rinse the soap from the bird, splattering her clothes in the process. The water ran through the sifter screen onto the ground and over her tennis shoes.
Stephen eyed her shirt. “Maybe you should have stayed in your dry suit.”
She glanced up at him. “Had I known I’d be giving a bird a bath, I would have.” She shrugged.
“It’s punishment for being where we had no business being.” Henry turned his face away from the spray.
Henry’s paranoia was growing tiresome. “Punishment would have been if you’d had to walk into that slime with waders on to get this poor thing.” She nodded toward Rick Rogers, busy hosing down the hip waders he’d used to retrieve the two trapped geese. “We’re students, i.e. we do the grunt work that no one else wants to do. How did Rick get that job?”
“We flipped to see which one of us would have to do it,” Stephen admitted, a grin lightening his usually serious expression. He spoke perfect English, but his German accent gave his words an attractive edge.
Regan flashed Henry a look. “You can stop being paranoid. It was my dive that was reported to the powers that be, not yours.”
“How do you know?” Henry asked.
Because Quinn Douglas had taken an immediate dislike to her the moment she came out of the water. Or had he? “Just trust that I know.”
Henry focused on something behind her. “Well here comes more trouble.”
She looked over her shoulder at the dive team to find Quinn headed their way. The deliberate way he placed his feet and the graceful athletic shift of his body as he strutted toward her captured Regan’s attention. How long had he been doing saturation dives? Not long enough yet for the pressure to cause him joint problems.
“Are you four about finished here?” he asked, when he reached them.
“Yes,” Stephen answered for the group.
“Good, you can turn the goose back in down by the dock and go with me to Grannos . I need a few volunteers who know their way about boats.”
“You just found them,” Rick said, his West Texas drawl as distinctive as Quinn’s Scottish brogue. His dark hair fell over his forehead as he peeled the waders down his long legs like a banana skin and stepped out of them.
“What did you find out about the pump motors?” Henry asked as the group continued down the path.
“Lightning hit them and cracked two housings and even blew one of the fan blades off.” Quinn shook his head. “Crazy stuff this. We’re running Grannos on a skeleton crew. Four of my divers are in Edinburgh and the other six are going into the water. I need more hands on board to monitor communications and video and help with the insertion and recovery.”
“We’re your crew then,” Regan said drawing his attention momentarily and earning a glare from Henry that as good as said this is how you fly under the radar?
“Here, Quinn.” Logan handed him the wrist compass. “You might as well have this since it isn’t working properly.”
Seeing Quinn study the mechanism and giving it a shake, Regan debated whether or not to speak up. She announced, “There was something wrong with my compass yesterday. I checked it this morning and it’s still unable to give a reading.”
Quinn frowned. “Do you remember when it began to swing back and forth?”
“Just a few minutes before I reached the cofferdam. That’s why I couldn’t find it in the silt. I was looking for something to attach my emergency line to when I found the stones.”
“And got into trouble.”
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from snapping at him. Counting to ten she held her temper. Every time he poked at the sore spot, she wanted to argue with him. She started to turn away and felt his hand on her shoulder.
“You can handle the skiff can’t you?”
At her brief nod he said, “The men will be submersing from Grannos instead of the skiff. I trust you’ll get your friends there safely with the gear while I follow with the others.”
“I can do
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