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“If it’s any business of yours—”
“It is.” The assertion was uncompromising and surely inappropriate.
She protested, her voice rising. “Even if I were a complete idiot—which I’m not, thank you, he was going way too fast anyway—does it have anything at all to do with you?”
“Of course it bloody does!” He was obviously angry too. “As dive master on this voyage—”
“As—what?” Her voice lifted another octave.
“As dive master,” he repeated with exaggerated clarity. “You didn’t know?”
Slowly Sienna shook her head, stunned. “Nobody told me,” she said. And then, “Don’t you have a business to run here in town?”
“I have well-paid, competent staff,” he said shortly. “I’m a partner in PTS—you didn’t know that either?” He peered at the shocked expression on her face.
Dumbly she shook her head again.
“And dive master,” he reiterated. “I’m the one who approves the dive team and I’m the one who has the say about who goes down, if and when, once we’re on the site.”
“I’m sorry.” She’d thought he was being overbearing and meddlesome and annoyingly male, but apparently he’d been at least partially justified. “I didn’t realize you were involved.”
“Up to my neck,” he said. After a small pause he conceded, “You gave me a fright. I guess you’re tired after your long drive, and that driver was gunning the engine.”
An apology of sorts for snarling at her, she supposed.
He took her arm again in a firm grip and checked for traffic on the road before guiding her across to the hotel. Clamping her lips together, Sienna reminded herself that the meek would inherit the earth.
She didn’t feel meek. She felt unsettled, dismayed and vaguely angry, as though she’d been deceived in some way, though of course that wasn’t so. Everyone had probably taken it for granted that someone else had told her of Brodie’s role in the new company. And it didn’t really matter. Only, she wished the dive master were someone less irrefutably…male, in a way that disturbed her more than she wanted to admit.
At the foot of the broad steps to the door he asked her, “Will you be all right now?”
“Of course. I don’t need a nanny.”
He grinned, his good humor apparently restored. Thrusting his thumbs into the belt of his jeans, his eyelids lowering, he said, “Good, ’cause I’m not one.”
No, she thought, looking up into his gleaming eyes. There was nothing nannyish about his earthy sexual magnetism.
She said hastily, “Good night, then. Thank you again for seeing me home.”
“See you tomorrow,” he promised as she climbed the steps.
When she reached her room she had an immediate sense of something alien in the air, a faint, indefinable feeling of intrusion. Looking around, she saw her replacement collapsible suitcase sitting open on the luggage rack with the so-far unworn clothes still neatly folded inside, just as she’d left them. Nothing seemed to have changed, except that the bed was turned down.
A staff member had entered in her absence, that was all. Relieved, she went to draw down the old-fashioned Holland blind, pausing as she noticed Brodie’s broad-shouldered figure mooching along the foreshore.
Something stirred inside her, a warm spiral of purely physical reaction. Uneasily, she recognized it for what it was—a sexual response.
Brodie Stanner, with his lopsided grin and frank appraisal of her face and figure, was going to be one of the team she’d be living in close proximity with—for perhaps months. And that bothered her. He spelled danger, large as life and twice as threatening.
He’d made no secret of the fact that he found her attractive. But by all the signs he found any personable woman attractive, and was one of those men who generously spread his favors around without discrimination. And without any particular thought. A here today and gone tomorrow sort of guy.
Mindless, meaningless sex wasn’t something that had ever interested Sienna. Sex for her had never been meaningless, although it had not brought her the security she’d once hoped for, when she was too young to understand her own need and looking for love in all the wrong places. She’d long ago given up on that futile search.
And she had little doubt that if Brodie Stanner had anything in mind, it was no more than a short, wild fling. That was not for her—and neither was he.
Sienna’s GP had already assured her she was fully recovered from her earlier sickness, although a bit underweight, but she was relieved to emerge from the dive doctor’s surgery with the necessary certificate in her hand.
The little town was quite busy, and when she reached the wharf the Sea-Rogue was abuzz.
Alongside a couple of other men Brodie was loading boxes and bags from a pile on the wharf into a forward hatch, his shirt discarded and his fit, lithe body bending and straightening in a rhythm of physical exertion that had a sort of primitive beauty. Rogan stood by with a clipboard, checking things off and occasionally examining a label.
Brodie stopped work for a second and lifted a hand in greeting. Rogan glanced up as she stepped aboard, and smiled at her. “Camille’s in the saloon. She’s expecting you.”
“Thanks.” Sienna jumped lightly into the cockpit, and descended to the saloon where she found Camille studying a computer screen incorporated into a bank of instruments.
The two women spent a couple of hours going over the documentation on the Maiden’s Prayer that Camille had collected from various sources and the information Sienna had garnered on the stolen samples.
Sienna said, “Can we transfer my notes from the CD to your computer?”
“Yes, that would be a good idea. We’ve been careful about it because the boat’s been burgled before, but we sail in a couple of days and the burglar alarm seems very efficient. You probably heard it last night, when we woke half the port.”
“Last night? I dreamed about a fire engine…” She’d forgotten about it, but now she recalled a vivid dream involving sirens and fire, a feeling of impending doom as flames licked behind her while Brodie Stanner climbed a ladder to her window and held out his hand. She’d hung back, afraid to take it, until he’d said commandingly, “Come with me, I’ll save you.”
Some chance, she thought now. From the fire to the frying pan…
Camille was saying, “It seems to have been a false alarm. Rogan shot out of bed and raced up on deck, but no one was there. The thing might have been set off by a line flapping in the wind, although it’s not supposed to work that way. It did show that if someone tries to break in now, judging by last night’s performance, it’ll bring people running from all the boats nearby.”
After transferring the information Camille handed the disk back, saying, “It’s a good idea to keep a spare, just in case.”
“I wasn’t able to find much really.”
“Still, you never know when something that seems unimportant or unrelated will match up with another fact and tell us something useful. You know how it is with research.” Camille hesitated. “I’m sure it’s all right to tell you, now you’re a member of the team. We have the ship’s bell, but we’re keeping that under wraps, so don’t mention it to anyone else. You’re the only one who knows apart from Granger and Brodie, Rogan and me.”
They lunched on deck with Rogan and Brodie. After delivering the stores, the other men had driven off.
“Did you get your doctor’s certificate?” Brodie asked.
She fished it from her capacious bag and handed it to him, along with her dive certification.
A man strolling along the wharf stopped at the Sea-Rogue. “Rogan Broderick?” he inquired.
“That’s me.” Rogan stood up.
The man was fiftyish, his brown hair thinning, eyes hidden behind trendy wraparound sunglasses. His casual shirt and slacks looked as though they probably sported designer labels. Uninvited, he leaped aboard and held out his hand to Rogan. “Fraser Conran,” he said. “And this is your brother?” He turned to Brodie.
“No.” Brodie denied it, not offering his name.
For a moment the stranger didn’t react, then he smiled thinly, and Camille said, “Do I know you?”
He shifted his attention to her. Then she said, “We met at James Drummond’s house,” her expression changing from uncertainty to hostility.
Jolted, Sienna recalled that Camille had spent time with Drummond before she discovered he was a crook and a killer.
Conran didn’t seem to notice the sudden chill in the air. “A bad business, that.” The smile fading, he shook his head. “I didn’t really know him well, but his antique stores seemed aboveboard—he was well known, respectable. Hard to believe…though, of course, he hasn’t been found guilty yet.”
“He’s guilty,” Rogan said curtly. “What did you want?”
Fraser Conran turned back to him. “I hope I’m not going to be tarred with the same brush because I knew the man. We were business acquaintances, that’s all.” He paused, but no one reassured him on that point. “I heard you were looking for investors for a…venture. I have some cash to spare. Perhaps we could talk?”
“You heard wrong,” Rogan said. “Our investors have all been by invitation. We don’t need any more.”
“Really? Treasure hunting is very expensive, I’m told—my understanding was you can hardly have too much capital.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure you can find other ventures to spend your money on. Probably less dicey ones.”
“But not so interesting.”
There was a silence, then Conran shrugged. “If you change your mind, here’s my card.”
Rogan reluctantly took the card the man handed over before climbing back onto the wharf. They watched him depart, strolling without hurry.
Brodie asked Rogan, “What do you make of that?”
Rogan shook his head and turned to Camille. “Do you know anything about him?”
“Not really. I didn’t recognize him right away, but he was with some other people who sailed up from Auckland for the weekend. I think James hoped to sell something to him.”
“Did you get the impression he tried to give us just now that he hardly knew Drummond?”
Camille chewed briefly on her lower lip. “It’s hard to say. James told me the people were business contacts.”
Brodie said, “He’s not the first one to come fishing, is he, since word of the new company got out?”
“No,” Rogan agreed. “And not the first who seemed a bit dodgy, either. Just as well we had Granger to rustle up investors he could vouch for.” He looked at the card.
Brodie asked, “What does he do?”
“Shipping agent, it says.”
“I guess Drummond knew plenty of those.”
“Some of them might have been legitimate,” Rogan allowed. “But I wouldn’t trust anyone who had anything to do with Drummond.”
Sienna and Camille helped to get supplies stowed neatly in every available storage space on the boat in preparation for their departure, and it was late afternoon when Sienna found herself being walked back to the hotel by Brodie again.
Along the way he said, “Camille told you we’re sure now the wreck is the Maiden’s Prayer.”
“She said you’d found the ship’s bell, but not to say anything.”
“Had you found any confirmation in the stuff Rogan brought up from the bottom?”
“There was nothing to refute it, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”
“Are you always so cautious?”
“Preconceived ideas are not good science.”
“Y’know,” he said thoughtfully, “I have the feeling you might have some preconceived ideas about me.”
“I don’t know why you should think that. And if I did, I wouldn’t let them interfere with doing my job.”
“You realize we’re all going to be living pretty close together for a few months?”
“I’ve never had a problem getting on with people.” Trying to sound serene and confident, she couldn’t help feeling that instead her voice was decidedly cool and a little snippy. Well, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing. She’d hate him to guess the effect he had on her—the way his smile warmed her very bones and his blue gaze gave her pleasurable little shivers up her spine.
He seemed ready to drop the subject. “Does your brother still dive?”
“Sometimes. But he tends to master a skill and then go in for some new challenge. At university he joined the mountain-climbing club, and he’s still a member of a search and rescue team. When he moved to Hamilton to take a job as a mechanic he learned to fly. Now he’s working for an aeronautical engineering firm there and doing night classes to improve his skills. He seems to be showing signs of settling down.”
“You approve of that? Settling down?”
“Isn’t it what you did? Have you got bored with being a shopkeeper?”
He gave her a keen look. “I’ve never given up diving. I combine my shop and dive school with occasional commercial assignments. The shore work gives me a steady income and means I don’t have to scramble for jobs—I can pick and choose where I go and who I work with.”
“And you chose Pacific Treasure Salvors?”
He grinned. “Not too many people can resist the lure of long-lost treasure. Even you.”
Sienna didn’t bother to deny that. She knew most of the work would be tedious and painstaking, and much of the wreck’s cargo—maybe the bulk of it—might already be lost forever in the depths of the sea, buried under layers of coral, destroyed or scattered irrecoverably by time and tropical storms. Nevertheless she was excited at the prospect of being involved.
She essayed a wry smile of acknowledgment, and Brodie broke into an answering one that lifted her spirits in a way no other man ever had. Plenty of women would have fallen for him instantly. No wonder he seemed a shade piqued that she’d shown no inclination to do so. She mustn’t allow him to discover how fragile her brittle defences really were.
She sighed, assailed by a wistful longing that lately had recurred too often, and Brodie said, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m still a bit tired.”
He frowned. “Are you sure you’re up to this trip?”
“You saw the doctor’s certificate. There was a lot of work to do before I left, but I’ll have time to recover before we reach the wreck.” The exact location was confidential but she gathered it was at least a week’s sailing from Mokohina, and she knew from Camille that Rogan was concerned that, while he assembled his crew and equipment, looters might get to the site before they did. But also determined that the expedition was properly equipped and staffed.
Brodie cast another covert glance upon her but didn’t argue anymore.
Next day Sienna started out to find the dive shop, not in any particular hurry. On the way she dawdled over a display of local art for sale, mostly depicting seascapes or rural scenes, and at a shop-window mannequin wearing a rather nice jade-green stretch top.
A teenage boy in baggy shorts and T-shirt, with a knitted beanie hat pulled low over his eyebrows, was reflected in the glass, apparently looking too, but when she turned he ducked his head and mooched off to stare into the window of a nearby computer shop while she walked on.
She was turning a corner when something tugged hard at the bag she held, and she instinctively tightened her grip, swinging round as the beanie-wearing youth she’d seen earlier tried to wrench the bag from her hold, his brown eyes stark and wide below the hat.
