was in his face, and his eyes were slits. Angry black flies swarmed around him, attacking his wounds. He was in pain, yet his posture was defiant.
Skell stood in the bow, bare chested. His skin was as white as milk, his torso lean and sinewy. He'd gotten several tattoos while in prison, all of them in vibrant colors. From a distance they looked like scars.
Skell was yelling at Perez, telling him to make the boat go faster. His voice was high pitched, almost a scream. His sociopathic rage had taken over.
I swam toward the boat, my flippers propelling me effortlessly through the water. I was directly in their line of vision, but they weren't looking my way. In the distance I could see the FBI cutter, coming fast.
“This is the spot,” Perez called out.
“You sure?” Skell shouted back.
“Yeah, man.”
“Then let's do it.”
Perez stopped the engine, and the boat came to a halt. Bending down, Skell lifted Melinda out of the boat and stood upright with her in his arms. She looked dead, and for a moment I thought I was too late. Then her fingers fluttered like a butterfly's wings. It did something to my heart, and I hurtled myself toward her.
A loud blast ripped through the air. The cutter was a hundred yards away, and a man wearing an FBI slicker stood on the bow, wielding a bullhorn.
“This is the FBI,” the man announced. “Stop what you're doing and put your hands into the air.”
“Cover me,” Skell said.
Perez pulled a gun from his waistband. He turned and faced the cutter.
“I repeat, stop what you're doing!”
“Fuck you!” Perez screamed.
On the cutter another man wearing an FBI slicker appeared. He had a rifle, which he aimed at Perez. The shot ripped across the ocean.
Perez grabbed his arm. Then he fell, rocking the boat.
“Put the girl down,” ordered the man with the bullhorn.
I was fifteen feet from the boat. Looking at Skell, I knew he wasn't going to comply. Killing was what defined his existence and would keep him alive in my memory long after he was gone. With a defiant yell, he tossed Melinda into the water.
Diving beneath the boat, I watched Melinda sink. Her body looked weightless, almost poetic. Reaching the ocean floor, she slipped behind a coral ledge, and disappeared from my sight.
I propelled myself toward her. I had never been this deep before and had no idea what I was getting into. The thought was unsettling. Then I remembered Melinda's testimony at Skell's trial, and the courage it had taken to go down that road.
I owed her.
A dark shadow loomed overhead. Thinking it was the FBI cutter, I looked up and saw that I was wrong. It was Skell, chasing me.
Skell had ripped off the rest of his clothes and was naked. The crazed look in his eyes was still there. Clutched in his hand was a knife normally used to fillet fish. He used the knife to slice the water like he was in a street fight.
In seconds he was on top of me. I swam backwards with my flippers until I was safely away from him. He stopped over the spot where Melinda had disappeared and started treading water. Then he motioned to me.
I instantly understood. Skell was going to stay right where he was. Either I engaged him and we fought it out, or I stayed back and let Melinda drown.
Those were my options.
I charged him.
The element of surprise was mine. I grabbed his wrist with one hand and punched him in the face with the other. It had to hurt, because he made a noise that was loud enough for me to hear underwater.
Then Skell cut me.
It wasn't a deep gash, just a run of the blade across my left forearm. But the ribbon of blood was enough to get my attention. It clouded the water and told me I was in trouble. Again I propelled myself backwards.
Skell remained where he was. I got set to charge him again, then felt an enormous thrush of water. It was a feeling that every swimmer dreaded. A big fish was lurking behind me.
I froze as a male lemon shark swam past. It was easily three hundred pounds. The shark was checking us out, just as the school of sharks had checked me out the other day. I placed my hand on its side and guided it toward Skell.
Skell's face darkened. He didn't understand that the shark wouldn't hurt him and was only guarding something on the ocean's floor. He didn't understand that there was no immediate danger. As the shark got within his range he thrust his knife into its side.
There was a violent thrashing, followed by an explosion of blood and bubbles. I ducked to get out of its way and watched the shark go straight down.
I righted myself and stared through my steamy mask. Skell hadn't moved from his spot. A chunk of shark flesh was impaled on the point of his knife. He picked it off and stuck it into his mouth. Then he began to chew.
Again I felt a powerful thrush of water. The wounded lemon shark raced past and grabbed Skell's head in its powerful jaws. The crazed look on Skell's face changed to one of pure terror. He struggled violently, but could not break free.
My lungs were about to burst, and I propelled myself up. Moments before my head broke the surface, I listened hard, and was certain I could hear Skell screaming.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Air had never tasted so sweet. The FBI cutter was parked next to Perez's boat. Two men wearing wet suits and scuba equipment were on deck, preparing to take the plunge.
“Over here,” I yelled to them.
They jumped into the water and swam over to me.
“Where's the guy who threw the girl into the water?” one of the divers asked.
“Dead,” I said.
“How about the girl?”
“Follow me. I'll show you.”
I took them down to the coral ledge and pointed at the spot where I'd last seen Melinda. The divers glided effortlessly past me. I stopped at the ledge and waited. The pressure was intense, and my head began to throb. After what seemed like an eternity, the divers swam past, holding Melinda between their arms. With her flowing blond hair she looked just like a mermaid. I said a silent prayer as she passed.
One of the divers spotted me. With his head, he indicated the ocean floor. It was a simple gesture, one I didn't understand.
I started to follow him up. The diver stopped and repeated the gesture. I looked through his mask at his eyes and saw pain.
I swam back to the ledge and looked straight down. The first thing that caught my eye was the school of lemon sharks swimming below, the next the hull of a boat covered in a fine brown silt. As the silt moved with the current, other shapes appeared. Then my throat constricted, and I saw what the diver had seen: the decomposed bodies of Chantel, Maggie, Carmen, Jen, Krista, Brie, and Lola, each with lead weights ties around her ankles and wrists. They were lying so close together they could have formed a circle had they still been alive. Perez had dumped their bodies there in an effort to frame me, and I thought back to all the times I'd swum here in the past six months. Once a day, sometimes more. Perhaps Rose was right. Perhaps their spirits were clinging to me, so strong was their desire for vindication. Perhaps this was why I couldn't let go.
A minute later, I was standing on the cutter's deck with the crew, watching a pair of medics try to revive
