4

Evan held her gaze. “I know who you are, Dr. Fitzgerald.”

She raised her brows and dropped his hand as if it burned her. “Does my reputation precede me?”

“Varian Sparrow and I go way back. He told me you were coming.”

“I see. Well, then, as you know why I’m here, I’d like permission to dive in the lake. Explore the ruins. Take photos. That kind of thing.”

“Why?”

Lou frowned, confused. “You said you knew I was coming.”

“Yes, but why the sudden interest in a lake that’s been there so long? After all, it was constructed before World War II.”

“History is buried down there.” Dr. Fitzgerald spoke slowly as if explaining the basics to a small child. “Varian wants the ruins catalogued before they vanish for good. He insists that with the levels in the lake this low, now is the best time to do it.”

“I’d say you’re several years too late for that. Everyone connected with the lake, the building of the dam, and flooding of the village is long dead.”

“Ah, but in my line of work that’s always the case. It’s surprising what you can learn from what people left behind, Mr. Close.” She tugged a folder from the case in her hand and removed a sheaf of photos. “Look at these.”

Evan snatched them and flicked through them. His stomach sank further with each photo. How had she gotten hold of these? And why was he only seeing them for the first time now? What kind of a game was Varian playing?

He glanced up. “And this proves what?” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice on an even keel, despite the turmoil surging within him.

“That something is still down there. Those photos are of items washed up along the shoreline over there. The church is proof some of the buildings are still intact. Three weeks is all I’m asking.”

Evan paused as he considered the idea. Three weeks was an eternity. Three days would be too long. “I really don’t see—”

“Mr. Close, that”—Dr. Fitzgerald interrupted him as she jabbed at a photo—“is the burned femur of a child.”

“You don’t know that. It could be anything. An animal or…”

“I can assure you it’s not an animal bone. It’s a child, aged around seven or eight.” She cut him off. “It’s my job to know that. I also happen to know that there are no death certificates for burn victims in the area in at least the last one hundred years. Now, either you let me dive or my office sends the photo and the bone to the police, and this whole area becomes a crime scene.” She stared him down, her face firm and her jaw set. “It’s your choice.”

Choice? Yeah, right. What choice did he have? He narrowed his eyes. “It sounds more like blackmail to me, Dr. Fitzgerald.”

She tilted her head, her gaze never leaving his face. “Not at all. Simply stating facts. Not to mention that the press would also have a field day with these photos.”

Evan sucked in a deep breath. This woman had the means to be an irritating thorn in his flesh. “Ten days,” he said firmly.

That would give him more than enough time to negotiate with the river authorities and tidal control and have water diverted long enough to refill the reservoir, essentially re-flooding the valley. The soonest he could organize that would be a just under a week. If it happened sooner, before she finished, it would hardly be his fault.

Dr. Fitzgerald shook her head, her ponytail whipping from side to side. “That is nowhere near long enough.”

“That is all the time you can have,” he reiterated firmly.

“In that case I shall do as many dives as I see fit. Night time ones, too, if needed. I’ll also require unlimited access to the dam, lake, and surrounding land.”

He hesitated before giving her a curt nod. “You’ve heard the rumours?”

“That this place is haunted?” She rubbed the back of her neck, a smirk on her lips. “I don’t believe in ghosts, Mr. Close, nor am I afraid of them. I prefer working when no curious onlookers are around, so the ghost stories will be a great deterrent.” She held out her hand. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

He captured her hand, only instead of shaking it, he raised it slowly to his lips and kissed it softly, never once breaking eye contact with her. He noted with satisfaction that her eyes glistened and her cheeks flushed. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined. He’d thrown her off balance and that was exactly what he wanted. He smiled. “I’m sure we will meet again. Dark Lake is a small village.” He inclined his head. “Dr. Fitzgerald, Charlie.”

He spun on his heel and headed towards the office to find Jasper. He had many things to put in motion and very little time to do it.

~*~

Lou watched Mr. Close walk away, shockwaves rippling from the back of her hand to her core. She could still feel the imprint of his lips, fire burning there as much as on her cheeks.

Talk about taking her by surprise. She hadn’t expected him to act like a gentleman. Kissing the back of one’s hand was so old fashioned. Only found in the Jane Austen novels she’d read, not that she’d admit to reading them if anyone asked. She also read contemporary romance, as well as some of the grittier ones—preferring the suspense genre to straightforward love stories. She read a lot for relaxation. She needed to in her line of work; otherwise, she’d never switch off.

Plus, reading helped on those nights she couldn’t sleep. When the memories hit her head on, forcing her to relive over and over things she’d rather forget. And diving wouldn’t help that one little bit. In fact, it’d probably make things worse for a while. Not that she needed that on top of everything else.

A touch on her arm brought her back to the here and now. She shook her head and sighed. “Sorry. My mind went off on a tangent for a moment.”

“It’s fine. I asked if you wanted to go and hire the scuba gear,” Charlie asked.

Lou nodded. “Yes. And I need to brief the rest of the team Varian said he’d arrange.”

Charlie frowned. “What team?”

She raised an eyebrow. “He said…”

“You should know by now, girlie, what Varian says and what Varian does are two totally separate things. There is you and me and a couple of blokes from the pub who know how to dive. That’s it.”

“Great,” she muttered, tempted to correct both his grammar and the use of the word girlie, but really couldn’t be bothered. For a second, she wondered if she should turn around and go home. Forget the whole thing. Then again, she’d just gone to bat with Mr. Close and fought for the right to do this. “Fine, OK. You ring them and get them here. I’ll call Varian and find out what game he thinks he’s playing.”

As Charlie left, Lou leaned against the parapet, gazing out over the water at the church spire. The stone work at the base, right above the water level, appeared to be blackened. Had there been a fire at some point in its history? It would explain the burned bone, but not the lack of records anywhere.

She tugged her phone from her pocket. Taking a deep, calming breath, she rang Varian.

“This is Varian Sparrow. Leave a message.”

The calming breath evaporated. She glowered. “It’s Lou. And I’m not surprised you don’t have the guts to answer your phone. This is a shambles, Varian. Shambles with a capital S, H, A, M and every other letter in the word. There is no team. There is no permission to dive or anything else, for that matter. You are jolly lucky I’m not resigning on the spot. You send AJ and Clara up here on the double, or I am quitting. In fact, they’d better be here by morning, or I hand those photos to the cops and walk.”

She shoved the phone into her pocket, spun around, and walked back to the car. Easing into the vehicle, she made several more calls, the first to the scuba diving company to arrange the equipment hire. She charged that and everything else to the company credit card without any hesitation.

Finished with the remaining calls, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to regain her equilibrium. Every part of her was screaming to leave, let someone else do this. But she wasn’t a coward. If she were, she’d have given up long ago.

Lou rubbed her hands over her face. She didn’t have time to sit here and let Varian wind her up further. She started the car and drove back into the village, parking once again in the small hotel car park.

She wandered along the single street of shops. She checked the small estate agents in the hope there would be a holiday home or short term let she could rent as she was sick of hotels. But there was nothing. As she went back onto the cold, grey street, her phone rang.

Lou grimaced as she read the name on the screen. At least he’d had the decency to return her call before the day was out for once. She stood to the side of the pavement, not wanting to either walk and talk, or get in the way of other pedestrians. “Varian, how lovely of you to call me back. How are you?” Somehow, she managed to inject a half-hearted attempt at sarcasm into her voice.

“Busy. I’ve arranged for a supply of diving gear, tanks, valves, and so on to be delivered to the dam for you. You won’t need to order anymore off your own bat, so don’t even think about doing so. You can have AJ but that’s it. Clara stays here and works with Monty.” His terse tone annoyed Lou further.

“Excuse me?” For a nanosecond, Lou wasn’t sure she’d heard Varian correctly. “I thought you said I could only have AJ.”

“That’s because I did say that. I need Clara here.”

“If you want Dark Lake excavated properly, then I need help to do it. A local know-it-all along with two blokes from the pub with questionable diving experience, does not an archaeological team make. It doesn’t cut it. I need people I can trust, especially under water with potentially hazardous debris all over the place, not to mention people who know what they’d be doing, and they certainly can’t know how I like things done. Mr. Close has given me ten days to do this, and that was grudgingly. I meant what I said about quitting. You can find someone—”

The line went dead, and Lou growled in frustration. “Fine. Hang up on me. I’ll resign by e-mail.”

“The service probably dropped.” A deep voice spoke behind her. She’d only heard it once, but she recognized it. “It does that quite often up here. Something to do with the weather or something.”

Lou turned around to face him. “Hello, again, Mr. Close.”

“You seem stressed, Dr. Fitzgerald. Is everything all right?”

“Just peachy,” she murmured. Then she breathed out her frustrations and shoved her phone and hands into her pockets. This wasn’t Mr. Close’s fault, and she shouldn’t take it out on him. “No, not really. Everything is about as far from all right as it’s possible to get. But that is just par for the course, right now. You own all this land, right?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I don’t suppose you could tell me some of the history, could you? Background information and so on.”

Hesitation, or was that reluctance, flickered in Mr. Close’s eyes. “All right.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll buy you coffee. That is if I can find a coffee shop. I’m still finding my way around here.”

“I can go better than coffee,” he said. “We’ll have lunch. It can be my treat for boring you rigid with the village history.” He waved a hand. “This way.”