however. Matt accepted the fact philosophically. He also
knew that it was important for some reason to keep up the ritual
of having his laundry professionally done. Such small acts formed
links, however tenuous, with the future. They implied that there
was, in fact, a future.
As he came down the side of the cliff and walked out onto the
sparkling white, sand, Matt lost sight of Sabrina. It was possible
to see to a considerable depth when one was standing high above
the water, but down on the level the advantage was lost. He
scanned the small cove and after a moment was rewarded by the
sight of Sabrina surfacing once more to clear her tube and mask.
Apparently she wasn't a very experienced diver. Another reason why
she shouldn't have sought out a lonely place such as this to go
fish watching.
Matt kept an eye on the orange tip of the snorkel as it glided
along the surface. Keeping it firmly in sight, he went to stand in
the shade of the cliff. Even a few degrees of coolness were
welcome. How long would Sabrina stay in the water? And what the
hell was he going to say when she emerged and saw him waiting for
her?
His first thought was to give her a lecture on the dangers of
diving alone, but belated common sense warned him it might not go
over well. He watched the tip of the tube dip below the surface
again. When she finished the dive, she'd probably have to surface
completely to clear it. Maybe he could start off the conversation
by offering to show her how to clear the tube while keeping her
face underwater.
"Damn it, lady," Matt groused, stepping out of the shade to walk
toward the water. "Come on out. You've been in there long enough.
I want to talk to you." Down she went again, and he waited
impatiently for the snorkel to reappear.
When it didn't, Matt felt the first prickle of uneasiness. During
the time he'd been watching her, he'd unconsciously been keeping
track of the duration of her dives. They rarely lasted a full
minute. He knew without having to glance down at his watch that
she'd been under longer than a minute this trip. He'd done enough
diving to know that an inexperienced swimmer could get into
trouble quickly around a large reef. Eyes narrowed against the
bright morning light, he moved right to the edge of the gently
lapping waves. Still no sign of the orange-tipped snorkeling tube.
"Well, hell." There wasn't time to wait and see if perhaps she
had simply worked her way around to the far side of the reef.
Picturing the worst, Matt yanked off his boots and shirt and loped
into the soft, foaming waves.
He headed toward the point where he had last seen the tube,
hovering on the surface of the water and peering down into the
crystal depths. Below him small fish darted about in nervous
schools and the ancient encrustations on the reef promised
tantalizing mysteries. Some of those mysteries, Matt knew, could
be exceedingly dangerous. There was no sign of an overly
adventurous lady diver, however, and he could see all the way to
the sandy bottom.
Forcing himself to deal with the situation in the calm,
relentlessly logical fashion that in another life had been one of
his trademarks, Matt began searching the area in a systematic
pattern. He had some time, he told himself as he fought down the
anxiety. She'd only been under about three minutes.
The seconds ticked past with an inexorable swiftness that began
to lay a foundation for panic. Matt pushed himself, broadening the
search pattern as rapidly as possible. There was no sign of her
pale skin against the dark gloom of the reef. Perhaps she had gone
around to the other side. Could she have slipped around the far
end without his noticing? It was possible.
Damn it, he'd strangle her if she was cheerfully swimming around
on the opposite side while he frantically hunted for her over
here. Matt lifted his head and struck out for the tip of the reef.
It
Emma Daniels, Ethan Somerville