Below the Surface (4 page)

“I had to see you when I heard,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Nikki sends her love. She's down giving the reporters lying in wait for you a sound bite or two about me so they'll leave you alone.”

“I'd talk to them if I thought it would help find Daria. Be sure to thank her for me.”

“She's being a real trouper right now. Just between us,” he said, whispering now but shaking his head, “she thinks once I'm in congress, the White House is a small step, and that's her idea of a dream home. But enough about that. I'm sure they'll find Daria. Oh, here, I brought you the morning paper about your rescue,” he said, producing a folded copy of the
Naples Daily News
from under his arm and handing it to Amelia. “You and DeRoca both did what you had to do. I admire both of you for your courage.”

Josh Austin was a wonder, and not just because of his vitality and boyish good looks that never seemed to change. He had always amazed Bree and absolutely awed Daria, who had dated him three years in high school, long before his statewide glory days. In high school he'd been in charge of everything and was voted most likely to succeed. He had, too, leaving everyone behind in his stardust as he married a wealthy man's daughter whom he met at Florida State, became a successful businessman and the youngest state representative in Tallahassee. He was now in a neck-and-neck race to unseat Marla Sherborne for her U.S. senate seat. Everyone in the area liked Josh, including Daria, even though he'd broken up with her before he'd left for college, long before Ted and Bree had split up. But what a fun foursome they had been years ago. Ted was gone now, but not, she prayed, Daria, too.

The three of them watched silently when the coverage of the search for Daria and their dive boat came up as the lead story. An interview with a coast guard spokesman led, then a sound bite from a member of the civil air patrol, who had been flying the coastal islands all morning and found nothing but normal storm debris on various beaches. And then an interview with Cole.

She hadn't realized he was so tall, but he made the reporter look like a shrimp. He wore swim trunks and a black T-shirt that showed how muscular he was. It was obvious he hadn't shaved or slept. It made Bree mad that the hospital staff had turned him away from seeing her, for she owed him her life. If he could only locate Daria, she'd owe him for both of them.

Cole's thick, swept-back hair shone dark in the sun, and his narrowed eyes looked almost black under his arched brows. His chiseled features were half-handsome, half-craggy, almost foreboding when he frowned. Bree shifted her legs under the sheet. As weak as she felt, the mere look and thought of him poured adrenaline through her body.

Cole and the reporter were standing on the dock of the Turtle Bay Marina. “I've been out with friends looking for Daria Devon and her scuba-dive boat,” he said into the mike thrust at him. “Especially near Keewadin Island, where Briana Devon was swept in, though she evidently swam a long way to get there.”

“Do you consider yourself a hero for saving Briana Devon?”

“She saved herself by managing to swim in during that sudden storm. I'm no hero, just someone deeply concerned and trying to help.”

Bree's heart went out to him. He was on edge, frustrated and worried, she could tell.

“Quite a guy.” Josh's voice interrupted her agonizing. “His ex-wife was on my initial feasibility/ exploratory committee. Bree, how are you doing, really?” he asked, turning to her when the coverage ended. He leaned against the edge of the bed and bent down to take her hand in his. “Your inner strength, I mean, your ability to face all this. I know how close you are to Daria.”

“I'll be all right,” she vowed, blinking back tears and gripping his hand harder than she meant to. “The doctor will be in with a report soon. They think a lightning strike might have scrambled my thinking some, but that's not true. I'm fine! I'll be fine if we find her.”

Now he held her hand in both of his. “Just stay out of it and let the authorities do their thing, both of you,” he said, glancing at Amelia. “I promise you, I'll pull all the strings I can and I'll stay in touch.” He bent to kiss her cheek again. As he moved away, Bree saw his wife out in the hall, looking in. Before she could tell Josh, he hurried out. The room suddenly seemed silent and small again. Then Josh popped back in, pulling his wife behind him. Obviously, Nikki Austin had more influence getting where she wanted to go in the hospital than Cole did.

Nicole Grann Austin was even more striking in person than on TV, in the newspapers or on the glossy brochures the postal carriers delivered in droves these days. Her long, honey-hued hair framed her heart-shaped face, her teeth looked like an ad for whitening strips, and, even now, she looked dressed to kill.

“Nikki says the press in the lobby are really getting restless,” Josh said. “Bree and Amelia, I don't believe you've met Nikki,” he added, making introductions all around. Nikki whispered something to him. “Yeah, good,” he told her, then turned to Bree again. “Look, we have a friend who does a lot of PR for us and pilots our plane. He's a triple-threat man, because the truth is, he's also a bodyguard. With this tough race and in this day and age, you just never know. Mark Denton is out in the hall waiting for us, and I'd be glad to loan him to you for a while to keep the media at bay, if you'd like. We're staying in town tonight and don't need him to fly us back to Tallahassee until tomorrow.”

“That's really kind of you, but that's okay,” Bree said. “I certainly don't need a bodyguard.” She thought of Cole again. If he would just be willing to help her…

“You call us, if you do,” Nikki put in. Bree saw that the woman was studying her avidly. Maybe she was curious about what someone who had been hit by lightning looked like. Yet there was an edginess about her, or was that just energy and excitement in her big, blue eyes? “Here,” Nikki went on, “I'm going to write down both of our cell-phone numbers for you in case. And I'm a lot easier to reach than ‘the man' here, if you need anything at all.”

Bree took the piece of paper from her, despite the fact Amelia also reached for it. With more good wishes and promises of help, they were gone. Bree caught a glimpse of their companion, Mark Denton, who reminded her of those buff, secret-service types who hovered around the president. That joke Josh had made about the White House—she didn't put it past him or Nikki either.

“Now you just take his advice and get some rest, because I'm sure he'll help us,” Amelia said as she opened the folded newspaper he'd brought and a glossy You Can Trust Josh Austin brochure spilled out on the bed. “See?” she said, pointing at it. “For once, truth in advertising.”

Finally, Bree was alone. After a detailed, positive report from the Fort Myers's neuropsychologist about her tests, which had included simple memory quizzes, an IQ and an organizational-ability puzzle, no medical personnel were in the room. Amelia had gone to meet her boys, six-year-old Jordan and eight-year-old James, when they got home from school and take them to a neighbor's before she came back.

Amelia had washed her salt-water-stiffened hair for her, chattering about how she used to wash her and Daria's hair when they were little. The dressing on Bree's wrist burn had been changed and the nurse had taught her how to tape a plastic sleeve around her arm so that she could take a shower, which she'd done before Amelia left. Actually, Bree had lifted several other plastic sleeves off the nurse's cart, because she was going to need them.

She had to get out of here. Forget this staying in for further observation. She was the one who needed to do observation of the entire gulf if she had to. She was going to get Manny to take her out to the Trade Wreck so she and one of her scuba-diving friends could start to trace Daria.

Bree hated to be sneaking out, but she was certain, except for her strange perceptions of light and sound, that she was all right. Dr. Hawkins had said if she had any ringing in her ears, it would probably lessen, so she expected her other problems would end soon, too. He had insisted she needed at least another day of observation and then several days of rest, so Amelia was determined to have Bree go home with her.

Since she was not only burned but burned-out, Bree knew full well the doctor and Amelia would try to stop her from diving. She'd probably have to lie to Manny and whomever she called to help her dive about being given a clean bill of health, but she would do whatever it took to find her sister. What could they do? Arrest her? Lock her up? Nothing mattered but finding Daria. No way could she wait for the possibility of being released tomorrow. That might be too late; it might already be too late.

Bree had racked her brain for clues to what might have happened to her twin. The first thing she could think of to do was to learn whether the boat's anchor chain was still planted near the Trade Wreck. Had it been pulled up or thrown over? Second, she had to find and salvage her camera. While Bree suited up, Daria had shot some sample pics off the side of the ship. What if there was some hint on that camera, maybe of another watercraft lurking nearby? And she had to call her civil air patrol friend, Dave Mangold. She needed a clue, any clue!

Even though Sam Travers hated her, she was going to ask him to use his large search-and-salvage vessel to look for Daria. She'd hire him if she had to. The coast guard and the civil air patrol obviously could use the help. Sam had that expensive echo sounder, too. If it could spot schools of fish and find anomalies, even wrecks on the bottom of the gulf…

She covered her face with her hands and sucked in a sob. It horrified her even to consider that
Mermaids II
might have actually gone down in the storm. It couldn't be, but she had to try everything, had to get the answers no one else was giving her. Losing Daria would be almost like losing herself.

She got out of bed slowly. A bit light-headed, not really dizzy. Man, she hated these hospital gowns. At least they'd untethered her from those hanging tubes. She'd forced herself to eat lunch, tomato soup and half a grilled cheese sandwich, to get some strength and convince Amelia and the nurses she was recovering physically from her ordeal.

Bree shuffled over and closed the door to the hall, hoping that might signal she was sleeping. She knew where the street clothes were that Amelia had brought. She'd be crazy to try walking out of here in her mermaid wet suit. In the tiny bathroom, she put slacks, shoes, a blouse and matching jacket on—you might know Amelia wouldn't bring any of her more casual work clothes—when the phone on her bedside table rang. She'd have to answer it. Besides, it might be the coast guard or air patrol.

She picked up the phone on its fourth ring. “Briana Devon.”

“Briana! Cole DeRoca. I'm down in the lobby with a friend of yours who heard me ask if you could have visitors this afternoon, a guy named Manny. They say you can't and that they can't even release how you're doing because of privacy laws.”

Her heartbeat kicked up. Her prayers—some of them, at least—were being answered.

“Cole,” she said, trying to keep from crying in relief. This was obviously a sign she should forge ahead with her plans. “You're a godsend, because I'm leaving and I'd appreciate a ride home. Amelia's not here right now. I'll be down in a minute, but ask Manny to hang around, would you? And if there are reporters in the lobby—”

“Three of them, two with camermen.”

“In that case, get Manny to meet us at the shop in Turtle Bay and wait for me by the E.R. entrance, okay?”

“Will do, but are you sure you're strong enough?”

“Strong enough to do whatever it takes to find my sister,” she said, and hung up before he could question her more about her sudden release.

Making for the door, Bree felt like a felon escaping from the penitentiary. At the last minute, she turned back and scribbled her nurse a note, telling her she was fine and had gone for a walk. That was true enough; somehow, she was going for a dive, too.

As she peeked into the hall, then strode out nonchalantly, she carried Cole's gift of the orange orchid in her arms.

“I
s Amelia coming to your place to stay with you?” Cole asked as he drove her away from the hospital. They turned onto the busy Tamiami Trail and headed south toward Turtle Bay. She wanted to recline the seat and go to sleep, but she sat erect, cursing the fact Amelia hadn't brought her sunglasses. The light, the sounds of traffic—too bright, too much.

“She's with her two little boys right now,” she told him, pulling down the sun visor on her side. “I'm sure she'll be over soon.” She couldn't decide whether to just level with Cole or to get home first before she sprang her desperate plan on him and Manny. Cole had helped her before, but would he help her now? Besides, just his presence, his closeness, was making her even more nervous than she already was.

“Have you ever scuba dived?” she asked.

“Strictly for recreation, but I can hold my own. The last time was in Tahiti for a wedding anniversary. I'm single now.”

“Sorry.” She wasn't sorry, but she had no time for such thoughts.

“Don't be. Definitely the best for me and her, too, since she left me.”

A woman had left this man? The entire world was crazy.

“Briana, you look shaky. You aren't going to be sick?”

“Sick at heart. I'd warn you before I'd upchuck in this beautiful car.”

He was driving a big burgundy sedan, probably one he used to impress his clients, because it didn't seem like him and it certainly didn't seem like Turtle Bay. This was a man she didn't really know.

The village of Turtle Bay was a fairly secluded enclave between the Tamiami Trail on the east, the Gulf of Mexico on the west, the city of Naples to its north and Marco Island to its south. Turtle Bay had been built up years ago, with two clam-canning factories that were now defunct, and the usual condos and luxury waterfront homes had not intruded yet. A lot of locals feared the proposed gambling casino boat here could change all that. One of the old canneries was now quaint shops and seafood restaurants; the other had been converted to Sam Travers's Search and Salvage. Tourists and fishermen came and went daily in Turtle Bay, but returned to their luxe hotels in Naples when the day's jaunt was over. It was a tidal bay, so the main marina was built up on high posts, as were some of the modest houses, even those built farther back off the waterfront. Everything from dinghies to yachts and all sizes of sailboats bobbed in the bay.

Manny was waiting for them at the Two Mermaids with the door open. Thank heavens, no reporters were in sight. “Let's go upstairs,” she told the men and, though every muscle of her body ached, she tried to lead them upstairs gracefully.

Her and Daria's two-bedroom apartment above the shop was a light, airy and pleasant place with white wicker furniture, bright floral pillows and open vistas of the marina, bay and gulf. Without Daria, it seemed oppressive, so she was glad to have their company.

She took the orchid Cole had carried up for her and put it on the glass-topped coffee table, which was cluttered with the books Daria had been studying for her accounting class. They'd finally admitted they'd been too careless with the financial end of their business. Manny had volunteered to handle that, but they'd decided one of them should specialize in it, and Daria had cheerfully volunteered. She'd seemed obsessed with the course work ever since. In college—Dad had insisted they go to his alma mater in Miami—neither of them had taken courses in anything like accounting or business. Bree had studied languages, and Daria was a philosophy major. The truth was, both of them had majored in giving scuba lessons and getting a tan on trendy South Beach.

“Please sit, both of you,” Bree said, and went into the small galley kitchen. When she was certain they couldn't see her, she grasped the edge of the counter-top and leaned against it, stiff armed, staring at Daria's latest note—dated last Friday—on the bulletin board over the sink:
Don't worry about me. Going to study w/ friends after class and might be in late.

She could not cry, Bree told herself, could not dissolve in frustration or fear. She must find strength she did not have, courage she did not feel. However hurting and exhausted, she had to get moving.

She gulped a glass of orange juice, then poured Coke into three glasses, dumped a bag of taco chips into a bowl and carried all that in on a tray. She wanted desperately for these men to see her in control. Cole sat on the sofa, and Manny had taken her rocking chair, so she sat in Daria's. They were talking about how Manny never dived but oversaw the shop, their two boats—the larger of which was now missing—and the heavy equipment. Man, Bree thought as she drank down half of her soda, but she needed this sugar and caffeine to stoke her strength.

“So, what you planning?” Manny asked her. “I know you. Want me to get the coast guard and the air patrol on the phone?”

“I'm going to call them, but I want to talk to both of you first.”

She forced herself to look directly into Cole's narrowed eyes, because she figured she could get Manny to do what she wanted. Yes, despite the dire situation, the instant arc of energy and tension crackled between them as fiercely as it had the day they'd had that impromptu lunch on the yacht months ago. She had to admit that Cole DeRoca was still the great unknown, deeper than the sea. He had been nothing but kind and caring, but she well knew there could be unknown fathoms beneath. She felt so intensely drawn to the man that she feared her spinning senses could too easily swamp her usually sensible nature. She couldn't afford a distraction right now when she needed to be self-disciplined. She needed the man to help her and had to shut everything else out.

“To try to find Daria,” she told them, gripping her sweating glass hard in both hands, “I need to figure out if she left the dive site of her own accord or unwillingly.”

“Caramba,”
Manny exclaimed, flinging gestures, “for sure, it was unwilling.”

“So you plan to do what?” Cole asked, putting down his glass and leaning forward with his wrists on his knees.

“I need to see if our boat's anchor is missing from the seabed near the turtle grass meadow. I dived down the anchor line as usual. But when I was ready to go up, I didn't even look for it and just made the ascent from where I was.”

“Yeah, you done that before,” Manny put in.

“But was the anchor there,” she went on, “and I just didn't see it in the increasing turbulence and lessening visibility? Is it still there? And if so, was the anchor chain hauled up properly or shoved off in a hurry? We paid good money for that new anchor and chain, because we've had them pull loose, and twice our rope was cut on something. If Daria didn't leave under duress, she would have hauled it in.”

“What you thinking?” Manny demanded. “That more than a storm made her leave you there?”

“Of course it was more than a storm that made her leave me there!” Bree exploded. “That was bad, but it wasn't a hurricane! Sorry,” she added more quietly, covering her eyes with one hand. “I'm just on edge, and I know you've been, too, Manny, trying to handle your mother's illness, Lucinda's attitude and everything.”

As she lowered her hand and looked at him, he shook his head. “Lucinda's craziness
nada
compared to this,” he said. “Anyhow I can help, I help.”

“Good,” she said. “I'd like you to go down to our slip at the marina and make sure
Mermaid I
is ready to go and that scuba tanks are filled—for two divers, if Cole will come along. It still stays light pretty late. At least the storms missed us today, so maybe the underwater visibility will be better.”

“You're going diving
now?
” Cole demanded. “Look, Briana, I'm sure you know a lot of local divers who could search for—”

“I need to do it! I know the area. Besides, if I could just retrieve my camera, it could have something on it. I had to let it go in the storm.”

“You got photos of something strange?” Manny asked. He clenched both fists. Even with his brown skin, Bree could tell he was flushing. His voice rose as he got up from the couch and took a step toward the door. “You really thinking someone did something dirty?”

“I don't want to think that, but I know she wouldn't just leave, storm or not, toothache or not. I know Daria as well as I know myself!”

Manny bent to swig the rest of his soda and went out. She could hear him thudding down the stairs, muttering to himself.

“Briana—”

“You can call me Bree if you want.”

“The thing is,” Cole went on, “even if the doctor cleared you to leave the hospital, that hardly meant you could go diving right away.”

“He didn't clear me,” she blurted. “I cleared myself and cleared out. I have to do this!”

She jumped up, making Daria's chair rock back and forth on its own as if a ghost sat there. With a shiver snaking up her spine, she moved to the French doors, which had a view of the bay. The sight of the sunlit marina and the gulf beyond almost blinded her. Pushing the double doors open, she stepped out onto the veranda where they kept a wrought-iron table and two chairs. She grabbed sunglasses Daria had left there and shoved them on to mute the slant of late-afternoon sun. Not only had her heightened perception of light not worn off, but she was certain that, beyond the normal bustle of the marina, she could hear the seductive sounds of the sea.

Bree decided she'd need to start wearing earplugs, not when she dove, but when she was on terra firma. She'd often had to wear them to sleep. Unlike Daria, she couldn't fall asleep anywhere. On their overnight flight to Greece for their college-graduation gift, Daria had conked out right away and arrived raring to go, while Bree had wasted an entire night's sleep just being annoyed that Daria was lost in sweet dreams. Daria…lost…in dreams that were really nightmares…

“Bree,” Cole said, following her out and putting his big hands gently on her shoulders from behind, “under ordinary circumstances, I'd tell you you're nuts. You've got a lot of professional people looking for her. Besides, the police have a dive team—though, I suppose, they won't deploy it until they're convinced of foul play, even if we ask…” His deep voice trailed off.

She turned to face him and found herself staring at the beating pulse in his strong, bronzed throat. He was half a head taller than she, but his broad shoulders made him seem larger than that. His eyes were a rich mahogany hue, framed by long, thick lashes. She could see her reflection there, could almost drown in their depths.

For one crazed instant, she longed to throw herself into his arms and just hold tight, to beg him to take this burden from her, comfort her, let her hide in his strength. But she did none of those things. Tackle a problem head-on, Dad would have said. It was the way she was and Daria, too. But had Daria, out on that boat in those rough waves, tried to take on something—or someone—she could not handle?

“Cole, I know that area and the currents like the back of my hand. I have to do this or I'll never forgive myself. I'm certain I would feel something if she weren't…weren't alive. But I do sense she's in danger. Call it women's intuition or a sister's sixth sense. I just have to go check the dive site.”

“Then I'll go with you—on one condition. If you begin to feel ill down there or I see anything I don't like, that's it, we're out. And we're not going to do any kind of wide sweep for the camera if it's not near the dive site. Promise me,” he said, gripping her upper arms, “because I mean it. I'll pull you right out of there—again.”

“Yes, all right, I promise. I owe you doubly. I really think God sent you to find me, and to help find Daria.”

“Then I just pray I'm up to pleasing all three of you,” he said and surprised her with a hard hug before he let her go.

While Manny was preparing the skiff and putting air in their tanks and Cole drove to his workshop where he kept his own diving gear, Bree made four quick calls. She phoned the hospital main desk to officially check herself out. They were very upset and said they'd inform Dr. Hawkins immediately, but she hung up before they could page him. Bree knew Amelia would try to stop her from diving, so she called her at home and got her answering machine. That was what she'd hoped for, since Amelia should be picking up Jordan and James from their private elementary school about now. She left her a message that she was feeling much stronger and had decided to come home.

She then phoned the coast guard emergency contact number and, after no news there, the civil air patrol information line. She was disappointed and dismayed to learn her pilot friend, Dave Mangold, was out of town and had not participated in the air search. There was no sign of Daria or their boat, but both organizations would keep her informed.

Informed. She was terrified to get a call from either of them.

Realizing she'd left her mermaid diving suit at the hospital, she donned an old pink spandex wet suit and hurried downstairs. Though she didn't intend to tell Cole, she felt strange, kind of floaty, but she had to do this and now. Surely, this almost out-of-body feeling was not related to Daria's fate.