Chapter One
A dolphin lay sprawled on the sand. A gaggle of onlookers had gathered around, snapping pictures and generally looking anxious.
The dolphin’s eyes were closed. The poor thing looked dead. It lay still. No movement, no breaths. My stomach clenched. Were we too late? I knew from my experience in Norway that dolphins can hold their breath for a very long time. It could be all right. But I wasn’t sure what was happening. I was pretty sure being stranded was not good, and wasn’t a common occurrence.
The thing was, I was here in Bimini undercover as a marine mammal research intern, but I knew next to nothing about dolphins. I had a whole book about them in my suitcase. But I couldn’t possibly have prepared for this scenario in the time allotted. Hell, I couldn’t have prepared for this if I had read all the books I could get my hands on.
I had arrived on the island less than an hour ago expecting to settle in and soak up a little sun before jumping into the mission. No such luck. I slept hard on the flight to Miami but now I was kicking myself for not using the time to do some more research on dolphins. I was not prepared for this. What were the odds it would happen the day I got here?
The extent of my current knowledge of dolphin physiology consisted of what I’d read on Wikipedia on the plane—things like dolphins have teeth and breathe air. But, honestly, I’d thought I could wing it. On a regular day, weren’t interns expected to make coffee and file endless stacks of folders? But this wasn’t a regular day. A dolphin was stranded on shore, dying. I needed to get up to speed and fast. I willed it to live, racking my brain for anything I could do to help.
I was no nurse, and even if I were, this was no ordinary patient. Water glistened on its back, giving it a sparkly, surreal appearance, a reminder that it didn’t belong out of the water, under the sun. It was out of its world. Vulnerable. I felt helpless, wringing my hands, not knowing what to do. I couldn’t stand to see an animal suffer.
I gazed up at the noon sky. A day like today had to be the worst. The sun scorched the sand. The air was too thick to breathe. A flock of laughing gulls swooped about, biding time, waiting for an easy meal.
Kerrie Malone, the dolphin researcher I was sent to work with, headed straight for the distressed animal, shooing people away, her two children tagging along after her. They had all come to greet me at the ferry dock and we’d barely had time for introductions when she got the call.
Kerrie approached the dolphin slowly, cautiously, easing to her knees in the sand next to it. As she leaned over the animal, an eye opened and looked up at her.
A flutter of excitement went through me. It was alive.
The dolphin took a breath, drawn and labored, as though it were difficult to do while lying on the sand, gravity bearing down on it. I wanted desperately to comfort it but didn’t know how. I knew better than to touch it. I tried to say with my eyes, telepathically communicate, that we meant no harm, that we were here to help.
A commercial float plane revved its engine and taxied out into the bay. It turned into the wind and the pilot put the throttle down. The propellers’ roar rumbled across the water as it went, then lifted off, turned, and disappeared behind the trees. I watched it go, wishing it had dropped me off a day earlier.
The dolphin made no sign of fear or being disturbed by the plane. Maybe it had given up or maybe it was injured. “Please, please don’t give up,” I silently willed it.
Kerrie reached into the dolphin’s mouth, took a hold of its tongue, and gave it a gentle yank. The dolphin squirmed, trying to pull away from her. This made Kerrie smile. Must have been a good sign. It still had the will to live. It didn’t seem fearful or react violently. Intelligent eyes focused on Kerrie, submitting to her aid. I decided the dolphin knew that she was there to help.
Kerrie stood and heaved a sigh of exhaustion. She looked tired. Not sleepy, but a deep-seated weariness. I didn’t know if it was because she knew the long hours of work that lay ahead or if she had carried this fatigue to the beach with her. Either way, she pushed her sweaty blonde bangs off her forehead and went to work, shouting orders at the five men who were there to help while her son, Billy, clung to her leg.
The boy must have been about four, blonde and blue-eyed, with a worn-to-threads stuffed turtle clutched in his little hand. Behind him was a younger sister, bouncing to and fro, occassionally trying to stuff fistfulls of sand into her mouth. Ugh, why do kids put everything in their mouths? Little scavengers… She must have been fresh out of diapers. Maybe that explained Kerrie’s weariness.
The men went to work and Kerrie dropped back down to her knees and began to dig sand from under the dolphin’s flipper, allowing for it to hang below the body naturally rather than stay pinned against the ground. Billy dropped the turtle and tried to dig alongside his mother, pushing more sand into the hole than out of it.
“Can I help?” I asked.
Kerrie glanced at me. “Yes, great.”
I headed for the other side of the dolphin.
“Take my kids over there,” she said, pointing at a cluster of trees, “into the shade, and keep an eye on them. It’s too dangerous to be this close.”
“Oh. Uh.” I looked down at the dolphin, then at her children. “Sure.” Watch the kids. Was this typical intern duty?
I tried to take little Charlotte by the hand but she yanked it away. “C’mon,” I said, “Let’s go over here.”
The girl toddled away from me. I followed and tried, once again, to take hold of her hand. She yanked it free with a fearful scowl, then started to cry.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” God, I’m terrible at this.
How was I supposed to get her to go with me?
“C’mere Girl. Come on!” I slapped my hip. “Who’s a good girl? C’mon with me.”
Kerrie glanced up at me with an expression that said, have you lost your mind?
Great…
Charlotte took off in an awkward toddle-run toward the water. Billy saw this and giggled while he ran after her.
Shoot! Can kids swim? When did I learn? I don’t remember ever not knowing.
I ran after them. “Billy! Charlotte! Stop right this instant!” Amazing how in the presence of children you immediately turn into your mother. I cringed at the thought.
Dealing with kids wasn’t exactly my strong suit. Okay. It wasn’t my suit at all. Not that I don’t like kids. I just never had time with any. Give me a dog. Or any other animal. A dolphin. That I could manage. I’d even been bitch-slapped by a giant sea turtle once and didn’t lose my grip. But kids? Yikes.
I scooped squirming Charlotte up just as she took her first steps into the water. “What were you planning on doing? Swimming to Miami? There are jellyfish in there, little girl.” I looked around. “I think.”
Charlotte arched her back and let out a red-faced, piercing scream. “Hush little baby,” I tried to rock her but this was like trying to get a decent grip on an eel. A loud one.
I felt something slam into my legs. “Let go Lotty!” Billy banged his fists on my thighs doing his best to protect his sister from me, the wild-haired monster.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, she’s okay,” I shifted Charlotte’s weight to free a hand so I could reach for Billy, but he dodged me with that crazy ninja quickness tiny people seem to have. This time, when he rammed me, I was off balance trying to keep a grip on Charlotte and we all went over into the surf.
I was trying to simultaneously put Charlotte back on her feet, spit sand and seawater out of my mouth, and wipe my wet hair out of my eyes with my forearm when I heard a familiar laugh. Oh god, not now. How does he always find me at my most awkward moments?
“Hey, buddy, want to look through my binoculars?” Dalton squatted near Billy, holding out his prize. Billy gladly took them, grinning.
“Me too! Me too!” Charlotte headed toward her brother, small hands grasping like little crab pinchers while she toddled.
With the kids distracted, Dalton turned to me while I tried to tame my wet curls. “You look good with kids, McVie,” he teased, his eyes flashing amusement.
“Oh shut it, Dalton,” but I was smiling, relieved he had saved me from coming unglued. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were coming in tomorrow?”
“I changed my flight. I thought we might be able to spend some time together on the island before hitting the ground running.” We both looked over to the dolphin. “Doesn’t look like that’s going to work out as I’d planned.” Dalton turned back to me. “ I headed straight here when I heard about the stranding, but then I saw you being attacked by the most vicious of beasts.”
I punched him in the shoulder while he laughed. We walked over to the kids and Charlotte immediately took Dalton’s hand when he offered it.
“How are you so good with kids?”
“Oh, I uh,” he cleared his throat. “I basically raised my younger brother and sister.” He never took his eyes off the kids, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “Hey, guys! Let’s race!” Charlotte and Billy squealed after him, the three of them churning up sand and laughter.
I had thought about Dalton in a lot of different ways, but hadn’t considered that he’d make a great father. He was a complete natural. And he had a brother and sister?
A golf cart came to a halt at the edge of the beach and a young Bahamian woman, about my age, trim and athletic with shiny black hair pulled into braids, got out and started to untie the poles and tarp that had been strapped onto the back of the cart. An older woman, gray-haired, round and soft, took a little more time to get out of the passenger side. The kids ran to her squealing, “Maria, Maria.” My kid-watching duties were over. Thank God!
“Oh good, you’re here,” Kerrie said, rushing to help untie the load.
Dalton and I exchanged a knowing glance.
“I’ll be in the crowd,” he said and I followed Kerrie to help.
The young lady nodded at me in the way of a greeting as she yanked on the strap to release it. “You must be Poppy. I’m Natalie.”
“Nice to meet you. You’re Kerrie’s research assistant, right?”
“Give me an update,” Kerrie said, impatient.
“I double-checked the tide chart,” Natalie said, turning her attention to Kerrie and the problem at hand. “High tide is in six hours. Ralph’s making a stretcher.”
“Great.”
Natalie’s attention moved to the dolphin on the beach. “Hey, is that one of the—”
“Yes,” Kerrie said, giving her a silencing look. “Let’s just focus on getting it back into the water, okay?”
“Sure.” She turned to me with an apologetic smile. “It seems you’ve arrived at a crazy time.”
“I take it this isn’t very common?”
“No. Not here on Bimini anyway. And I hope it isn’t like last time.”
“Last time?” This had happened before?
Kerrie motioned for Natalie to keep moving. She grabbed the buckets and towels from the front seat and followed Kerrie to the dolphin.
Two of the Bahamian men who were there to help, with Kerrie’s direction, took the poles and tarp and started erecting a shelter over the dolphin—a kind of makeshift pop-up tent—while another dug sand from under the dolphin’s other flipper.
Another local man took the towels from Natalie and dunked them in the ocean. Kerrie gave Natalie directions to cover the animal with the wet towels, then continually pour water over it to keep it cool. The man was to keep the buckets coming. He nodded in understanding, concern etched on his face.
I stood there with empty hands. “I can help,” I said. “Is there another bucket?”
“You know, if you could keep the crowd back,” Kerrie said without looking at me.
I glanced at the small group of onlookers. Everyone seemed to be keeping a respectful distance. In other words, Kerrie was telling me to stay out of the way.
I couldn’t blame her. She’d received a phone call not two days ago from the president of the university with a non-negotiable demand to take me on as an intern. No doubt, she thought I was the spoiled daughter of some rich donor. She’d do her duty and deal with me. But I doubted very much that she liked me being forced upon her. She saw me as someone she’d have to babysit.
It was all right. I had been handed the intern job on a silver platter by my Uncle—Uncle Sam, that is. And I’d played the role of the spoiled daughter before. But in this setting, I didn’t feel it would serve my purpose. I needed these ladies to like and trust me. “I can keep an eye on the crowd and carry buckets. Please let me help.”
Kerrie looked as though I was pressing the last bit of patience she had.
“Okay, you can help Natalie. Whatever she tells you to do. Just…don’t touch the dolphin.” She turned away from me, shaking her head and reaching for her phone.
“Don’t mind her,” Natalie said, leaning toward me. “She’s in super-stress mode. She feels responsible for all the dolphins here in Bimini.”
“I can imagine.”
She took the bucket from the man and slowly poured the cool sea water over the dolphin’s back, then handed the bucket back to him to be refilled. “She’s calling the Bahamas Marine Mammal Stranding Network now. It’s the standard protocol. She’ll give details and they’ll advise her from there.”
“But I thought she was a marine biologist.”
“She is. But she’s not a veterinarian.”
Made sense.
Natalie retrieved a carrying case from the golf cart and gave Maria the nod to leave with the kids.
I joined her next to the dolphin. She handed me a clipboard and a measuring tape. “Hold that,” she said. I was reminded of my experience in Mexico helping document the sea turtles there.
Kerrie, with the phone held to her ear, knelt in the sand on the other side of the dolphin. “The animal is alert and responsive. Labor in respiration is minimal.”
Natalie handed Kerrie a thermometer, stethoscope, and syringe from the case. Kerrie worked quickly, taking the animal’s temperature, listening to the heart rate, and getting a blood sample.
“Get the rest,” she told Natalie, still on the phone.
Natalie motioned for me to come around to the other side of the dolphin. I took one end of the measuring tape while she took down the numbers. “It’s alright. You’re going to be alright,” she whispered to the dolphin as she moved around it.
She scribbled a few notes, then poured another bucket of water over the dolphin. “They are at high risk out of the water. Exposure to the wind and sun can dry the skin and they can get overheated.”
“Hyperthermia,” I said.
“Right. Their skin absorbs heat, the blubber retains it, and the circulatory system that normally helps to dissipate heat can’t keep up. That’s why we need to continually pour the water over it. Especially near the—”
“The flippers, dorsal fin, and fluke—the areas that are thin and highly vascularized,” I said, remembering what Dr. Parker had taught me in Norway about the killer whales, which are members of the dolphin family, so I figured I was on pretty stable ground.
“Right,” she said with a smile. “But carefully.” The man arrived with another bucket of water and she gestured for me to take it. “Lower the bucket as close as possible when you pour. You don’t want to startle it. And careful at the blowhole. Pour water there only right after it’s taken a breath.”
“Gotcha,” I said. I could do that. I tipped the bucket and carefully let the water gently cascade onto the towels as I moved from its head to the fluke.
“Make sure no sand gets in the eyes or the blowhole.”
“Okay.” I could do that, too.
She sighed. “I hate this helpless feeling. The waiting.” She crossed her arms, anxious.
I gave the bucket to the man to refill. “Are we waiting for blood results? Seems like—”
“No. That would take too long. We do that for hematologic and plasma chemical analyses, for a long-term prognosis. But right now, we do a quick analysis to determine if the animal is healthy enough to be put back to sea, if we should try to transport it to the rehab facility at Atlantis on the main island, or—” she hesitated “—if we should euthanize it.”
“Oh,” I said, looking at this beautiful creature, lying here, prone on the beach, not sure I was ready to hear the conclusion. “And?”
“Oh, this one is doing okay. There are no obvious signs of shock or vascular collapse. It’s got a good chance.”
I let out my breath, relieved. “So, what are we waiting for?”
“The tide. It will help us get it back out to sea.” She pointed. “It’s too shallow right now.”
The dolphin drew in another breath, shuddering with the effort. Natalie’s expression matched my feelings. Frustration. The sooner we could get the dolphin back into the water, the better. Waiting for the tide was going to be exasperating.
Regardless, I had a job to do. My directive had been deliberately vague, something like “go see what’s happening, if anything, with the dolphins down there.” Apparently some high-level government agency had received some intel, but wanted my team—myself and three other agents—to approach the situation with fresh eyes. It wasn’t a typical assignment for an elite task force of federal agents. Regardless, we’d boarded the next plane to see what we could find out.
We had suspected something might be going on with the captive “swim with the dolphin” programs. But those were in Nassau, on the main island, over a hundred miles away. Here, there were only boat tours to swim with wild dolphins.
My partner, Special Agent Dalton, had arranged for a job as a divemaster on a local boat. Because he was a Navy SEAL, certification wasn’t a problem. My other teammates, Tom and Mike, were posing as a couple of fishermen. We’d expected to ease into the operation, take a few days to get a feel for the situation, the lay of the land. I hadn’t anticipated this.
This was as good a time as any, while we waited for the tide, to get more information about the big picture, like how this dolphin ended up here. “You said there was another stranding recently? And it was worse?”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh, “a few years ago. That was a mass stranding event. Now that I see this dolphin, I’m pretty sure it’s the only one.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, for one, no bleeding at the ears.”
“Omigod, what would cause that?”
Kerrie ended her call. “There are no other strandings reported,” she said.
“Good, I’m so glad,” Natalie said. “Last time was too sad.”
“What happened last time?”
“Two minke whales, a spotted dolphin and fourteen beaked whales were stranded all at once. The Navy was testing sonar equipment not far from here. The sound literally drove the cetaceans out of the sea. They’re so sensitive to underwater sound, that—” she paused, “what am I saying? I’m sure you know about that. You’re studying marine biology.”
“Actually, I’m an ornithology student,” I said. I figured it was safer to masquerade as a bird expert, of which I’m quite knowledgeable, who weaseled her way into an internship here, versus a marine mammal expert, which I am not, who should know stuff. My thirty minutes of speed-reading on the plane wasn’t going to carry me. Even coupled with what I’d learned in Norway from Dr. Parker. “I mean, I’m really interested, but it’s not my main subject. Cetaceans that is. So, assume I know nothing.”
Natalie gave me a look of confusion, then turned to Kerrie.
Kerrie managed to hold back an eyeroll. “It’s all been approved,” she muttered.
“But—”
“Just don’t worry about it,” she snapped.
By Natalie’s reaction, it was clear that Kerrie wasn’t usually one to snap at her.
“Oh-kay,” she said.
I acted oblivious. “So, you were telling me about the mass stranding.”
“Huh? Yeah. The U.S. Navy blasted their sonar not far from here. Fortunately, after five weeks of denial, in a rare historical event, they actually took responsibility, confirming the long held hypothesis that naval maneuvers had been causing most of the recorded stranding events over the years.”
“How exactly does the sonar impact the whales?”
“Well, for one, it hurts like hell. We found them with bleeding ears. The necropsies showed cranial lesions and hemorrhaging, suggesting a pressure wave, or intense acoustical energy, had caused the trauma.”
“That sounds awful.” I winced. “Pardon the pun.”
“It was. They were otherwise healthy.”
Two men on two separate fishing boats pulled up to shore. Kerrie rushed over to them, pointing at something out in the water.
“What’s that about?” I asked Natalie.
“This dolphin will be disoriented and lethargic once we get it back into the water. It’s going to take a while, maybe an hour or more, to get it swimming again. They’ll patrol for tiger sharks and keep them away.”
“Wow. Sharks? I wouldn’t have thought of that. So why did this dolphin get stranded? The Navy again?”
She shook her head. “No. We don’t think so. There are other reasons that a single dolphin could get stranded. Usually with Tursiops, they strand solo only when they’re ill, although, sometimes, it’s as simple as a juvenile that doesn’t know the area, follows some fish into the harbor, and gets caught by the tide.”
“Is that what happened here?”
“Most likely, because this particular dolphin probably never—”
Kerrie came up beside her. “We don’t want to speculate. Let’s get it back in the water first, then we can discuss any evidence we have.”
Her response was a typical approach of a scientist—gather evidence first. But something wasn’t right. She knew more than she was saying about this dolphin. Both of them did. Kerrie was either involved in whatever I was sent to uncover, or already knew a lot about it. I needed to tread carefully.
* * *
While we waited, I dug my hat out of my bag, slathered on some sunscreen, and, with a quick Google search on my phone, learned that this dolphin was a bottlenose dolphin, the genus Tursiops, as Natalie called it, one of the most common members of the family Delphinidae. This one weighed about 500 pounds. The Atlantic spotted dolphin, not the bottlenose, was most common to these waters and the subject of the communication research done here. Though some bottlenose dolphins are known to be residents, most are transient in this part of the world.
That could explain the stranding. It was likely a dolphin who wasn’t familiar with these waters. As Natalie had said, probably following fish when it got lost. But that answer was too easy. Something else was going on here.
I also Googled what to do for a stranded dolphin. Kerrie seemed to have it well in hand. The dolphin was shaded from the sun and being cooled by the wet towels. The document, Marine Mammals Ashore: A Field Guide for Strandings, stressed the importance of tagging the animal while ashore so that observers would have the opportunity to determine whether the animal survived the ordeal and if rescue procedures were effective. This dolphin already had a satellite transmitter mounted on a molded plastic saddle attached to its dorsal fin. So, regardless of whether it was from this area, its future travels would be documented.
There were unique marks under the pectoral fins that seemed odd to me. I made a mental note to ask Kerrie about those, too. Or maybe Natalie because Kerrie didn’t seem to like sharing information. Odd behavior for a researcher.
Finally, Ralph, a local craftsman, arrived with a stretcher for the dolphin made of canvas attached to two poles with holes cut for the dolphin’s flippers. The tide was coming in. Apparently, they were ready to carry the dolphin into the deeper water.
With Kerrie giving the orders, the men gathered around the dolphin. They seemed to be trying to slide the stretcher under the animal.
“Why don’t they roll the dolphin onto the stretcher?” I asked Natalie. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”
She shook her head. “For whatever reasons, dolphins don’t like being rolled. It might thrash and hurt someone. This way is better. If this doesn’t work, they might have to drag it by the fluke.”
They managed to get the stretcher under it. Then they gathered, two on each end of a pole.
“At the count of three,” Kerrie said. “One, two, three.” In one fluid movement, they carefully lifted, then, together, shuffled toward the water. Kerrie, Natalie, and I walked with them.
A hush settled over the onlookers, which had grown into a considerable crowd, as they watched in anticipation.
One step, then another, then another, and we were in the water. I dragged my feet, shuffling along to disturb the sand, trying to avoid catching a stingray by surprise.
“Make sure to keep the head up,” Kerrie said. “Don’t let the blowhole go under.”
As the dolphin started to float, I thought it would kick and buck, then swim away. But it still didn’t move much. It seemed to struggle to move at all.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Natalie.
“This is normal. It has to acclimate to the water again. It might take hours. Then, sometimes, they need to be towed out to sea because they’re still disoriented. This one hasn’t been beached long, so let’s hope that isn’t necessary.”
Standing in waist-deep water, the men held the dolphin upright, making sure the blowhole stayed above the surface, and gently rocked the animal from side to side.
“The rocking helps restore blood circulation,” Natalie explained.
After about twenty minutes, the dolphin suddenly came to life, squirming against the stretcher.
This was the critical moment, when we’d learn if all our work paid off, if the dolphin would swim away on its own, back out to sea, unharmed.
The dolphin gave a little kick, then slapped its fluke on the water, making a big splash that doused the men. With another slap, it pushed free of the stretcher and swam away, disappearing underwater.
We waited, watching to see if it would be all right. Natalie had said there was a chance it could seize from shock. I looked from Natalie to Kerrie. Natalie watched with anticipation. Kerrie held one hand over her mouth, hugging herself with the other. She seemed worried, like a mother watching her child be taken away in an ambulance.
A moment later, the dolphin surfaced, blowing spray into the air.
The crowd cheered. Kerrie let out a puff of air, her shoulders slumping in relief.
I watched for a little longer and then headed for shore with a big smile on my face. I glanced over to see Dalton smiling back at me.
Chapter Two
Kerrie was exhausted. I was exhausted.
“C’mon,” Natalie volunteered. “I’ll drop you at your room.” My suitcase was still strapped to the back of Kerrie’s golf cart. My first day on Bimini had been intense and I was ready for a shower and bed.
“Go ahead and take her in my cart, then come back for me,” Kerrie said and we were on our way.
The island is so narrow, for most of its seven miles, you can see water on either side—the Atlantic side on one, the bay ringed by mangroves on the other. We passed signs for Porgy Bay, Bailey Town, Alice Town—all in a short couple of miles. Along the shoreline, an occasional old boat lay on its side, thrown up on the beach by some hurricane and left there to the elements. Mounds of trash lay beside houses and restaurants amid the palm trees. Old cars were left to rust in the sun.
On the ride earlier, I’d been struck by the dramatic difference in the north end of the island compared to the south. At the north, rows of look-alike condos with manicured landscaping surrounded a six-story building, all bright white and glistening glass.
“Is that a Hilton?” I asked Natalie.
“With a casino,” she responded, the words laced with fake excitement.
“Right,” I said. “It fits on this gorgeous tropical island like a two-carat cubic zirconia ring would look on Jane Goodall’s hand.”
That made Natalie smirk. “I guess it depends on who you ask. The high-speed ferry keeps showing up from Miami full of people. Five hundred a day. They seem to like it.”
“I heard they destroyed acres of mangroves to build it and a golf course. That’s a tragedy.”
“Yeah. If only that was all. But that was just the beginning. For years, well, since the days of Hemingway, the people of this beautiful island have resisted big tourism. Sure, my father made his living from the wealthy American tourists who’d come to dive the pristine reefs and big game fishermen who’d arrive by private yacht or chartered seaplanes. But he understood that his livelihood depended on the sparkling clear waters and white sand beaches.
“Then this Malaysian company shows up one day and somehow got approval to bring 500,000 tourists a year to our tiny island. 500,000 to an island that is seven miles long. The traffic has damaged the coral reefs and the mangroves beyond repair. And they’re not stopping. Now they’re dredging channels to start bringing in cruise ships. It’s caused a big division among us islanders. My dad hasn’t spoken to my uncle in years.”
I shook my head.
“Some people are short-sighted. All they see are new jobs at the resort. They don’t see the big picture.” She went on. “The loss of the reef and mangroves will really hurt Bimini in the long run. It’s critical habitat for juvenile lobster, grouper, and conch, not to mention a natural storm protection for the island itself.”
“And once it’s gone, it can never be replaced,” I said.
“Same for the livelihood of the locals. All these small, family-owned gift shops and restaurants thought they’d get the benefit of the tourists. But that resort is an all-inclusive deal. No one leaves the property to spend any dollars. Most have had to board up their windows.”
“That’s tragic,” I said, not sure what else to say.
“It’s worse. And here’s where I get really fired up.” She brought the golf cart to a halt to pick up a beer bottle that had been left in the middle of the road. She tossed it in a basket on the back of the cart and continued on. “These waters are home to a huge range of marine animals. The endangered great hammerhead shark lives here. Loggerhead turtles. Queen conch and Caribbean spiny lobster. And of course, the Atlantic spotted dolphins.
“We have to preserve this island habitat. Not just to continue to attract the right kind of tourists, but the whole ecosystem sustains local lifestyles in other ways. But that”—she gestured over her shoulder toward the resort, a scowl on her face—“has put it all at risk.”
“I don’t understand why it was allowed.”
“A few years ago, some local leaders, my father being one of them, wrote to the prime minister, urging him to approve a plan for a marine reserve around North Bimini. He wouldn’t do it. Said Bahamians want jobs, not some fish. Instead, the government gave the resort permission for a $150 million upgrade.” She frowned. “They just don’t get it.”
“You’ve lived here your whole life?”
“I grew up here. But I got to go to college in the States. A lot of my relatives have never been off the island. They’re the ones with no options.”
“Right,” I said.
We arrived at my temporary home—a room on the backside of an old hotel, built circa. 1965.
I retrieved my suitcase and followed Natalie to my room.
“Sorry to be so negative,” she said as she opened the door for me. “Not the best first impression, I suppose.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I get it. I can’t imagine how frustrating it is.”
“Well, this is it. It’s not much, but…”
The fluorescent light flickered to life. On the far side of the room was a mini-fridge and a cart with a one-burner hot plate. A brown stain covered a corner of the linoleum floor. The bed, though, had what looked like a brand new cover and was crisply made. It reminded me of an apartment my dad and I had lived in for a couple months in the Philippines.
“It’s great,” I said.
She warned me about leaving any food out and to manage the trash or I’d get sugar ants, then said good night. “If you’re all set, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All good,” I said, shut the door behind her, and collapsed on the bed.
If that hotel and casino project had stirred up that much trouble, was it also somehow related to the problem with the dolphins?
My eyes refused to stay open. I’d have to think about it some more tomorrow when the rest of the team was scheduled to arrive.
* * *
Dawn came early. I had several hours before I was to meet Kerrie at her office, so I decided to take a walk. I needed to think, to sort out all the information I’d taken in yesterday.
My room was on the southwest part of the island, so I strolled down the beach and rounded the tip where there were no houses and stood looking out at the sea. Waves crashed onto the beach with that familiar, primal rumble. The fresh salt air and gentle breeze coming off the ocean made me feel alive. I needed this. Especially after my recent bout with the frigid Canadian wilderness.
But this wasn’t a vacation. I had to figure out what was going on. Go see what’s happening, if anything, with the dolphins down there. What kind of directive was that? Dalton and I had recently been assigned to the task force, and Ms. Hyland was our new supervisor. I still hadn’t quite figured her out. At first, I’d thought maybe this assignment was her way of giving us a little time off. Tom and Mike had been on a six month sting operation and Dalton and I had come off of a couple of intense operations when we’d joined the team. We were all a little burned out. We don’t have a home base, so why not send us to the tropics for a few weeks to recharge our batteries?
But that hadn’t seemed plausible, really.
The mission was frustratingly vague. It reminded me of those times when my mother would use the old because-I-said-so line. So aggravating. At least parents could get away with that tactic since children were dependent, had no recourse. But this was an operation and we were professionals. Sure, fresh eyes can be important, but I felt like we were going in blind.
All I knew for sure, was that a dolphin had stranded the day I arrived. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Somehow, it was related to whatever was happening with the dolphins here.
If my dad were still alive, he would say I should trust my intuition. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, he used to tell me. Use it. I would. If I had somewhere to start.
I dug my feet deep down into the sand to find the cool earth beneath as I watched a crab do that side walk-crawl thing they do along the base of a rock.
Investigating Kerrie was as good a place to start as any. She hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with information. And she’d cut off Natalie’s sentences. It could have been her stress. But maybe she had something to hide.
Her office was as she’d described, tucked away in a tiny corner of a small research building, but I managed to find it. The six by eight foot room sported wood paneling, hung in the sixties, with one window, half the glass removed for an air conditioner.
“Natalie will be busy all day with follow up from the stranding yesterday,” she said, shuffling papers around and clearing off the chair. “And after I stop by and check on a dog who’s got some kind of ear infection, I’ve got to make a report to the board. I’ll work on it at home so you can use the computer here. I’ve got a simple project for you to start with today, but we’ll get you out with the dolphins soon, in the water with them.”
“No problem,” I said, but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. “So, tomorrow maybe?”
“Yes. The weather is good. And the guide boat is going out. We don’t have our own research vessel. We team up with a local guide who takes snorkelers to swim with the dolphins. He runs SCUBA trips in the morning, then dolphin tours in the afternoon. It’s a good partnership because we get a ride and his customers like to have a researcher on board to ask questions.”
I smiled. That meant I’d be on the same boat as Dalton. For the case, it was best to split up, glean as much information as possible by working separately. But, hey, if our roles happened to overlap, so be it.
Being close to Dalton was a risk. I needed to make a decision. He was my partner and we’d gotten too close. Way too close. It had affected our performance and, in a couple situations, put us in danger. Not to mention, fraternization was forbidden in the agency. Especially among partners. I suppose that was why. Letting your guard down, even for a moment, in this job could get you killed. The answer was clear. I had to forget about him. He was simply off limits.
But then again, really, what was the big deal? So we cared about each other… aren’t partners supposed to care about each other? We had a bond. Facing those dangerous situations together helped us build trust, a connection. It was natural.
Dalton had made his opinion of the fraternization rule, and any other issues I brought up, very clear. To hell with them. But he wasn’t clear on how he felt about me, exactly.
I still couldn’t decide if it was worth the risk. I’d been working toward this point in my career my whole life. And, for all I knew, this could be one of those relationship situations where you’re drawn together simply because your lives are in danger. That didn’t mean it was a real bond. Once we weren’t partners anymore, we probably wouldn’t even be compatible.
But my god he was hot. And kind. And he seemed to really dig me.
Maybe I should’ve taken my best friend Chris’s advice and gone ahead and had sex with Dalton. Get it over with. Break the sexual tension, let off all the steam, as he’d put it. It was probably all the teasing and flirting that was distracting me. Yeah, just go ahead. It would probably actually help the situation.
No. Dalton was my partner. That was it. That was all it was going to be.
But the way he kissed, and that body, wow, could he wear a pair of jeans, he and I would—
“Are you with me?” Kerrie said.
Visions of Dalton vanished. I nodded. I had a job to do.
The project Kerrie assigned was to sort through hundreds of photographs taken of dorsal fins above water, categorize those that were out of focus or otherwise unrecognizable, then match the recognizable ones to dolphins that had already been identified. If not, put them in another folder for future identification.
“I’m not sure what you mean by matching,” I said.
“The dorsal fins are unique, kinda like a fingerprint. They have nicks and sometimes even shark bites. As you sort through, you start to recognize certain animals. You’ll see.”
She moved to leave.
“Did you say you’ve got to check on a dog?”
“Yeah, on my way home.”
“So you are a veterinarian?” Natalie had said she wasn’t. That’s why she’d called the network for help.
“No. But I’m the best they’ve got on the island. I do basic stuff between the visits from the vet who comes from Nassau once or twice a year.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I’ve really got to go,” she said and swept out the door, assuring me we’d do something more fun tomorrow. Maybe she was trying to make up for her coolness toward me yesterday. I still didn’t trust her. Something was definitely up.
Once she left, I sent a text to my team, letting them know we needed to meet tonight for an update.
* * *
We met on Tom and Mike’s fishing boat, which was in the marina not far from my room, so we could talk inside the cabin, away from any onlookers.
Though I’d been on the task force for a few months now, I was still getting to know Tom. On our first op together, in our undercover roles, we hadn’t crossed paths much, but he’d been a solid guy—polite, very professional. He might or might not have an inkling that Dalton and I had feelings for each other. I wasn’t sure what to do about that. So far, he’d been cool.
Mike, on the other hand, had a hot Italian temper and an unpredictable, loose-cannon style. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about seeing him again. He had been my partner on our first operation together and things hadn’t gone so well. The fact is, I’d learned a hard lesson about ambition and deceit. While I can’t call him a friend, I do have to work with him. I’ll never turn my back on him again, though.
They’d commandeered a forty-eight foot fishing yacht in Miami from the government shipyard, one that had been repossessed, probably for drug smuggling or tax evasion or something nefarious, and driven the fifty-some miles, through the night, across the Gulf Stream.
Maybe Tom was being influenced by Mike’s method-acting attitude because, not only did they take their undercover roles seriously and dressed for the part—Tom had on a button-down Guy Harvey shirt with tan Bermuda shorts and flip-flops, Mike wore a T-shirt with a marlin splashed with paint in red, green, and yellow, gray shorts and sandals—but they seemed so relaxed, I wondered if they’d notice if an aircraft carrier pulled into the harbor.
Dalton and I sat next to each other, across from them, in the tiny dinette. Sitting so close to him made me feel nervous. How silly. We’d been partners now for over a year. I trusted him with my life. There was nothing to be nervous about. Yet my heartbeat picked up and my mouth felt a little dry. He was just so…mmmm… Dalton smelled like the sea and soap and an indescribable masculinity that left me wanting to bury my nose in that spot where his neck meets his shoulder and maybe trail my lips up to his ear…
Concentrate. “You two like the boat?” I asked.
Tom shrugged.
Mike swigged a beer. “Not the smell. It’s only a few years old, but still, somehow, it reeks of salt, mildew, and fish guts.”
“Yes, but this boat so perfectly fits your cover as obnoxious fishermen,” I said.
“How so?” Tom asked, all innocent.
“Seriously? It’s called Droppin’ Skirts.”
“What? Skirts are a kind of fishing lure…thing,” he grinned.
“Oh, gimme a break,” I rolled my eyes.
Mike said, “Our timing is right on. There’s a big wahoo fishing tournament this week.”
“What’s a wahoo?”
They both shrugged.
Tom smiled wider. “Don’t worry, we’re studying.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be the first men ever to buy a big fishing boat and not know which end of the pole to stick in the water.”
Dalton ignored our banter. “I met the dive team today. Nice folks. Got the rundown on daily excursions. Nothing out of the ordinary. I asked about interaction with the dolphins. They seemed pretty strict about the rules for their protection.” He turned to me and I felt myself flush. “I got nothing else.”
Stay on the task, McVie. “Well, I have some interesting info. I don’t know if you heard, but yesterday, when I arrived, we went straight to the north end of the island, because a dolphin had stranded on the beach.”
Mike and Tom looked surprised.
“No kidding?” said Tom.
“What are the odds?” I said.
“What’d the researcher say about it?” Dalton asked.
“That’s just it. She was hard to read. It was pretty stressful for her, which I’m sure is normal. But I got the feeling she didn’t want to share much. Her assistant started to say something, a couple times, and she cut her off. I got the impression that wasn’t her normal manner.”
Tom leaned in. “Do you think she’s hiding something?”
“I don’t know. She did seem…tight lipped. But I have a hard time imagining it’s because she’s up to something criminal.” I turned to Dalton. “I did find out that she doesn’t have a boat of her own. We’ll be going out on your dive boat with you.” I grinned.
If he was happy about that, he revealed nothing. Typical Dalton. Not a flicker. That’s why he was so good undercover. “Yeah, I wondered about that,” he muttered, seeming to be pondering the implications.
“I know it’s not ideal. But it’s the situation. And sometimes, in the same scenario, we might see different things.” I nodded, trying to assure my team it wouldn’t be a big deal.
“Yeah, no. I’ve been thinking.” Dalton turned to the guys. “Are you two comfortable with this boat? It’s kinda big. I mean, maybe, Tom, I know you’re SCUBA certified. Maybe you’d prefer to move over to the divemaster job? I can captain for Mike.”
The wind left my sails. What was he doing? Didn’t he want to work with me?
Tom shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’m not sure that—”
Oh no. No way. “They just drove it over from Miami,” I said. “Across the Gulf Stream, no less. I’m sure they know what they’re doing. What is this about?”
Dalton held my gaze for a moment too long. “Nothing. I don’t know. I just thought—I get to dive all day. It seems too good to be true.” He smirked. “Just trying to share the love.”
Chapter Three
It was dark when we left the boat and Dalton moved to walk me to my room.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. I needed some space to sort out why he’d reacted the way he did, why he didn’t want to work with me on the dolphin boat everyday.
“I know. But I want to,” he said. “Besides, it’s not safe.”
“Not safe? This is Bimini. And I can take care of myself anyway.” I was a trained federal agent, after all. And an expert street fighter, besides.
“I know. I just…”
“You just what?”
“I just want you to be able to relax, enjoy being here. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and—”
“And you haven’t?”
He took me by the hand. “Let’s walk along the beach.”
I pulled my hand away. “What if someone sees us?”
“What if they do?” He took my hand in his again and held it tightly. “There’s no reason anyone seeing us together can’t think we’re lovers on this op.”
“What?” I spun on him, met his eyes. “A few minutes ago, you didn’t want to be near me.”
He shifted backward on his heels, leaning away from me, a look of surprise on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about?” What the hell? “You were trying to switch roles with Tom so you don’t have to be on the boat with me.”
“Well, yeah. That’s what you keep telling me, that we can’t work together. Isn’t it?”
I stared at him. It was true. I had said that…but—“Well, yeah, but—”
“But nothing.” He crossed his arms. “You’ve been really clear on the matter.”
“Yes, but—”
“You can’t have it both ways.”
God, he was so infuriating.
He looked at me with those heart-melting eyes. “I can handle it though. Can you?”