On Thin Ice. Debra Brown Lee

on the job.

      A man was dead. Tiger’s operation was weeks behind schedule, and the biggest promotion of her career hung in the balance. She needed to focus, to do what was expected of someone in her position. Not break down like a crybaby and fall into the arms of one of the crew, for God’s sake.

      It had taken her years to win the respect of her male peers, of Tiger’s senior personnel, not to mention the rough-and-tumble drilling crews, most of whom still believed women didn’t belong in the field.

      She wasn’t about to throw it all away because the going got tough. Her father would have told her to buck up, meet the challenge. That’s exactly what she intended to do. She’d see Salvio right away about those samples.

      Hand over hand, Lauren pulled herself along the rope that had been set up as a guide between her trailer and the main camp. The weather was the worst she’d ever experienced, and showed no signs of breaking. Visibility was a joke. It took her nearly five minutes fighting the wind to make it to camp.

      Salvio wasn’t in his office.

      “Damn.” She plopped down into his beat-up desk chair and raked her fingers through her half-frozen hair. Fine. She’d talk to him later. Until then, she’d ask around among the crew.

      The first shift was on break, and she heard laughter coming from the kitchen. The greasy aroma of hamburgers sizzling on the grill and her growling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten yet that day. Lunch sounded good. Maybe she’d grab a quick—

      The thought vaporized as her eyes focused on the drilling stats blinking at her from one of the computer monitors on Salvio’s cluttered desk. She leaned closer and scanned the real-time drill depth readout.

      “Fifteen two?” She blinked her eyes a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t reading it wrong. Fifteen thousand two hundred and six feet. That couldn’t be right. They were at nine thousand last night, nine two this morning. The top of the target zone for the Caribou Island well was nine thousand four hundred feet. Straight down. Easy as pie.

      Altex had drilled dozens of oil exploration wells for Tiger, just like this one, over the past twenty-five years. Caribou Island should have been a routine operation, but Murphy’s Law seemed to be in full effect out here.

      She hit the side of the monitor with the flat of her hand and watched the screen. The green numbers jumped, then blinked back at her. Fifteen two. “This is crazy.”

      “Fotheringay!” Jack Salvio’s gravelly voice made her jump. He shot through the door, a nasty expression screwed into his face. “I’m having enough trouble with this frickin’ equipment as it is.”

      “I was just—”

      “Damned thing is always screwed up.” He leaned over her, typed some two-fingered gibberish into the keyboard and hit the Escape key. The monitor did a split-second reset, then flashed back to life.

      Lauren focused in on the depth measurement. “Nine thousand three hundred feet.”

      “There. It’s fixed.”

      Frowning, she studied the blinking stats again. Everything seemed to be normal now. The drilling depth looked fine.

      “Don’t touch it again, ya hear?”

      “Sorry.” Lauren had never seen so much computer equipment in a company man’s office before. Personally, she’d opt for a sheet of paper, a pencil and a plain old calculator any day over all the fancy analytical instruments Tiger had insisted they install at Caribou Island.

      Bill Walters, her boss, had insisted, actually. She remembered a presentation he’d given months ago on the financial return of using some new computerized drilling system. It was supposed to have made the job easier, and to have saved them money. Funny that Bill even considered the financial end of things. That had been a first. Shaking her head, she gave the numbers on the monitor a final glance. The new system was clearly junk. As soon as communications were restored she’d give Bill a call to let him know.

      Salvio grabbed his hard hat from a hook on the wall and turned to leave.

      “Oh, Jack—wait.” She’d almost forgotten why she’d come to see him in the first place. “Do you know which roustabout was assigned to collect rock samples here last Tuesday?” That was the date scribbled on the bags of samples left outside her lab, though the crate they’d been boxed in was missing its label.

      “Beats me. Why do you want to know?”

      “There were some really strange samples in front of my trailer when I arrived, and—”

      Without a word, Salvio jammed his hard hat onto his head and stormed out the door.

      What’s with him?

      Ignoring his trademark rudeness, Lauren scanned the messy bulletin board on the wall over his desk. A second later she found what she was looking for—the crew manifest detailing who was on shift last week. Maybe now she’d find out which roustabout had—

      “That’s odd.” The routine paperwork indicated a whole new crew had come in last Wednesday. Roughnecks, roustabouts, two cooks, the medic, the housekeeper, everybody.

      There was always a lot of overlap on an operation this big. Eighty guys staggered on four-week shifts, for as long as it took to drill the well. They never all changed out at once. It was hardly possible, just given the logistics of getting everyone on and off the island.

      Lauren shook her head.

      Strange-looking rock samples, computer stats that weren’t possible given their operational plan, the worst weather in years, and a complete crew change just days before their toolpusher was killed in what Lauren knew in her gut was not an accident.

      Something was going on here, and she intended to get to the bottom of it.

      Pushing back from the desk, she made a mental note to query the one person who didn’t seem to belong on Caribou Island at all. “Whatever-your-name-is Adams.”

      “It’s Seth.”

      His low, smooth voice startled her. With a shock she glanced up to see the target of her thoughts standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling it.

      “Seth Adams,” he said, and shot her the most dangerous-looking smile she’d ever seen in her life.

      That wide-eyed innocent look didn’t fool Seth for a second. Lauren held his gaze just long enough for her cheeks to warm to pink, then she wet her lips and pretended to study the numbers on one of the monitors.

      “You called?” he said, adding the narrowest edge of seduction to his voice.

      A beautiful woman was the hardest kind of criminal to catch. And once caught, the hardest to put away. There was always some gullible sucker around willing to do anything to help her. Seth felt himself slipping easily into the role.

      How predictable. Bledsoe had wanted him on the job because he thought playing the dumb roughneck suited him perfectly. Maybe it did. But for different reasons altogether.

      “Um, yes. I uh…saw you in the hall.”

      He smiled again, thinking what a perfect touch that coy little flustered look was to her whole act. “And?”

      “I wanted to ask you something.”

      “Go ahead, shoot.” He pulled a chair up close—a lot closer than he would have if she was a man—and shot her another smile.

      “How long have you been out here?”

      “Came in last Wednesday. Why?”

      “No reason. I just wondered.” She gave up a smile.

      “Matter of fact, a whole new crew came on that day. Was that your doing?”

      “My doing? No, how could it be? Geologists don’t make those kinds of decisions. Only the—”

      “Toolpusher?”