LITMIR.BIZ

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switched sides.

      Jason hadn’t known about their marriage, but perhaps he’d heard a few random details about the divorce. They’d separated after she almost died in a car accident, which didn’t cast Sean in a very positive light. His ex-wife also had a singular effect on people, especially men, and Jason had a weakness for the ladies.

      He’d never met a beautiful woman he didn’t want to sleep with.

      Sean could practically hear him thinking, “You dumped her? Are you insane? She’s hot.”

      She’d dumped him, not the other way around, but almost everyone assumed the failed relationship was his fault. They were right, in a way. He’d been unable to protect her, incapable of comforting her and at an utter loss for the right words to say to her.

      “Why isn’t it…eating?” she whispered, her voice wavering.

      “A pause between the first strike and a feeding isn’t unusual. We think they’re making sure the prey is in no condition to fight back.”

      This sea lion wouldn’t put up a fuss—not without a head. White sharks often attacked by ambush, rocketing toward the target from underneath and incapacitating it in one fatal blow. The current victim had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, swimming too far from the shallows and too close to the surface.

      Although blood no longer gushed from the wound, the animal’s exposed vertebra was a grisly sight, and the air was thick with the smell of death. Seabirds waited on nearby perches, feathers fluttering, ready to snap up a meaty scrap.

      Sean watched Daniela’s throat work as she swallowed back her nausea. She was holding up well, considering. As a marine biologist, she’d interacted with dangerous animals before. They’d worked in the field together on a regular basis, so he knew her level of expertise.

      He’d seen her reach out to stroke the slippery back of a stingray, grin with delight when visited by a school of blue sharks, stand up to a braying Northern seal and get bitten on her pretty little backside as she beat a hasty retreat.

      Daniela had a way with animals, a confidence gained from experience and a natural ease that couldn’t be taught. She wasn’t a shark expert, however, and the great whites at the Farallones were like no other predator on earth.

      With her unsteady nerves and devastating personal history, she wasn’t the best candidate for this kind of research.

      The sight of a white shark breaching, or propelling its massive body above the surface of the water during the initial attack was heart-stopping. There was also no way to predict this occurrence, so footage of it was rare. Unlike in the movies, most sharks didn’t advertise their locations by flashing fins before a bite.

      Feeding frenzies were also unusual. After the kill, whites ate with economical efficiency, and they weren’t the most dexterous of fish. If their movements caused the surface of the water to bubble like a pot of seafood gumbo, it was because they were powerhouses, not because they were doing underwater gymnastics.

      Sean knew what to expect, but the wait always created tension. Anticipating Daniela’s reaction made the situation more uneasy.

      The whaler was only fifteen feet long, and it seemed to shrink as time dragged on. A patch of coastal fog settled over the upper half of the island, bringing with it an eerie quiet, a silence charged with dread and unholy glee.

      At Skull Rock, beady-eyed scavengers shuffled their clawed feet.

      When the shark broke through the surface of the water, Daniela startled, almost dropping the video camera. She took a series of short, quick breaths, fright apparent on her fine features, the rapid beat of her pulse visible in her slender neck.

      Sean didn’t need a Ph.D to diagnose her anxiety, or any special intuition to realize she was reliving the trauma of the wreck. Her face was so pale, he feared she would faint. He considered dropping the tagging equipment to offer her his assistance. Brent, whose attention should have been focused on directing the underwater camera, seemed concerned by her distress. And it went without saying that Jason was enraptured.

      Just as Sean was about to call off the shoot, Daniela pulled herself together. Spine straightening, she held the video camera in a steady, if white-knuckled, grip.

      The evidence of her courage caused a strange welling of emotions within him. Pride, and sadness and regret. His eyes watered and his throat closed up. How ironic, he thought, if he turned out to be the one who couldn’t hold it together.

      After a moment, the pressure in his chest eased and he was able to drag his gaze away from her. The white had moved in and was nibbling a big chunk of flesh from the decapitated sea lion’s side. By the looks of it, the shark was an adult, and good-sized, too. At least eighteen or nineteen feet.

      “It’s Shirley,” Jason said, a grin lighting across his face.

      “It sure as hell is,” Sean replied, returning his smile.

      Shirley was a breeding female, and that was always a welcome sight at the Farallones. She had a crescent-shaped scar above her left eye, small but easy to recognize, and she was often spotted with her full-figured friend, Laverne.

      The pair had been named by Sean a couple of years ago. Jason had seen them both last year, but hadn’t been able to tag either. The number of great whites in the world was ever-dwindling, and the circle of shark researchers was small. Although Jason and Sean didn’t know each other that well, they knew a lot of the same sharks.

      They studied Shirley in reverent silence while she tore and chewed and swallowed. A flurry of greedy seagulls dogged her every movement, snatching up stringy bits of gore, wings flapping. While the effect wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, the mood on the boat was no longer sinister, and any hint of animosity from Jason was gone.

      Still smiling, he eased the whaler in closer.

      “Wh-what are we doing?” Daniela asked, one hand reaching out to grab the edge of the hull, steadying herself.

      Sean’s blood turned to ice. “Keep your hands inside the boat.”

      “Why? It’s over there.”

      “One of them is over there,” he corrected, trying not to visualize Laverne breaching beside the boat, taking most of Daniela’s arm with her.

      She snatched her hand back. And just like that, she lost her focus. Letting the camera sag, she searched the surface of the water with terrified eyes, pressing her palm to her lower abdomen in a way that was familiar and absolutely heartbreaking.

      Sean wanted to kick himself. He didn’t know what he should have said differently, or what to say now to calm her down.

      “Look at me,” Jason said.

      Gulping, she met his steady gaze.

      “We’re going in closer to tag her. It only takes a minute. And Sean’s a pro. You know that, right?”

      Her eyes darted from him to Sean. “Yeah,” she said, moistening her lips.

      “Good. You just keep filming. You’re doing a great job.”

      Brent nodded helpfully. “You’ll be fine.”

      Like a trooper, she put the camera back up to her face and resumed filming. Her movements were stiff, even robotic, but she was working through the fear, maintaining her composure and refusing to let the past overwhelm her.

      He hazarded a glance at Jason, who merely shrugged and maneuvered the whaler into position. Sean should have felt grateful that someone had been coolheaded enough to help Daniela. Instead, he was sick with envy.

      And Brent knew it. Sean could tell by the way he averted his eyes, turning his attention back to the surface of the water.

      Unlike Jason, Sean didn’t have an easy way with words. He wasn’t suave, expressive or articulate. His inability to communicate his feelings to Daniela had played a major role in their breakup. And just now, his thoughtless comment had caused her panicked

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