He tried to focus on the word virgin. She hadn't been raped during the kidnapping. He hadn't wanted to consider that might be one of the holes in her file, but knew too well what those kinds of bastards could and would do even to a thirteen-year-old.
A thirteen-year-old who would have known the possibility existed for every torturous day of captivity. The fear had no doubt left its mark on her.
Max reached for her, needed to hold her and protect her from a helluva lot more than he'd ever dreamed. A dolphin clicked in the background. Not one of his so he ignored it along with reasonable thoughts. "Darcy, okay, you're right. Let's talk now."
She slapped his hands away. "I'm through talking to you, Max Keagan. I'm through letting you flip my world. I want my life under control again."
Slipping on her mask, she backed into the lapping tide. His emotions churned like the water kicking up behind her as she charged into the ocean, disappearing into a wave back toward their bobbing boat. He yanked his gear from the sand. She did not need to be out there alone for even a minute. With no dive partner underwater....
Underwater.
The wreckage.
With a buried cable alongside.
The search pattern unfolded in his mind. Clarified...
Why the hell hadn't he considered it before? Just because conventional technology indicated the tap would be on the cable didn't mean it had to be so. What if there was a pulse-detecting instrument close by?
Concealed. Very possibly inside the wreckage where they'd been circling, stirring God only knew what kinds of warnings. Hell.
Max shrugged into the rest of his gear. Double time.
Checked his knife strapped to his thigh. His feet pounded sand as he tightened, cinched, ran, fins last, then plunged into the surf.
He had to haul Darcy safely back to base pronto so he could start a comprehensive search. He would call Crusty to check on her. Max spotted Darcy, a dolphin fin circling ahead. Faster. Alarms jangled in his head.
The clear lagoon waters showed more than the outline of a downed plane and Darcy dipping below the surface. Dark figures, four at least, worked their way toward her. Some might have thought it nothing. Deep in his CIA seasoned gut, Max knew better.
Just like before.
A woman had been targeted because of him.
And this time he would die before letting history repeat itself.
Darcy plunged underwater, welcoming the roar of her breathing from the oxygen tank. She'd wanted a memorable farewell with Max Keagan.
She'd succeeded in spades.
Kicking her feet, she propelled herself deeper, farther away from him, her body still tingling with the lingering aftereffects of his touch. Her life had been so focused just a few short weeks ago. She'd known what she wanted. While she'd been frustrated by the obstacles and delays, she had no doubt that she could succeed in achieving her goals eventually. Never had she let anything stand in her way, not even her indomitable father.
For the first time in her life she was torn with indecision. And all because of one little kiss. Okay, and one really hot, long and insides-searing release.
Damn, but she was confused. She wanted the underwater Max back. She wanted Max. Period.
But she wanted her plane and her independence and some closure to her past. And, God, yes, she was scared spitless of a real relationship. Max might keep his distance with loner solitude, but she found hers through superficial, pal-style friendships.
Being with Max was never simple or superficial. The past hour on the sandbar proved that. His rejection, even a temporary one, hurt. Too much.
She propelled herself forward, drawn almost against her will toward the submerged Vietnam War era bomber. Barnacles encrusted rusting metal. Faded paint depicting a busty woman in a red bathing suit glimmered dimly along the side, rows of brown bombs painted to signify missions flown. Twenty-two before the plane went down. Had the crew perished with the plane?
Rainbow-colored fish streaked through the gaping cockpit window. Darcy startled back. Arms swirling beside her, she stared at the hulking metal, caught in a timeless bond with those who had gone before her.
Those who would go after.
And in that moment she was a part of something bigger than just herself. How odd to feel so very small and yet suddenly so much older at the same time. Her world focused in a flash of time that had nothing to do with proving herself to crewdogs or to her father, and everything to do with living up to the legacy of a group of leather-clad aviators who had taken hits to their craft over a foreign ocean, far away from loved ones.
For loved ones.