Chapter 2

      When Creed had back-paddled out of the yacht’s cabin and turned to face his dive partner, he’d been happy to see Emma had shaken out of her panic. Although she still glanced around nervously.

      Good girl.

      When she’d indicated a shark in the area, he knew how dangerous it could be floating a dead man alongside them. With a brief glance at the body hovering like a specter in the underwater current, Emma kicked off, heading back the way they’d come, probably wanting to get out of the water before the shark returned.

      Creed grasped the dead man’s arm and followed, carefully dragging the man through the narrow crevices until they cleared the maze and swam out into the open. All the while he looked over his shoulder for the shark.

      A school of small shiny fish swarmed around him, pecking at the body. Creed waved a hand to shoo them away, then flipped his fins harder to catch up with Emma.

      They had to get the dead man out of the ocean before the shark decided the dead man and the live one would make easy prey.

      Barely skimming above the ocean floor, a starry skate floated over a patch of strawberry anemones, its wide winglike fins fluttering gracefully. Creed wished he was there for reasons other than investigating a potential terrorist plot. He’d take time to examine the flora and fauna of the Oregon sea life. The job and a looming shark had him kicking hard for the dive boat. Sightseeing was for tourists. He had a job to do.

      Emma stayed ahead of him, the line linking her to the buoy above trailing upward and at an angle behind her.

      She hadn’t been happy about his choice to bring the body up, but he had to determine without a doubt whether or not this was the boat Macias had made contact with and had arranged to meet. The GPS coordinates had been right on. Perhaps the identity of the dead man would help to shed more light on who Macias was involved with.

      The captain had been a fool to hover close to shore in murky, foggy weather like it had been last night. The seas had been rough, a deadly combination with the fog. The hole in the yacht’s hull had probably been caused by running aground on one of the jagged rocks hiding just below the surface. If the occupants had been able to abandon ship, their rubber raft would have been slammed into the rocky coastline.

      Creed made a mental note to check local police reports of bodies washing ashore over the next couple days. If they didn’t turn up soon, there wouldn’t be much left to identify. The creatures of the sea scavenged anything dead, picking the bones clean within minutes in an all-out feeding frenzy.

      Had the cabin door been open, the dead man’s body quite possibly would not still be intact. Hopefully, they’d at least get a decent fingerprint off the victim.

      When they’d traveled the same distance away from the reef as they’d come, Emma motioned for them to ascend. She moved with deliberate slowness, sure to make her rise to the top at the same or slower speed as the bubbles exiting her regulator.

      She moved with grace, her slim legs flexing and bending, her fins gliding through the water with firm strokes.

      Apparently she’d overcome her panic at finding a dead man and had restored her tight control over the dive.

      Creed admired that control. He’d trained with the best as a navy SEAL. Being calm in stressful circumstances meant the difference between life and death when you were in an environment hostile to humans.

      His navy days long past, he hadn’t been diving as often, but he retained everything from the thorough instruction. The importance of paying attention to details had been imprinted in his memory for life.

      As he rose to the surface, the dark waters lightened until he broke through to the sunshine warming the air above. The body bobbed on the surface, bumping against him. This was the part that made Creed wary. Underwater, he could see what was coming. With his head above the surface, anything could swim up to him and he wouldn’t know until it hit him. Sharks normally didn’t skim the surface waving their dorsal fins for all to see. That was what Hollywood fiction was made of.

      To a shark, humans appeared like sea lions, a tasty food source.

      For several long minutes, Emma waved at the boat bobbing in the waves a hundred yards away. Captain Dave sat at the helm, his hat pulled down over his face, napping, for all intents and purposes.

      Creed ducked his head below several times to make sure the shark hadn’t followed. So far so good.

      Emma pulled a whistle from a strap around her neck and blew hard in short sharp bursts.

      Dave’s head popped up, and he stumbled to his feet. In seconds, the boat’s engine revved and the craft made a large circle, heading directly toward them. He drifted to a stop a few yards away.

      Emma was first to reach the dive boat, shaking out of her BCD.

      While Emma readied to get out of the water, Creed kept a vigilant watch for the shark.

      “Whatcha got there?” Dave squinted, then his eyes widened as he recognized what floated beside Creed. “Holy smokes.”

      “Dave, could you focus here? There’s a shark lurking around here. I don’t plan on dying today.” Emma shoved her BCD toward him.

      Dave leaned over the side and grabbed the gear and then her fins.

      Creed ducked his mask into the water in time to see a large mass swirling below him in tighter and tighter circles, edging upward. “We got company.” He let go of the body long enough to give Emma’s fanny a shove, boosting her up the ladder faster than her hands and feet could keep up. “Go, go, go!”

      Emma scooted up the ladder and fell over onto the deck, stripping off her mask and hood. “Get out of the water, Creed. That shark might decide live bait is better than dead.”

      “Not going without him.” Still treading water with as little movement as possible, Creed waited until Dave lowered a cable attached to a small crane mounted near the rear of the boat, the kind used to lift divers and rescue crafts in and out of the water, when necessary.

      Creed hooked the straps around the dead man’s body and gave a thumbs-up, trying not to wonder where the shark was and if he had time to get himself out of the water.

      The crank engaged, the metal-on-metal sound clanking in the still air as the body rose from the water.

      Emma stood at the side of the boat, bending over the edge, staring into the water. “He’s circling. Creed, get out of there!”

      His pulse thundering in his veins, Creed yanked off his fins, threw them over the side of the boat, then grabbed for the ladder, hauling himself, BCD, tank and all, out of the water.