The Vision
Heather Graham
The gift of sight comes at a dangerous price. When Deep Down Salvage begins the hunt for the Josephine Marie, it seems like any other dive…until Genevieve Wallace sees the vision of a dead woman in the water, her vacant eyes boring into Genevieve's very soul. Terrified and confused by what she saw, Genevieve is haunted by the memory, but no one — including her diving partner Thor Thompson — believes her.When a dead woman washes up on shore, everyone assumes this is Genevieve's "vision," but Genevieve knows the truth: the dead woman is not the ghost she saw but another victim of the same brutal killer. Sensing that the threat of death is coming closer, she and Thor are forced to acknowledge that some things can't be explained, but simply are. Somehow they have to link a violent past with a present-day mystery or risk losing themselves in an abyss of terror.
Gayle Wilson
The Vision
In memory of
Victoria Jane Graham Davant, my sister.
She has gone on before me
but there isn’t a day that goes by
when she doesn’t speak
to me in my heart
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
About the Author
Coming Next Month
Prologue
The form drifted eerily.
From a distance, it almost appeared to be a woman.
At first Genevieve Wallace didn’t know what she was seeing. There it was at the bottom, drifting ever so lightly with the current, looking almost like…a woman.
She looked to her left and saw that Vic Damon was just feet away, concentrating on a jutting coral ridge that created a cavelike effect in the pristine waters. With what they had recently learned about the La Doña, they were trying to see what might be hiding more or less in plain sight.
The easy, rhythmic sound of her own breathing filled her ears, and she looked at her air gauge. She still had twenty thousand psi, and her depth monitor showed she was hovering between forty-five and fifty-five feet beneath the surface. She could check out the strange form without compromising her own safety.
The water was like crystal, a shimmering color between blue and green. The temperature, too, was absolutely perfect. It was a wonderful afternoon in which to take the time to explore the smallest detail that drew her curiosity.
Last week, when they had started working the area, it had been different. Their first day out, three members of their five-person crew had been violently ill, including Marshall Miro, the owner of Deep Down Salvage. Gen didn’t get seasick, but with everyone around her heaving…it hadn’t been pleasant. But now the winds had died down completely. The surface was nearly as smooth as glass. The sand had settled.
Visibility was good.
It was almost as if the shape in the water was beckoning to her. Still hearing the rhythmic sound of her own breath, she gave a kick of her fins and started toward whatever it might be.
As she drew closer, she thought that someone had dropped a mannequin in the ocean. From a distance, it had looked like a woman. The closer she got, the more that impression became set in her mind. Yes, it was some kind of mannequin. She wasn’t easily frightened, but she could feel a frown of curiosity creasing her brow as she moved closer.
Blond hair floated freely in the water, creating a halo effect around the mannequin’s head. There was something soft and beautiful—eerily lifelike—about it. Kicking to propel herself directly in front of it, she saw that it was dressed in a white gown, which billowed with the movement of the water.
The serenely molded face stirred a feeling of deepest sadness in her.
She almost reached out in sympathy.
Almost…
With a shock, she realized that it was down here on the ocean floor because it was weighted. There was rope around the ankles, connected to a canvas bag full of what seemed to be bricks.