Shifting Sands Read online

  Cover image Man © panic_attack, Istockphoto.com. Woman © CoffeeAndMilk, Istockphoto.com. Wilderness Beach © sharply_done, Istockphoto.com. Dog © Alexander Gabriel, Istockphoto.com

  Cover design by Kevin Jorgensen Cover design copyright © 2023 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2023 by Kathi Oram Peterson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Name Kathi Oram Peterson, author.

  Title Shifting sands / Kathi Oram Peterson.

  Description American Fork, Utah Covenant Communications Inc., [2023]

  Identifiers Library of Congress Control Number 2022941909 | ISBN 978-1-52442-303-2

  LC record available at https//lccn.loc.gov/2022941909

  First Printing February 2023

  Praise for Kathi Oram Peterson

  “Shifting Sands by Kathi Oram Peterson is a love story involving a soon-to-be marine biologist and a sand pounder. Gloryanna Griffin is diving along with another student and her mentor to help save the ocean and earn a grant for a master’s degree. When Gloryanna ventures alone a little too far, just below a vortex, she discovers that something is wrong with her tank and realizes that she won’t stand a chance against the vortex that just caught her. Awake, Gloryanna finds herself on a beach with a dog and a man next to her. She learns that the man who rescued her had saved many other people from certain death, that he isn’t an ordinary man, and that of all the people he saved she is the only one who can see him. Her rescuer, Jonathan Dawson, knows that the woman he just saved wasn’t there by chance and that they met for a purpose.

  I’m shamelessly addicted to the romantic suspense genre because of novels just like Shifting Sands by Kathi Oram Peterson. I was immediately sucked into this astonishing book, which is a gripping, richly atmospheric, and thoroughly enjoyable page-turner that left me breathless. It contains so many surprising, interesting facts combined with fiction, and irresistible protagonists that will convince you to make room for them in your heart. This is an absorbing read that I highly recommend. Romantic suspense fans and anyone who likes historical fiction will enjoy it and be rewarded.”

  —Readers’ Favorite 5-star review

  “Who doesn’t love a mystery with a ghost? Shifting Sands by Kathi Oram Peterson is a fascinating tale guaranteed to intrigue readers of all ages.”

  —Paige Edwards, author of Facing the Enemy

  for my father,who served his country during World War II

  Prologue

  Olympic Peninsula

  Washington, USA

  September 1943

  “Where is Frank?” Jonathan Dawson scrubbed a hand over his face and beard. Worried about his teammate, he paced in the small confines of the crude shelter, followed by his faithful German shepherd, Max. During the time they’d been assigned here, Jonathan and Frank had made it as comfortable as they could for a place that had no running water or electricity and that was positioned only fifty feet from the jagged cliffs of Purgatory Point, the turbulent Pacific Ocean churning below.

  Behind their shelter loomed a thick forest they’d hacked through to reach their post. That had been nearly six months ago. In only a week, their replacements would arrive. Jonathan could hardly wait. Oh, he was willing to serve his country, and he enjoyed living close to nature, but a guy needed a bit more in life. And truth be told, he’d grown weary of Frank Becker.

  They had been together day and night as sand pounders, a division of the Coast Guard. Their assignment watch for the enemy should they come by sea, by air, or even on foot.

  Frank had gone on patrol, but he should have been back a while ago. Since the war seemed to be winding down, they sometimes split up the work so they could get done faster. While Frank had checked the trail, Jonathan had gone back to prepare supper on the woodstove that not only cooked their food but also kept them warm. He’d heated up a can of stew instead of making fish chowder. He’d even added bits of jerky to give it more flavor. But that had been over an hour ago. The sun would set soon. Still, no Frank.

  Jonathan stopped pacing and gazed down at Max. Brown doggy eyes peered at him. “Should we go anyway?”

  Max’s tail thumped the floor’s wooden planks. Jonathan and the dog had trained together at Elkin Park Training Station in Pennsylvania. Because so many soldiers had been stationed overseas and the military was short on man power, they were only too happy to welcome his German shepherd. Jonathan assumed he and Max would be assigned beach patrol on the Atlantic because that was where a German U-boat had been spotted trying to smuggle spies into the country. However, they’d been sent to serve on the Pacific front, where Japanese submarines had shelled and bombed along the coastline.

  “Frank’s been gone too long.” Jonathan patted the dog’s furry head. “We’ve both eaten, and we’re late leaving for our patrol.” He checked his wristwatch. “In fact, we should have left a half hour ago.” He scratched his bearded chin.

  He should shave, but his beard kept his face warm. The dress code for sand pounders wasn’t nearly as strict as other units in the military, especially since Coasties, another nickname for their division, lived in continual harsh weather. In fact, instead of wearing uniforms, both he and Frank wore logger clothing heavy boots, wool shirts, blanket coats, and oilskin ponchos.

  “We gotta head out.” Jonathan moved the pot away from the heat, closed the mouth of the cast-iron stove, and made sure no sparks escaped. He grabbed his poncho from the wall hook and pulled it over his head. He looped his Mark 28 binoculars around his neck and picked up his rifle. “Frank can heat up what’s left when he gets here.”

  Max waited patiently for Jonathan at the door.

  Bracing himself for the cold wind blowing off the Pacific, Jonathan pulled on the latch and slipped out of the shelter, Max at his heels. Salty sea air scrubbed his face. He jerked the hood of his poncho over his head, and after securing the door, he headed down the trail Frank would have taken. Then he stopped. So did Max.

  “You don’t suppose he went to the point, do you?”

  Max tilted his head.

  “Why would he, you say? Well, it makes no sense, but when has Frank ever made sense?” Jonathan’s partner was a blond surfer from California, a freeloader, and a big talker filled with get-rich-quick schemes. “Maybe he saw something at the point that looked like a treasure. He’s forever telling us that when the war is over, he plans to pan for gold in Nevada. That’s where the next big strike will be. Nevada, of all places.”

  Reluctantly, Jonathan started for the point. Max kept pace with him.

  Jonathan had different plans when the war was over, and it didn’t involve panning for gold. Though shortly after he’d enlisted, his sweetheart, Mary Ann, had sent him a Dear John letter, he still believed in true love and wanted to find his soulmate, have a flock of children, and settle down. That was why he’d bought Max. A family needed a dog they could count on.

  And Jonathan counted on Max. From the moment his eyes had locked onto the German shepherd’s in the animal shelter’s window, he’d known the dog was meant to be his. They had an unspoken understanding, a trust.

  Jonathan pulled his poncho more closely around him and continued toward the point. During the months stationed here, he’d learned how to work through his fear of heights by only getting close enough to the edge to accomplish his job. Following the path, he stepped as close to the precipice as he could stand.

  What if Frank had fallen? If he had, the tide would have pulled him under by now, and the current would have sucked him out to sea. Chances of him being there were slim to none, but still, Jonathan had to check.

  Peering from the grassy vantage, he gazed below at the angry ocean crashing against jagged rocks. No sign of Frank.

  About to turn away, Jonathan caught a glimpse of strange movement by the beach. “What the . . . ?” He strained to see if it was a sea otter or a beached whale. He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t stepping closer to the lip of the cliff to find out. No, he and Max would hike down there to make sure all was well.

  Max growled and took off behind him.

  Jonathan spun around.

  There on the path to the point stood Frank, but he wasn’t alone. A group of wet and bedraggled men waited behind him.

  Max attacked a big burly guy, latching onto his forearm. The dog’s teeth sank through his coat. The man screamed, twisted, and turned as he tried to fight off the animal.

  “Max!” Jonathan yelled. “Release!”

  The dog ignored him, which concerned Jonathan. Max always obeyed.

  One of the other men took hold of Max and pulled him off his buddy. Max snarled and snapped at the intruder, and then the animal leaped at the man he’d first gone after. The huge guy kicked the dog, sendi
ng him flying through the air and over the cliff.

  Jonathan gasped, shocked by the rapid turn of events.

  Time stopped.

  Even the wind ceased.

  Jonathan stepped past his one-foot perimeter and peered down the cliff. There on the jagged rocks below lay Max. No yelp. No whine.

  A huge wave crashed over the craggy shore. As water receded, Max disappeared. Vanished!

  Anger torpedoed through Jonathan, the white-hot rage surging in his veins. He whipped around and aimed his rifle at the cocky guy who had killed Max. The man swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and gave Jonathan a look that said, Bring it on.

  Jonathan’s finger slid to the trigger, but Frank knocked the gun out of Jonathan’s hands and blocked his path.

  “Are you crazy? Get out of the way!” Jonathan would take Frank out too if he tried to stop him.

  “You weren’t supposed to be here.” Frank stepped closer to Jonathan, backing him up to the ledge Max had gone over only moments ago.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jonathan couldn’t grasp what his friend was talking about. “That idiot killed my dog.” He pointed at the lug dressed in what looked like a German uniform. In fact, all the men wore the same uniforms and carried packs on their backs, all except one. He was dressed like a Japanese military attaché.

  The man who had killed Max stepped up to Jonathan, and in a strong German accent, he said, “No mongrel bites me and gets away with it.”

  Jonathan tried to elbow past Frank, but his friend grabbed hold. Incensed, Jonathan yelled, “Let go of me!” He yanked on Frank’s arms.

  Their eyes met. The partner Jonathan had lived with, had served with for over six months, had disappeared. Gone was Frank’s California smile, replaced with . . . an enemy’s void expression. Frank took a deep breath, but then he shoved hard against Jonathan’s chest.

  Jonathan’s feet slipped at the edge of the cliff. Flailing his arms, he caught himself momentarily, but the weight of his body shifted and dragged him over the cliff. He frantically clawed at the long grass, the blades cutting his skin.

  Frank bent over, reaching his hand out, but then shook his head, straightened, and stomped on Jonathan’s fingers, grinding the heel of his heavy logger boot into Jonathan’s knuckles.

  Despite mind-numbing pain, Jonathan held on, but the grass uprooted, and before he could grab more, he plummeted in a free fall. As he went down, the wind sucked away his breath and fear shot through his gut.

  All at once, he slammed against the rocks.

  Oddly, he felt no pain.

  As he fought to remain conscious, he saw a woman . . . his true love—he just knew in that moment that she was. Long curly brown hair with highlights of blonde caught in the sun. A smile warmed her flawless face. Big, luminous eyes with flecks of copper zeroed in on him as she drew near. Behind her came Max’s playful yip.

  Jonathan blinked, and her face blurred. The air became cold and misty.

  A wave crashed over him. Water filled his nose and choked his throat as the sea dragged away his life.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Gloryanna Griffin gazed through her scuba mask at scaly green sea kelp hypnotically swaying in the surge. The constant noise of the regulator to her oxygen tank and the bubbles that emerged seemed to accompany the dancing kelp. Urgency pulsed through her veins. This critical dive could establish two things it could help her on her quest to save the ocean, and it could help her earn a grant for a master’s degree.

  If she didn’t get the grant, she’d have to put her plans to become a marine biologist on hold until she earned enough money. And who knew when that would be? Her parents couldn’t help her, and with Grandpa being ill, she might not have another opportunity for years. All she had to do was publish an article in a noteworthy scientific magazine, and that would keep her in the running.

  She wasn’t alone on this dive. She looked over at her fellow divers studying a sickly bed of coral on her right. Thomas Clifford, another student at Western Washington University competing for the grant and also her ex-boyfriend, and next to him was Professor Nakano Takahashi. The Japanese-American woman was one of the smartest people Gloryanna knew. The professor had quickly become Gloryanna’s mentor and the only reason Gloryanna had come on this dive only a few days before earning her bachelor’s.

  Though many believed coral was found only in shallow tropical waters, divers were surprised to find erect, soft gorgonians in some of the underwater canyons of the Olympic Coast. But they, too, like coral around the world, were dying. Could the cause be mercury poisoning? She hoped not. She loved the ocean and wanted to do all she could to preserve it. All three divers wanted to make this expanse a “hope spot” to preserve sea life, but the coral in its current condition could endanger such efforts.

  The professor and Thomas seemed fascinated with what they’d found, but Gloryanna wanted to scope out the rest of the area. Deciding to go a little farther, she kicked her full-footed, free-diving fins. The vortex current would be dangerously strong, but she’d avoid that. After all, she wasn’t a rookie.

  The new scuba dry suit with special seals and zippers her father had insisted on buying allowed her to wear black fleece undergarments to stay warm in cold water. As she dove deeper, she shone her compact torchlight through green water to a glove sponge nestled among vibrant orange sea cucumbers. On the edge of the chaotic and frantic whirlpool of the current, she also found a collage of dark-purple and vermilion red-painted sea anemones. She wanted to get some close-up shots of those. Their coloring wasn’t quite right.

  A shadow swam by. Her heartbeat quickened as she shone her light on a curious sea lion checking her out. Relieved it wasn’t one of the transient orcas Professor Takahashi had warned them about, she adjusted her regulator attached to her aluminum tank. She wished she had a steel HP 100 scuba tank like Thomas had, but it cost a lot more.

  And then she saw something else, something that looked like . . . a conning tower from the top of a submarine? It rested deeper on the ocean floor and just below the vortex. She couldn’t tell if a submersible warship lay beneath it. Could her grandfather’s delusional ramblings of a sunken sub be true? She swam closer. The pull of the deadly current drew on her. If she was going to get a picture of the anemones and the conning tower, she’d better do it quickly.

  She grabbed her camera from its holster on her wet suit. Well, it wasn’t her camera. Ralph Wagner, her boss and the owner of Fish Tail Café and Scuba Supplies, had loaned it to her. He’d insisted his beloved camera would take better pictures, which she needed if she wanted a chance at winning the grant. She adjusted her hold on the camera, but just as she moved it to get a better grip, the clasp broke on her wrist, and the camera floated out of her reach and toward the vortex current.

  She had to retrieve it. Swimming for all she was worth, she felt the tug of the current, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She kicked harder and then, to her horror, realized her regulator didn’t sound as loud as it had before. Fewer bubbles emerged. Something was wrong with her tank.

  She let the camera go as she turned her light on the gauge. The regulator was losing compression, and it was low.

  Too low.

  So low she might not make it to the surface.

  If she ascended too fast, it could damage her lungs and cause decompression sickness. Or if the professor and Thomas were close, they could help her. She frantically scanned the area but couldn’t see them. Her only option was to go topside as fast as she could; it was a risk she was going to have to take to stay alive.

  As she feverishly kicked up, the vortex’s swirling waters pulled at her. She fought against it. But her arms and legs had grown numb. Her vision blurred. All at once, the current swallowed her.

  This was not happening!

  Not to her!

  She’d been diving since she was a kid. She knew what she was doing. She needed to relax and not fight it. Panic was her enemy.

  But then her regulator completely quit.

  No bubbles. An odd tingling sizzled her skin as she convulsed.