Read Online Sins Against the Sea by Nina Mason - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nina Mason
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bloody hell an Aframax was doing in the Minch. Where are the clean-up crews? Why have no booms or scoops yet been deployed to collect the leaking oil?”
With a disgusted snort, he added, “I hope Conch isn’t planning to pull the same crap that BP did down in the gulf…and use that glycol-based dispersant that ended up doing more harm than good. According to National Geographic, it merely made the oil sink to the bottom, where it killed even more sea life, including most of the zooplankton, which is critical to the oceanic food chain. Because of their stupidity, the local economy has collapsed…and, from what I hear, tar balls are still washing up on the beach.”
Swallowing hard, she returned the statement to her pocket. It now seemed woefully inadequate.
“I’m sure the crews are on their way,” she assured him, choosing her words carefully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I’ll make a call and try to get you some answers.”
He stood there sizing her up before he said, “While you’re at it, tell your friends an oil-spill response ought not to be based on a cost-benefit ratio. If you people had any decency, you’d be putting everything you had into stopping the oil from escaping…and collecting every drop of it that does.” He paused, shaking his head. “But look who I’m talking to. In my considered opinion, you lot are no better than the drug pushers who hang around schoolyards…or the cigarette companies who use cartoons to coerce kiddies into smoking.”
Forcing a smile, Corey stepped away, pulled out her cell, and checked the strength of the signal. One lousy bar. Shit. She walked farther up the beach, relieved that he didn’t follow, but the signal was still too weak to place a call. She headed toward the cliffs, where the signal was allegedly stronger, sweeping the flashlight beam across her path as she went, navigating around large rocks and tidal pools.
Even if she could get a signal and reach Peter, she knew she wasn’t likely to get answers that would satisfy somebody as confrontational as Lachlan MacInnes. She was starting to feel like a mouse in a room full of cats. With tears in her eyes, she climbed the wet rocks, shivering with cold and slipping more than once.
“Robharta?”
When Corey heard the voice—deep, rough, and male—she froze in her tracks. Perhaps it was one of the coastguard officers…or Mr. Trowbridge. Aiming her flashlight in the direction from which the sound had come, she saw nothing apart from the craggy cliff face. She listened hard for a long moment, but heard nothing more than the roar and hiss of the sea behind her.
Forgetting the voice for now, she checked her phone. To her dismay, the signal was still too weak to place a call. Moving farther up the rocks, she saw what looked like the entrance to a cave partially concealed by vines and shrubbery. Had the voice come from inside? Heart in throat, she called out toward the opening.
“Hello? Is somebody there?”
Silence answered her.
Heart in throat, she crept closer, calling out again. She thought she heard something—some kind of animal sound. She struggled to recall what Glen Brody and Mr. MacLeod had said about the wildlife on the island. Neither had mentioned there being wolves or bobcats or any other dangerous predators hereabouts. Only deer, geese, hedgehogs—and, absurdly, blue mermen.
She took a minute to contemplate the likely threat of the humble hedgehog. Though she had never seen one, she had a vague sense they were similar to prairie dogs. Did they live in caves? Did they turn vicious when confronted, like raccoons and badgers? She didn’t relish the idea of meeting any kind of wild animal out here all alone, even a harmless one. Just as she pivoted to head back down the hill, the man spoke again.
“Hallo? Robharta?”
Fear prickled across Corey’s skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. This time she was sure. It was definitely a male voice with a thick accent of
With a disgusted snort, he added, “I hope Conch isn’t planning to pull the same crap that BP did down in the gulf…and use that glycol-based dispersant that ended up doing more harm than good. According to National Geographic, it merely made the oil sink to the bottom, where it killed even more sea life, including most of the zooplankton, which is critical to the oceanic food chain. Because of their stupidity, the local economy has collapsed…and, from what I hear, tar balls are still washing up on the beach.”
Swallowing hard, she returned the statement to her pocket. It now seemed woefully inadequate.
“I’m sure the crews are on their way,” she assured him, choosing her words carefully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I’ll make a call and try to get you some answers.”
He stood there sizing her up before he said, “While you’re at it, tell your friends an oil-spill response ought not to be based on a cost-benefit ratio. If you people had any decency, you’d be putting everything you had into stopping the oil from escaping…and collecting every drop of it that does.” He paused, shaking his head. “But look who I’m talking to. In my considered opinion, you lot are no better than the drug pushers who hang around schoolyards…or the cigarette companies who use cartoons to coerce kiddies into smoking.”
Forcing a smile, Corey stepped away, pulled out her cell, and checked the strength of the signal. One lousy bar. Shit. She walked farther up the beach, relieved that he didn’t follow, but the signal was still too weak to place a call. She headed toward the cliffs, where the signal was allegedly stronger, sweeping the flashlight beam across her path as she went, navigating around large rocks and tidal pools.
Even if she could get a signal and reach Peter, she knew she wasn’t likely to get answers that would satisfy somebody as confrontational as Lachlan MacInnes. She was starting to feel like a mouse in a room full of cats. With tears in her eyes, she climbed the wet rocks, shivering with cold and slipping more than once.
“Robharta?”
When Corey heard the voice—deep, rough, and male—she froze in her tracks. Perhaps it was one of the coastguard officers…or Mr. Trowbridge. Aiming her flashlight in the direction from which the sound had come, she saw nothing apart from the craggy cliff face. She listened hard for a long moment, but heard nothing more than the roar and hiss of the sea behind her.
Forgetting the voice for now, she checked her phone. To her dismay, the signal was still too weak to place a call. Moving farther up the rocks, she saw what looked like the entrance to a cave partially concealed by vines and shrubbery. Had the voice come from inside? Heart in throat, she called out toward the opening.
“Hello? Is somebody there?”
Silence answered her.
Heart in throat, she crept closer, calling out again. She thought she heard something—some kind of animal sound. She struggled to recall what Glen Brody and Mr. MacLeod had said about the wildlife on the island. Neither had mentioned there being wolves or bobcats or any other dangerous predators hereabouts. Only deer, geese, hedgehogs—and, absurdly, blue mermen.
She took a minute to contemplate the likely threat of the humble hedgehog. Though she had never seen one, she had a vague sense they were similar to prairie dogs. Did they live in caves? Did they turn vicious when confronted, like raccoons and badgers? She didn’t relish the idea of meeting any kind of wild animal out here all alone, even a harmless one. Just as she pivoted to head back down the hill, the man spoke again.
“Hallo? Robharta?”
Fear prickled across Corey’s skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. This time she was sure. It was definitely a male voice with a thick accent of
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