The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(48)

“Hold up there,” says Solar. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

“Have a look.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a smart idea.” Solar glances back at Bonaventure’s estate. “It looks a little suspicious . . .”

“Sloan McPherson 101: if you think something’s there, get it before someone else does.”

I dive into the water before he can protest or point out that my improvised adage makes absolutely no sense.

I make it halfway to the seawall, surface, and take a breath. Solar has his rod in hand and is pretending he’s fishing again. I take a quick breath and go back under.

From thirty feet away, I see a dark rectangle about five feet below the low-water mark. It makes me think of the hangar bay on a spaceship.

When I get closer, I spot a metal grille covering the pitch-black tunnel. The bars are spaced fairly narrowly . . . but maybe wide enough for me to slip through.

I surface again, give Solar a thumbs-up, and dive back down before he can stop me.

Time to find out what’s at the other end.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

UNDERCURRENT

My chest, not exactly a buoyancy device but not exactly a plank, causes me more trouble than I expect as I try to slide through the bars. The rusted metal squeezes me and scrapes my back as I try to suck in my upper torso without losing any air—which is basically impossible.

I manage to get myself through and realize how ill prepared I am for this adventure. No tanks. No buoyancy compensator. Just my fins and a mask; this isn’t one of my better-planned dives.

Am I showing off for Solar?

Obviously. That’s been a trait of mine since before I could talk. I was always looking to show the men around me that I was every bit as capable. Which would be fine if I had stopped at some point and told myself mission accomplished. Although I’m the youngest, I’m the alpha wolf around my brothers. Dad certainly gives me room, and Run . . . well, he treats me more like an equal than any other woman he’s known.

Yet, here I am, sliding into a dark tunnel, trying to show Dirty Harry that Sloan can play rough like the best of them.

Problem is, it’s gonna get real rough if I can’t get back out and drown inside.

I slide my hips past the grate and turn around to examine how it’s attached—something I should have done before squeezing through.

Thick metal hinges run along the top, bolted into the concrete. At the base there’s a bolt with a thick, waterproof padlock.

Okay, this is looking suspicious—that and the fact that this underwater channel seems wide enough for Winston’s brainchild to fit through.

I’ve been diving in Florida waters all my life, including a few sewers, and I’ve never seen anything like this. Although I haven’t exactly been looking. For all I know, this could be a new storm-drain construction technique.

Enough with the theories. I don’t need to nearly drown twice in two days. I push off from the gate and swim deeper into the tunnel, keeping my arms in front of me.

Running into a wall at top speed could knock me unconscious—which would be fatal underwater. Although I have no idea what’s in here, I can cross a few hazards off the list.

Sharks would hate it in here. An alligator wouldn’t like the salt water. A crocodile would find it too confining—I hope. Large sport fish would avoid this too.

That leaves barracuda, eels, octopuses, groupers, and a dozen other things I can’t think of right now. I really, really should have brought a flashlight.

My hand touches a wall, and I realize that I’ve gone sideways, or the tunnel curves. I’m not sure which. I’ve been busy counting my kicks. Five so far, which means about twenty feet.

I glance back at the opening and spot a blue rectangle of light. Twenty feet sounds about right. There’s still enough light for me to see the bottom.

Something orange lies below me. I reach down and pick it up. It’s a lead diving weight. Interesting.

I’m not sure why someone would dump that here. It might have been ballast for the sub. The craft would come in buoyant if empty and need to be weighted down. You’d need a lot more than one weight, but it’s a possibility.

I drop the weight and continue kicking, keeping track of how far I can go before I have to turn back. Unlike the last time I dived, I was able to get a full breath. I’m good for a few more minutes if I don’t exert too much.

I kick another ten strokes and find myself in complete darkness. I still feel calm, though, so I keep going.

My body keeps floating upward, so I use my hands to skim the top of the passage.

Ack. Something just slipped past my leg.

It’s called a fish, Sloan. The ocean is full of them.

There’s practically nothing here that could kill me. Maybe some flesh-eating bacteria they have no cure for, but nothing imminently dangerous, I think.

FUCK! What is that?

My fingers touched something . . .

Breathe, Sloan.

Um, bad advice, self. Stay calm.

Touch it again.

Wet denim. Kind of squishy.

Dead body.

Damn.

I can’t pull it out of here. I need to go back and tell Solar. Let’s just do a quick check to be sure.

Yep. That’s an ankle and a shoe.

Ugh. Normally I wear gloves when I do this.