Never Have I Ever(91)

If Roux was dead, so many things got easy.

I pushed that away. I had to do everything by the book right now. I had to make the same choices I would make if it were Leslie Babbage or my own Mads gone missing. But if Roux was dead . . .

I sped up, pushing through a swirling curtain of baitfish. I’d never lost a diver, and I was damn well going to do this search correctly, as if my goal were not to lose one now. I made myself imagine bringing up Roux’s body, still and pale and open-eyed, unbreathing, laying her out on the deck in front of her son, in front of Maddy. Jesus. My breath hitched, and I worked to even it out. I could not afford the air that emotion cost me.

I was going to do this right. And yet.

I’d sent Winslow west. The kids and I had stayed near the bow, but definitely west. If Roux had gone in, it was more likely she’d done it here, on this side. Even with the limited peripheral vision the scuba mask gave me, I’d have been much more likely to see her if they’d come up on the west. When I chose east, I’d given myself the greater odds of finding her.

I understood then, very deep, deeper than thinking, that I was keeping my options open.

I shook that away, focused on efficient movement and conserving air. If she was findable, I’d find her. She would be alive—or not. Based on my own air gauge, even if she’d gone in hale and hearty, she was out of gas now, or damn close to it.

I came to the first opening in the ship’s hull, and I paused. I’d done this dive site fifty times, maybe more. I knew this wreck inside and out. Of the three dangerous entry points on this side, I thought this was least likely. It was a rusty, jagged fissure, just wide enough for a small, lithe woman to slip through. I’d half hoped to find her caught right here, fins waving, arms and head stuck inside, her lower half outside, like Pooh Bear.

But there was nothing. I played my light inside, and it caught movement. My heart stammered, but it was only a goliath grouper, big as Roux. He went gliding away from my light, deeper into the ship’s interior. The water inside looked clear. No chance she’d come into this tiny space without disturbing silt.

But I could still go in and search it. If I did it, I’d use the last third of my air on this spot. I’d have to go back for the second tank or surface. If Roux wasn’t dead already, she definitely would be by then. She wasn’t in this hole. The water was too clear. Except no one knew that but me.

I hovered at the entrance. It was terrible and so tempting all at once. Poor Luca, but lucky me. Lucky Panda. Lucky everyone she’d hurt. Lucky world, lighter with no Roux on it. But Luca . . .

I turned away, swimming for the second opening. She could well be dead already. If I searched the empty hole, I’d have to live with never knowing. Never knowing if it had been an accident or my choice that ended her. I knew, better than anyone, what a weight that was.

I came to the second hull breach, larger and higher up on the side of the boat. It was my favorite point of entry for this wreck. It opened into a wide galley that had a rotted-out doorway that led deep into the interior. I’d once gone all the way to the engine room from here and found it still filled with fascinating artifacts. I played my light inside, and I saw that the silt had been disturbed. It was subsiding, but it was definitely murky. My heart caught. Through the surging mire, past the galley, in the hallway, I thought I saw a flash of purple. Roux had been wearing purple split fins, the expensive ones that kept their color even in the deeps.

I chased the movement with my light, and through the billowing clouds of silt I saw it again. Neon purple. Definite movement.

She could be alive, kicking. Or it was only the sea, sloshing her still limbs back and forth. I did not decide. My body was already moving, tying my wreck reel off on a jagged metal spire I’d used before, and I knew, for me, there had never really been a choice. I wasn’t Roux. I wasn’t like her. If there was breath in her, I would not leave her here.

I played out the line as I eased forward, my visibility reduced by darkness and the stirred-up silt. I felt more than saw my way toward that purple flash I’d noticed, pausing to wrap my line around another spire before I took the bend into the hallway. The farther in I went, the less I could see. But I could feel a current of water pushing at me from movement ahead. I swam toward it.

I heard her before I spotted her. Her noisy breath, still going, now in almost zero visibility. I turned toward the sound, blind, and found her with my hands. She went wild at my touch, her limbs becoming ropy bands of panicked muscle, clutching and tearing at me. She was tangled in something, lines or netting. I could feel it winding around me now. Even over the thunder of my own breath, I could hear her scream. I pushed at her hands, seeking her head, her face. One wild hand punched me, dazing me, almost knocking my regulator out. I found her head, though, and I pulled her face to mine. Behind the mask her eyes were crazed, and her hands tore at me, knocking my own mask away. I let it go.

I was doubly blind now, the salt burning my eyes, but I held her head steady, made her look at me. Right then her bubbles stopped. I heard that half suck in, and then the halt of sound, and I knew that she was out of air. She spit her regulator out and screamed at me, a banshee wail, releasing her last bubbles.

She seemed then to understand at least what I was, and her hands came for my face. Her nails scraped at my cheek as she tore at my regulator. She was past human thought, and I knew she would kill us both if I fought her. I let her take my air source and jam it into her own mouth. I heard her panicked, deep inhale, and then she was choking on the water caught inside it. Her body spasmed, coughing, but at least she was no longer fighting me. I kept up a slow and steady exhale, finding the secondary air supply that was built into my BCD. I put the mouthpiece in. Now we were both on my tank, tied together by a frail length of tubing and the twining of something ropelike and binding. I did a quick gauge check. I was down to my last fifth of a tank, and Roux was breathing in great, heaving gulps.