Dar gaped at him. “Son of a…”

Bob tugged off his mask and coughed, his face pale and strained. “Fifty psi left.” He looked completely drained. “He almost got me.”

Dar and Kerry looked at each other. Kerry rubbed her eyes, very obviously at a complete loss. She gave Dar a plaintive, sheepish look and lifted both hands in appeal.

Dar scratched the back of her head and then shook it, having nothing really to add to the emotion. Substituting action for reaction, she leaned over the railing and extended a hand. “Gimme your gear,” she directed. “Come ’round to the back. There’s a ladder.”

Bob gave her a wry look. “Thanks.” He unbuckled his BC and tank, and lifted them high enough for Dar to grab. “I know I’m not what you wanted to find hanging off your lines.” His eyes shifted to Kerry, then dropped.

“At this point…” Kerry walked over to the deck chairs and sat down on one, despite its dampness, “if Harry Houdini showed up clipped to the rudder, it wouldn’t surprise me.” She slumped in the chair, the fever and residual effects of the jellyfish poison taking over as the adrenaline faded.

Dar set Bob’s scuba gear in the corner and let the ladder down.

She put a hand on Kerry’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “I’m going to go see if Bud’s at home. Hang in there, love.” She started to jump to the dock, and then paused, pointing a finger at Bob, who had just emerged wearily onto the deck. “Mess with her, and I’ll tie you to that pylon and call your friends to come pick you up. Got me?”

Bob froze, and looked at her, wide eyed. “Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked, at the menacing scowl directed at him.

“And when I get back, you’re gonna tell us what the hell’s going on,” Dar added in a growl. “So get your story ready.” She Terrors of the High Seas 179

turned and leaped for the dock, landing gracefully and stalking toward the shore.

Bob sat down on the stern rail and blinked at Kerry, who gazed wanly back at him. “I can guess what you must be thinking,” he murmured awkwardly.

“No, you can’t,” Kerry sighed, putting aside images of bubbles and hot fudge. “Really.”

“Oh.” Bob studied the deck. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry I—”

Kerry gently cut him off. “It’s okay.”

Bob peeked up at her, noticing her pallor. “Are you sick or something?”

“I got stung by a jellyfish,” Kerry told him. “It’s been kind of a crappy day.” She exhaled, turning her eyes toward the shore and willing Dar to reappear. “Hopefully, it won’t get worse.”

Prudently, Bob kept his thoughts strictly to himself.

BUD STRAIGHTENED, RESTING his hand on the edge of the bed as he knelt next to it. On the bedside rested a small, olive-drab kit, a coiled stethoscope sitting snakelike on top.

Kerry was lying quietly on the bed, the covers pulled up to her waist. Her eyes moved between Bud and the visibly restless Dar lurking behind him, and a faint smile crossed her face. “Find anything?”

“Jelly sting’s fine.” Bud issued a half shrug. “Ain’t much you can do for that ’cept what Dar did.” He glanced behind him, then looked back at Kerry. “Fever’s from a bug. Here.” He tossed a packet onto her chest. “Penicillin. Take one now, then every twelve hours for two days.” He paused. “Unless you’re allergic to it.”

“I’m not.” Kerry shook her head slightly. “Thank you, Bud. I really appreciate this.”

He got up and turned to Dar. “You wanna tell me what the crap on the radio was all about?”

Dar considered the question. Bob was tucked away in the spare room across the hall, keeping silent. She wanted to get to the bottom of his story, but she knew Bud deserved some kind of explanation, especially since he’d dropped everything to come and check Kerry out. “Sure.”

Behind them, Kerry was swallowing one of the tablets Bud had provided her, drinking down the rest of the bottle of water that had been sitting at her bedside. Her nose wrinkled a little at the pungent scent of the antibiotic, but she was glad to trade that for the chills wracking her again. “Why don’t you go grab some coffee, Dar? I’m just going to lie here and vegetate for a while.”

Dar studied her, pale blue eyes shadowed and the brows over them tensed and lowered. After a moment, however, she nodded.


180 Melissa Good

“Sounds good to me. Bud?”

Bud picked up his kit and grunted. “Java works.” He looked briefly at Kerry. “Drink water. It’ll get that crap out of you.” With that, he turned and followed Dar out of the bedroom.

Kerry pulled the covers up higher and looked up at the open hatch admitting a splash of sunlight that brought out the warm colors in the comforter. She still felt lousy, but knowing what the problem was eased her mind and erased some of the fear that had started to nibble away at her composure. She’d been afraid that the fever had been connected to the sting, and that maybe the sting had been something other than a jellyfish. She’d read enough horror stories about marine snakes and their venom for all sorts of bad ideas to begin circulating, but Bud’s words—along with the fact that the sting mark was fading—reassured her immensely.

As the tension faded, fatigue replaced it and she found she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Though she wanted to hear Bob’s explanation, she knew it would have to wait until Bud left. Kerry felt the gentle rocking of the boat soothing her and she surrendered to it, allowing sleep to finally claim her in its healing embrace.

“SO,” BUD EXAMINED the cup of coffee Dar had provided him, “what’s the gig?”

Dar had seated herself across from him, and she took a swallow from her own cup before she answered. “Guy who chased us the other night,” she said, “he’s a big-money treasure hunter.”

Bud sipped his coffee, holding the cup in his whole hand rather than by the handle. “DeSalliers. We heard,” he said. “He’s a right bastard.”

“Mm,” Dar agreed. “He wants something off that wreck we dove the other day,” she said. “He wouldn’t say what.” Her eyes studied Bud’s face. “The kid we picked up the other night’s also after something on the same wreck.”

Bud’s grizzled eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No shit?”

Dar shrugged.

The retired sailor leaned back, his attitude relaxing and opening a little. “It’s just an old trawler. I’ve dived it,” he said.

“Got some nice holes for lobsters, but that’s about it.” He frowned.

“Though…” His voice trailed off. “Now, hold on.”

Dar leaned forward, cocking her head.

Bud tapped his forehead with two powerful fingers.

“Remember a story I heard some years after that damn thing sank,”

he muttered. “Somethin’ about how maybe some kinda fight on board made it go under in the storm.” He got up and prowled through the cabin, his muscular body shifting under the light tank top he wore. “Didn’t really pay attention to it.”


Terrors of the High Seas 181

Dar watched him stop and study a picture on the wall, then turn and look out the window. “But that was years back.”

Bud nodded. “Yeap, it was.” He turned and regarded her. “So, why drag it up?” he asked. “Cops just buried it back then. No one cared.” He walked back over and sat down. “Charlie’d remember.

He listens to all that crap.”

“He around?” Dar asked casually.

“Be back ’round sunset,” Bud replied. “Had to go over to the big island for something.” He leaned back, seemingly relaxed.

“Hey, listen. Charlie told me about what you offered. Thanks.” His eyes met hers. “I know I act like a jerk sometimes. Sorry.”

Dar eased into a more comfortable position. “Going to take me up on it?” she asked directly.

Bud shook his head. “We’re fine.” He dismissed the idea. “I worked something out.” His eyes roamed over the inside of the boat again. “So now what?”

“With DeSalliers?” Dar asked.

Bud nodded. “He took off out of the harbor. Headed east.”

Figures. Dar leaned her head against the back of the chair. “I dunno,” she mused. “First thing’s first—Kerry needs to get well.”

She looked over at him. “Thanks for checking her out.”

Bud issued a rare smile. “She’s a nice kid,” he allowed.

“Sweet.”

Dar felt her own face relax into a return grin.

“Never figured you to get all wrapped up like that,” Bud drawled. “Thought you’d end up a lonely old salt and not ever been in the Navy for it.”

Dar’s nostrils flared slightly. “I thought I would too,” she admitted. “Life’s weird sometimes.”

Bud nodded, then set his cup down and stood up. “I gotta get the kitchen cranked up for Charlie,” he said. “Heard some weather’s brewing up east of here.”

“Great.” Dar sighed. “Next time, I swear I’m gonna go skiing.”

Bud snorted. “Holler if Kerry’s feelin any worse.” He put the cup down in the galley sink. “I’ll send Rufus down to let you know when Charlie gets here.”

“Thanks.” Dar stood and walked him to the door. They were about the same height, and his slight rolling swagger reminded her strongly of her father. She was glad Bud’s attitude had softened a little. Maybe he’d just needed a little while to think things through.

They emerged onto the stern deck to a wash of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. The air bore the sweet scent of gardenias, and a sense of quiet peace pervaded the scene. In somber contrast to the chaos of the previous hours, now the sleepy spell of the tropical sea surrounded them as the tide lapped gently at the docks.


182 Melissa Good Bud stepped off the boat and lifted a hand, then turned and walked back up toward the buildings without a word or backward glance.