Submerged, Page 2

  The entire crew was family, with the exception of Landon Grainger—who was as close as family. Cole trusted them all, underwater and above it, to accomplish what rescues could be done, and to cope when there was nothing they could do.

  They cleaned and readied the gear for the next call.

  Kayden worked beside Cole in silence.

  Typical Kayden.

  When things hurt she closed ranks, shut everyone else out, but Cole would relentlessly fight his way back in.

  Landon shouldered his duffel bag. “I’m heading over to the station to start the report. NTSB will be here in another couple hours.”

  Cole nodded, not looking forward to the imminent salvage. They would refloat the plane if they could find it again, collect strewn parts, and photograph what they could. The work itself wasn’t the hard part—it was knowing lives had been lost that stung. The missing passenger was somewhere on that ridge, and the search for Henry Reid’s body would weigh on the entire team, but it had to be done. Ginny Reid deserved no less.

  The last to leave, Cole exited the fire station and looked up at the sky. It’d gone from dark to pitch-black. At least the rain had simmered to a slow drizzle, though he doubted the reprieve would last long.

  Wind whistled through the empty downtown streets in an eerie cadence. Hunching his shoulders against it, Cole hefted his duffel into his truck. He’d make a quick stop by the hospital to check on Agnes and the two still-unidentified passengers—then swing by the house to talk with Kayden.

  Tariuk Island Regional Medical Center sat at the top of the hill overlooking Main Street. Cole left his truck parked in front of the fire station and walked the distance. He passed the sheriff’s station on the way and ducked his head in, catching Landon as he was finishing up his report.

  Landon lifted his chin in greeting. “I just got off the phone with Ginny Reid.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Lousy. Sheriff’s with her now. I think I’ll ride over and see if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Let me know how I can help.”

  “Will do.”

  “Any word on the passengers?”

  “Ginny said when Henry left for Anchorage this afternoon he was planning to pick up a man named—” Landon lifted his notepad—“Mark Olsen, and Agnes Grey, of course. But when he called her before leaving Anchorage he said two others were added. She didn’t even know their names. Henry said they’d settled up when they got to Yancey.”

  “I’m heading over to check on Agnes. I’ll see if there’s any word on them.”

  The disinfectant smell rubbed Cole wrong, always had. The overhead glare of bad lighting and starchy white walls only compounded his discomfort. The hospital held bad memories, and it looked like that record would remain unbroken.

  Peggy Wilson leaned against the counter, her brow furrowed as she talked on the phone. “I understand that. The insurance card says he needs preauthorization, but how on earth are you supposed to get preauthorization for an emergency?” She sighed, her face reddening.

  She looked up, caught sight of Cole, and covered the receiver with her hand. “I’m sorry. These insurance companies like to drive me insane. What can I do for you?”

  “I came to check on Agnes Grey. She was brought in here—”

  “An hour ago.” Peggy’s face fell. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.”

  Cole balled his hands at his side. If he’d been faster . . . stronger . . .

  “They tried resuscitating her, but it was no use. Her heart just wouldn’t beat.”

  Cole swallowed. “Any word on the couple brought in?”

  Peggy bit her bottom lip. “I’m afraid they didn’t make it either. They were pronounced DOA.”

  He closed his eyes as regret bit deep. “I really thought they had a chance.” Maybe if he’d taken them out in a different order . . .

  Her thick hand clamped on his. “I’m sorry, sugar.”

  “So am I.”

  He exited through the automatic doors into the crisp, black night, his heart heavy.

  Agnes Grey, gone.

  He headed down the quiet street, past darkened shop windows, past the Russian-American Trading Post, where Agnes lived and worked.

  Yancey wouldn’t be the same without the venerable Lady Grey.

  And Bailey? His step faltered as her beautiful face flashed before him. How would she take the news of her beloved aunt’s passing?

  2

  The news sent Bailey Craig back in time. She’d heard what Gus said, heard Agnes was dead, but rather than memories of her beloved aunt, it was memories of why she’d left Yancey that flooded her mind. Twelve years elapsed in an instant, and suddenly she was sixteen again. . . .

  The pounding—like little men sledgehammering her skull from the inside out—woke her. So thirsty.

  She opened her mouth to the horrible feel of cotton suffocating her. She didn’t want to open her eyes—didn’t want to see, let alone face, the wreckage of what she’d done again.

  Not again.

  She didn’t have to look over to know he was gone. Though she lay on the floor, at least this time she had a pillow beneath her head and something was draped over her—a blanket, her coat? She couldn’t be sure.

  The place was still. No one else was up yet, or they’d all left the night before.

  Where was she? A party. But the details were sketchy, as always. She’d come with Kelly and Beth. Had they left her? Disgusted with her drunken antics again?

  She rose gingerly on her elbows and opened her eyes, her head swimming with the motion, nausea rolling through her stomach like a thirty-foot wave.

  Everything was hazy, dim. She blinked, trying to moisten the contacts dried to her corneas.

  Krista’s dad’s place. That’s where she was. He was away for the weekend.

  The room was dark, except for the glaring sun forcing its way through a slit in the curtains. The bedroom door was shut. She smiled. Perhaps someone else had done something stupid and she wouldn’t be the only one disgraced.

  She flipped the bathroom switch, the fluorescent light crackling as it came to life. She recoiled at the image in the mirror. How far she’d fallen. Mascara smudged beneath her bloodshot eyes. The faint impression of the carpet pattern etched in her skin on the right side of her cheek, her hair misshapen and frozen from the overabundance of hairspray.

  She’d taken such care to look good, to be appealing and seductive, and now she just looked sick. She splashed cold water on her face, over and over, scrubbing hard, as if it could wash any of the filth away.

  Hot tears mixed with the frigid water, and she slumped to the ground, too sick to stand, her heart breaking—shocked there was anything left to break. The cold floor felt good against her hot skin. She curled up in the fetal position. Not again.

  How did I get here?

  She couldn’t blame anyone else; she’d brought it on herself. If she could just go back, take that first time back. Not have another drink. Insist they go for food before she got too woozy, insist he take her home. But in her drunken stupor she’d ended up with the guy she’d thought she’d wanted, at least for the moment. He was older, more popular—surely it would make her more popular too.

  Of course it hadn’t lasted past morning, and her course had been set.

  There had been so many times she could have turned it around, salvaged her reputation, or at least not made it a thousand times worse, but she always took that next drink, the one to make her feel better, and ended up in the same state so many mornings.

  Cole had no idea how bad she felt. How she wanted to run to him, crying, begging his forgiveness . . .

  But she knew he wouldn’t accept her apology, not after what she’d done. And she couldn’t lose face—that would be worse than anything, right?

  She was so pathetic.

  “Bailey, are you there?” Gus’s voice pulled her back to the present.

  She blinked hard, wishing away the memories of her youth an
d the nightmares that accompanied them. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  Agnes. Dead.

  “Yeah.” She sank on the edge of the couch, nearly slipping to the floor in the process.

  “She left the Trading Post to you. In fact, she left it all to you. We can go over the details when you get to Yancey.”

  Her throat constricted. “Yancey?”

  “Yes. When you arrive home for the funeral.”

  Home. She’d have to go back. Images of her in high school, curled on that bathroom floor, pounded through her mind.

  “How soon can you leave?” he asked.

  I can’t leave Oregon. Can’t go to Alaska. Fear seized her.

  “Bailey?”

  “Yeah, Gus, I’m here.” She swallowed the bile burning up her throat. “I’ll make arrangements.”

  “Agnes took care of the details on this end, didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, least of all you. You just have to get here.”

  “All right.”

  “It’ll be good to see you again.”

  She nodded, bereft of words, and slipped the phone back in the cradle.

  Yancey, Alaska. She’d planned on never setting foot there again. Now she had no choice. Agnes deserved for her to be there. Agnes deserved so much more. She’d let her aunt down as much as she had herself.

  Cole pulled in his driveway and glanced over at his sisters’ place. Several lights still shone. Climbing from his truck, he footed it across the open acres of land that separated his cabin from his childhood home, dodging mud puddles and rain. The scent of damp moss hovered like a fog in the cool, dank air.

  Aurora greeted him at the kitchen door.

  He slipped his boots off and knelt to pet the whimpering husky. “How ya doing, girl?”

  The wonderful aroma of chili powder and cumin swirled in the air, and his mouth watered.

  “I saved you some,” Piper called from the dining room.

  He moved through the doorway to greet her. “Thanks.” The search-and-rescue call had come two minutes into their weekly family dinner.

  Piper swiveled from the computer screen, her back to the desk edging the stairs. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

  Cole leaned against the doorframe. “She didn’t talk about it?” He already knew the answer. Kayden kept everything close to the hip.

  Piper shook her head. “Nope. Just headed for the shower.”

  “You know Kayden. . . . When something hurts, she needs her space. Give her a day and she’ll be back to her annoying self.” He forced a chuckle, but he wasn’t fooling either of them. It was hard making more recoveries than rescues, nine times more to be precise. Being on search-and-rescue detail wasn’t easy, but it was the job they all felt called to do.

  “Do I want to know?” Piper’s eyes held the innocence he loved so much about her.

  “No, but you’re going to hear anyway.” It was inevitable in a town Yancey’s size—six hundred and three at last count. “Do you want it to come from me?”

  Piper nodded her affirmation, but her eyes pleaded otherwise.

  He exhaled. “It was Henry Reid’s plane. Agnes Grey was on board.”

  “And?” She nibbled her bottom lip.

  “I’m sorry, kid. We didn’t find Henry. Agnes died at the hospital.”

  Her head bent, and Cole moved to stroke her shoulder.

  “Poor Miss Agnes.”

  “I know.” Saying it’d been a rough night didn’t come close.

  Piper wiped her eyes and looked up. “You must be starving. Let me fix you a bowl.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. Always so concerned about others. “I got it.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. You finish what you were doing.” He indicated the computer screen. “What are you looking for this time?”

  “A book.”

  “Another mystery?” She’d read thousands.

  “Princess Maksutov’s diary.”

  Cole lifted the lid off the Crockpot and pulled a bowl from the cupboard. “That’s a different title. Who’s that by?” He filled a hefty bowl with chili, topping it off with diced onions and shredded cheddar, then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “Princess Sofia Ioannovna Maksutov.”

  Balancing the bowl in one hand and the basket of corn bread in the other, a bottle of water tucked under one arm and a bottle of honey under the other, he made his way back into the dining room, Aurora fast on his heels. “Why would you want some chick’s diary?”

  “It was stolen from the historical society’s display at the library. Poor Mrs. Anderson’s all in a dither.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “She has good cause this time. Someone reached in the display case and stole it.”

  “Stole what?” Gage asked, entering from the kitchen. After returning from guiding a three-day white-water-rafting excursion only to be called in to assist with the night’s rescue, Gage still hadn’t managed to shave, let alone eat.

  Aurora sprung up and bounded toward him, licking his scruffy face as he bent to pet her.

  “I was just telling Cole how someone stole Princess Maksutov’s diary.”

  Gage rumpled his brow. “Who?”

  Cole shrugged.

  “She was the wife of the last Russian governor of Alaska,” Piper explained. “She’s buried in the old Russian cemetery.”

  Gage snagged a piece of corn bread from the basket. “Why would anyone steal Princess Macksue’s diary?”

  “Princess Mak-su-tov.” Piper enunciated each syllable. “And I have a theory.”

  “Shocking.” Gage feigned surprise as he sank down into the chair opposite Cole.

  “What’s shocking?” Kayden asked, padding downstairs in her sweats, her damp hair leaving drip marks on her T-shirt.

  “Piper’s got a theory.” Cole pulled a chair out for his sister.

  Kayden bypassed the chair and leaned against the sideboard instead. “Let’s have it, Nancy Drew.”

  “Very funny.” Piper swiveled back to face the monitor. “I think someone stole it to turn around and sell it.”

  “Would it be worth anything?” Gage asked, slathering his corn bread with honey but somehow managing to get more of it on himself than the bread.

  “Sure. It’s close to a hundred and fifty years old. It had gold filigree on the cover and edging the pages. To certain collectors it might be worth a small fortune. I bet someone stole it and is planning to sell it on eBay.”

  “That wouldn’t exactly be bright.” Cole shook his head as Gage attempted to wipe the honey from his hands with a paper napkin.

  “Please.” Piper rolled her eyes. “We’re talking about someone in Yancey. Not exactly mastermind criminal stock.”

  “True.” Theft in Yancey wasn’t the norm—a few drifters, the occasional misdirected teen. Cole’s heart sank. Not Jesse. Not this time. He’d been working with Jesse Ryan in youth group for months. He thought the kid had finally turned a significant corner in his life. “Any leads on who might have stolen it?”

  “Sheriff Slidell doesn’t seem very concerned. He had Landon file a report, but I doubt he’ll do much else, which is why I’m scanning eBay and the like. If it comes up for sale, Slidell can track down the seller and we can get it back where it belongs.”

  “I’m sure Slidell will appreciate your efforts,” Gage said, struggling to pull off the tiny bits of napkin stuck to his hands.

  Piper huffed. “He can appreciate all he wants.”

  Cole swallowed a chuckle along with another bite of chili. Piper was adorable when she set her stubborn mind to something—and the pursuit of justice ranked high on her list.

  He took a swig of water, praying Jesse wasn’t involved. His gang had been responsible for several thefts and much of the vandalism in Yancey in the past year, but Jesse had been straight the past two months. He’d given Cole his word.

  The man bent at the wat
er’s edge, ignoring the biting rain. They were all gone now—helicopters, emergency personnel, passengers.

  Tossing a rock in the ocean, he watched it skip erratically atop the choppy waves before sinking into the black depths, just as the plane had.

  One single act had ensured his future.

  His heart had nearly stopped when they’d pulled her from the wreckage, but she’d died in the end.

  He smiled with satisfaction. His problems were over. A few more days and he’d finally get what he deserved.

  Standing, he watched the storm whip across the sea, pounding frothy waves against Tariuk Island’s rock-strewn shore.

  If anyone else got in his way, he’d deal with them as he had the old lady.

  It was his time now.

  3

  “Are you sure you have to go?” Carrie slumped on the bed, her knee butting against Bailey’s red canvas duffel, now stuffed to the gills with clothes.

  “It’s Agnes. I’m all the family she had.” She shoved a pair of jeans in. Had she already packed jeans? Had she remembered to pack a sweatshirt?

  She sighed, unable to put any serious thought into what she ought to bring. Her mind still swirled with the devastating reality of the news. Agnes was gone—and she was going back to Yancey. Gus had called back, letting her know the funeral was set for Tuesday.

  Her stomach churned, and she forced down another saltine.

  “That’s not technically true,” Carrie said.

  “What’s not?”

  “You aren’t her only family member.” Carrie worked on refolding the discarded pile of clothes Bailey had decided not to take.

  “I am for all intents and purposes.” Wrestling with the zipper, Bailey managed to close the bulging duffel, then hefted it over her shoulder, carrying it to the living room. She plopped it on the sofa and turned to look for her book.

  Carrie padded after her. “You don’t think she’ll be there?”

  Bailey’s shoulders dropped. She prayed not. Going home was horrific enough without the added trauma of seeing her mother. “Evelyn was never around while Agnes was alive. Why show up now that she’s dead?”