A Whisper of Danger by Catherine Palmer Page A

he began. “Now I can’t even think where to start.”
    She shut her eyes, squelching memories. “Well, then.” She made her voice harsh, careless. “I guess I’ll just—”
    He cut her off. “You could look at my life the past few years in two ways. The things I’ve done. And the things I’ve been.”
    “Whichever way you pick, make it short.”
    He fell silent again, and she knew she’d wounded him. She couldn’t help it. Did he remember the time gone by as “a few” years? How about ten years? Ten long years in which she’d struggled to survive, worked to keep food on the table, labored to bring up her son as a happy, well-adjusted human being.
    “What I’ve done with myself can be told without much trouble,” he said finally. “After I left you, I went on the run. I’m not sure how long it lasted—maybe a year. I hitchhiked north into the desert. I traveled west through the rain forests of Zaire. I spent some time down south in Malawi. Mostly I logged a lot of time on the beaches—teaching skin diving to tourists, mostly. Eventually, I worked my way back to Kenya and started looking for you. I couldn’t find you.”
    “Surprise, surprise.”
    “I don’t know what I expected, but I’m sure I wasn’t thinking too clearly. I was drinking a lot in those days, trying to escape any way I could.”
    “Escape what?”
    “Everything. Past, present, future. I was angry with my parents for the years I spent in boarding school. Angry with myself for making a commitment to you I couldn’t keep. Angry with God about the way my life was going. I couldn’t figure out who I was or where I was supposed to go with myself. I didn’t want to feel my own emotions — the rage, the fear, the guilt. I had to escape. So I ran . . . and I drank.”
    Jess realized her fingers gripping the iron stair rail were turning bone white, bloodless, and numb as she struggled to hold on. She felt as though she might tumble off the cliff at any moment. She didn’t want to hear any more. And she wanted to hear everything.
    “Remember my brother, Daniel?” Rick asked.
    Jess nodded. How could she forget Daniel? He had been so kind, so gentle, so bewildered by the actions of his older brother. After the initial chaos following Rick’s disappearance, she had lost track of Daniel and the rest of the McTaggarts.
    “Daniel’s a missionary in Dar es Salaam now,” Rick said. “I don’t know if you were aware of that.”
    Jess shook her head.
    “Anyway, a long time before he became a missionary, he decided to track down his big brother, the black sheep of the McTaggart family. I think he finally found me lying on a beach somewhere in Kenya. I was at the end of my rope. Mentally strung out. Physically wrecked. Daniel took me to his place in Nairobi and helped me get my head on straight. I owe him my life.”
    He was silent again for a moment. Then he let out a deep breath. “After that,” he said, “I did some course work at the University of Nairobi, and then I moved to Florida and picked up a couple of degrees in marine archaeology. I began to hear rumors that Tanzania was changing after Nyerere’s little experiment with Chinese communism. Tourism was being encouraged, and that meant Olduvai Gorge and other archaeological sites would get some attention. I applied for a position with the Tanzanian government, and I got it. For three years I’ve headed up the marine archaeology team. Actually, the team consists of my coworker, Andrew Mbuti, and me. We chase treasure hunters like Hunky Wallace around and try to keep them from looting the ocean floor. I’ve put together a pretty comprehensive display in the Zanzibar museum, but there’s a lot more—”
    “Okay, you’ve made a good life for yourself,” Jess cut in. She could see Splint and Hannah washing the sand from their pailful of clams. They might be coming up the steps any moment, and Jessica didn’t want Splint anywhere near Rick. And she didn’t want to hear the