Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I inhaled sharply to quench the impulse to snap back with “Water.”
“Oops. Sorry. Guess you were deep in concentration.” Holden didn’t wait for me to find my way to a civil response. At this point in my life, I ran on black coffee and bitter determination, but if I were a nicer guy, I could appreciate how damn likable Monroe’s friend was. And it wasn’t simply the radio-perfect deep voice or his relentless enthusiasm. He had a rugged, friendly face with a closely trimmed dark beard, tussled dark hair with a distinctive peak, and hypnotic eyes so hazel they were practically bronze. “I just noticed you were using a Pro 4 Plus BASE, and we don’t yet have a team in the state with that capability. Saw one demoed in Colorado at a conference. Impressive, especially with the forward-looking sonar.”
“Yep.” I loosened my shoulders and my grip on my laptop. Clearly, Monroe had been right, and Holden knew his way around search and rescue. “Getting my hands on one took every bit of funding I could drum up, but it’s worth every penny.”
“Yep. Dive equipment costs add up fast. In Portland, we were always short something. Just getting access to side-scan sonar was huge for us.”
“You’ve got dive experience?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Yep. I worked for the missing persons detail, which meant I also did my share of search and rescue for the PD. Most of my dive experience was recreational though. Pleasure dove all over the state and also some pretty sweet tropical spots. The Maldives, man.” His voice took on the wistful tone of divers everywhere. “Best vacation ever. Miss it.”
“I bet.” I’d tried for a gentle tone, but my voice still sounded a bit clipped. Empathy wasn’t my strong suit. “Maybe you still could dive? I’ve known other mobility-impaired divers. Got two amputee friends from the service who dive all the time.”
“Oh, I know it’s possible. The challenge is finding a dive buddy or operator willing to take me on.” He patted the rim of one of the tires on his chair, which was red like his blasted Mustang. Probably a custom job too, given his large frame with broad shoulders and chest, and I could see where certain dive operators might doubt their ability to keep him safe in the water. “Did some fun diving in Hawaii to celebrate my little sister’s graduation from nursing school, but it took her a fair bit of searching to find an operator open to divers with disabilities.”
“I’m sorry.” The roof of my mouth itched from an unexpected and entirely unwelcome urge to offer to dive with Holden. To distract myself, I turned back to my monitor. “I was reviewing this area right at the limit of our tether near the buried railroad tracks. There’s a steep drop and a ton of debris—old railroad ties, some sort of oil drums, and lots of trash. Low visibility as well, but I keep coming back to this shadow.”
Holden peered at the screen. “Sharp right-angle sides. Decent size. Could be any number of things, but the way it’s sitting isn’t going to be easy to get it positioned for lift bags if it turns out to be something worth getting.”
“If it’s promising, I’ll get it up,” I assured him. “And that’s where I want to start.”
“Not one of the more straightforward areas in the search pattern?” He frowned, and how someone could be so by-the-book and also so easygoing was one of life’s mysteries. Super smart. Super nice. Super pain in my ass.
“Nope. I trust my hunches.” I shut the laptop with a decisive click, leaving Holden and his scowl behind as I prepared to dive.
Chapter Three
Cal
Once I moved to preparing to dive, I tried to push Holden and his questions and his strange pull over me from my mind. I dove alone. I didn’t need to be volunteering or even entertaining unfamiliar urges to be friendly. Nope, I had a job to do, and that was that.
Using the buoys and drop weights from the jackstay search pattern I’d performed with the ROV, I could precisely calibrate a put-in spot that would optimize my air supply and get the boat and winch in position if I found something worth sending up.
As always these days, keeping my pulse rate steady on the way down was a challenge. Even now, five years on, I heard Evan’s voice on every descent. But I’d learned to breathe through it, to remind myself why I did this work and the utter necessity of staying methodical in my approach.
Not so much for my safety but because even a split second of inattention could be the difference between spotting something useful and coming up empty-handed. And finding potential evidence was only the beginning. Each promising scrap had to be logged, preserved, documented through pictures and other means, and professionally handled for the chain of custody requirements. Metal items often had to be packaged in the water they were found in to prevent oxidation and potential loss of evidence.