Wicked Nights. Anne Marsh

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      PIPER HAD DISCOVERED her love of jumping when she was two. That was the story her mother told, at any rate. Toddler Piper had climbed up onto the back of the couch and then jumped off, both chubby fists raised in the air over her head. After achieving a remarkable amount of air for someone who’d weighed a mere twenty pounds, she’d crash-landed on the family dog, who’d proved to be both a good sport and an ally, letting her repeat her jump move twice more before her mother had been alerted by the noise and intervened.

      When she was five, she’d discovered the springboard at the community pool. Then, at ten, she’d joined the local swim team. Racing was fun, but diving was better. When she’d dived, she’d flown. Performing gymnastics midair was an adrenaline rush better than any jump, and she’d ripped through the water leaving almost no trace of her entry. She’d won every meet and moved on to college and the NCAA championships. A berth on the national team headed to the world championships? No problem. She’d earned that, too. She’d been the golden child, the star diver—right up until she wasn’t. It had turned out the one thing Piper’s diving career hadn’t prepared her for was losing.

      The Accident—and she always thought of the day in capital letters—had been just that. An accident. And it hadn’t happened at the pool, either. She hadn’t made a misstep on her vault or misjudged her somersault or twist. She simply hadn’t known Lance Peterson had started drinking at eight o’clock in the morning and stopped approximately twenty minutes before he’d invited her to take a spin on a Jet Ski with him. He’d seemed fine, but no, in the absence of an open container in his hand, she hadn’t insisted on a Breathalyzer or quizzed him on his drinking. Hindsight, however, was everything.

      Being naively oblivious, she’d hopped on the Jet Ski when Lance had invited her to ride, because it had been that kind of afternoon: a group of casual friends hanging on the beach and enjoying ice cream and the sunshine. In the middle of the harbor, she’d realized Lance was impaired when her close proximity to him had made misinterpreting the alcoholic fumes wafting from him impossible. Of course she’d promptly snapped, “Go back,” in his ear, digging her arms tighter around his waist. Driving drunk was horrifically stupid, and she’d already been measuring the distance to shore. The swim hadn’t looked too bad, although even she had preferred not to take a chance with all the boat traffic zipping through the harbor. Unfortunately, Lance had made an easy dismount impossible, cutting in and out, whooping as he’d driven the Jet Ski left and then right. She’d have to pick her moment or convince him to head back.

      “Lance—” She’d gotten his name out, Cal’s motorboat had come around the breakwater and Lance had cut it too close. So close that she’d seen Cal’s face, the look of fierce, calm concentration as he’d thrown the wheel right, ramming the boat into the breakwater as he’d tried to avoid the smashup. They’d hit anyhow. The Jet Ski had smashed into her leg as they’d flipped, and the whole world had narrowed to the pain radiating through her knee as she’d sunk down, eyes open. She didn’t have too many memories after the initial impact, which doctors had assured her was her body’s way of coping with the trauma. She did, however, remember Cal ripping through the surface of the water, swimming hard and fast to get to her.

      Now, for the first time since the accident, she was standing on her own two feet. She had a loving, protective, competitive family back on the mainland. Her family had suggested medical school and then law school, before all but begging her to join the family business. She didn’t want that.

      Her family was a ranch family. Her great-grandfather had started a small almond farm in midstate California, and the rest of the family had stuck close. Moneywise, there was more than enough in the good years—but they’d never made get-rich money. Other than summers on Discovery Island, her childhood had been full of tractors, ATVs, horses and trails. She’d spent more time outdoors than in, excelling in 4H competitions, winning blue ribbons and awards. Sure, she could have gone home, and they’d have made room for her in the family business, but...she wanted to create one of her own.

      She didn’t want anything handed to her. Her three brothers had all happily settled down to ranch, competing amiably to see who could claim the most rodeo buckles, grow the biggest crop or innovate the most. Diving had made sense to them when she’d been diving for a berth on a national team, but owning a dive shop on a vacation island wasn’t aspirational enough for them. None of them had accepted that her new dream included four walls, a sometimes temperamental dive boat and racks of tanks.

      Dream Big and Dive’s name came from the heart. Piper had learned firsthand that you had to let go of some dreams, but this time she was holding on. She wasn’t letting Cal Brennan beat her, not when her shot at owning the dive shop was on the line. Her soon-to-be place had a prime location, right off the boardwalk fronting the water, with plenty of foot traffic and easy access to both the marina and the beach where she loaded the dive boats.

      Standing there in the front of the shop, she could just read the chalkboard outside, announcing the week’s dive sites and inviting newbies to come on in and sign up for a baptismal dive.

      Her cell phone rang, blaring the Jaws theme song. Right now, the ringtone was all too appropriate. Her partner, Del Rogers, was the shark СКАЧАТЬ