A Quarter for a Kiss (27 page)

As quietly as possible, I climbed over the side of the dinghy and into the water, and then I took a deep breath and did a surface dive to the bottom. The depth was just about perfect, so I came back up, grabbed the dinghy, which had floated a few feet away, and pulled it back, checking my position with Tom’s marker on the beach.

Reaching into the dinghy, I lifted the scuba tank and tried to heft it over the side and into the water. It was too heavy for such an odd angle, so I finally had to climb back into the dinghy, kneel down, and pick up the tank with both hands. I lowered it over the side into the water and listened for a thud as it hit the bottom. I slid my mask back down over my face and then grabbed the other mask, fins, two weight belts, and the end of the rope. I climbed back into the water.

Getting to the bottom was a lot easier with the weight belts in my hand. Once I reached the sand, I found the scuba tank. I set the mask on the sand next to it, placed one of the weight belts on top of the mask to keep it from floating away, and then did the same with the other weight belt and the flippers. Finally, I tied the rope that ran from the mooring chain to the handle of the tank.

When I felt everything was ready underwater, I surfaced to find the little dinghy about ten feet away.

I swam to it, climbed in, and then turned myself around so I could row back to the power cruiser. As I went, I looked toward the beach, heart pounding, hoping Tom had been able to get everything set and secure for his climb. I couldn’t see him, which was good, I hoped. Despite the bright moon, the rock face he was climbing was mostly in shadows.

Back at the power cruiser, I tied off the dinghy in its spot at the back and then slid onto the diving platform. Sitting on the edge, I pulled on my flippers, strapped a weight belt around my waist, adjusted my mask, and then pulled the heavy scuba tank onto my shoulders. Once the straps were secure, I fit the respirator in my mouth, turned around, and flipped down backward into the black water.

I hated night diving. Without a light I might as well have been blind. Though I knew there weren’t likely many predators around, I had no desire to swim smack into a big sea turtle or a stingray—not to mention a barracuda or a moray eel. For most of my swim, I stayed near the surface, using the flippers to propel me quickly back around the point and then across the water in front of the beach. I was glad I had been so active lately with the canoeing and the rock climbing; my muscles felt capable and strong. My emotions, however, were another matter. It felt as though a black vise were wrapped around my heart, squeezing out everything except fear.

When I reached my destination, I sighted the marker stone on the beach and then dove straight down to find the submerged scuba equipment. I was a little off, but a careful search in a spiral motion quickly led me to the gear. Everything was still there, the rope taut between the tank and the distant mooring line.

Once I had ascertained that all was still okay underwater, I surfaced, pulled off my mask, and searched the dark landscape for the sight of Tom. I couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d had time to get to the top by now, and I scanned the treeline, trying to pick up movements in the shadows.

Suddenly a distant alarm sounded. Lights flashed on, illuminating the house. Tom appeared then, in silhouette, at the top edge of the cliff.

Go!
I willed him to hurry with my thoughts, my heart racing at the sight of him starting back down the cliff wall. Though the alarm wasn’t all that loud down where I was, I knew that everyone in the house had sprung into action. There were flashlights and spotlights and, soon, the sound of barking dogs.

Tom disappeared into the shadows, and I could only hold my breath and pray that he would make it down in one piece. When a bright light shone out toward my direction, I submerged, allowing myself to sink to the bottom without much movement. I didn’t think I had been spotted, but I waited a minute before going back up.

I peeked over the waterline again, this time to see Tom running across the sand toward the water. One of the dogs was loose on the beach and heading straight for him.

Stifling a scream, I held up one waving arm until I thought Tom might have glimpsed it. Then I let myself sink back to the bottom and waited, looping his face mask over my wrist and holding his respirator in one hand and a weight belt for him in the other.

Shrrruunk!

I didn’t know what the sound was, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a bullet. It took all the strength I had not to dart back up to the top and see what was going on. Instead, suddenly, I felt a disturbance in the water around me, and I reached out, connecting with Tom’s arm.

He had made it.

First I handed him the respirator. Good for him, he remembered to blow out hard to clear the valve before sucking deeply in.

Next was the weight belt, which I strapped around his waist as he put on the mask. Feeling around on the bottom, I grabbed his fins and the other belt and handed each item to him in turn. Finally, I lifted the scuba tank and hoisted it onto his back, over the now-empty backpack.

Shrrruunk!

They weren’t kidding around now. That one had come too close for comfort. I felt certain the shooter could see our bubbles.

Tom patted me twice on the shoulder, his signal to me that he was ready. I grabbed the rope in front of him and then he fell in behind, both of us pulling ourselves along by the submerged rope. No more shots were fired that I could hear, but above us the water was illuminated from time to time with what looked like a spotlight.

We had gone a good distance when we felt ourselves mired in a bed of seaweed.
At least it’s just seaweed and not coral
, I thought, keeping my grip on the rope and ignoring the slimy trails of grass across my face. Tom seemed to be faltering behind me, and I moved so that I was the one in the rear. With one hand on the rope and one hand on his weight belt, I pushed and swam until we both made our way through the thick bed of slime. Another 40 feet, and then the rope ended, right at the mooring chain.

Once there, we knew we were safely under our own boat. We hugged then, and though we couldn’t talk or even see each other, there was a distinct communication between us.

Tom was okay. That was all that mattered.

I untied the rope from both ends and wound it up on my arm, knowing we needed to wait underwater until we were sure no one was scoping out the boats. If the people at the house had seen Tom swimming away, they had to know he had gone to a nearby vessel. There was at least an hour of air in each of our tanks, and I planned to take advantage of that, no matter how claustrophobic it felt to sit there on the bottom of the sea in the pitch-black dark.

Tom, however, had other plans. He tapped my shoulder and then tugged my arm upward. I had no choice but to follow.

We surfaced at the back of the boat, releasing our respirators. I wanted to ask what was going on, but in the distance I could hear an outboard motor, and I knew if we were to get inside, we needed to move quickly.

“Just drop your tank,” I whispered.

He did as I directed, unsnapping the tank and the weight belts and letting them fall to the bottom of the sea. Everything else we set on the diving platform, and then we climbed up the ladder, grabbed the gear, and raced into the cabin.

Without stopping to think, I seized some towels, ran back out, and dried off the platform as best as I could. If they were to come here and look for signs of activity, a dripping wet diving platform smeared with mud would be an easy giveaway. Locking the ladder up and into place, I brought my towels back into the cabin, and then we sat low on the floor with our backs against the door.

From the outside, it looked as though we were sound asleep in the cabin, all lights off.

Sure enough, we soon heard the low hum of an engine, much closer than before. We didn’t dare look out of the window, but we could see the search light bounce through onto an interior wall. Holding my breath, I prayed until the light passed.

I had a feeling they were pointing the light at each of the anchored boats in turn. When I caught the sound of voices, I crawled to our “stash” and dug out the directional microphone. Flipping it on, I slid the headphones into place, pointed the microphone in the general direction of the two men, and prepared to listen as they argued.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I needed a better line of sight to pick up sound. As quickly and quietly as possible, I slid open a window, poked the mike through, and then hovered in the shadows as I listened. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

“…sleeping here! What are you doing?” one of the men said.

I couldn’t catch every word even with the mike, but it sounded as though a man had been awakened on his boat by the probing search light. I heard a different man’s voice explaining that a home had been broken into nearby, and whoever had done it had swum out from the beach.

“Well, there’s nobody swimming out here. It’s a quiet night. Nothing’s going on.”

I finally heard the sound of the little outboard motor revving up, and then the boat sped away. I put down the mike, crawled to Tom, and pulled off my hood.

“I think they’re gone,” I whispered, my breath short, my heart still pounding.

“Good,” he replied, his voice sounding weak. “Can you get my hood too?”

I pulled it off for him, seeing his pale face against the fiberglass wall of the cabin.

“Are you okay?” I asked, putting a hand to his cheek.

“Not really,” he replied softly. “Callie, I’m bleeding.”

Thirty

“It wasn’t so bad at first,” he said. “But now it’s really starting to hurt.”

Tom held out his hands, palms up, and I gasped.

The skin looked as though it had been shredded off, in some places almost down to the tendons. Though he could flex all of his fingers, both hands were covered in blood. I looked down at the pile of towels I had used to dry the diving platform, and I realized that what I had thought was mud was actually dark red blood. The front of Tom’s wet suit was also covered with the sticky, slimy substance.

“That’s why I thought we ought to get out of the water,” he added. “I didn’t want to, you know, draw things to us.”

I shuddered, thinking of all the creatures his bleeding might have attracted. Though sharks weren’t usually a concern in the Caribbean, the scent of blood could reach far and wide, bringing all sorts of predators.

Holding back tears, I told him to wait there while I found the boat’s first aid kit. We didn’t dare turn on any lights inside, but he needed attending to, fast.

I fumbled around in the underseat storage cabinet and finally found the kit. I crawled back to him and zipped open the case, glad to see it was a complete one. While Tom explained what had happened, I pulled out the supplies we needed, setting them on the floor beside us.

It was Tom’s rapid rappel down the cliff that had caused the damage. He’d had to move so quickly that he hadn’t had time to make the proper loops in the rope. Without gloves, sliding that fast on standard-issue hardware-store rope had cut into his hands, imbedding shards of the twine and tearing away flesh.

I pulled a big plastic bowl from a low cabinet and had Tom hold his hands over it while I rinsed the wounds with Betadyne. He winced, sucking in air between his teeth, but he didn’t cry out.

Once his hands had been cleaned, I took a chance on using a small penlight. I shined it on each hand, inspecting the damage. It wasn’t pretty.

Holding the penlight with my teeth, I had Tom rest his hands on a pile of towels in my lap while I used tweezers to pull rope fibers from the wounds. He remained silent throughout. When I had taken out all the fibers I could see, I put Telfa pads against the mangled flesh and then wrapped up both hands thoroughly in gauze.

“We need to get you to an emergency room,” I said.

“There’s no rush,” he replied. “It’s not like they can give me stitches or anything. The cuts are too wide.”

“True.”

“And as bad as it looks, they really are just flesh wounds. I don’t think any tendons are involved. We can go in the morning, let them put me on antibiotics, give me a tetanus shot, whatever. Again, there’s no hurry. You need to do your job right now anyway.”

“At least keep your hands above your heart,” I said. “That’ll slow the bleeding.”

I told him to lie down right there on the floor, and then I put a pillow under his head and propped life jackets under each hand.

“Callie, go ahead and do what you need to do,” he said. “You’re losing valuable time tending to me.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, leaning over him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Give me a kiss and get to work.”

I kissed him hard on the mouth, and then I crawled to the forward cabin and brought out the listening station. I dragged it back out to the lightest part of the room, where the moonlight spilled in through the window and cast a soft glow on the carpet. Then I opened the small valise-type case, flipped on the power, started the digital recorder, and put on the headphones. If this didn’t work, everything he had just been through had been for naught.