
after Elyse just to get even. You too if you cross him.” O’Brien
put his arm around me, concern tightening across his jaw.

“What do you mean, vengeful?” I asked.

“As far as I can tell, the guy has no
conscience. He likes to hurt people as long as he can get away with
it. About two years ago when he arrived here and set up the
company, some things started happening.”

“What kind of things?” I asked.

“Well, one of Jergens’s charterers had
brought a boat back in, angry and demanding a refund. The engine on
the boat had seized up right when the guy was maneuvering into a
slip. His wife was thrown off the boat trying to grab the dock post
and was almost smashed between the dock and the boat. There had
been no oil in the engine. Jergens refunded the guy’s money, but he
was seething. The couple chartered another boat at Blue Water
Charters. Not a week later, a fire started on one of their boats
and burned in the harbor.”

“You think it was Jergens?”

“At the time, it looked like an accident—a
boat with a propane leak. But then about two months later, James
Carmichael’s dive shop went up in flames. Carmichael was lucky to
get out alive.”

As casual as O’Brien was trying to be about
the whole affair, I could tell he was furious. James Carmichael was
a close friend. Finally O’Brien stood, stretched, and gazed out to
sea. I stood, wrapped my arms around his waist, and waited.

“A bunch of us got together and helped him
rebuild,” he finally said. “I cosigned a loan so he could replace
his equipment.”

“You think it was Jergens?” I asked.

“Yeah, so does Carmichael. He’d been telling
anyone who came into the dive shop and asked about charter
companies not to charter a boat from Jergens. We were sure it was
Jergens getting his revenge, but there wasn’t any proof. The fire
had started in the back near the compressor. Dive tanks started
blowing up and the structure went up like kindling.”

“Doesn’t Dunn know about all this?”

“Sure. He questioned Jergens a couple of
times, but there was nothing to hold him on. We’d all been keeping
an eye on the guy, waiting for him to make a mistake. That’s when I
added security at SeaSail.”

“How come I never heard about any of
this?”

“It happened before you came here and Jergens
hasn’t been on the island for months. Guess he got worried about
all the scrutiny. Before he left he turned his operation over to
William Dobbs—a good man who actually knows his way around boats.
It’s too bad that Jergens came back.”

“Seems pretty coincidental that Elyse’s boat
blew up about the time he returned. Sounds like the kind of method
he employs against his enemies.”

“It is, but Hannah, I know that Dunn doesn’t
think this was foul play. What makes you so sure it is?” O’Brien
asked.

“Call it instinct. I’m not going to ignore
it—especially when it involves a friend.”

“You don’t need to prove that this was a
murder attempt to help Elyse. You need to be there when she comes
around and help her get back on her feet. That’s a hard thing to
do, harder than what you’re doing now. It takes a huge emotional
investment.”

“Hell, maybe that’s the real fear,
O’Brien—that I’m not capable of doing that.”

“Oh, you’re capable. I’ve seen you do it.
You’ll just put your head down and forge ahead. Every day, you’ll
do what you need to do until it’s done.”

“It would be easier to find out she didn’t
need that kind of help and that she’ll come out of this fine—easier
to simply solve the case.”

“For you, tracking down a killer is easier,”
O’Brien said, his tone sarcastic yet tinged with resignation.

O’Brien was right. I was good at the chase.
In spite of all my talk about escaping to these islands to get away
from the violence, it made me who I was. Hell, I needed it. And a
black and white life, one separated into the good guys, and the bad
guys was easier. Choices were clear. Actions defined.

I turned toward O’Brien and slid my hand
under his shirt. I could feel him breathing, his skin warm beneath
my fingertips. Since the day I met him, I had been unable to resist
the man.

He pulled me into him, a long embrace, a
kiss, and then I was on top of him, lying on the cockpit bench. I
brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and then pressed my body
against his. God, he felt good. We spent the next half hour making
out under the stars while Sadie lay at our feet. Then he
disentangled himself from the leg I’d wrapped around him and
stood.

“You’re leaving?” I asked.

“Yeah. I know you want to be alone
tonight.”

If I didn’t know O’Brien better, I’d think he
was manipulating me, using this as a way to pressure me to move in.
But it wasn’t O’Brien’s style. I knew that he was just trying to
give me some space.

“Come on, O’Brien. Let’s not do this.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
The boat rocked as he jumped to the dock, knocking me off
balance.

“Jeez, O’Brien,” I whispered to myself as he
headed down the dock to his car. I didn’t want him to leave, but
damned if I’d go running after him.

Dunn was obviously pissed. He was sitting in
my office chair, his back erect, arms locked across his chest, feet
planted on the floor.

“Morning, Chief,” I said, smiling widely.
Dunn didn’t smile back.

“I got another call this morning,” he said,
skipping the pleasantries. Bad sign.

“Look,” I said, defensive. “I just stopped by
to ask Porter a couple of questions.” I could only hope that Porter
had not discovered I’d returned to the gravel pit posing as a bank
official.

“Porter? The call was not from Amos Porter.
It was from Joel Ingram. He said you were interfering with his
daughter, questioning her at the hospital about Elyse. You’ve been
harassing Porter too?”

“I’d hardly call it harassment.”

“Look, Hannah, you’ve got to stop. I know
you’ve had Jimmy and anyone else you could con into it over at the
hospital at all hours watching over Elyse.”

“Too much points to attempted murder, Chief.”
I told him about Jillian’s prints and what O’Brien had told me
about Jergens.

“None of that means anything. It’s all
circumstantial.”

“I’m not giving it up,” I said. I was glaring
him down, my hands on my hips, feet firmly planted on the floor in
front of him.

“Dammit, Hannah! You are too pigheaded for
your own good!” I had never once heard Dunn swear before, and he
never lost his temper. He was losing it now, his mass towering
above me, fire in his eyes.

“Me? Come on, Chief. Who’s the one being
pigheaded?” I came back at him, just as angry as he was, unwilling
to back down. “Why can’t you see it, for chrissake?”

“It’s you who is blind, Hannah. You’ve let
friendship color your judgment,” he said, regaining some of his
regal composure. “I want you to drop this.”

“I won’t do that.”

“Then I want your badge and weapon. This is
not a police matter. Consider yourself on leave until you can get
past this.”

“Fine.” I slammed the badge on my desk,
pulled out my gun, ejected the clip, and handed it to him. No
problem. I hated the damned police issue automatic anyway. My .38
was stashed in the galley on the
Sea Bird
.

“And Hannah, I don’t want you running around
impersonating a police officer,” he said, picking up the badge and
gun.

I stomped out of the office and sat out in
the Rambler for a good half hour cursing and banging my fist
against the wheel.

“Dammit!” I muttered. “Dammit, dammit,
dammit!” I was as angry at myself as I was at Dunn. I knew he
couldn’t very well condone one of his detectives doing unofficial
investigations on police time. I blamed myself. By now, I should
have been able to find enough evidence to convince Dunn that
someone had sabotaged Elyse’s boat. Maybe I
was
fooling
myself about Elyse.

“Shit.” I started the car, slammed it in
gear, and hit the gas, smashing into a trash can as I swerved out
of the lot. Garbage flew across the hood and all over the road. I
didn’t bother to stop.

I sped down Waterfront Drive, honking and
passing anyone who got in my way. When I reached Station Street,
the only stop light on the entire island was red. I sat there
waiting for the damned thing to turn green, and realized I was out
of control, seething. I rested my head on the steering wheel and
closed my eyes, the tension easing a fraction.

The car behind me started honking, and when I
lifted my head the light was green. It took every ounce of reason
and restraint I had to keep myself from giving the guy the finger.
Besides, honking was a way of life here. Christ, I needed to get
some perspective. Maybe Dunn was right and I’d been on some wild
goose chase because I was too damned stubborn to admit I was
wrong.

I turned the Rambler into the SeaSail lot and
went looking for O’Brien. I found him in his office behind a pile
of papers.

“Hannah, what are you doing here?” he asked,
then recognized the look on my face. “What happened?”

“Dunn put me on leave,” I said. “Doesn’t want
me back until I’m willing stop checking into Elyse’s accident. I
ought to pack my bags and head back to the States.” The anger was
taking over again.

“Come on, Hannah.” O’Brien stood, took my
wrist, and led me to the door.

I followed him out the door without even
wondering where we were headed. We walked down the steps and out to
the docks as I raged about Dunn and his unwillingness to believe
someone slipped those sleeping pills to Elyse.

Before I realized it, we were standing
alongside O’Brien’s boat, the
Catherine
. She was in a slip
on D dock, surrounded by a forest of masts. The boat, named for
O’Brien’s mother, had been headed for the salvage yard when his
parents bought her for almost nothing. She was a classic wooden
boat, a single-masted fifty-footer with brass fittings and teak
decking. They had made a living taking charterers out on her and
the business grew from there.

“What are we doing down here, O’Brien?”

“You need to get out on the water,” he said.
“And I haven’t had the
Catherine
out all month.”

I climbed aboard and took a deep breath of
ocean air. Then I turned the engine over, took the wheel, and put
her in gear as O’Brien untied the lines. He stepped on board as I
eased her out of the slip and into the harbor. Once we were clear,
O’Brien lifted the mainsail and pulled out one of the head sails. I
cut the engine. Any remnants of anger vanished when the wind filled
the sails and the
Catherine
picked up speed, cutting
silently through the water.

I turned the wheel over to O’Brien, climbed
up on deck, and out to the bowsprit. The wind whistled around my
ears and blew through my hair. I looked back at O’Brien, standing
legs firmly planted on the deck, steering the boat. The sails
arched above us, taut, brilliant sheets of white.

We anchored in a quiet cove. O’Brien stripped
and jumped naked into the water. I pulled off my clothes and
followed him, then swam to the deserted shore. O’Brien pushed me
down into the sand, threw himself on top of me, and smiled, eyes
dancing with devilment. He grabbed my arms and locked them over my
head, then leaned down, his chest firm against my bare breasts. The
kiss was tender and long. Dunn, the job, the last of my anger
disappeared. Right now, there was nothing but the feel of O’Brien
pressing into me, then the stunning rush, the delirium of
lovemaking. Afterwards, we lay next to each other, sand stuck to
our sweaty bodies.