Part 11 (1/2)

Angel took the powerboat out of Brownas Bay and across the channel to work her way up to Deepwater Bay. She watched the ocean carefully. It was Sat.u.r.day, and the water was alive with small craft.

aHang on,a Angel said to Hawk, spotting a slick ahead.

The slickas deceptively smooth surface concealed an enormous s.h.i.+ft in the current. Some of the slicks were upwellings of water from below, where the ocean was squeezed between invisible rocky barriers until water surged powerfully upward. Other slicks became whirlpools during the height of the tidal race. Small boats could be capsized and sucked down into the cold sea if the person at the helm was careless or inexperienced.

The helm bucked suddenly in Angelas hands. She was braced, expecting it. The stern of the boat drifted like the back end of a car on a patch of icy road.

Angel turned the bow into the watery skid, controlling the motion of the boat. Within seconds they shot off the slick and back into the normally roiled water that came with changing tides.

Sensing Hawkas eyes on her, Angel turned and smiled.

aFun, wasnat it?a she asked.

A black eyebrow lifted, rewarding Angelas smile.

aLooked like a rather nasty piece of water to me,a said Hawk.

aThat was just a baby. At some times of the year it gets rough, though.a aStorms?a Angel shrugged.

aStorms are bad any time of the year,a she said. aSo are the tides, if you donat know what to expect. The Inside Pa.s.sage isnat for amateurs. Ask him.a Angel gestured toward a towboat and barge. The towboat was straining northward up the narrowing channel. The thick, braided steel cable that connected the towboat to the heavily loaded barge was taut, humming with energy.

Despite the obvious laboring of the heavy engines, the towboat was barely making one knot forward speed.

aMissed the tide,a Angel said succinctly.

aWhat will happen to him?a aHeall spend the next few hours like that, going flat out and getting nowhere. Then the race will stop and heall pop forward like a cork out of a bottle. Until then, though, heas stuck, working like the devil just to stay even and keep the tow cable straight against corkscrew tidal rips.a aIs that the voice of experience talking?a asked Hawk.

Even as Hawk asked the question, he realized that he wouldnat be surprised if Angel had handled one of the tugboats that dotted the Inside Pa.s.sage. She was supremely at home on the water.

But apparently it wasnat something Angel wanted to talk about, for she didnat answer his question.

aHave you worked on towboats?a Hawk asked.

The silence stretched as Angel struggled with memories welling like blood from a fresh wound. The summer she and Grant had fallen in love, he had piloted towboats up the Inside Pa.s.sage. Even today the visceral, elemental pounding of diesel engines going flat out peeled away the years, leaving Angel naked and bleeding with memories.

aIave ridden on the towboats,a said Angel, her voice even and her eyes too dark.

aWith a man.a Angel didnat answer. It hadnat been a question.

aWasnat it, Angel? A man?a Hawkas persistence surprised her. She turned, only to find him very close.

aYes,a she said.

aThe salmon shaman?a aNo.a Angelas knuckles whitened as she clenched her hands around the wheel. She didnat notice, though. She was impaled on Hawkas dark glance.

aWho was it?a asked Hawk lazily, his eyes as intent as those of a bird of prey. aMaybe you could get me a ride.a aDerryas brother.a Angel caught the flash of surprise on Hawkas features. She knew what would come next. Turning away from Hawk, she prepared herself for it, calling up the dawn rose, pure color radiant with light, wholly serene; softness triumphant over the worst that bitter winter ice could do.

Hawk watched Angel intently. Her face gave away nothing. Whatever ghost had haunted her features for a moment had been chained again.

aDerry never mentioned a brother,a Hawk said. aIt should make it easier to get a ride.a aGrant Ramsey is dead.a Hawk was silent for an instant, searching Angelas face for the emotion he sensed locked away inside her.

aWhen?a he asked.

aA long time ago,a said Angel, her voice tired and calm.

aHe must have been much older than Derry.a aYes.a Angel turned her attention to the sea again. Just short of Deepwater Bay, a cloud of birds wheeled over the s.h.i.+fting water, gulls turning and crying like lost souls, hundreds of keening voices filling the air. Cormorants dived and gulls swooped down on them, filling their beaks with herring and then flapping off heavily as other gulls dodged and darted, trying to steal herring from the overflowing beaks of the successful gulls.

For a few minutes the water literally boiled with thousands upon thousands of herring, tiny fish hurling themselves into the air, shedding silver water drops that flashed brilliantly against the descending sun.

Automatically, Angel cut the speed of the powerboat.

aSalmon,a she said.

aRather small,a Hawk said dryly.

aNot those,a Angel said, dismissing the frantic herring. aBeneath them, driving them to the surface. Salmon are feeding way down, where the sea is almost dark. The herring come up, trying to get away. Then the birds feed on them from above and the salmon from below.a aMakes me glad I wasnat born a herring.a aTo be alive is to eat,a Angel said, her shadowed eyes searching the vibrant, seething water. aAnd, sooner or later, to die. Some die sooner rather than later.a aNot a very comforting philosophy,a Hawk said, watching Angel with eyes like very dark topaz, hard and clear.

aSometimes comfort doesnat get the job done.a As Angel spoke, she remembered the people who had tried to comfort her after the accident. They had only made her more angry. Even Derry.

It had taken Carlsonas measured cruelty to shock Angel out of self-pity. Carlson, who had loved her as much as Grant had. But she hadnat known until it was too late. It would always be too late now. They would never be lovers. They were friends, though, a friends.h.i.+p that was as deep and enduring as the sea itself.

aWhere did they go?a Hawk asked.

aSame place they came from.a Angel stared at the sea, where the herring had vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared. All that was left of the mult.i.tude of fish was a vague, metallic glitter deep within the green water, a glitter that faded as she watched.

Abruptly Angel decided that it was time and past time to go fis.h.i.+ng. Several hours of light remained, plus a tide change, and at least a few salmon were in the vicinity. No fisherman could ask for more.

Hawk read the decision in Angel.

aCan I help?a he asked.

aIall let you know.a Angel had already rigged trolling rods. It wasnat her favorite method of fis.h.i.+ng but it was better than being skunked. Besides, the salmon wouldnat be feeding on the surface until well into September.

By then Hawk would be gone.

The thought went through Angel like a cutting wheel over gla.s.s. First just the thought itself, pressure and a faint trail of emotion behind it, followed by a spreading sadness. The idea that Hawk might leave Vancouver Island without catching a salmon, without knowing the islandas rugged magic, without smiling . . .

aAngel?a asked Hawk, wondering what new ghost had risen to trouble the blue-green depths of her eyes. aIs there something I can do?a Angel blinked and focused on Hawk. He saw that the lashes fringing her eyes were long, surprisingly dark, untouched by mascara. They swept down suddenly, concealing her from his probing glance.

aTake the wheel,a Angel said, her voice tight. aPoint the bow at the headland and keep us moving slowly.a When she felt the motions of the boat change, she began letting out line into the water.

aHow deep are you going?a called Hawk from the c.o.c.kpit.

aDoes the fish finder show anything?a Hesitation, then, aSomething at about four fathoms, maybe deeper. It s.h.i.+fts fast.a aThen Iall go down twenty-five feet on one line and about thirty-three on the other.a The planer attached to the line took it down quickly. When enough line was out, Angel set the reelas brake and slipped the b.u.t.t of the rod into a holder along the side of the boat. For a moment she watched the tip of the rod. It moved subtly, rhythmically, responding to the boat sliding over the restless surface of the sea.

Within moments the second rod was set up on the starboard side. Angel paused, then shrugged.