But it was their second dive of the day, and she knew Dar preferred to stay on the cautious side when it came to bottom time. She covered the lens on her camera and clipped it to its holders on her vest, then followed Dar toward the anchor line of the boat.
Out of long habit, they paused at ten feet, where the wave action overhead started to make itself felt. The seas were fairly calm, but there was enough of a chop to keep the boat at a steady rock, and Kerry could see the dive ladder moving up and down at the back of the stern.
Like flying a plane, where the takeoffs and landings were the trickiest, in diving it was getting in and out of the water that usually presented the most difficulty. Once you were in and down, things were usually a breeze. Kerry watched Dar release her grip on the anchor line and head for the ladder, her hands reaching down to remove her fins as she approached it. She waited for her partner to grab the moving ladder and toss the fins up out of the water with her other hand before she let go of the line herself and followed.
Dar waited for the stern to dip down so she could get her feet on the bottom step of the ladder, then she reached up to the upper rung and hung on, letting the wave action pick her right up out of the water and into the late afternoon sunlight. She stepped up into the boat and shucked her tank and vest, clipping them to holders before she turned around and reached down to grab the back of Kerry’s air tank as she emerged from the sea.
Kerry was no weakling, but pulling one’s self and forty pounds of equipment out of the water onto a pitching boat after a long day’s diving was a lot to ask, and Dar saw the quick look of appreciation she got as she pulled her partner on board. “Here, give me that.” She reached over and unsnapped the catches that held the vest across Kerry’s chest and loosened the inner waist strap as she removed the tank.
“Ugh. Thanks.” Kerry pulled off her mask and scrubbed her Terrors of the High Seas 23
hand over her face. She could taste salt and the rubber from her regulator on her tongue, and what she really wanted was… Ah. “I love you.” Her hand closed around the plastic bottle of Gatorade as she loosened her weight belt and let it drop to the deck.
Dar chuckled. “You’re welcome.” She dunked Kerry’s camera in the fresh water bucket next to the ladder, and tossed in their masks and snorkels as well. “Can you grab me some oranges?”
“You got it.” Kerry patted her face dry with a towel, then ran it quickly over her body before she went down the stairs into the cabin. She sucked on the Gatorade as she opened the refrigerator and removed a pop-top can of mandarin oranges. She took it, a spoon, and a packet of crackers and peanut butter and returned to the deck.
Dar had unhooked the tanks and put them into the cradles next to the compressor, and hosed down the BCs that were already hanging there. She was rinsing Kerry’s regulator with careful hands when Kerry eased up next to her and bumped her lightly with one hip. With a quick grin, Dar put the regulator down next to hers on the counter and took the can of fruit.
They sat down in the comfortable camp chairs on the back deck and relaxed, putting their feet up in the attached footrests as the boat rocked gently in the waves. “That was nice,” Dar commented, removing the top from her can. “Not much current down there, either.”
“Nmpf.” Kerry shook her head, her mouth full of cracker and peanut butter. “Gorf. Sorry.” She swallowed down the mouthful and chased it with some Gatorade. “Yeah, it felt so great just to be down there.” Her eyes swept the horizon, then she got up and looked around to the front of the boat. “Especially out here, where it’s just us, the sky, and the water.”
Dar nodded. “We’re still in the straits; we could just stay anchored here for tonight.”
Kerry faced into the wind, listening to the rhythm of the waves.
“Or?”
“Or we could head south.”
“Is there a prettier place down south?”
Dar sucked on an orange. “Not that I know of.”
“Here sounds perfect to me, then.” Kerry wandered back over and sat down. “How about we have a snack up front and watch the sun set?”
“Sounds perfect to me,” Dar echoed with a grin. Then her head cocked, and she glanced off into the distance. “Looks like we have company.” Her ears identified the sound of engines. They grew louder and louder, until a speck resolved itself into a massive yacht, half again as large as theirs, cleaving the water at top speed as it headed south.
24 Melissa Good
“Well.” Kerry took in the solid black hull with red and silver piping. “How’s that for posh?” The ship was flying several colorful pennants, and its brass fittings shone brightly in the sun. “Who do you think it is, Dar? Some really rich Northern type?”
“With no taste?” Dar grinned wryly. “Foreigner, maybe.”
The boat roared past, its wake making the Dixieland Yankee rock vigorously back and forth for several moments. The newcomer headed toward the horizon, several figures visible on its stern deck.
“They’d better watch that draft; we’re in shallows.” Dar frowned, got up, and reached for the radio. She keyed it. “Black and red Giarenno headed south through the straits, do you copy?”
She released the mic, and heard only static. Her brow contracted. “Black and red Giarenno headed through the straits southbound, do you copy?”
There was more answering static, then a sharp crackling. “This is Cordon’s Empire. Are you calling this vessel?” The voice was abrupt and impatient.
Dar keyed the mic. “Roger that, Cordon’s Empire. This is Dixieland Yankee. You just passed on my port side. Be advised you have less than ten to fifteen feet to bottom in the area.”
There was a moment of silence before the clipped reply. “We do not need the advice. Please do not contact this vessel again.”
The sound of the transmission terminating was the auditory equivalent of an arrogant slap, and Dar expended a few outraged breaths just glaring at the radio before she turned and delivered a murderous look at the retreating yacht. “You’re welcome and kiss my ass, Cordon’s Empire,” she replied. She hung up the mic and returned to her comfortable chair with a snort of disgust. “Jackass.”
“Mm.” Kerry licked a bit of peanut butter off her thumb. “Bet he didn’t know who he was talking to.”
Dar bit an orange slice in half and snapped it up, doing her best wild animal snarl. “I’d say I hope he bottoms, but the satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the damage to the reef.”
Kerry finished her cracker. “You’re right,” she agreed. “Tell you what—if you get the deck pad, I’ll bring a bottle of something cold and we can let Mother Nature do her thing.”
Dar dismissed the rude boater and willingly turned her mind to more pleasant things. She got up and rinsed out her can, squashed it in her hands, and put it into the recycling container. Then she opened the storage bench and pulled out the large double pad they liked to sit on up front and slung it over her shoulder while Kerry ducked back into the cabin.
There were layers of light clouds on the horizon, and Dar imagined it would be a gorgeous sunset. She mused happily on that as she made her way around to the front of the boat, settling the pad down and going to the very front of the bow.
Terrors of the High Seas 25
Kerry took out a bottle of chilled Riesling and inspected two glasses, setting them down while she put together a bowl of finger foods—cubes of cheese and pieces of fruit—and tossed in a handful of chocolate kisses and a few carrots just for color and balance.