Why was she screaming? He couldn't hear her.

Get into the sub. Call the police. Call 911. Do something that made sense.

Her hand was shaking as she dialed 911. She made contact with the 911 operator as she reached the sub. "Something's happening. Send someone. Conner-"

Her head exploded as pain tore through it.

Her knees buckled as the world spun around her.

"No…" She couldn't fall. Fight the dizziness. She had to get to Conn-

Nothingness.

Water.

In her mouth, in her lungs.

She couldn't breathe.

Fight for air.

No air.

Only water. Choking. Smothering.

"Stop struggling, dammit." A man's voice. A man's arm lifting her head above the surface of the water. "Let me do it."

Do what?

Water. Lungs filling. Drowning.

Conner.

"Stop fighting."

Couldn't stop fighting. Have to get to Conner.

"Very well, have it your way."

Her head jerked back as his fist connected with her chin.

Darkness again.

Get that stretcher down from the dock, dammit. We've got a big enough mess to cover up without her dying on us."

Bradworth's angry voice, she realized vaguely. Close. Above her. But she'd just talked to him on the phone…

Get the hell out of there. Don't go back to the sub.

But she'd had to go back.

Conner was there, and she had to-

Conner!

Her lids flew open. "Conner." She sat upright. Dizzy. Hold on. Fight it. "Someone was… The hatch was closing."

Bradworth's hands gripped her shoulders. "Lie back down. You've got a nasty head wound. You're soaking wet and suffering from exposure and God knows what else. We've got an ambulance coming to take you to the hospital."

"I'm not going to any hospital. Conner…" She struggled to her knees. "I have to get to my brother."

"No, you don't." He looked away from her. "Maybe later."

Something was wrong. Something…

"Go to hell." She got to her feet. Don't fall. Get to the hatch. Get to Conner.

"Stay out of the sub." Bradworth was beside her, his hand on her arm. "You don't want to go down there."

Panic surged through her. "Let me go."

His hand tightened. "Do what I tell you. This isn't-"

"Let me go." Her fist lashed out into his stomach with all her strength.

He staggered back, his grip loosening. "Okay, go. What the hell do I care?"

She staggered toward the sub. The hatch was open. Just make it down the ladder.

One step.

Another.

"Conner?"

A man was standing by the control panel with his back to her. Dark blond crew cut, a big man.

Not Conner.

"You shouldn't be here, ma'am," he said over his shoulder.

"My brother…"

"You're Ms. Bryson? I'm Agent Ted Freiland." He repeated, "You shouldn't be here. Why don't you turn around and go back to the pier?" He was turning to face her, and as he shifted she saw what he had been looking at.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

And still pouring in a stream from the shattered skull of the small, wiry man lying crumpled on the floor.

No face.

It couldn't be Conner.

No face. His head almost blown off his shoulders.

It couldn't be-

Oh, God. Oh, God. Please, God…

"Let me take you up." Freiland was walking toward her. "This is nothing you should see. Hell, it's nothing anyone should see. We'll take care of your brother."

Not her brother. Not that mutilated horror of a-Not Conner.

The digital camera was smashed and shattered to fragments lying by his right hand.

I'll need stronger lights.

His gray wool sweater Cathy had wanted destroyed was now stained with blood and bits of flesh.

Conner…

Sweet Jesus.

An agonized scream tore from her throat.

I told you that you shouldn't go down there." Bradworth met her as Agent Freiland helped her out of the hatch. "I tried to stop you."

Not very hard, she thought numbly. "What happened to him? His head…"

"We believe it was a high-caliber Magnum pistol. Close range."

She shuddered. "Why?"

"We're not sure. An investigation is under way."

"He's dead." Her voice was shaking. "My brother's dead, and there's no reason for it. No reason at all. He was kind and generous and he…" She had to stop for a moment. "No one would want to kill Conner."

"I'm sure you're right." Bradworth's gaze shifted to Agent Freiland. "Take her to the hospital and have her checked out. Stay with her."

"I'm not going to the hospital."

"You may think you're okay, but you have a head wound, possibly a concussion. You're wet, cold, and you're in shock."

"And I have a brother I love who was murdered. I have to tell his wife that he's not coming home."

"We can call her," Bradworth said.

"No." She shook her head. "It's my job." She started down the pier. Horrible job. Horrible night. "I'm going back to the inn."

"You can barely walk," Bradworth said impatiently. "You'll be lucky if you don't collapse before you get there. Go with her, Freiland. Stay with her. She's your assignment from now on."

"Right." Ted Freiland caught up with her and put his hand beneath her elbow. "We'll take good care of you, Ms. Bryson. It's going to be okay."

She gazed at him in disbelief. How could it be okay? How could anything be right or normal again? Conner was dead.

"Ms. Bryson."

She looked over her shoulder at Bradworth.

"We need to keep this investigation confidential if we're to find the man who killed your brother. No statements to the press."

"It's all wrong. It shouldn't have happened." Don't cry. Don't break down. Wait until you've done your duty and talked to Cathy. Then you can let go. She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. "Damn you, I don't promise anything. It's all wrong, and you know more than you're telling me."

"We'll talk later," Bradworth said. "Go call your sister-in-law."

"You bet we'll talk later. What am I going to tell her? Not enough. Not nearly enough. I need to know why my brother died and who killed him, Bradworth."

"That's what we all want."

We've got a big enough mess to cover up without her dying on us.

His first words she had heard when she had regained consciousness came back to her.

Cover-up.

"Is it?" She didn't wait for an answer as she walked away from him. She didn't know what was going on, but she couldn't sift through it right now. She was hurting too much.

"Here." Freiland was putting his jacket around her shoulders. "You're shaking with cold from that dip you took in the ocean. We need to get you warm and dry."

The chill didn't come from being in the sea, she wanted to tell him. It was bone deep, soul deep, and she felt as if she'd never be warm again. But Freiland seemed to be trying to be kind. "Thank you." She drew the jacket closer. "Who pulled me out of the water?"

"I don't know. This pier was crawling with agents by the time I arrived from my post near the lighthouse. It was probably one of them. You were lying on the pier with Bradworth standing over you when I got here. Maybe it was him."

"No." Bradworth had shown no signs of being in the water, and she vaguely remembered someone had been in the sea with her.

"Then you'll have to ask Bradworth."

"I will." But not now. Not until she could blunder through this haze of pain to think clearly. "You say there were other agents on the pier? I only saw Bradworth and one other man. And I didn't see anyone but you on the sub."

"Jenkins and Bobeck were down in the officers' quarters. I had orders to stay with the body." He saw her flinch, and said quickly, "I mean, your brother. I didn't mean to be insensitive."

"I know." Yet, he was right. That wasn't her brother lying in that control room. It was a bloody, broken body with all the spirit and lovable humor and character that had made Conner what he was torn away.