“I assume Frik’s with him.”

Saaliim shook his head. “He with Mr. Brousseau out at Dragon’s Mouth.”

“Simon? He’s not diving, is he?”

“Yes. As we speak.”

“Assholes,” Peta muttered. Simon had no business diving in his condition, and Frik had less business encouraging him. She’d have a few things to say to the two of them later. Right now, her focus had to be Terris McKendry.

Twenty minutes later, Saaliim swerved off the Uriah Butler Highway and into Mount Hope Medical Center’s parking lot. “You want me to come inside, Miss Peta? Or maybe wait outside?”

Peta thought for a moment. In all likelihood she’d be fully occupied with McKendry for the rest of the day and, by the sound of it, for several days beyond that.

“You go to come back,” she said, using the Grenadian colloquialism. “I know my way around this hospital all too well. Tell Frik I’ll call him later with a report.”

The charge nurse, to whom she had spoken several times en route, ushered Peta into McKendry’s private room in the hospital’s small intensive-care section. The last time she’d seen him, not that long ago at Arthur’s apartment, he’d looked fit and well. Now he looked as if he probably wouldn’t make it through the night. He was barely conscious. According to his chart, he had presented in shock, a mess of mud and oil and blood. Her initial cursory examination confirmed that he had been hit by two rifle bullets and that he had sustained some surface burns.

The burns might leave some scarring but were not enough to be life-threatening. The bullet wounds were a more complex problem. Where a hollow point or frangible round would have pureed the contents of his chest cavity, he had every chance of surviving these wounds.

The flesh wound along the right flank would heal, even without medical attention. The second shot was less simple: a full-metal-jacketed slug had made a through-and-through penetration of his lower right chest. Fortunately for McKendry, the bullet had not hit a major artery on the way through or a rib on the way out. The former would have exsanguinated him in minutes: the latter would have deflected the bullet, causing major, possibly catastrophic, collateral damage. The through-and-through FMJ chest wound had collapsed the lung, but some bright medic or ED doc along the way had inserted a chest tube and hooked it up to suction; that no doubt had saved McKendry’s life until the local thoracic surgeon got to him and closed the entry and exit wounds.

Peta discovered further evidence of McKendry’s dumb luck when she examined the exit wound and found it just low enough to miss ripping up his posterior shoulder girdle. An inch higher and he’d be looking at permanent disability. Talk about charmed lives.

Telling the nurse to set up a bed for her in one of the little rooms adjacent to intensive care, she washed up and put in a call to Frik.

“It’ll be a while before his next escapade, but with good care and exquisite attention to antisepsis, he’ll make it. His lung’s not reinflating as quickly as I’d like, so I’m going to stay here with him for a few days.”

Frik sounded relieved. “Thanks, Peta. I’ll be in to see you later this evening. I can’t leave the office right now.”

“I heard about Simon. Is he all right?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I warned you both that he shouldn’t be diving, Frik.”

“Well for your information, he’s fine. He had to come up because he used up most of his tank clearing debris from his entry point. I wish I had half his energy. He’s down in Port of Spain now, pretending to be some TV star, but he’s going back to San Gabriel tomorrow to complete the dive.”

“Alone? No dive buddy?”

“He seems to prefer it that way.”

Idiot! Peta thought. She was fed up with all this macho bullshit. When she had stabilized McKendry, she would hitch a ride to San Gabriel. If Manny was in the area, he would take her there; if not, she’d use one of Frik’s speedboats. Not that she particularly wanted to delay her return to Grenada, but in all good conscience she had to take one more shot at warning Simon that his heart probably couldn’t take another dive. If she couldn’t convince him to stop, she would insist on going along. Barring unforeseen setbacks, she should be able to leave McKendry in the hands of the hospital staff in three days, four tops. She would mention it to Frik when he came to see McKendry.

Ifhe came to see him.

22

Thus far, Frik had called several times, but he had not yet made an appearance. Peta was hardly impressed by his lack of compassion and admitted to herself yet one more time that the Oilstar chief was not among her favorite people.

Two days later, by which time McKendry’s condition had been stabilized, Frikkie showed up at the hospital. He was not a pretty sight. His one eye hadn’t yet fully healed from the explosion that had killed Paul Trujold, and his hand looked as if it had a long way to go before it was good for more than gross manipulation. His visit was short, their conversation brief and more about Simon than Terris; in neither case were his emotions involved.

“Simon’s in San Gabriel. He hasn’t gone down—in the water—again yet. The weather’s not been conducive. Too much rain, too many currents stirring things around.”

“You shouldn’t let him—”

“Let him? May I remind you again that he’s an adult. What he chooses to do is his own business.”

There was obviously no point in arguing with the man. None at all. “I’d like to see him,” Peta said. “I think I’ll head out to San Gabriel for a day or two. I could use the rest.”

“What about McKendry?”

“Terris is a long way from full recovery, but he’s doing well. Barring unforeseen complications, the hospital can manage fine without me. When they think he’s ready, they’ll send him on to rehab. He won’t need me for that, either. If they have to reach me, they can call me in San Gabriel.”

Something in Frik’s expression told her that this was the last thing he wanted her to do. For whatever reason, Simon’s dive was of enormous importance to him. Well, that’s just too bad, she thought. It was not only a man who had to do what a man had to do.

Leaving Frik at McKendry’s bedside, she went outside for a smoke. It was the last American cigarette she had brought from New York. From now on, it was back to the local 555s, which were milder and cheaper anyway. I’ll give up again soon, she told herself, lighting up. After having given them up for three years, she had fallen into old habit the night Arthur was killed.

“Got another one?” Saaliim asked.

Peta jumped. “Didn’t know you were here, and no, this is my last one.”

She handed it to him and they shared it the way they would have shared a joint.

“I’d like to go to San Gabriel this afternoon.” She waved away the end of the smoke. “Think you can take me there?”

He drew on the butt, then crunched it underfoot. “I have to take Mr. Frik to theAssegai, ” he said. “After that we maybe go to the site. Mr. Frik say maybe Mr. Brousseau come dive today. Maybe not.” He looked up at the sky. “Maybe later it storm.”

“Could be.” Eighty-four degrees. Humid. Sultry. Not a cloud to be seen. A tourist would have laughed, she thought. “Is Manny on island?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” Peta glanced at the Hummer beyond them in the physician’s parking lot, unsurprised that Frik would feel it his right to park there. “I’ll get my things and make arrangements with the charge nurse. Don’t leave without me.”

When she was ready to leave the hospital, Saaliim was half asleep behind the wheel of the car. Frik paced impatiently back and forth next to it.

“One more minute and we’d have been out of here,” he said.

Peta didn’t answer; in fact, she said little en route to Frikkie’s dock, and only waved a passing good-bye as Saaliim turned the Hummer around.