Chapter 11
STONE
Stone stacked the plates and grabbed the empty mugs from the table.
“Let me make us some more coffee.” He waited until she looked directly at him. “Don’t run away.”
Though he smirked, the edge in his voice was deliberate. Frankie was scared and angry, with good reason, but he hated that she didn’t trust him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, yet she didn’t exactly settle into her chair.
As he moved to the kitchen, he registered the time: 1600 hours.
The day had stretched like a week-long recon mission.
He positioned himself to maintain a visual on Frankie through the front window while preparing the coffee.
Her body language showed her unease, nothing like the Frankie who had rolled into his arms earlier.
He respected her reluctance to share intel, even though it complicated their mission. Frankie had backbone and stood up for what she believed in. He respected that too.
He returned to the verandah, presenting her mug handle-first. “Here you go. Need anything else?”
“No, thanks.” She wrapped both hands around the mug.
He drank his coffee, using the pause to gather his thoughts. “Did you know about your father’s notebook before he died?”
“No. I had no idea.” Her shoulders sagged as if her disappointment over that weighed a ton.
He frowned, mentally piecing together what she’d told him so far. “So did he have it with him when you found him?”
“No.” She leaned back, and a wave of fresh sorrow washed across her face that was painfully genuine.
“A few days after Dad died, I found his wetsuit underneath the house. It was still dripping, which meant that he’d done a scuba dive the night before he died, while I was at work.
It didn’t make sense. I thought we did all our diving together.
Anyway, I was searching through his scuba gear for his dive computer and found the notebook in his gear bag. ”
The wetsuit detail caught Stone’s attention. A night dive, alone, without telling his daughter. Sounded like her father had been investigating something dangerous and keeping Frankie in the dark. Probably to protect her. It was what he would have done.
Stone straightened, adrenaline spiking. “Any idea where he dived?”
“No, and it’s not detailed in his book.”
“Did he dive alone?”
“Again, no idea.”
“Could he have dived on Blackwater Deep?” The possibility aligned with other details.
“I just said I didn’t know.” Her irritation registered loud and clear.
“Okay.” He raised his hand. “So what sort of details did he write about?”
She hesitated, reaching for her mug. “Dates. Times. Names.”
Fucking hell. Getting mighty sick of this dancing around bullshit, he said, “Can I see the book?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I need to know I can trust you first.”
“Seriously. After everything that’s happ—”
“Sex doesn’t equal trust, Stone.”
He growled. “I meant saving your life.”
“Saving our lives, you mean.”
Her correction was accurate. Point to her.
He leaned back. “Fair enough. What will it take to show you that you can trust me?”
“Tell me why you’re really involved. The whole truth. No more half-answers.”
Frustration burned through his patience. “I have told you why. I need to find out who killed Dane and why, and why those data signals lead to the rig.”
She cocked her head and gave him a look that reminded him of a prosecutor about to reveal their key evidence. “Why are you acting alone then? If your people, as you call them, are trustworthy, why aren’t they helping you?”
Fuck. I walked right into that.
Inhaling a steadying breath, he said, “Dane died because he shared sensitive intel with me . . . that data signal.” The admission stabbed at his conscience. “His death is on me. I refuse to involve anyone else until I know what’s going on at Blackwater Deep, and more importantly, who’s behind it.”
“So you’re on your own mission. As in, it’s not sanctioned.” She raised one eyebrow, looking equally perceptive and dangerous.
“Christ, Frankie.” His frustration boiled over. “What do you want from me? Huh? You and I are on the same mission—to find out why the people we love were murdered.”
He exhaled heavily, trying to rein himself in.
“All roads lead back to that rig. Your father’s notebook might help us figure out the missing pieces.
” He clenched his jaw, holding her gaze.
“Between what we know and your father’s observations, we might have enough to expose whoever’s behind this and what the fuck they’re doing.
So please, will you let me see the notebook? ”
She rolled her eyes, but her stance eased. “All right, ya cranky bastard.”
She stood, and her hips swayed as she strode along the verandah and through his front door. The afternoon sun cast spears through the cypress trees, making long shadows across the steps to the porch.
It would be dark soon. Normally by now, he would be preparing to do another recon mission on that oil rig. Maybe they could do it together. Made sense, except for the bastards trying to kill her, that was.
As he gulped his coffee, his mind jogged back to her. Her unflinching confidence. Her quick wit. How comfortable she’d looked in his bed.
Fucking hell, Stone. Get your shit together.
She wasn’t just a distraction, she was dangerous. Not because she was a threat, but because he cared what happened to her. If his hunch about Blackwater Deep was right, then he was going to have no fucking chance of keeping her away from that rig, no matter how deadly the threat was.
She returned with the book tucked under her elbow and a determined focus in her eyes. She set the book down and dragged her chair over, positioning herself next to him rather than across the table.
He reached for the leather-bound cover, and she placed her hand over his. “Hey, Stone?”
He met her gaze.
“We’re partners, remember?”
He released a soft chuckle and nodded. “Yes, partners.”
As Frankie flipped open the notebook, pressing the cover to the tabletop, her shoulder nudged against his as she leaned in, distracting him way more than he wanted.
A chorus of cicadas started their evening song, and the volume came at them in rolling waves.
“What’s your dad’s name?” he asked.
“Doug. Douglas, but everyone called him Digger.”
He nodded. “Well, let’s see if Digger can shed some light on all this bullshit.”
Frankie grinned at him. “Yeah, don’t get too excited. I haven’t been able to figure out any of his messy notes.”
She turned the page, and Digger’s handwriting filled the sheet. The tight, cramped letters slanted at a sharp angle like a man racing to get his thoughts on paper before they vanished.
“Was he left-handed?” Stone asked, noticing the distinctive backward slope.
“Yeah.” She traced her finger along a line of text. “Dad said it made him a better welder. Something about approaching the work from a different angle than most people.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Dad always said he was the odd man out, but he liked it that way.”
“Yep. Know that feeling.” The words slipped out before he could catch them.
“Really?” She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as someone who doesn’t fit in.”
He huffed a laugh. “I’m a computer nerd. Don’t always fit in with the military crowd.”
She jabbed her finger into his shoulder. “I knew you were military.”
Groaning, he shook his head. “Used to be, Frankie. That was a long time ago.”
The night seemed to grow quieter as if the damn bugs were listening.
“Okay.” She eased back, making a show of looking him up and down. “You’re not built like any geeks I worked with on the rig.”
He released a laugh that surprised him with its authenticity. “Dane and I called ourselves geeks with muscle.”
She nodded like a piece of a puzzle had slotted into place. “Well, maybe you can make sense of some of Dad’s random scribbles.”
She turned a few pages and stopped on a full-page spread.
The notebook opened like a chaotic map. Dates were circled in heavy ink.
Names underlined twice, some with question marks.
Arrows connected seemingly unrelated points, creating a web he struggled to navigate.
Numbers were listed like coordinates, others in patterns that might be dates and times compressed into code, or something else entirely.
Down by the creek, a night heron called. The harsh, guttural sound matched the frustration building in Stone’s chest. The notes seemed to be deliberately obscured, as if Digger had known someone would be hunting for this book.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Digger didn’t want this to be easy, did he?”
“Told you. Dad was always getting yelled at for his sloppy work records.” She shrugged. “But Dad was one of the best workers Blackwater Deep ever had.”
“Other than you.” He wriggled his brows.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Prince Charming.”
“Just stating the facts, Thirteen-time Employee of the Month.”
“Hey, where did you put that poster?”
“I’m keeping it for later.”
She grumbled under her breath, and as she reached across him to flip a page, her hair brushed his shoulder. Her incredible scent was more tempting than a barbecued steak, and that was saying a lot.
Focus, damn it.
As they worked through the chaotic entries, Stone struggled to concentrate on the task. The warmth of her arm against his, the way she absently tucked her hair behind her ear when concentrating, and the sigh she let out when she gave up on figuring out a problem kept pulling his attention away.
She pointed to a sequence of numbers. “These are equipment serial numbers. Dad always recorded them when a part was replaced.”
“And these?” He tapped a series of times noted beside them.
“Power surges, maybe? The rig had been having electrical issues before the shutdown.”
“That’s interesting. I wonder if they had anything to do with the electrical signatures I’ve been tracking. How long ago was that?”