Wild Shores

Chapter One

Austin was right in the middle of scripting a fight scene between Charos, the demon overlord, and Ciri, the Guild Hunter, when her cell phone vibrated. Wincing, she pulled her attention from the storyboard to check the number, already calculating outcomes. Depending on an assortment of variables, a phone call from Private Number at three a.m. had the potential to shoot the rest of her night and probably the next day all to hell. If she was unlucky, and if she took the call.

Between the third and fourth rings, Austin mentally factored in the likelihood there was a family emergency—low probability, no one in her family blocked their personal numbers, and if her parents or brother were in trouble, one of the others would call—versus an automated or highly motivated human solicitor for lowered credit card rates or zero-interest car loans—a slightly higher possibility, safely ignored—against a callout from the company. While the last would not be unusual, seeing as how disasters invariably happened in the wee hours, she’d just gotten back in-country after handling a high-profile personal injury suit in Malaysia and hadn’t even scheduled the after-action report meeting yet. She couldn’t be that unlucky.

She let the call go to voice mail and inserted a text bubble next to Charos’s sneering, horned head.

Today is the day you die, Guild Hunter.

I’ve heard that before.

She sketched Ciri’s smirking face in profile, the sheathed sword with its magically bejeweled pommel extending from the leather scabbard between her shoulder blades, her signature braid flowing over her shoulder. Red eyes for Charos, along with thin black lips, a scale-covered snout-like face, and curved protruding canines completed the panel.

Her cell danced on the drafting table again and she caught it with her free hand before it toppled to the rough plank floor.

“Germaine,” she said, carefully keeping her irritation from her tone as she penciled out the next sequence.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor,” Eloise’s cultured tones announced.

“You know by now,” Austin said for perhaps the hundredth time, “you can skip the honorific. A doctorate in engineering might make me capable of changing the oil in my car, if I really wanted to, but beyond that, my therapeutic skills are limited.”

“I’m quite sure I’ve heard you referred to as a miracle worker.” Eloise laughed, her melodic voice belying her analytical mind and death-defying efficiency. “I’m afraid we might have a situation that needs your very particular attention.”

Of course she did. There’d be no other reason for the VP of Operations of the U.S. division of General Oil and Petroleum to be calling personally at any time of the day or night. Austin set her drafting pencil aside, pushed her wheeled stool back from the table, and pivoted away, staring across her cabin to the dark windows that looked out over the Hudson. “How much of an issue? I’ve only been back in the country a few days, and I was hoping to go off the grid for a bit.”

She didn’t add that she had a deadline in a few weeks for the first draft of the graphic novel she was adapting from a paranormal urban fantasy series. That part of her life was private and bore no relationship to what she did for GOP. Even her family didn’t know about her secret career, not that they’d put much stock in it. They’d far rather see her embroiled in a big burn or a high-profile media extravaganza with the potential for fireworks—no matter how metaphorical. Drawing and texting comics was something for teenagers.

“Rig 86 has a breach,” Eloise said coolly and without apology for derailing Austin’s plans, giving no indication of precisely how serious the situation might be.

Serious was a given. The company had land and offshore drilling sites throughout the world, and breaches were not uncommon. Usually they were small, confined, and repaired before anyone outside the company was really aware of the potential problem. If they were calling Austin, the company was worried.

“How large?” she asked.

“At the moment, a flow rate of only a few thousand barrels a day.”

Austin walked through the living room to her bedroom beyond, opened the closet door, and pulled out her go bag. “Chance for containment?”

“Uncertain at this time.”

She transferred shirts, pants, socks, and underwear from the rough oak dresser against one wall into the bag. Her toiletries and work boots were already loaded. Anything else she needed, she’d buy wherever she was going. Her wallet was on the dresser and she slid it into her back pocket. “Escalation potential?”

“Moderate at this point.”

“Where is it?”

“About fifty miles from the Maryland shore.”

“Damn.” Why didn’t these spills happen in unpopulated areas far from TV cameras, fishing waters, and beaches?

“Your flight has been scheduled to leave Albany at six,” Eloise went on as if they’d been discussing a board meeting. “You’ll transfer to a regional plane at BWI that will take you to Rock Hill Island. The present point of operations is at the Hilton nearest there.”

“Who’s the incident commander?”

“Ray Tatum. He’s aware you’ll be arriving.”

“How long do we have before we need to go public?”

“We’ll make that assessment when you arrive.”

“You have a marine meteorologist available?”

“We will have. She’s flying in from Philadelphia at about the same time you are.”

“All right. I’ll be in touch.”

“There is one other thing,” Eloise said in the same cool, even tone.

Austin tensed. Eloise was about to drop the hammer. “What would that be?”

“There’s a large wildlife refuge on Rock Hill Island and surrounds. It’s a well-known stopover for migratory birds and this is apparently the beginning of their nesting season. The area is a popular tourist destination.”

“Where is it relative to the rig?” Austin locked the cabin, tossed her bag in the back of the Jeep, and climbed in.

“The island is almost directly in line with our rig and presently represents the outermost point of contact should the spill progress toward land.”

“In other words, a PR nightmare.” And now she understood why she’d been called at such an early point. Eloise wouldn’t say it, but the company was counting on her to keep a lid on news of the breach. What she needed to do was plug the leak in terms of publicity, and if this wildlife refuge became threatened, to minimize the bad press.

“I’m sure you’ll handle it.”

“What do we know about this place and the people?” It was probably too much to hope they’d find someone sympathetic—environmentalists generally were opposed to any kind of drilling and, once an accident occurred, took full advantage of the situation to lobby against the whole industry.

“I’m afraid not very much,” Eloise said. “I have people working on that now, but you’ll probably never need to interface with them.”

Austin read between the lines. Make sure the environmentalists don’t get wind of the threat.

“Right.” Austin backed down the drive. “By the time I get there, the problem might already be solved.”

“Precisely.”

“Right.” Austin disconnected and drove toward the river, a black ribbon under the moon, quiet and still and deadly. Right.

❖

“We’ll be landing through a bit of a storm moving in from the south,” the pilot announced. “Might be a bit bumpy for a few minutes, so I’ll ask everyone to keep your seat belts on and close up your electronics at this time.”

Gem flagged the page in the latest population report she’d received from the Carolina Coastal Observatory, closed her iPad, and slid it into her computer bag under the seat in front of her. She’d known the storm was coming and had caught the earliest flight out of Hartford she could before the anticipated fog rolling in with the front grounded planes along the East Coast. She’d been lucky to get one of the last coach seats still open. She didn’t mind stormy weather—in fact, she often stood on the shore waiting for a front to roll in just to watch the beauty of the clouds roiling in the sky, dark blues and purples swirling and dancing, as if an invisible artist mixed the colors on a wild palette in a frenzy of creation. She loved the way the wind buffeted her hair and plastered her clothes to her body, the stinging bite of the first needle-sharp raindrops bringing every sense and cell to life. The sea felt it too—cresting and crashing as to the call of the wind. While she was often the only human on the beach, life around her pushed on as if in a race with the storm to lay claim to the shore. Terns and gulls scurried along the edge of the frothing waves, plucking up the sea creatures that struggled valiantly against the battering push and pull of the tides.

Even when the rain blew in solid sheets of icy water, she’d often stay, the scent of fresh pure air and the untamed sea filling her with wonder and peace. She loved those solitary moments when she knew in her bones her life was nothing but an inconsequential point in a vast continuum of time.

As much as she loved those moments of abandon, she detested flying in airplanes. The unnaturalness of it, being contained in a metal canister, breathing recycled air and other things she’d rather not consider, reminded her of how land bound she was and how different from the creatures she envied.

As the plane began to descend, she remembered the first time she’d told her mother she wanted to be a bird.

“Why is that?” her mother had asked patiently, never laughing at any of her wild fantasies.

“Because they can go anywhere they want, and they’re never really alone, even when they’re by themselves in the sky.”

Her mother studied her and nodded gravely. “You know what we call that, honey?”

She’d shaken her head.

Her mother had patted her hair. “We call that freedom.”

Freedom. Yes, but even the free flying creatures she loved were not really free, but bound by some innate instinct that directed their life cycle and bade them return to certain places every year, against all odds or adversity. They followed the call of some distant drummer, on a stage too ancient and too primal for her to ever understand. But she’d keep trying, and keep envying them.

The plane bumped down, bumped again, and the deceleration pulled her forward in the seat until the plane came to a halt. She glanced out the window, but it might as well have been midnight rather than just after seven a.m. Thick fog blanketed the runway. The lights from the terminal barely penetrated the murk. They were lucky they’d been able to land at all. She could have been diverted to Philadelphia or worse, where she’d end up spending days trying to get to the coast.

Still, her connection was undoubtedly going to be grounded.

As soon as the flight attendants opened the doors, she grabbed her computer bag and carry-on and trooped out, breaking away from the crowd as quickly as she could and heading for the rental car area. The lines snaked away from every counter, two and three people deep, as the departure board flashed canceled after nearly every flight.

She picked the shortest line and hoped for the best. She would have dearly loved a cup of coffee, but she wasn’t giving up her spot for anything. She flicked through email while she waited, answered a few, and as she drew closer to the counter, began to hear snippets of conversation between stranded passengers and harried service representatives. The news wasn’t encouraging.

A middle-aged man in a rumpled white shirt, business pants, and a monogrammed briefcase slung over one shoulder by a hand-tooled leather strap announced angrily, “Look, I’ve got to have a car. I have an important meeting in two hours and I’m going to have to reschedule that as it is.”

“I’m really sorry, sir, but our only remaining vehicles are reserved, and we can’t release them—”

“Have you looked outside? Those people with reservations aren’t going to be arriving. I’m here now. I need to have a car.”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the woman said again, her tone unbelievably calm considering the morning she must be having, “but we are not authorized to release any of the reserved—”

“I want to see a manager.”

“I’m afraid he won’t be in—”

“Never mind. I’m sure one of the other agencies can take care of me.” He spun around, knocking into the woman behind him. She stumbled back and collided with Gem.

“Oh!” Gem’s phone slipped from her hand and, off balance, she made a clumsy grab for it.

“Sorry,” a dark-haired woman said in a husky, rich alto. Somehow, Gem’s phone was miraculously scooped from the air by a long-fingered hand. “Got it.”

Gem straightened and met bittersweet chocolate eyes shot through with gold. “Thanks.”

“I think it was my fault you dropped it. Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault. It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it?”

The woman shrugged. “That’s what we get for trying to outsmart Mother Nature.”

Gem grinned. “But we’ll keep trying.”

“Undoubtedly.”

The stranger was about Gem’s age, dressed in khakis, a pale-blue cotton shirt, and casual boots, and carrying a worn leather satchel in one hand and an equally travel-weary computer bag slung over the other shoulder. Her collar-length, layered dark brown hair verged on black. The angular slant to her arching cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and bronze skin tones hinted at the Mediterranean somewhere in her ancestry. Her lips parted in a full, confident smile, and Gem felt herself blush. She was staring. She never did that.

“I think you’re up.” Gem nodded toward the counter. The woman looked over her shoulder and back at Gem as if reluctant to end the conversation. Gem was certain she was making that part up, but an unusual spark of interest shot through her nonetheless. “Good luck.”

“Appreciate it.” Austin didn’t expect to have any better luck than the fellow who’d knocked into her. Dozens of other passengers milled about in the same fix and no one seemed to be getting any vehicles, but she’d waited this long and might as well try. She smiled at the petite redhead behind the counter. “Hi.”

“Your name please?”

“I don’t have a reservation.” Austin paused. Her flight had been short, but Eloise had called hours ago. Given the time it had taken her to drive to the airport and catch her plane, maybe Eloise had used her crystal ball. “I don’t think.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Check under Germaine.” She spelled it, glad she’d automatically lined up at the rental place the company always used.

“Oh. I have it.” The redhead smiled for the first time in twenty minutes. “You’re lucky. It came in right before the rush hit.”

“Better lucky than good,” Austin said.

The agent laughed again and raised a brow. “Sometimes it’s nice to be both.”

“You’re right.” Austin grinned. She enjoyed flirting with women. She enjoyed women, when she could. At the moment, she couldn’t, so she signed the necessary papers and stepped aside to file them away in her briefcase. The blonde she’d bumped into stepped up to the counter.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a reservation. And I suspect that’s not a good thing.”

The cute redhead sighed. “I’m so sorry. We simply don’t have any other vehicles.”

“Do you think I’d have any better luck elsewhere?”

The redhead looked down the counter at the long lines at every rental car agency. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone without a reservation is going to get a car today. You’d be better off using your time trying to find a hotel room. There won’t be many of those left either.”

“Well, thanks anyways.”

Austin collected her keys and caught up to the blonde as she wended her way through the mass of people milling about. She’d been stranded plenty of places in her travels around the world, and more than one stranger had helped her out with directions, impromptu rides, or in a few cases, even offered her a room when she would have been sleeping on a bench otherwise. Returning the favor only seemed right, and the fact that the blonde was beautiful had nothing to do with it.

“Excuse me,” Austin said as she drew alongside the blonde. “I’m not sure we’re going in the same direction, but if we are, I’ve got one of the last vehicles leaving today. Maybe I can give you a ride somewhere.”

The blonde stopped and regarded her contemplatively.

Austin grinned. “I know you don’t know me, but I’ve got references if you need them.” She patted her briefcase. “ID provided on demand.”

The blonde laughed and held out her hand. “I’m Gillian Martin. Most people call me Gem.”

Austin took her hand. “Austin Germaine. Nice to meet you. Again.”

“It is.”

Gem’s tone was thoughtful, and Austin somehow knew she meant it. An unfamiliar pleasure stirred in her chest. She traveled constantly, met new people the world over, but rarely connected with anyone. She had gotten used to being alone and was rarely aware of being lonely. But right at this moment, she realized she had been. “So, about a ride?”

She heard the hopeful note in her voice and didn’t care. Her breath caught as she waited for the answer.

“I’d very much like a ride, but unfortunately, I doubt we’re going in the same direction. I’m headed to a little place off the coast no one except avid birdwatchers tends to visit this time of year.” She cocked her head, her gaze sweeping down Austin’s body. “I don’t suspect you’re one of those.”

“I’m afraid not.” Austin never discussed her work for the company and had even less reason to talk about her other work. She often felt as if she led a secret life, and the person she was there, no one actually knew. “Where is this place?”

“It’s called Rock Hill Island. It’s—”

“About two hundred miles from here as the crow flies,” Austin said, “or it would be, if not for the fog. Would you believe me if I said I was headed there myself?”

Gem laughed and shook her head. “As a matter of fact, no. Why ever for?”

Austin grinned and chose a half-truth. “A working vacation. I’ve got a deadline, and I like to get away where I can concentrate and be waited on at the same time.”

“Well then, it appears it’s fate. I’d love a ride.”

“Perfect.” Austin didn’t believe in fate, but she did believe in luck, and at least for the moment, hers was looking up. That was likely to change when she reached Rock Hill Island and liaised with Ray Tatum, but until then, she’d enjoy a beautiful woman’s company while wearing the secret skin that fit her best.