“He’s worried, I imagine,” she said.
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“I’d feel bad about what happened, but sharks will be sharks.”
Whether Mr. Sawyer heard her, she couldn’t be sure. But he glanced her way, said something to the guy at the table, then made his way over.
He took off his shades and gave her a once-over. “Have we met? I’m Don Sawyer.”
She shifted uncomfortably on the barstool. “I don’t believe so. I’m Dr. Minnow Gray.”
“Ah, you didn’t seem like my usual guests, and now I know why. I hear you’re a shark whisperer. That true?”
She hated that term. “I’m a shark researcher. I study them, which requires that sometimes I get in the water with them.”
“A brave woman.”
In his late fifties or early sixties, he looked fit and his bronze skin was still flawless.
“We all have our fears, Mr. Sawyer.”
“Have you learned anything yet? Like what kind of fucking monster is out there?” he asked, his bluntness catching her off guard.
“I just got here, so no. I’m hoping to find Stuart’s surfboard and get a look at Angela’s wounds, but so far I’ve had no luck getting in to see her.”
“No satellite tags show anything?”
“Nope. They only ping when the shark comes to the surface.”
“Well, this shark has been at the surface more than once.”
He was right about that, but she knew there were way more untagged than tagged sharks swimming around out there. And there were also the conventional tags, with just an ID number and contact info of the scientists who tagged the animal. If this shark had one of those, it could provide valuable data on the animal’s migration patterns.
“We don’t know if the same shark was responsible. And if it was, there’s still not a whole lot we can do about it unless we find something that’s drawing it in, which is what I’m banking on.”
“Regardless, pulling out a few of these big boys would go far to alleviate fears and probably save some lives.”
Her throat constricted. “Pulling out?”
“Hooking, shooting, what have you.”
The words gutted her, and she felt the hook go through her own cheek. “Trust me, that’s not the answer,” she said.
“Easy for you to say—you don’t have blood on your hands. But if we don’t do something, you probably will after the Kiawe Roughwater Swim.”
She was beginning to feel like it was Minnow against the rest of the world. An all-too-familiar feeling when it came to defending sharks, and sometimes she wished she studied sea otters or dolphins.
“Something youcoulddo to help would be to get me in to see Angela. Do you think you might be able to swing that?” she asked, changing course.
“How will I reach you if I do?”
She gave him Woody’s number.
Then he leaned over to Chris and said, “Open a tab for her, and put it on the house. As long as she’s in town.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Minnow said.
“I need your help, Miss Gray, as much as you need mine. So let’s work together on this, shall we?” he said, then turned on his heel and left.
