Heather Graham - Ghost Shadow

Today he felt the need for the water. He thought best when he was in the water, and he wasn’t feeling close enough to anyone else from his past to ask for company-not true, he’d have asked Katie O’Hara, except that she had kept her distance the night before- and though he knew damned well he shouldn’t plan on going out by himself, he was going to do so. He’d had good friends, expert divers, who had actually died by believing that they were so good they didn’t need company. He preached diving with a buddy.

But today, he was going to live recklessly. He was going out alone.

He knew that his grandfather had kept the Lucky Life in good repair at the dock; he knew that Liam took the boat out often enough, as well. He walked the distance to the boat, knowing that Liam kept dive equipment on her. The dive shop right at the docks rented tanks, and he could also buy sandwiches, water and beer.

Lainie Regent still worked at the dive shop; she greeted him and rented him four tanks with thirty minutes each. These would work as long as he controlled his breathing and kept his dives around sixty feet. He assured her he wasn’t doing any of the deep wrecks, and that he’d be fine.

“Welcome back, David,” Lainie told him. “Be nice if you stuck around a bit. Hey! I saw some of your work in that national earth-thingy magazine. David, what great pictures!”

“Thanks, Lainie.” He bid her goodbye without making any commitments and headed on down to the Lucky Life. Craig had never really been much of a fisherman; in his younger days, he’d been an avid diver. The boat was designed to that end with eight tank holds, a freshwater hose and bucket, a small cabin with a very small working galley and a head. Since David had been gone, sonar equipment and global positioning had been added.

Nice.

He checked his gas, then started to slip the ties that tethered the boat to the dock.

“David!”

He looked up, startled by the sense of pleasure that seemed to wash over him.

Warmly.

Hotly.

Katie O’Hara was hurrying down the dock toward him. She was wearing deck shoes, shorts, a bikini top with an open long-sleeved shirt over it and a huge, floppy sun hat. She was all long legs and flowing hair, and she seemed to make his heart beat too hard, his libido to flip about. He kept his features rigid, thinking of the years he had been gone, the women who had come and gone from his life, many nice, kind, cute, beautiful, intelligent-and some not. They had all been friends, but all like ships at sea, passing in high and low waters, in storm and in calm.

None had made him feel this way, and he had to wonder why.

He barely knew her.

And she was Sean’s little sister.

“Hey, Katie,” he said, pausing. He frowned. “How did you know where I was?”

“I don’t exactly have a phone number for you,” she apologized. “I called Liam. Then I did try you, but you’re not answering.”

“Sorry, my stuff is thrown in the cabin.”

She nodded. She looked like she had the night before.

“Why were you looking for me? Is something wrong, has something happened?”

“No, no, nothing is wrong and nothing has happened. I guess I wanted to talk to you, mull things over more. Now that I’m here, I think you need company. It’s dangerous to dive alone, you know.”

He smiled. She sounded like one of the very serious and professional instructors they might have had when they’d been young, just old enough for certification.

“Climb aboard,” he told her.

“Where are you heading?”

“Sand Key-nothing deep. I’m looking for something peaceful, protected…lots of fish, clear water.”

“Sounds good to me. Do I need more tanks?”

“We can make two dives-and I imagine you have to be back for work.”

“Great. Food?”

“We’re good. Climb aboard.”

She hopped on, releasing the last loop as she did so and winding the lines. She knew the boats; she knew diving.

They were conchs.

He kept his speed slow while exiting the no-wake zone, then picked up as they headed out in a southwesterly direction. The sound of the motor kept them from talking much, nothing more than, “Want a water?” And, “Sure!” And then his thank-you to her as she produced the plastic bottles from the ice chest.

At last he slowed the boat; there were charters out in the area and a number of smaller craft, as well. He set their dive flag out, and went for his equipment.

She slipped into a skin, telling him that she hated running into jellyfish, and they helped one another with their tanks, rinsed their masks, held them and back-dove into the water. He had taken one of his underwater digital cameras for the day, not planning to do any professional work, but seldom without a camera.

It was good to have Katie with him.

It was good to be down.

The deepest the area went was seventy-five feet or so, but most of the reefs and the fish were found at depths shallow enough for snorkelers to enjoy the water, too.

They kept a distance of about five feet apart, and the dive was everything he’d wanted. Crystal clear water, just cool enough to be pleasant, warm enough to be comfortable. Tangs in a variety of colors shot around the reef, anemones flared and larger fish appeared as well, one giant grouper, a curious barracuda that politely kept its distance and, beneath them, a number of little nurse sharks.

Katie, in her light dive skin, hair flaring out around her, eyes large and beautiful behind her mask, made a perfect subject for quick takes with his camera. She frowned when he first started snapping, but he shrugged, and he saw her smile around her regulator.

It’s what I do, he reminded her silently.

Especially where there was such an abundance of colors. And since they weren’t deep, the sunlight penetrated beautifully. He had shot and filmed in so many exotic places. And yet, his own backyard offered some of the most enchanting underwater locations around.

He saw something in the sand and headed down, touching the granules to find a little ray nestled there, happy to move, even sit in his hand and puff as Katie joined him. He shot the little ray, and Katie’s finger just brushed a wing. But then her attention was diverted.

And it was while they were there, kneeling in the sand at about forty feet, that Katie suddenly made one of her startling and frightening changes again.

She was touching the little ray…

Then she was frozen.

Staring wide-eyed.

And she wasn’t breathing. No bubbles were escaping from her regulator.

He dropped his camera and the ray and gripped her shoulder. Her eyes met his. He couldn’t begin to understand what he was seeing in them. And those eyes of hers, framed and huge behind the lenses of her mask…

She didn’t appear to be afraid of him.

In fact…

She wasn’t afraid at all.

She suddenly looked as if she were about to cry.

He tapped her chest. She inhaled; her bubbles began again.

He signaled that they go topside. She shook her head, but he was firm. She lowered her head, and then she nodded.

He crawled up the stern ladder first, doffing his flippers and then, once up, his tank. She removed her flippers and threw them over and he reached to help her up with the weight of her tank. She stripped off her dive skin and accepted the bottle of water he gave her. He studied her, and waited for her to speak.

She sat in the cushioned seat behind the helm and said nothing.

“Katie.”

“Hmm?” She looked at him and smiled.

“Katie, what the hell is going on with you?” he asked.

She looked out at the water. She started to speak, hesitated, then didn’t. Then she looked at him. “Do you…do you believe in dreams, or hunches, or…I don’t know, the mind trying to tell us things that maybe we just can’t really understand logically?”