Treasure

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“I don’t know who you bribed for the information on the Anémona, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Good luck,” Mitch said, smiling. “With your surveys, I mean. Miss Annie.” He nodded in her direction. “You watch yourself around this slave-driving fortune hunter. I’ve gotten it from someone close to the source, he just ain’t no fun.” He headed back down the dock.

Jake squinted at her. “Let’s go.” He turned for the boat. “I told you not to talk to anyone. What did you say to him?” The tone of his voice implied he’d judged her guilty.

“Nothing.” Animosity again. Good. She hiked the bag onto her shoulder and trudged after him. That was exactly what she needed to propel her down the dock. “He asked where we’re going, but I’m not an idiot. Who was that, anyway?”

“My ex-business partner.”

“Who’s Valerie?”

“My ex-wife.”

He stated that fact without the slightest bit of emotion. Either he’d completely reconciled his feelings for the woman, or this man had none to begin with. Looking at him now, Annie thought the latter more likely. With his tanned skin and scruffy beard, he looked every inch the pirate suggested by the skull-and-crossbones flag on his Buccaneers baseball cap. That curly black hair of his, hanging dangerously close to the collar of his T-shirt, only added to, rather than softened, his threatening image. Of course, she was forced to admit, he did have a certain he-mannish appeal. And since when had she become the type to notice such a thing, let alone care?

Refusing to analyze her feelings, she quickly sought the relative comfort of hostility. “You seem to have a lot of exes in your past.”

“With any luck, I’ll soon be adding ex-marine archaeologist to my list.” He stopped and stared at her. “We’re here.” He jerked his head to the side. “Your new home for two weeks.”

Though pristine white with crisp blue stripes and lettering, there was nothing luxurious about the Mañana. The ship was about a hundred feet of pure working boat, with the helm and galley sitting forward on the upper deck, leaving an ample area at the stern for divers and their gear. The spacing of the portholes told of adequate room for cabins below deck, and all machinery and equipment appeared clean and well-maintained. She couldn’t have picked a more seaworthy vessel if she’d had one custom built.

“Hey there, Jake.” A dark-haired woman ambled down from the Mañana. Annie envied her ease. “Harold radioed to fill me in. You must be Annie, our new crew member.” She extended her hand. “I’m Claire Rawlings.”

Annie found her hand swallowed by the other woman’s more than competent grip. “Jake’s…sister?”

“In-law.” She reached for Annie’s bag.

Annie was about to protest and then gave in. Everyone seemed to want to get their hands on her duffel.

Claire hopped easily back onto the boat. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Annie really wanted to follow her, only there was one problem; the water between dock and boat. The blood drained from her face, and she felt Jake studying her.

“You don’t look so ready for this,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“You can always stay back, you know.”

“Absolutely not.”

“All right.” He held out his arm for her to proceed. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t get her feet to move, could only concentrate on keeping her eyes averted from the sight of water. First Jake’s face. Then the Mañana. Then the grain of wood on the dock.

“Well, I’ll be,” Jake whispered. “You’re afraid of the water.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She forced herself to look off the dock and into the wavy depths below. A dizzy rush made her stomach flip-flop. Her body seemed to tilt toward the left. Toward the edge of the dock. Toward— Oh, no! She tried taking a step forward, tried making it to the relative safety of the boat. And lost her balance.

“Son of a—!” Jake lunged for her arm.

Annie reached for him. Too late.

She dropped backward into the water. Coolness, startling in its entirety, engulfed her. She sputtered and choked on the saltwater flowing into her mouth and nose, and coherent thoughts deserted her. Struggling to keep her head above water, her arms and legs flailed ineffectively. Within seconds, she started sinking. The dock posts drifted out of sight, and the surface of the water moved farther and farther away. As the last bubble of air escaped her lungs, her limbs grew heavy.

Memories, painful ones, flooded her senses. She closed her eyes to them, forcing them from her mind. Only darkness took their place.

CHAPTER THREE

“COME ON! Come on!”

Through the syrupy blackness Annie felt warm lips on her mouth, something pinch her nose and air flow down her throat. She felt pressure on her chest, a hard pumping rhythm, working fast. Once, twice, three times, four. She lost count.

As if from a great distance, she heard the command, “Breathe, Annie! Breathe!” A forceful touch under her chin, tilting back her head, and the warm lips again, hard and insistent, on her mouth.

She struggled to open her eyes and found Jake’s face an inch from her own, his gaze focused with intent. Startled, she sucked in a breath and coughed out a bit of seawater.

Jake sat back on his heels, his legs straddling her. “Can you hear me? Annie?”

She nodded, sucked in another breath, and coughed some more. His genuine concern surprised her. After all his blustering in Harold’s office, she would have guessed her drowning would have solved every one of his problems.

“Should we get a doctor?” a woman asked from somewhere to the left. Annie glanced up to find Claire Rawlings hovering nearby. Somehow, Annie had gotten on board the Mañana.

Jake cupped Annie’s cheeks and made her look into his eyes. He assessed her breathing, took her pulse and then urged her to a sitting position. The instant he seemed satisfied all was clear the scowl returned to his face, and he stood. “She’ll be fine.”

Annie coughed again, causing Jake and Claire to turn in her direction. She dragged in a deep breath and a man appeared above her, blocking the sun. His bluer-than-blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Hiya, sport. I’m D.W. Need more mouth-to-mouth?”

“Knock it off, Romeo.” Claire thwacked D.W. on the arm. “Give her some room.”

“Worth a try,” D.W. said, winking. He helped her to her feet, and Annie noticed the words Divers Do It Deeper emblazoned in red on the front of his gray T-shirt.

She smiled and coughed again. “Thanks, D.W.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Claire asked.

“A little damp.” Annie tugged at her wet linen shirt, the now translucent white cloth leaving little to the imagination. “Otherwise, I’m fine.”

“She’d give you a run for your money in a wet T-shirt contest, Claire-belle,” D.W. added with a low whistle.

Claire narrowed her eyes at him, and the whistling immediately stopped. Her arms crossed, she turned toward Jake. “What’s going on here?”

Every trace of Jake’s earlier concern for Annie’s safety completely disappeared. “Our marine archaeologist is afraid of water.” He glared at Annie. “That’s strike number four.” Water dripped from his soaked shorts and T-shirt onto the boat deck. Apparently, not only had he administered CPR, he’d also dived in after her. “You’re going back to Chicago. Where you so obviously belong.”

Annie spun toward him. The swift movement brought another dizzying rush to her head and she faltered, taking a full breath. “Harold hired me,” she finally managed. “He’s the only one who can fire me.” One look at his face told her he wasn’t validating that with a response. Somehow, she had to make this work. “You said you’d give me two weeks.”

“That was when I thought there was a possibility you could do your job. Whether you’re afraid of water, or you can’t swim, there’s no point in having you around. I have your charts and aerials. Whatever deal you cut with Harold, I’ll double it.”

He’d clearly mistaken her fear of water for a character flaw. Arrogant, treasure-hunting pirate. “I can swim, and I can do my job,” she said with renewed determination.

“How?” He raked his hand through the dark, dripping curls hanging across his forehead. “Am I the only one who sees a problem with this?” He glanced from Claire to D.W., then back to Annie. “Can you even dive?”

“I used to.”

“Used to?” He cringed. “What if we can’t get an artifact onto the boat? What if we need you to dive and examine it? What then?”

Annie hazarded a glance at Claire and D.W. Her tentative allies seemed to be losing faith, and she couldn’t blame them. “You’re right. You’re completely justified in being angry.” She looked Jake in the eye. The tension in his jaw eased imperceptibly with the acknowledgment. But that didn’t change the fact that she had to do this. “When will we get to the first site?”

“Late afternoon.”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” she said, keeping her fingers crossed in the hopes she wasn’t setting herself up. “Give me tomorrow. If I’m not diving by the end of the day, I’ll stay in my cabin until it’s convenient for you to drop me off somewhere.”

“Seems reasonable,” Claire interjected, handing Annie a towel.

As Annie dried herself off, she watched Jake deliberating. “In the water tomorrow,” he said. “Diving by day’s end. No second chances.”

He turned and issued orders to the other crew members, who’d appeared at the first sign of a commotion. “Everybody except Claire, D.W., Ronny and Simon, pack your gear and make yourselves useful on the other three survey ships. Ronny and Simon, over here. See the rest of you guys in a few weeks.”

The two men joined their group as the remaining crew dispersed in varied directions. “Ronny. Simon.” Jake held a hand toward each man in turn. “Meet Dr. Annie Miller.”

Ronny appeared to be the oldest crew member. “It’s a pleasure, Annie.” He held out a hand, the skin tanned nearly to the point of leather. With a handle-bar mustache and his long, slightly graying hair gathered in a ponytail, Annie wondered if Ronny had a Harley waiting for him back in Miami. All he needed was a bandana and black leather chaps.

Simon, probably only a few years younger than Ronny, nodded cautiously at her over the silver rims of his fashionably small glasses. Annie wasn’t sure if he was uncomfortable around women only or new people in general. “Hello, Simon,” she said, shaking his hand.

“Annie’s OEI’s new on-board marine archaeologist,” Jake continued, a sarcastic edge to his voice. “Don’t get too attached to her. She won’t be here for long.” He turned and strode across the boat deck. “Claire, I want to be diving before dinnertime. Let’s shove off.” With that, he went below.

“My brother-in-law the charmer.” Claire smiled at Annie.

“Ahh, cut him some slack,” Ronny offered. “We’ve all been working hard. He’s a little tense.”

“Humph,” D.W. mumbled. “If that’s tense, I’d hate to see stressed out.”

“D.W.,” Claire said, hitching a hand onto her hip, “why don’t you keep your comments to yourself? Nobody here cares.”

“That, Claire-belle, is certainly obvious.”

Annie watched the twinge of hurt quickly turn his warm blue eyes steely. Claire seemed oblivious. Simon quietly moved back to the stern and continued fiddling with a small engine in pieces on the deck. Ronny followed him, saying over his shoulder, “We’ll be eating lunch in a few hours. Dinner’s at six.”

“Make yourself useful, D.W., and do some safety checks on the equipment.” Claire made for the lower deck. “Come on, Annie. I’ll show you to your cabin. You can change out of those wet things.”

Annie reached for her bag.

“Here ya go, sport.” D.W. beat her to it and held the duffel toward her. The glint returned to his eyes. One eyebrow arched mischievously. “You just follow the old barracuda there and watch out for that razor sharp bite.”

“I heard that,” Claire yelled from below deck, a singsong lilt to her voice.

“You were meant to,” D.W. returned with a little melody of his own. With a wink at Annie, he hauled diving equipment from various storage compartments.

Hiding a smile, Annie crossed the upper deck and familiarized herself with the sway of the boat under her feet. She followed Claire down the ladder-steps too steep to qualify as a staircase—and below deck.

“Here’s the head.” Claire walked through the narrow hall, pointing here and there. “Back there’s the engine room and some equipment storage. Next we got a couple empty cabins, and here’s Simon’s. And there’s D.W.’s.” She indicated the first two cabin doors on the left and, after that, the next two on the right. “Ronny’s next, and mine’s last. You’re across the hall from me, and Jake has captain’s quarters at the bow.

“We can fit twelve crew members on board, so at half-staff, it’ll feel pretty spacious for once. This is it.” She stopped at the last cabin port side, opened the door and stood back. “I told Smitty to get it good and clean when I found out you were coming. If he didn’t, he owes you a pitcher of Bud when we get back to port.”

“Looks great.” Annie stepped over the threshold into the small cabin. She’d grown through the years, or boat cabins had shrunk in size. Either way, the space seemed confining. Antiseptic white and utilitarian in design, there was little to like or dislike. She set her bag on the bunk and tested the firmness of the narrow mattress.

“Hard as a rock.” Claire shrugged. “This isn’t a cruise ship.”

Annie didn’t have the heart to tell her she wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter. Claire was probably a little overdue for some female companionship and, for that matter, so was Annie.

Claire hesitated at the door, a haze of unanswered questions shading her eyes. Finally, she said, “We’ll be shoving off in a couple minutes. Make yourself at home.” She disappeared up the ladder.

Annie shut the door and turned the lock, thankful for the reprieve. Moving back to the bunk, she unzipped her duffel and stared at the bundle sitting on top of her clothing, wishing she could heave the thing over the side of the ship, wash her hands of it once and for all, and return to Chicago.

But that would only be trading in one set of handcuffs for another. If she was going to do this, she was doing it right. She owed at least that to Aaron.

Her fingers shook as she grasped the object and drew back the cloth covering. Natural pearls of uncommon luster encrusted the full length of a twenty-four-karat, hand-tooled gold chain. Emeralds, large and virtually free of inclusions, filled an eight-inch-long by five-inch-wide gold frame. The infamous Santidad Cross. So beautiful. So lustrous. If one could look at it without fear.

All Annie felt when she held it was heartache and pain, all she saw was blood. Aaron dead. An Aztec village annihilated, its people slaughtered without remorse and innocent Spanish sailors sacrificed for the glory of gold. Not to mention the two most important people in her life gone. Forever. Nothing more, or less, than a trail of death in its wake. Even so, treasure hunters around the world would give anything for this cross, the single most valuable item onboard the Concha.

“Ready!” The shout from topside made her jump.

The Mañana’s engines fired to life as the boat was untied from the pier and the gangway stowed. Within seconds she felt the boat’s motion as they left the marina.

This was it. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and adrenaline rushed through her as the Mañana cleared the harbor and gathered speed. It’d worked. Her plan had been set in motion.

She looked through the small porthole in her cabin and swallowed hard when both engines of the powerful boat hit cruising speed. The Florida coast dissolved into a barely discernible line, and an odd combination of dread and elation churned in her stomach.

The Santidad Cross drew her gaze. “You’re going back where you belong,” she whispered, stuffing it under her mattress. “Where all the treasure hunters in the world, including Captain Jake Rawlings, will never find you.”

JAKE SAT AT his narrow desk and studied the aerials Harold had taken of the north shore of Andros, comparing them to maps on the screen of his laptop. The wood-paneled walls of his small, neat cabin surrounded him with the comfort of familiarity. A balmy breeze from the open porthole blew fresh ocean air across his face. The Mañana’s engines droned their reassuring tune as the crew navigated toward Andros Island. And in a matter of a few hours he and his crew would be diving for the Concha. If Dr. Annie’s research was correct, his crew was poised, quite possibly closer than they’d ever been, for the discovery of a lifetime. Life didn’t get any better than this, right?

Wrong.

Thump. Bang, thump. The sounds of Dr. Annie Miller bumbling around in the cabin adjacent to Jake’s momentarily distracted him from the screen. The boat made a sudden shift, and she slammed into the wall.

A marine archaeologist afraid of water. Sam would have gotten a hearty laugh over that one, and then, no doubt, tucked her firmly under his wing. Jake chuckled to himself in the quiet of his cabin, but guilt fluttered at the edge of his conscience. It was, after all, his fault she’d fallen in the water. He’d goaded her, and when she’d faltered, he hadn’t been able to get there fast enough to catch her.

Damn leg. Surgery may have repaired most of the physical damage from the accident, but the remaining stiffness in the muscles and tendons definitely slowed him down.

Reality forced away the guilt. Their new archaeologist had lied to them. What if the logic behind her research was flawed? What if he dragged his company and all of its employees further down bankruptcy road with her wild-goose chase?

You worry too much. Sam’s constant admonishment still haunted Jake after all this time.

He found his favorite photo of his brother on the overhead bookshelf. Claire had caught Sam and him tipping a few on the beach in front of Jake’s house. Sunset on a rare night, a night when they’d both been completely content in each other’s presence. No need to do anything, except talk and laugh. A night when Jake had completely loosened up with Sam. He hadn’t felt the need to set an example for his younger brother, to prove anything, to be anything. And Sam hadn’t felt the need to keep up, let alone surpass his older brother.

Almost a year and a half after the accident, and Jake still couldn’t believe his little brother was gone. One minute they’d been diving beside each other, and the next it was over. Jake’s foot started cramping. He stretched out his legs and forced his shoulders to relax. If only Jake had been able to save Sam. If Jake had been stronger. Smarter. Faster. If only…

Thump. There Dr. Annie went again.