“Who’s ‘we’?” Marcus asked. “Are you working for the government? Is that why I haven’t heard anything about this? Are they covering this up?” He thought about the load of fish he’d delivered to market a couple of days ago. “Hey! Am I poisoning people with the few fish I’m bringing in?” He started to rise from the table, suddenly furious, but she waved a placating hand in his direction and he subsided. For now.
“Sort of, no, no, and definitely not,” she said, the laughter in her voice calming him more than her words. “The fish closer to the surface, the ones you’re catching, seem to be fine. It’s the plant and animal life deeper down in the sea trenches that seem to be affected.”
He opened his mouth, and she added, “And don’t ask me how that is affecting people, because that’s one of the things I can’t tell you. They’re . . . a special group.”
So she sort of worked for the government, and there was some kind of secret underwater experiment that had run into trouble? He’d heard rumors about that kind of thing when he was in the Marines, but hell, you heard all kinds of bizarre rumors about new weapons and super-soldiers and government experiments when you were in the military. Mostly they didn’t amount to much. But maybe he’d stumbled onto something real. Or maybe it was all as foolish and delusional as the fairy stories his father used to charm his younger brother with, getting him so wrapped up in the so-called magic of the sea that he forgot to watch out for its grim reality.
“Okay, so let’s say that for the moment, I’m taking your word about all this. Why is it your job to fix it? You’re a hippie chick jewelry-making surfer girl. Why aren’t there a bunch of government geeks looking into it with submersibles and an army of scientists?”
Beka sighed, suddenly looking ten years older. “Believe it or not, it really is my job to fix it. I’ve got some, um, special skills. And the responsibilities to go with them.” She gazed steadily at him. “I’m thinking you know a little something about how that feels.”
That he did. And the project must be so hush-hush that they’d brought in one troubleshooter instead of a larger group that would have been harder to keep on the down low. Hell, she’d fooled him into thinking she was just another flaky California blonde, so there was something to that plan. Although to his credit, he’d had a feeling something wasn’t quite right about her all along. He just hadn’t known what it was.
“So you haven’t made any progress at all?” he said, feeling more than a hint of sympathy. He’d hated failing at a mission. That’s one of the reasons he’d rarely let it happen. The few truly spectacular failures still kept him up at night, replaying endlessly in his head as though he could somehow change the outcome even now.
One shoulder, clad in the simple white sundress she’d pulled over her bathing suit before leaving the boat, moved up and down. “I’ve got a bunch of samples from different places, taken over a variety of days. Hopefully they’ll tell me something I can use to help—”
As if on cue, her cell phone vibrated. She pulled it out of the pocket of the dress, looked at the caller ID, and said apologetically, “That’s my friend from the lab, actually. I have to take this. Sorry.”
She bent her head over the phone, hiding it under a fall of sunbeam hair. Marcus watched her face, more out of habit than any expectation of learning anything, so he saw the moment when the blood drained away, leaving her almost as pale as her sundress.
“What?” she said. And then, “You’re kidding me.” A pause for the person on the other end of the phone to speak some more. “All of them? You’re sure? Was anyone hurt?” Pause. “How long before you are up and running again? Shit.” That last word was uttered in a heartfelt gust of breath. “Okay, Bran. Thanks for letting me know. And I’m sorry.”
She closed the phone gently and laid it down on the table as if it were a pet snake that had suddenly turned around and bitten her without warning.
“I take it there’s a problem?” Marcus said, his voice gentler than usual when dealing with Beka.
She wrapped both hands around her beer mug. He could see the slight tremor she used the action to try to hide. “That was my friend Bran; he works at the university lab where I brought all my samples. He’d given them to some of his students as an extra-credit project. They were hoping to have the results this week.” She heaved a sigh. “He just called to tell me that the lab burned to the ground late last night. Took everything I collected with it. I’m going to have to start all over again.”
“Shit,” he echoed, taking a swig of his own beer. “That sucks. Do they know what caused the fire?”
“Could have been an accident; some student forgetting to turn off a piece of equipment that then overheated,” she said, discouragement etched into her face as deeply as the names on the table between them. “Or maybe even arson. I guess they’re considering all the options.”
“Could it have anything to do with your project?” Marcus asked. He knew as well as anyone how much collateral damage the government was responsible for, one way or the other.