White Ginger (9 page)

“Has Sanderson got something to do with what’s happening? Do you think he’s behind the break-ins?”

Arne powered down the engine and brought the boat to a gently rocking glide close in to an orange and white buoy. Turning to Amelie, he shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s capable of underhanded tricks. He didn’t build up his business by wholly honest dealings and practices.”

He swung up to lope along the side of the boat to the bow, dropping the anchor over the port side to steady her against the light swell rolling in. Having secured the boat, he set about bringing up the diving gear from below deck.

Amelie was almost morbidly fascinated as she watched him check air tanks, and sort through monitoring gear.

“I forgot the underwater camera. Hang on a sec.” When he returned topside, he raised the camera to her, swinging it toward her by its strap. “All yours to control.”

Her stomach spasmed at the sight of the speargun in his other hand, Jeff Jessup’s question uppermost in her mind. Did they really expect trouble out here? Or was the speargun for fish? Which was worse, Amelie couldn’t decide right now.

“Shall we try this on you?” Arne hoisted the scuba tank, holding it ready for her, effectively redirecting her thoughts from one set of worries to another. Gamely, she agreed. She removed her sarong, dropping it on the bench behind and stood in her old black and white one-piece swimsuit. It was more suitable for diving than the new bikini. Turning back to face Arne, she noticed he’d half donned a short-legged wetsuit which hung from his waist. She was definitely scared if she hadn’t noticed that straight away. Did he wear a pair of swimming trunks under it? Her mouth went dry at the thought.

Hold that thought, Melie. Lustful thoughts will get you through this ordeal.

He moved behind her and held the weight of the tank as she adjusted the shoulder straps. Reaching around for the waist clip, he tugged the length of strap more snugly into place, his hands warm through the material of her swimsuit and reassuring in their strength.

“You look after the camera. Photograph anything you think looks out of place. And anything you like as well. You might get some ideas for your paintings.” Handing her the camera, he helped her position herself on the edge of the boat.

As he adjusted the heavy diver’s watch on his right wrist, she snapped off a quick photo of him. “You said ‘anything I liked’! Remember?” White teeth flashed as he smiled disarmingly at her. He tapped her on the nose then fitted her mouthpiece so she couldn’t say any more. He grinned again at her wide-eyed show of innocence. Just before he put his mouthpiece in, he added, “Relax. Just allow yourself to roll in.” With a thumbs-up, he took her hand and smoothly tipped backward into the sun-kissed waves of the Pacific.

On the trip out, he had described the reef as a barrier reef, one of only two true barrier reefs in the Hawaiian Islands. “Rather like your Great Barrier Reef in Australia.” That reference reminded her of Victor and the shark. Ugh–that was the last thing she needed. Panicking was not an option. She concentrated on Arne’s flippers, following so close behind him she could feel the swirl of water created by each kick.

He led her to an area between ten and twenty meters down, guiding her along a length of reef he was monitoring. They glided above massive lobe corals and flat, encrusting rice corals. Rich colors, amazing shapes, movement, life. Where to look first? There was so much to see, so much she wanted to photograph. Would she be lucky enough to spot the Humuhumunukunukuapua'a, the triggerfish with a snout like a pig? The name fascinated her. Arne had described how it blew jets of water to uncover food lying hidden in the sand. She wanted to see it for herself. Not that she disbelieved him, but she was curious to see if it really had blue teeth to match its blue spine. The prospect of seeing such oddities was far better than contemplating other creatures lurking in the depths.

As they descended, she took care not to touch the poisonous spines of the black sea urchins, remembering Arne’s warnings about the burning sensations caused by even a light touch of their spines. Parrot fish, orange-band surgeon fish and yellow tangs grazed the rocks and dead coral for seaweeds, constantly cleaning up their habitat. Schools of tiny silver fingerlings darted here and there, always just out of range. From a small cave off to her right, a green sea turtle poked his nose out, as though checking on his neighbors, before launching himself off his front ledge and sedately paddling away.

For all her previous anxiety, with Arne by her side Amelie was entranced, avidly photographing fish and corals as though her life depended on it. She had known the reef would be interesting, although it frightened her, but the sense of wonder was unexpected as she glided effortlessly through the filtered blue light.

Indicating she was confident enough photographing the corals where she was, Arne went some way ahead to check the next meter. Amelie scanned her immediate environs. Her hair floated, mermaid-like around her shoulders, and the long bangs floated across her vision as she back paddled. Why hadn’t she had the foresight to tie her hair back before diving? It wasn’t as if she could toss her head to flick it back over her shoulders and out of her eyes.

Tilting her head forward, she noticed a smallish black box half buried in sand a meter or so to her left. It wasn’t one of Arne’s monitors. He’d been moving in a line more to her right. She stepped toward it as a streamlined shape crossed her line of vision.

Oh, God, no! A reef shark.

It filled her sight as it glided around the rocky outcrop just ahead. She couldn’t breathe. Fear paralyzed her legs. It circled right. Instinctively, she recoiled left, brought up short when her flipper caught in wire coils attached to the black box. Her hair floated in front of her mask and panic made her all thumbs as she blindly tugged at her flipper. Losing her balance, she floated to the sandy bottom, arms wildly reaching to put something, anything, between her and the monster. As she landed, a small puff of light sand arose round her hips. The shark circled just ahead.

Where was Arne? What could she do?

Water swirled at her back and she dropped the camera. The shark? Where was it?

Ice filled her veins. Her chest felt tight. She labored to drag air into her lungs. Her mouthpiece was wrenched out and the weight of her scuba tank disappeared as it was yanked violently from her shoulders. She spun off to the side, a sharp burning sensation attacking the back of her left shoulder. A human leg passed in front of her face before her hair blocked her vision.

Groping frantically for her air supply, her hand caught in the wires that protruded from the side of the black box. Wildly she tried to disengage from it while trying desperately to see where the reef shark was.

Her tank was gone. She had to get to the surface.
But which way was up?

Lungs bursting, she pushed off from the sandy bottom. Panic on seeing the shark meant that she had taken short breaths. Now, she saw black spots on the periphery of her vision. A burning sensation rose in her throat.

Without warning, Arne was beside her, fitting his mouthpiece into her mouth, encircling her waist with his arm. Blessed air mixed with a little water in her mouth. Carefully, Arne guided her to the surface. When she indicated he should take a turn at the mouthpiece, he shook his head and kept her moving until warm, clear daylight touched her face.

She pulled the mouthpiece out and pushed her face mask up, gasping in great gulps of fresh air. Then she threw her arms around Arne’s neck and rested her forehead against his. His arms locked them together as she choked down a sob. He stroked down her cheek.

“Let’s get back to the boat.”

Leilani. Safety.

Only Arne’s grip on the back of her swimsuit kept her moving forward. By the time they reached the platform, she could barely raise her jelly legs to the ladder. Arne tucked her hands around the handhold before pulling himself up first. Reaching down, he hauled her up.

She huddled on the platform hugging her knees, forehead pressed against her forearms. The dangling strap of her swimsuit brushed annoyingly across her thigh.

Arne’s tank clattered on the deck, shortly followed by the rasp of his wetsuit zipper. She looked up as he dropped the inside out suit on his tank.

“Be right back.” He swung through the hatch, jumping down the steps into the cabin. The view of his back was almost as good as his front and yes, he wore swimming trunks under the suit. How weird. She’d almost died and now she was ogling Arne. Hysteria bubbled up. Firmly, she pressed her knuckles to her mouth to hold it in.

Arne reappeared, blanket in hand. He draped it around her shoulders, rubbing her back vigorously. “Warmer?”

Hunkered down beside her, his face white beneath his tan, he touched her cheek with fingers that trembled. “Are you okay?”

The impulse to giggle was still strong but her throat hurt so she nodded. Reaching to touch Arne’s face, something dragged her arm down. A small black box bumped between them.

“What the… Amelie, where did this come from?”

She looked uncomprehendingly at the wires wrapping her wrist. And at the black box dragging on the deck. Shaking her head, she met his gaze and held her arm toward him.

* * * *

Carefully, Arne untangled the wires, fingers feeling like thumbs. Amelie could have died down there. Because of him. His heart thudded and he bit down on self-recrimination. Time enough later to beat himself up for leaving her alone. First he needed to check Amelie. Had she any other injuries? And how in blazes had she lost her tank? What happened while he was too far away to see?

A red welt showed when he unwrapped the last strand, but at least there was no open cut. Gently, he brushed his thumb across the mark.

Please let that be the worst of it.

He gave the box a cursory look then placed it on the deck behind him. “Let’s get you warm.”

Scooping her into his arms, he carried her into the cabin, gently depositing her on the edge of the bunk. He slipped the blanket off her shoulders. His heartbeat slowed a little as he checked her arms and legs. No marks.

He kneeled on the bunk to check her back and fear shot through him. A trickle of blood ran from a cut on her shoulder. Definitely not a coral graze. The thin line looked more like a knife wound.

A knife!

He sucked in the exclamation that sprang to his lips. How? Who? His jaw clenched. Whoever attacked her was going to regret it.

“Arne, what is it?” Her voice was soft and raspy. She seemed unaware of the cut. How long had she been without oxygen? Had she seen her attacker?

Don’t scare her more than she is already.

“You’ve got a cut on your shoulder. I’ll make a cover for it.” Uncurling his fists, he reached for the first aid box. Methodically, he cleaned the wound, found a light pad and taped it in place then tucked the blanket around her again. Pulling her onto his lap, he held her close, rubbing warmth into her limbs.

Her body gradually relaxed and his rubbing morphed into stroking her back and arms. Her head tipped onto his broad shoulder. Was she asleep? He edged forward, aiming to deposit her on the bunk while he examined the box.

She raised her head. Meeting his gaze, she shrugged an arm out of the blanket to rub his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Turning his head, he dropped a kiss into her palm. “How are you feeling now?”

“Okay.”

“Are you up to talking about it?” Much as he didn’t want to distress her, he needed to know what he had to deal with.

She took a deep breath, and nodded, describing the moments immediately before and following her sighting of the shark.

“The only thing I really noticed was an oddly shaped mole in a tattoo of a breaking wave on a leg. I’ve no idea who it was, but he must have badly wanted to stop me photographing something.” She shivered and he tightened his hold.

“I lost the camera, but that box might be important if it’s not one of yours.”

Arne looked out to the stern where he’d left the black box. He clenched his jaw, thinking of the danger he’d unwittingly led Amelie into. Bringing her out here had seemed such a good idea after the break-in. He’d keep an eye on her, protect her. A niggling voice in his head added,
and keep her near you!

Instead, she had been attacked and nearly died because someone was after him! How could she ever forgive that, forgive him for putting her in such peril? He’d never forgive himself.

“I’m sorry for being such a wimp.” She spoke softly, her words muffled against his shoulder. “That’s my worst nightmare.”

“You’re no wimp, Amelie. Anyone would feel shaken if they’d been attacked like that. I’m so sorry I brought you into such danger. I had no idea anyone would come after me like that. You should never have been caught up in any of this!”

“The attack?” She looked perplexed. “I’m talking about the shark. It scared me witless.”

“It’s harmless. Anyone else would be traumatized by the attack, but you’re frightened by a reef fish. It was only a small white-tipped reef shark, four feet long if it was lucky.” Gently he pushed back a wayward strand of hair, keeping his other arm firmly around her shivering body. She wasn’t kidding. Obviously she had a real phobia of sharks.

“I know it’s stupid and irrational, that it was smaller than me and all that, but I know it’s coming for me. I have this recurring nightmare when I get stressed.”