Zoe shouldn't have come out to the oil platform alone.

How many times had Jane warned her? How many times had she promised her partner that she wouldn't scuba dive offshore rigs on her own? But she'd done it before, and she'd do it again.

Unless, of course, this time was her last.

Crap.

Eighty-five feet beneath the surface of the water, she spun, taking in details she hadn't noticed above. The absolute stillness was disquieting, when usually the water around the rig's coral- and crustacean-coated legs was teeming with life. The sea turtles and tiny reef fish that always investigated her presence were nowhere to be seen. The only sound was her own breathing as she sucked air from the tank, the only movements the gentle swish of sea anemone and the flurry of bubbles rising from her mouth. The flat, washed-out blue she usually found so calming looked dead without the flash of garibaldi dashing between the old oil platform's maze of support beams like playful orange flames. Usually they'd be swarming, but today...nothing.

It was Sea Lion Bob's absence that transformed her sense of general unease into full-blown worry, however. He'd greeted her every time she'd come to check the Polaris platform reef.

Something was very wrong.

Get out of here, her instincts screamed, even as her train- ing forced her to relax. A slow inhale, the sound thin under the weight of the water, and a kick up, as languid as she could make it with the panic weighing her limbs down. A long exhale churned the water above, and she added bubbles to the mix by venting enough air to rise slowly.

Relax. Stay calm.

Why hadn't she paid attention to the niggling in her belly as she'd driven her boat toward the platform? It was impossible to pinpoint exactly when the feeling had started or what had set it off, but it was undeniable. Funny how fear changed things. It turned the platform's shell- encrusted support beams into a phantom forest. The pinks and purples, leached of all color, were the wan gray of death.

I'll never come alone again, she promised the Fates or God or the ocean itself.

As she slowly ascended, her eyes searched feverishly for some clue as to what had turned a busy, dynamic reef into a foggy, blue ghost town.

Had she missed something on the trip out here?

She remembered passing the two working platforms closer inland. Nothing strange there. A few miles farther out, just before San Elias Island, she'd spotted the Daphne and drawn her boat up alongside her, as she did nearly every time she came this way. Blushing, of course. Always blushing with that guy.

"Hey, Eric."

Slow as syrup, he had leaned against the rail of his boat, lean body indolent-looking, though his face remained serious as always. "Evening, Zoe. Kinda late today, aren't you?"

She had shrugged, working hard to keep her gaze above chest level so she wouldn't stare. What was it about this guy that made her want to eat him up with her eyes? He wasn't even her usual type, which was dark and intellec- tual. No, this guy had Paul Newman good looks, with the build of a roughneck. She'd bet anything his hands were as coarse as his voice.

"Yeah," she'd managed to shout against the wind. "Been a couple weeks since I checked in on Polaris."

"I noticed," he'd said without the hint of a smile.

The words—straight, serious, and a touch accusatory— did things to her. Good God, what was wrong with her? Those two innocuous words made her heart race more than anything she'd done with her last boyfriend. Ridiculous, considering that Eric showed no more interest in her than in his fishing pole.

Besides, she knew absolutely nothing about him.

"All right." She reached forward to pull the throttle out, but stopped at his next words.

"You alone today?"

"Yeah," she had to admit. "Jane's not—" "You diving the rig?"

"Yes." She had sounded defensive. Weird how that came back to her now, with a hiccup of embarrassment.

The lines around his mouth tightened, his too-blue eyes narrowed, and he nodded once, quick and short.

"Careful. Weather headed our way."

When his worry warmed her insides instead of sparking a snarky Yes, sir, she'd known she should get out of there. Throwing him a smile and a wave, she'd taken off as fast as she could. Everything about the man said trouble—for her, at least. Oh, he'd always been friendly and respectful, but it was the unspoken stuff that got to her, like the hungry way he eyed her or, much more worrisome, the way that look lit her up inside.

She should have listened to his warning about weather, should have turned around right there and headed back to the mainland. Or, even better, she should have paused there longer, flirted a bit, maybe even screwed up the cour- age to finally ask him out.

But she hadn't. And now she was pushing back the panic and slowly working through the eerie calm to the surface, which seemed to be getting farther away with every kick of her fins.

Inhale...stop kicking. Loosen up. Be big. Exhale... BOOM!

The sound hit her, and she threw up her hands to cover her ears. Less than a second later, the rig's supports shook, releasing a blinding dust cloud that could mean only one thing—earthquake.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. At fifteen feet below the surface, she fought the desire to head all the way up and counted down the seconds for her three-minute safety stop.

Calm down. I'm better off in the water than on land.

Not if the platform collapsed.

She'd never been scared like this on a dive, never shiv- ered so hard underwater.

BOOM!

Another gray puff billowed from the platform, joining the dust rising from the depths like smoke from a forest fire.

She didn't have to check her gauge to know she was running low on air.

Yeah, I'm done here.

When she broke the surface by the westernmost leg of the platform, she yanked off her mask and smelled it immediately—some kind of exhaust. Far above, an engine hummed, low and even, with regular metallic clangs.

It took about two seconds for everything to clarify. Not an earthquake.

The relief was palpable...and short-lived.

Zoe strained to peer up at the rusting monstrosity rising above the waves. Crap. Were they recommissioning this rig? No. No way. Not possible. It was too old; the wells were tapped out. The company had given her nonprofit permis- sion to turn the Polaris into a reef. But the drill couldn't very well power itself.

Had Bob, the missing sea lion, somehow climbed his way up the creaking metal and set something off?

The idea was ridiculous, but Zoe had to investigate. What if he was stuck or hurt? Besides, that made more sense than someone returning to drill an empty well.

Heart beating too fast, she swam back to her boat, dropped off her scuba gear, and returned to the metal leg that provided the only easy way up to the platform. She could hop up a few feet and then climb the ladder, if needed. Bob had made it up to the lowest level once. If he was there now, he could be stuck, sick, or dying. That thought made her move faster, a little frantic.

She pushed up onto her palms, hefted herself onto the low shelf—sharp and spiked with her beloved sea life— and squinted across to the other legs. The metal rumbled under her feet.

No sea lion.

Where was he? She glanced up and got a face full of grime—hard little specks of rust raining down with every angry clang of the machine. Bob would hate this noise. She couldn't stand the idea of him being around here somewhere, alone, freaking out at this attack on his home. Zoe set her mouth and wrapped her hands around the rungs. Find Bob, if he was around. Then figure out what the hell was going on up there. She shut her eyes for a few long seconds, working up the courage to climb. Funny how she was perfectly comfortable diving beneath the water, but climbing up high...

She swallowed back a tickle of vertigo that couldn't possibly be real, since she hadn't even moved yet.

Okay. Up. Even through gloves and dive boots, the rusty ladder was abrasive. Please don't tear. Not only would the return climb be a pain with ruined neoprene, but she couldn't afford to replace her gear, and she wouldn't let the nonprofit pay for it.

By the time she reached the first level, she was struggling to breathe, from dread as much as from the climb itself. Dizziness threatened to hit. She shut her eyes and pretended not to feel it. There was a reason she'd spent so much time in this place but had never come up here.

The noise was deafening, and—holy crap—the place was huge. Fending off another solid rush of vertigo, Zoe tilted her head back and took in the massive structure rising several stories above. Somehow, from below, the rig had seemed more manageable. Though it was the smallest of the ones claimed by the nonprofit, the sheer size of its underwater structure had told her it was big. But the ocean had a knack for minimizing things. Standing up here, high above the waves, she was keenly aware of the water drip- ping from her body to the metal grate she stood on. She could picture each drop sliding through the holes before plummeting to the ocean far below.

Needing to look anywhere but down, she wiped her damp face and squinted ahead. Those were lights—on an ostensibly deserted oil rig out in the Pacific. And, despite the slick slide of seagull guano under her feet, there couldn't be an animal for miles around—not with the racket whoever was on the rig was making.

Since the original owners had decommissioned this place, nobody officially owned it—at least, not the last time Zoe had checked. Nobody should be here besides the Reef Guard crew, and that was just her and Jane and a couple weekend volunteers.

Whoever was here, messing around where they didn't belong, had frightened Bob and forced millions of creatures from their rightful habitat. No way was she letting them get away with it.

Ignoring the frigid wind trying to cut its way through her wet suit, she straightened her back, set her shoulders, and took off on a hunt for whoever was squatting in the platform she'd come to think of as her own.

Her footsteps inaudible beneath the deafening clang, she took a quick walk around the open-air portions of the platform. The place was a cold, rusted labyrinth of steel girders and piping. The colors—bright reds and yellows and oranges—clearly meant something, though she had no idea what.

The structure swayed beneath her feet, and Zoe scrabbled at the handrail, clinging to it for dear life. After a few deep breaths, she looked toward the dimly lit center of the platform. No way did she want to go in there. Or, worse yet, up. She could get lost in this maze, walking around in circles for hours without getting anywhere.

But the pumps were in there somewhere. She'd seen enough schematics to know that. And so, probably, were the people running them. She couldn't stop them if she didn't find them.

I should turn around, she thought. I should go get help. I shouldn't be here alone.

She'd turned to do just that when a hand covered her mouth. Seconds later, pain bloomed at the side of her head, her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor in silence.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Deep Blue is the prequel novella to my Survival Instincts Series, which is a mix of high-octane adventure and slow, stranded sexytimes. I'm so excited for you guys to read this book! And if you feel like voting on Zoe and Eric's story, I would be so grateful for the feedback!!! xoxo