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Jordan finally managed to open his eyes. He gazed on the beauty of the woman before him for just a second before focusing on the uniformed man who held her captive. The man’s large hand gripped his angel’s forearm. Jordan’s weakness gave way beneath a burst of fury and adrenaline.
“Let her go,” he ordered in a clear voice. “Now.”
The couple froze. In unison, they turned to stare at him.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Castillo. Welcome back to the land of the living,” came the captain’s stiff-faced response. Jordan noticed he wore a civilian Naval uniform, that of a cruise-ship captain. He released the woman.
She responded with a much warmer welcome. “You’re awake,” she cried, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Excuse me, Neil, but I’d like to visit with our patient for a few minutes. Alone.”
Jordan turned his head to watch the other man. There was defiance in his expression, but it faded almost immediately. “I’ll check on you both later,” he said, then left.
Good, Jordan thought. Now he had his mystery woman all to himself. He found and pressed the button to raise his bed, then turned toward her a bit too quickly. A definite mistake. His head throbbed and he winced.
“Are you still in pain?” she asked, her voice sweet and slow. Her words were casual, but the concern in her eyes wasn’t. She moved closer to his side.
Jordan considered his pain. “Not as much as before,” he replied, and was rewarded with a stunning smile.
Jordan’s breath caught again, but this time it wasn’t because of his injuries. He studied her. His rescuer was extraordinarily beautiful. The high, sculpted cheekbones, the tanned face with its perfect features and the blond, sun-streaked hair reminded him of a sea-nymph in an old Roman mosaic he’d once seen. Her body was long and lean, with finely conditioned muscles that couldn’t quite hide her sloping, gentle curves.
The eyes really captured his attention. They were as blue as a tropical sea, as brilliant as a Caribbean sky. Intelligent, they held his interest until he tracked down to the delicately chiseled nose and the full, lush mouth. Between the bare shoulders and unshod feet she wore a long emerald-colored sarong that set off her rich, golden hair. It reached to her waist, and he wished he could reach out to touch it—touch her. The plaster cast on one arm and the IV board strapped to the other prevented it.
Chairs were impractical in an oceanic vessel’s sick bay, so the woman stood quietly beside his bed, legs spread apart to brace against the ship’s gentle pitching. Jordan found her pose more than just provocative. Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea couldn’t be any more tempting.
“Do you remember your name?” she asked.
He nodded, moving his head carefully this time, although his gaze never left her, not even for a second.
“Good.” The woman came a bit closer, her hair swinging. “I want you to tell me your name, age, birthday and what day it is. Doctor’s orders,” she said before he could protest against wasting his breath with such stupid questions. “Do you think you’re up to it?”
Actually, Jordan wasn’t sure. He ached all over, and his head felt as if a flock of raucous seagulls were trying to peck their way from the inside out. Still, for another of her brilliant smiles, Jordan would walk on hot coals. He forced his eyes to stay open. He had to see her.
“Jordan Castillo.” His voice was as maddeningly feeble as the rest of his body, and he tried for more volume. “I’m thirty-five—born February 14.”
“An Aquarius, I see. And born on Valentine’s Day.” She smiled again, warming his blood. “And the last date you remember?”
He hesitated, something he almost never did. “I know it’s June. June the…” He frowned, unable to pinpoint the date. The invisible seagulls pecked inside his skull, and he gasped.
“That’s enough,” she said quickly. “Don’t force it.”
“What…” He meant to ask what her name was, but she finished the sentence for him.
“Day is it? June 27. You’ve been here three days. In addition to a broken arm and broken ribs, you had a very nasty skull fracture. And…” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m afraid that you’re now missing your spleen.”
Jordan blinked. No wonder he hurt. “I had surgery?”
“You were bleeding to death. The doctor had no choice. We almost lost you. You were lucky the ship’s doctor is also a skilled surgeon.” A beat, then, “Do you know where you are?”
“I’m at sea.” He sniffed the salty air, almost as heavenly as her enticingly female scent. His seaman’s nose told him his location. “Still in California waters, I’d guess.”
She nodded. “Correct on both counts, Mr. Castillo. You’re aboard a cruise ship. Lucky for you, the captain’s a good friend of mine. The doctor said you’re ready to be moved to a land hospital. Right now, we’re about fifty miles west of San Diego.”
Jordan gave a slight nod. In spite of his physical and mental disorientation, he’d been right. What was that old saying of his father’s?
“You can take a Castillo out of the ocean, but you can’t take the ocean out of a Castillo. Don’t you forget it. It’s in your head, your heart, your very blood.”
She was asking him something. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
“Oh, yeah. Three men. They threw me off the pier.”
The woman nodded.
“And you rescued me.”
“Yes.”
“And then…” His eyes narrowed.
“Then?” she prompted.
“I think I blacked out.” Fatigued, he felt his eyelids drift closed. Abruptly he opened them, unwilling to see her leave. “Are you Ms. Collins?”
She tilted her head, hair glistening at the motion. “Yep. Ordinarily I don’t like being stood up, but in this case, you had a good excuse.”
“We were supposed to meet…at the pier and talk business. You’re a salvager, too.”
“Treasure-hunter, if you will.” Her eyes twinkled. “Of course, I’ve never pulled anything quite like you from the deep before.”
Jordan tried to smile, but couldn’t. The pain hit him again in nauseating waves, along with an overpowering weakness. He didn’t think he could stay awake much longer, but he had questions he desperately wanted answered.
“Your name,” he demanded, pain lending his voice a sharp edge. “Tell me your full name.”
“It’s Aurora Borealis Collins. Do excuse my typically Californian parents and their so-called creativity. They’re accountants now, but they were hippies in their younger days. I usually go by Rory.”
“Rory…” He liked Aurora better.
His eyes started to close despite his best efforts. “I didn’t think the ocean really had mermaids. Or guardian angels.” He sensed rather than saw her amusement.
“No one I know has ever called me angelic.”
The amusement faded when his eyelids fluttered closed. Dammit, I will not pass out.
“Don’t try to talk anymore, Mr. Castillo. The helicopter will be here soon. I’ll be in touch—later.”
“Jordan. My name’s Jordan.”
“Please just rest…Jordan.”
He made one last attempt to open his eyes again, and succeeded. “Not until I’ve thanked you. You saved my life. I owe you.”
“I know. I intend to hold you to that.”
The hairs on the back of Jordan’s neck prickled. Something in her voice sounded as strong as the ocean currents, as immovable as the tides.
“How?” he asked, angry at her vagueness, even angrier at his own weakness.
“Later,” she repeated. “When you’re well.”
She lifted her hand from his shoulder and ran it over his fevered forehead. Her touch was light, soft, cool as an ocean breeze, but sick though he was, Jordan refused to be distracted.
“What’s your price?” Despite the pounding in his head, Jordan shook off her hand. “Tell me.”
He was totally unprepared for her next words.
“The San Rafael.”
Jordan scowled at the mention of the Spanish treasure galleon. His Spanish galleon. “What about her?”
“You’ve been searching for the wreck.”
“Anyone can search. What you need is patience and luck,” he said vaguely, well aware that he hadn’t answered her question—and unwilling to tell her the truth: that he had the patience, but not the luck.
“Ah, but I have both. And I’ve found her. That’s why I wanted a meeting with you. To discuss terms.”
Jordan felt both shock and dismay. The San Rafael was his prize, not anyone else’s. “You couldn’t have.”
“I’ve found her,” the woman repeated, her voice firm.
“No. I would’ve heard about it. I’m her rightful heir, the last of—”
“The Castillos, the Philippines-based Spanish family who built and owned the San Rafael in the early 1800s.”
“How the hell did you learn that?” Jordan asked hoarsely. Ordinarily he would never have let himself be drawn out so easily.
“I know a lot about you, Mr. Castillo.”
“Then you know she’s mine.”
The woman smiled. “Only if you can find her. Which I have.”
Hot anger made Jordan’s already pounding head hurt even more. Could this be true? Could she really have found the San Rafael? The ship held more than just the possibility of treasure. A decade ago, a killer hurricane had widowed all the Castillo wives and left the Castillo children fatherless. Which made the last surviving Castillo male—himself—responsible for their welfare. That Spanish treasure galleon meant the difference between his family’s future and their eventual destruction. It meant enough money to ensure educations for his nieces and nephews. And it meant a resurgence of pride in their family’s name, their family’s history.
How dare this woman claim it as hers?
“I was hoping to interest you in a partnership.”
“Never. The San Rafael is Castillo property, and I’m a Castillo.”
She had the audacity to shrug. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. International salvage laws are basically the same today as they were centuries ago. The courts say if I find it, I keep it.”
“The San Rafael is my property.” Suddenly the sheets and the rails of his bed seemed too confining. Jordan struggled to sit up and failed. “You’ll never claim her,” he gasped, falling back against the pillows.
“You’re wrong. I already have.” She suddenly held a gold coin before his eyes. Not a coin, he saw upon closer inspection, but a gold medallion stamped with a crest—the Castillo family crest. Every salvager’s instinct he possessed cried it was no forgery.
“Where did you get that?” he whispered.
“From the San Rafael, of course.” She flipped the medallion over so he could see the opposite side, the stamped Roman numerals spelling the date 1809. “She belongs to me now. And since I saved your life, so do you.”
For a wild moment, Jordan wondered if he was hallucinating. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. You’re both mine.”
Jordan stared at the conviction in those calm blue eyes. She meant every crazy word. She placed the medallion in the palm of his right hand and gently closed his fingers around it. The gold held the warmth of her body, which mingled with his.
“It’s yours, Jordan Castillo, but since you’re in no position to safeguard it, I will.” Then, as she took back the medallion and made way for the doctor’s approach, he heard her softly add, “For now…”
CHAPTER TWO
U.S.A.–Mexico border, San Ysidro–Tijuana crossing
July 6, 5:20 p.m.
INSIDE HER TRUCK, Aurora swore at the rush-hour traffic, the slow crawl of cars in all twelve lanes, the droning of the radio traffic reporter.
“…We’re talking a thirty-five-minute wait to get across the border, San Diego commuters. Forty-five minutes at the Otay Mesa crossing. Still, it is Friday on a gorgeous July day, and the beaches are waiting. So, be as patient as you can, and while you’re waiting to get home, here’s a message from…”
Aurora impatiently reached for the radio and shut it off, then shoved a strand of blonde back from her sweating face. In this heat, the air-conditioning in any stationary vehicle barely worked at all.
Ordinarily, she’d be at the beach herself, preferably La Jolla Cove, California’s only state diving park. A dive master since her eighteenth birthday twenty years ago, Aurora taught scuba diving to provide herself with a regular income, and speculated on professional salvaging when she could. She used her own ship, Neptune’s Bride, which she docked at Oceanside Harbor. But all of that—her treasure-hunting as well as diving into the cool green of California’s Pacific—had to wait. Tanya, my daring, difficult, wild niece. The trouble you’ve caused us.
Two weeks before Aurora’s scheduled meeting with Jordan Castillo, sixteen-year-old Tanya Atwell had brought a stash of recreational marijuana on the family vacation to Rosarita Beach, Mexico. They’d been stopped at the border by Mexican Customs on a random search, and now Tanya, her father, Gerald, and her mother, Dorian—Aurora’s younger sister—were locked away in separate men’s and women’s jails. Gerald had been transported south to a brand-new facility in Mexico City. Gerald and Dorian had been charged with harboring a “known drug dealer,” while Tanya herself had been charged with “international trafficking.” Tanya’s parents faced a possible twenty-five-year sentence when their case came to trial. Tanya faced life imprisonment—or execution. In Mexico, the Napoleonic Code held that Tanya was guilty until proven innocent, just the opposite of the United States. Worse, Tanya was guilty…and had taken her innocent parents down with her.
Hence Aurora’s trip across the border. Her plan to spring her sister’s family was simple.
She’d get money—lots of money—and grease palms. Not exactly what a good citizen of either country should do, but she’d tried everything else. So had the lawyers and the embassy. I have no choice. Dorian claimed the marijuana was hers, not Tanya’s. Tanya was letting her mother take the blame, while her father—
They were all worried about Gerald. He was being kept in a men’s prison, and neither Aurora nor American consulate staff were allowed to see him. Worse, Dorian and Gerald didn’t speak Spanish, although state law required Tanya to learn it in high school. Dorian and Tanya had been given no news of Gerald. U.S.-Mexico relations were friendly except when it came to the fight against illegal drugs. No smuggler of any nationality crossing the border in either direction was shown mercy. Nor would a sixteen-year-old’s act of rebellion—growing cannabis in laid-back Southern California be excused in Mexico.
Even more of a problem, Gerald’s business—a small but lucrative computer-chip manufacturer—was ripe for the picking by any bigger corporation. Without Gerald to run the business and Dorian to keep the books, funds were tied up and the handful of employees understandably nervous. Aurora had made the last two payrolls from her own bank account. She earned a good living, but her pockets couldn’t hold out forever. There was another payday next week. After that, Aurora would be scraping the bottom of the barrel herself. Sadly, the astronomical legal fees she’d paid out so far had been totally unproductive.
She couldn’t keep the family’s business solvent much longer. She had no money left to salvage the San Rafael on her own, either. But she’d found a single gold medallion at the wreck, and her salvager’s instinct told her there was more. That could mean millions in profit, millions she and Jordan would share—once he agreed to a partnership. The key to your freedom is Jordan Castillo—if I can keep him alive…And if you and Tanya and Gerald will work with me.
Sadly, that was easier said than done. Aurora’s family considered her the proverbial black sheep, and consequently they didn’t have the best relationship.
Following the dictates of her heart, she’d run away from home to join a salvage crew and dive in Florida when she was sixteen. No one had ever forgiven her. Her parents still talked about how she’d broken her mother’s heart and given her father his ulcer those two years before she turned eighteen and finally visited them.
“Too many bad memories,” fifteen-year-old Dorian had taken pleasure in telling Aurora back then. “Phone calls to and from the police, the FBI, relatives, your friend Donna. Mom said she can’t bear to look at the old place—let alone celebrate your eighteenth birthday. You don’t deserve a party, they said, and I agree. Bad enough I end up with Mom and Dad becoming my jailers after you ran away. Now I lose my house, thanks to you! And maybe my friends and my school.”
“What?” Aurora hadn’t believed her parents could sell the family home.
