Stranded With Her Ex Read online

  Of course, the shark was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Only the headless body of a California sea lion was visible, floating in a slick red bath. The water wouldn’t keep the color long, for the Pacific Ocean was a vast expanse, but while the animal bled out it was surrounded by a shock of crimson, pure and dark and undiluted.

  “Wh-where is it?” Daniela whispered, camera focused on the corpse.

  “Close by,” he said, dropping his hand from her shoulder. He wanted to keep touching her, to make sure she stayed put. Which was foolish, as no one in their right mind would leap from a boat in this situation. “Zoom in.”

  She fumbled with the camera for a moment, familiarizing herself with the controls before she resumed filming. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes stark.

  Brent attached his underwater camera to a pole with a crooked arm and lowered it into the water. He didn’t talk much while he was filming, claiming that the man behind the lens shouldn’t be seen or heard.

  Next to him, Jason Ruiz was silent at the helm. Although he was more loquacious than Brent, he knew shark behavior as well as Sean, and kept his comments to a minimum while they were out here. He was a good scientist, if a little overeager, and they got on well.

  When Jason glanced up at Sean now, his eyes narrowed for a split second before he looked away.

  The younger man’s disapproval wasn’t obvious, and Sean was almost convinced he’d imagined it. Over the past few days, Jason had treated him with deference and respect and damned near adoration. It was kind of annoying, actually.

  Less than an hour with Daniela, and he’d switched sides.

  Jason hadn’t known about their marriage, but perhaps he’d heard a few random details about the divorce. They’d separated after she almost died in a car accident, which didn’t cast Sean in a very positive light. His ex-wife also had a singular effect on people, especially men, and Jason had a weakness for the ladies.

  He’d never met a beautiful woman he didn’t want to sleep with.

  Sean could practically hear him thinking, “You dumped her? Are you insane? She’s hot.”

  She’d dumped him, not the other way around, but almost everyone assumed the failed relationship was his fault. They were right, in a way. He’d been unable to protect her, incapable of comforting her and at an utter loss for the right words to say to her.

  “Why isn’t it…eating?” she whispered, her voice wavering.

  “A pause between the first strike and a feeding isn’t unusual. We think they’re making sure the prey is in no condition to fight back.”

  This sea lion wouldn’t put up a fuss—not without a head. White sharks often attacked by ambush, rocketing toward the target from underneath and incapacitating it in one fatal blow. The current victim had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, swimming too far from the shallows and too close to the surface.

  Although blood no longer gushed from the wound, the animal’s exposed vertebra was a grisly sight, and the air was thick with the smell of death. Seabirds waited on nearby perches, feathers fluttering, ready to snap up a meaty scrap.

  Sean watched Daniela’s throat work as she swallowed back her nausea. She was holding up well, considering. As a marine biologist, she’d interacted with dangerous animals before. They’d worked in the field together on a regular basis, so he knew her level of expertise.

  He’d seen her reach out to stroke the slippery back of a stingray, grin with delight when visited by a school of blue sharks, stand up to a braying Northern seal and get bitten on her pretty little backside as she beat a hasty retreat.

  Daniela had a way with animals, a confidence gained from experience and a natural ease that couldn’t be taught. She wasn’t a shark expert, however, and the great whites at the Farallones were like no other predator on earth.

  With her unsteady nerves and devastating personal history, she wasn’t the best candidate for this kind of research.

  The sight of a white shark breaching, or propelling its massive body above the surface of the water during the initial attack was heart-stopping. There was also no way to predict this occurrence, so footage of it was rare. Unlike in the movies, most sharks didn’t advertise their locations by flashing fins before a bite.

  Feeding frenzies were also unusual. After the kill, whites ate with economical efficiency, and they weren’t the most dexterous of fish. If their movements caused the surface of the water to bubble like a pot of seafood gumbo, it was because they were powerhouses, not because they were doing underwater gymnastics.

  Sean knew what to expect, but the wait always created tension. Anticipating Daniela’s reaction made the situation more uneasy.

  The whaler was only fifteen feet long, and it seemed to shrink as time dragged on. A patch of coastal fog settled over the upper half of the island, bringing with it an eerie quiet, a silence charged with dread and unholy glee.

  At Skull Rock, beady-eyed scavengers shuffled their clawed feet.

  When the shark broke through the surface of the water, Daniela startled, almost dropping the video camera. She took a series of short, quick breaths, fright apparent on her fine features, the rapid beat of her pulse visible in her slender neck.

  Sean didn’t need a Ph.D to diagnose her anxiety, or any special intuition to realize she was reliving the trauma of the wreck. Her face was so pale, he feared she would faint. He considered dropping the tagging equipment to offer her his assistance. Brent, whose attention should have been focused on directing the underwater camera, seemed concerned by her distress. And it went without saying that Jason was enraptured.

  Just as Sean was about to call off the shoot, Daniela pulled herself together. Spine straightening, she held the video camera in a steady, if white-knuckled, grip.

  The evidence of her courage caused a strange welling of emotions within him. Pride, and sadness and regret. His eyes watered and his throat closed up. How ironic, he thought, if he turned out to be the one who couldn’t hold it together.

  After a moment, the pressure in his chest eased and he was able to drag his gaze away from her. The white had moved in and was nibbling a big chunk of flesh from the decapitated sea lion’s side. By the looks of it, the shark was an adult, and good-sized, too. At least eighteen or nineteen feet.

  “It’s Shirley,” Jason said, a grin lighting across his face.

  “It sure as hell is,” Sean replied, returning his smile.

  Shirley was a breeding female, and that was always a welcome sight at the Farallones. She had a crescent-shaped scar above her left eye, small but easy to recognize, and she was often spotted with her full-figured friend, Laverne.

  The pair had been named by Sean a couple of years ago. Jason had seen them both last year, but hadn’t been able to tag either. The number of great whites in the world was ever-dwindling, and the circle of shark researchers was small. Although Jason and Sean didn’t know each other that well, they knew a lot of the same sharks.

  They studied Shirley in reverent silence while she tore and chewed and swallowed. A flurry of greedy seagulls dogged her every movement, snatching up stringy bits of gore, wings flapping. While the effect wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, the mood on the boat was no longer sinister, and any hint of animosity from Jason was gone.

  Still smiling, he eased the whaler in closer.

  “Wh-what are we doing?” Daniela asked, one hand reaching out to grab the edge of the hull, steadying herself.

  Sean’s blood turned to ice. “Keep your hands inside the boat.”

  “Why? It’s over there.”

  “One of them is over there,” he corrected, trying not to visualize Laverne breaching beside the boat, taking most of Daniela’s arm with her.

  She snatched her hand back. And just like that, she lost her focus. Letting the camera sag, she searched the surface of the water with terrified eyes, pressing her palm to her lower abdomen in a way that was familiar and absolutely heartbreaking.

  Sean wanted to kick himself. He didn’t know what he shoul
d have said differently, or what to say now to calm her down.

  “Look at me,” Jason said.

  Gulping, she met his steady gaze.

  “We’re going in closer to tag her. It only takes a minute. And Sean’s a pro. You know that, right?”

  Her eyes darted from him to Sean. “Yeah,” she said, moistening her lips.

  “Good. You just keep filming. You’re doing a great job.”

  Brent nodded helpfully. “You’ll be fine.”

  Like a trooper, she put the camera back up to her face and resumed filming. Her movements were stiff, even robotic, but she was working through the fear, maintaining her composure and refusing to let the past overwhelm her.

  He hazarded a glance at Jason, who merely shrugged and maneuvered the whaler into position. Sean should have felt grateful that someone had been coolheaded enough to help Daniela. Instead, he was sick with envy.

  And Brent knew it. Sean could tell by the way he averted his eyes, turning his attention back to the surface of the water.

  Unlike Jason, Sean didn’t have an easy way with words. He wasn’t suave, expressive or articulate. His inability to communicate his feelings to Daniela had played a major role in their breakup. And just now, his thoughtless comment had caused her panicked reaction.

  By trying to keep her safe, he’d only put her in more danger.

  A muscle in Sean’s jaw ticked as he located the tagging equipment, clicking the various components into place with swift, angry motions. This was what he knew. Scientific gadgets and cold-blooded animals.

  Here, no words were necessary.

  Chapter 3

  Coming here had been a mistake.

  Sean was right. Daniela knew that now.

  Why had she thought she was strong enough to keep her cool on a tiny aluminum boat in turbulent, shark-filled waters? She wasn’t. Anyone who found this type of situation exciting, or even remotely safe, was certifiable.

  The whaler they were sitting in was a joke. What would prevent one of those ferocious beasts from bumping it? One nudge, and they’d all be overboard, swimming for their lives in noxious, red-tinged water.

  She almost gagged. The air smelled like a rendering plant.

  What would stop Shirley from biting into the boat? A great white had some of the most powerful jaws in the animal kingdom. Those teeth could cut through the hull like it was a soda can.

  Shirley had devoured a 500-pound sea lion in less than a dozen bites.

  Jason and Sean had watched her chow down with identical expressions of pride on their handsome faces, grinning like the maniacs they were. Brent’s demeanor was more circumspect, but no less pleased. He was getting great footage.

  As they moved in closer, Daniela’s unease grew. The shark was not only longer than the boat, she was wider. Her mouth gaped open, larger than the circle of Daniela’s arms, ringed by rows of serrated white daggers.

  This shark could swallow her whole. And that toothy grin was less than two feet from the side of the boat.

  It was all she could do to keep filming while Sean stood and leaned out, tagging the shark’s slippery back as easily as if he’d been giving a fellow surfer a high five.

  Daniela had been fighting a breakdown for most of the day. The sight of him taking such a shocking risk, and doing it with ineffable nonchalance, almost sent her careening over the edge. Somehow, she continued to point the camera at the thing in the water, a now unrecognizable mass of shiny black flesh and red-soaked teeth. Birds swooped down around them from every direction, literally plucking strings of meat from the mouth of the monster.

  Time seemed to slow down and speed up after that. One moment, they were out on the water, watching the brutality of nature, survival of the fittest in action, a violent blur of sound and motion and color. The next, they were sailing through the air, disappearing into a blanket of late-afternoon fog.

  Too numb to speak, she held herself as stiff as a board while the crane lifted the whaler up to the landing.

  The day was almost over, she realized with bleak surprise. In this bizarre, uncivilized place, what would nightfall bring?

  All three men were staring at her, so she took the camera away from her face, finally, and felt the world crash into sharp focus. The landscape was too foreign, too harsh for tender eyes. The sea was too dark, too blue, too vast.

  “Here,” she mumbled, turning off the camera and handing it to Jason.

  Sean helped her out of the boat. The instant her feet hit ground, her knees buckled. “Easy,” he said, steadying her. His arms felt even stronger than Jason’s, and twice as disturbing. She righted herself, her face growing hot.

  “When did you eat last?”

  “This morning,” she said, embarrassed by her shakiness, and annoyed with him for calling her on it. Worse, her body tingled from his touch. Even through layers of clothing, his hands left an imprint on her skin.

  She backed up a step, bumping into Jason.

  “You’re in for a treat, then,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “It’s my turn to cook. Have you ever had lumpia?”

  She nodded. “I like it.”

  Jason walked forward, leading her toward the footpath. “I knew you would. The rest of the week, we have to suffer through bland, ordinary fare. On my night, we dine in style.”

  Her lips curved into a wobbly smile.

  “Please tell me you’re planning to make something spicy and Mexican and extra-delicious when it’s your turn to cook.”

  She glanced back at Sean and Brent, who were trailing behind them. Sean seemed displeased, perhaps because Jason was acting as though he wanted her to stay. “I’m not a big fan of super-spicy food, actually. The part of Mexico I’m from isn’t known for that. But if you have the right ingredients, I can make tamales.”

  Jason made a murmur of interest and inquired about the recipe, keeping his hand at her waist as they continued down the hillside. If Sean had touched her this way, she’d have bristled, but with Jason, she didn’t care. In a far corner of her mind, she knew he was humoring her, trying to get her to focus on mundane pleasantries rather than the nerve-jolting bloodbath they’d just witnessed.

  As they reached the end of the path, the sun dipped low on the horizon, leaving the island cloaked in shadows and damp with mist. The temperature had dropped considerably, and there was a chill in the air that seemed to invade her very bones.

  The inside of the house was warmer, but the creaky old Victorian had been built to withstand pounding rain and gale force winds, not for enjoying cozy nights by the fire. There was no lighted hearth, no golden glow and no central heating.

  The place lacked ambiance, with its sturdy furniture and bare walls, but it had a certain dorm-room, flophouse charm. Adding to the collegiate atmosphere, Taryn was sitting at a worktable, scribbling in a notebook under the light of an antique lamp.

  The sight of her sunny, California-girl beauty made Daniela’s stomach twist.

  Elizabeth headed upstairs, escaping any possible future drama. “I think I’ll go freshen up before dinner.”

  “No need for formal wear,” Jason said. “We’re dining en famille.”

  Rolling her eyes at his lame joke, she left the room. No one in their right mind would bring anything but work clothes to Southeast Farallon.

  Brent sat down on the couch by the window and began checking his camera equipment. It registered with Daniela that he had strong, elegant hands. Sculptor’s hands. He was also handsome in an understated way, with short brown hair and fine blue eyes.

  In the chaos of the attack, she’d hardly noticed.

  Daniela snuck another glance at Sean, feeling raw, emotional and distinctly out of place. He stared back at her, saying nothing. It was obvious that he didn’t want her to stay, but she couldn’t go anywhere tonight.

  Jason cleared his throat. “I already put your bag in your room, Daniela. Taryn will show you the way.”

  The girl’s chair scraped against the scarred hardwood floo
ring. “I’d be happy to,” she said, standing.

  “I think I can find it.”

  Taryn waved her off. “Don’t be silly. I’ll give you a tour.”

  Before Taryn and Daniela went upstairs, Sean and Jason beat a silent retreat, disappearing through the door and into the twilight. It didn’t take a genius to know they were going outside to discuss her. And decide her fate.

  “Come on,” Taryn said, smiling as if there was nothing amiss.

  Brent looked out the window, craning his neck for a glimpse of the other men and making no attempt to curb his curiosity.

  With a sigh, Daniela followed Taryn, forced to stare at the girl’s perky little bottom as she ascended the stairs. Taryn was tall and coltish, model-slim in her formfitting leggings and oversized sweatshirt. The same outfit would have made Daniela look like a tree stump.

  “Do they always do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  She nodded toward the front door, where Sean and Jason had just exited. “Give each other dark, brooding looks and talk outside?”

  “No,” Taryn admitted. “They acted like best pals until…”

  You came. Daniela knew what she’d been about to say.

  Terrific. One afternoon on the island, and she was like a disease.

  “This is the bathroom,” Taryn said brightly, opening a door on the right side. It was small and dreary, with old-fashioned fixtures and a plain white sink. “The downstairs toilet flushes better, but this one works if you have to pee in the middle of the night. And here is the ever-popular shower.” She slid open the frosted glass door, inclining her slender arm with the panache of a television model.

  Daniela peered into the putty-colored stall. It wasn’t fancy, but it was clean. “Jason said there’s no hot water?”

  “It comes and goes. Tricky pipes. We take turns and hope for the best. Sometimes I have to heat a pot of water on the stove to wash with. Of course, the boys don’t seem to mind being grungy.” She wrinkled her adorable, sun-kissed nose. “Soon, we’ll have more rainwater. We cache it in the cistern and use it for the rest of the year.”