Love, Lattes and Danger. Sandra Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ nothing but salt and fish. No oil. My ability to taste an offshore oil leak is what makes me so valuable to the company. It’s part of my dolphin DNA package.

      When I’ve been in the water an hour, I lengthen my distance from the rig. It takes me another hour. Finally, the water takes on a faint, sweet flavor. Oil. I follow the taste. I’m like a hound moving back and forth in the water, trying to catch the scent. Finally, I have it and follow it out. It’s a good five miles from the tanker.

      Ahead of me, a boat bobs on the water. It’s leaking oil, bad. It happens on occasion. Crafts leak oil. If it’s a large enough leak and there’s a tanker in the area, they usually catch flack for it.

      I find a ladder hanging over the side and pull myself on board, planning on telling the guy he’s got a leak.

      And find a gun pointed at me.

      Chapter 4

      Water drips off my fingers and runs down my legs, forming puddles on the warm wooden deck beneath my feet. Four tough-looking men face me. Survival kicks in.

      I take a quick step back onto a canvas shoe and feel a sharp prick between my shoulder blades. “Get off my foot and don’t try anything funny or I’ll slice you.”

      This isn’t good.

      I can’t see the man behind me but the four in front of me look dangerous. They appear to be in their mid-twenties and sport a variety of scars and tattoos. One with short thick hair and a mustache swaggers up to me. “Is this him?”

      Him who? What the hell is going on? “I don’t know who you’re after but you have the wrong man. I just came on board to tell you your motor’s leaking oil, lots of it.”

      The taller one, who has a skull and crossbones tattooed on his arm, gives a command. I’m spun around and one of them touches my birthmark.

      “That’s him.” In spite of the warm sun, a chill courses through me.

      I jerk my arm back and whirl around. “What’s this about?”

      The man with the knife pokes me. This time I feel a trickle of warm liquid run between my shoulder blades. I step to the side and hear the click of four triggers. Ignoring them, I turn to the man holding the knife. He’s my height and has a good twenty pounds on me. His skin is tanned but lighter than his associates. His hair is brown, slicked back from his face.

      I hold his gaze, my hands flexing at my sides. He’s got the knife but takes a step back.

      “What do we do with him, shoot him?” the man with short, thick hair asks.

      The leader considers then shakes his head. “I don’t want the noise. If we screw this up, the boss ain’t going to like it.”

      The ringleader looks at the water. “Is your sister around?”

      “My sister? What do you want with my sister?”

      He makes a remark that has the rest of them laughing uproariously. Guns or no guns, I’m going to smash his face.

      He prods me with his gun. “Is she with you?”

      “No.” Thank God. What would have happened if she had been?

      He steps closer. “So you like to swim, do you?”

      His friends step closer too. I balance on the balls of my feet trying to keep them all in sight. “We can help you with that. Georgie.”

      The man with the knife rushes me. I leap to my right. Instead of gutting me, the knife slides down my arm, bicep to elbow. Blood flows. Two of the other men grab for me. I elude them, jump overboard, and hit the water with a splash.

      Blood is streaming. God, I hope there’re no sharks nearby.

      “Want us to go after him, boss?” one of the men yells.

      “No need. With all that blood in these waters, he’s not going to survive.”

      “Goodbye, fish boy,” the leader calls. They rev the boat and take off. I swim fast and hard. How long can I go before I begin to feel light-headed?

      Two miles. I have three to go and my speed is slowing. I’m leaving a blood trail but there’s nothing I can do about it. I push harder. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a finned shadow. I flip over on my back, watching the shark approach. Preparing as best I can, I fist my hands. It streaks toward me.

      Just before it hits, a bullet of gray comes at it, two others in its wake. Dolphins! The shark may have no hesitation about taking on a dolphin but it’s not prepared for three. It swims away to easier prey.

      “Thank you,” I chatter, blowing bubbles out of my mouth.

      One floats closer and nudges me. I grab hold of a fin. Another comes below me and moves upward till I’m lying on her back.

      The lead dolphin gives pulsed squeaks before rising to the surface and turning in a circle.

      He’s asking what direction. I stretch my arm out in front of me. “Straight ahead.” I’m beginning to see lights behind my eyes. My hand keeps slipping off the fin. The other two position themselves beneath me, a dolphin safety net.

      The water, so comfortable before, is cold. My vision blurs. I no longer know how many dolphins surround me as we continue through the water. I’m shivering uncontrollably. How long can I hold on? How far is the rig? The water grows darker, murkier. I’m having trouble breathing. I need to surface.

      Just as the world begins to tilt, the dolphin carrying me flips me through the water. A cloud of bubbles erupts from my mouth as I land in the rig’s water-elevator. I just manage to hit the button before I collapse, forgetting not to breathe. Salt water pours into my lungs, choking me. I’m drowning.

      Suddenly air, not water, is pouring into my abused, waterlogged lungs. From a long way off, I hear men shouting. My head is turned to the side and someone pounds on my back. I spew water, again and again.

      Everything goes black.

      * * * *

      A crack sounds seconds before the pain hits my cheek. “Come on, freak, wake up. You’re too heavy for me to carry.” Craven is propping me up, dragging me to the helicopter. I stumble along beside him. “God, you may be skinny, but you weigh a ton. Must be those damn fish parts you’re made from. Now get in.”

      He shoves just as I manage to pull myself in and my head hits against the steel side of the chopper. I sink face down into the back seat.

      “Let’s go,” he yells to the pilot.

      “The back door’s not secure,” the pilot responds.

      “Of course it is, now let’s go.”

      “Sir, I really don’t think—”

      “You’re not paid to think, asshole. Let’s go.”

      “What about his arm? It needs bandaging. I’m afraid he’s going to bleed out before we get back to СКАЧАТЬ