Deep Blue (10 page)

“That is correct.”

“If she was running close behind the
Santa Ynez,
she could have been blown toward the sandbar and run aground. In a storm that bad, she could have hit hard enough to rip out her bottom. I think it’s the place we ought to start looking.”

The professor’s pale eyes gleamed. “If the ship had run aground on the island itself, even with its few inhabitants, far more artifacts would have been found over the years. The sandbar could be the answer. It’s far enough away that little of the treasure would have reached the shore.” He smiled. “I agree—this is definitely the place we should look.”

Conn flicked a glance at Hope and saw that she was grinning. “I guess we’re going hunting,” she said.

Conn smiled back. Treasure fever was definitely contagious. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

Everyone was eager to get under way. They planned to leave as soon as their last passenger arrived.

“There he is.” King pointed down the dock. “My son, Michael.”

Conn stood next to Hope at the rail, doing his best not to notice how pretty she looked with the wind in her shiny red hair and an excited smile on her face. For days, he’d been haunted by erotic memories of soft lips and full, creamy breasts, of the way she had tasted, the hot little sounds she made when he touched her. Night after night, he awakened painfully hard, wishing Hope were there to soothe the ache throbbing in his groin.

It was crazy. He was working; so was she. For now, that was the end of it.

She spotted the boy an instant after King did. “Your son’s going with us?”

The big man nodded. “The two of us, we live in Ocho Rios. His mama gone. His grandmama bring him down and sometime Cap’n Bob let him go out with us.”

“What about school? Isn’t he missing his classes?”

“Special school holiday. Besides, Michael is a very smart boy. If he misses some days, he can make up de work.”

She looked over at Conn as if she expected him to disapprove. His eyes followed the boy, tall for his twelve years and already filling out in the shoulders. Conn wondered, as he had a dozen times since Kelly left, if he would ever have children of his own.

“Mike’s a good kid,” he said. “Someday he’s going to be a really good diver.”

That seemed to throw her even more. “You’re teaching him to dive?” As if spending time with a boy Michael’s age was something he would never consider. He wondered how low her opinion of him actually was. Or maybe it was just men in general.

“The kid’s a great swimmer,” he said. “He and King have been snorkeling for years. Michael’s a natural at diving.” He flicked her a glance. “I take it you don’t like kids.”

“I love children.”

He worked to hide his surprise. She was a newspaper reporter, a career woman. And men were definitely low on her priority list. She didn’t look like the type to be interested in having a family. Then again, maybe she was one of those independent-woman types who wanted the kid without the man.

Conn turned away from her as Michael raced up the gangway and gave his father a brief, manly hug.

“Did you tell your grandmama we would call her on our way back?”

Michael nodded. “I told her.”

“Good.” King turned to Hope. “Dis my son, Michael. Michael, this is Ms. Sinclair. She’s writin’ an article about findin’ the treasure.”

Michael smiled. He was a good-looking boy, Conn thought, lighter-skinned than his father, since his mother had been part maroon and part Spanish, though Conn didn’t much like his hair, which he wore in sort of a short, dreadlocks style.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you,” Michael said in very proper English. At King’s insistence and though it was a definite financial burden, he was going to a private school and he was a very good student.

Hope offered a hand, which Michael politely shook. “It’s good to meet you, too, Michael.”

The kid didn’t have a mother. She’d been killed in a car wreck when Michael was eight years old. Conn could see the yearning in the boy’s eyes when he smiled at Hope. Conn was amazed to see that same look returned.

Then again, maybe he’d only imagined it.

Father and son left for the galley, King promising the boy a snack before supper.

The men completed any last-minute preparations necessary for their return to Pleasure Island and Captain Bob fired up the big twin-diesel engines. They would get there late tonight. In the morning, they would be ready to resume their search.

Unconsciously, Conn reached into his pocket and his fingers closed over the coin. Maybe this time they would get lucky.

It was late when they reached Pleasure Island. As she stood at the rail, Hope could see the mountain in the center of the island rising in the distance. Moonlight illuminated the clouds surrounding the volcanic peak and outlined the palm trees swaying along the distant shore.

She heard someone coming, heard footsteps striding along the deck, but didn’t have to turn to know who walked up beside her. She was attuned to Conn in a way she had never been to a man before, as if they were connected by an invisible string.

He didn’t say anything, yet she could feel the tension running through him. She followed his gaze out to sea and saw the cause, saw the lights of four other boats bobbing in the water near the reef.

“Son of a bitch.”

He was angry. She wasn’t quite sure why. “What are they doing out there?”

Conn’s attention swung to her and she almost flinched at the icy look in his eyes. “You ought to know. You’re the one who told them about the treasure.”

“That’s impossible. The magazine won’t hit the streets for nearly two more weeks.”

For the first time, she realized Joe Ramirez and Andy Glass had also walked up to the rail.

“Does
Adventure
have an online site?” Andy asked.

Hope turned her attention to him. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve worked for them.”

“Well, let’s go find out,” Andy said, and all of them trooped across the deck toward the ladder to the chart room.

Andy sat down at the computer and, using the satellite link, accessed the Internet. He typed in
www.adventuremagazine.com
in the hope their domain might be that easy to find, and sure enough, the site popped right up. Hope inwardly cringed as she recognized the title of the lead article on the screen.

Ever Dream of Finding Sunken Treasure?

She grimaced at the sight of one of Tommy’s underwater photos of the cannon they had found, appearing on the magazine’s front page.

“Well, now you know why all those boats are out there,” Conn said darkly.

“God, I didn’t realize it would bring them running like a flock of greedy geese.”

He stared down at her. “You didn’t think hinting there might be half a billion dollars in treasure ninety-five miles off the coast of Jamaica might attract a few people hoping to find it?”

Her chin went up. “If you read the article you’ll see I never mentioned the amount of treasure that was supposed to be aboard. I said the
Rosa
was a Spanish galleon and that a lot of the galleons carried treasure. I said Mel Fisher had taken over four hundred million dollars worth of treasure off the
Atocha.
I also said it took him seventeen years to find the wreck and that he lost two members of his family in the attempt.”

“People never think of the bad things that can happen. All they see are dollar signs. Those boats out there probably came from Jamaica. There are lots of other islands not that far away. Over the next few days, we’re going to have even more company.”

“Even if people do show up, you’ve got a deal with Eddie Markham. Any treasure that’s found belongs to Treasure Limited—isn’t that right?”

“That’s the general idea. But how, exactly, would you suggest we enforce the contract? This ain’t the good ol’ U.S. of A.”

Hope started to reply but Conn was already stalking off down the deck.

Hope ran after him. “Wait a minute! This isn’t my fault! I was only doing my job. If you want to blame someone, blame your illustrious partners. Talbot is the one who suggested the article to
Adventure
in the first place and Markham thought it was a great idea. Be mad at them, not me.”

Conn turned and glared at her, his blue eyes snapping with fire. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “You’re right, okay? It’s not your fault—it’s theirs. But they aren’t here and you are and you wrote the goddamn article. I’ll say I’m sorry in the morning, all right?”

He started walking again and she just stood there staring after him, trying to fathom what he’d said.

He was mad. He knew he was taking it out on her—somewhat unjustly. She couldn’t help smiling. She wondered if he’d really say he was sorry in the morning.

Across the water, lights shone from the windows of the power-and sailboats bobbing along the curve of the reef, treasure hunters drawn by her story.

The thought occurred that maybe she should be the one to apologize first.

Brad Talbot descended the stairs of his small private jet, a sleek Citation he had bought just last year. He couldn’t figure out how he had managed to get along without it. A warm breeze rustled the palm trees along the runway of the airstrip on Pleasure Island, and a few passing clouds floated by overhead, drifting out to sea.

Brad spotted Eddie Markham walking over to greet him, white suit, flowered shirt, black, slicked-back hair. They shook hands and the little Italian led him toward the canvas-topped Jeep. He might call himself Emperor Eddie, he might have some pretty influential connections, but to Brad he was just another greasy little wop.

“So what brings you all the way down here?” Eddie asked. “Or are you doing a little checking up on our treasure hunters?”

“Something like that, I guess. I was staying at the house in Palm Beach. I figured since I was so close, I might as well see what progress they were making. You had any news?”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been so busy getting the work done on the new villas we’re building I haven’t paid much attention. They’ve been out there working, though. Except when they go back to Jamaica for supplies, they’ve been prowling the waters every day.”

“But you haven’t heard whether or not they’ve found anything yet.”

“Chalko’s been out there a couple of times. He said they found an old iron cannon, but it turned out to be off another ship.”

“Another ship?”

“That’s what Chalko said.”

A little jolt of irritation went through him. Reese should have called him about the cannon. That he hadn’t meant something was up and that something wasn’t good.

“I think I’ll make a trip out there, take a look for myself.” Besides, he wanted to talk to Hope Sinclair, the main reason he had come.

“I’ll radio Chalko,” Eddie said, “tell him to get the Sea Ray fired up. You planning to stay for a couple of days?”

“Tonight at least. You got room?” A number of the villas constructed so far were luxury time-share units, privately owned, but only for a couple of weeks at a time. There was pretty much always room.

“I’ll get one of the units ready.”

“Thanks.” Brad didn’t particularly like Eddie Markham, nephew of the late Aldo Marconi, formerly a member of the East Coast mob, though that was part of his life Eddie did his best to forget.

The guy was such a glad-hander, Brad thought, always smiling, always after something. Money, mostly. Eddie had big plans for Pleasure Island. It was the reason he’d been so excited about the possibility of finding sunken treasure. The search would definitely bring attention to the island.

And there was also the chance he’d wind up with a good-sized share of half a billion bucks.

Which, of course, would appeal to just about anyone.

Brad left his luggage in one of the villas, then Eddie drove him down to the boat and Chalko took him out to the
Conquest.
As the speedboat roared through the waves, he noticed the other boats bobbing around the reef.

Adventure
had e-mailed him their Internet link so he could read the article Hope had written. People were already showing up. Eddie was probably ecstatic.

The Villas speedboat skimmed across the surface of the water. Both sky and sea were a clear, crystalline blue, and the white, foamy spray shooting out behind the boat shimmered like diamonds.

Standing at the rail, Hope pointed toward the water. “Look! Someone’s coming out from the island.”

“Brad Talbot,” Conn said darkly. “He called from the airport, said he just got in. I guess he’s coming out to check on us.”

She turned and looked up at him. “What are you going to tell him?”

Conn just smiled. “Why, the good news, of course. That we’ve figured out where to find the
Rosa.
”

He walked away and it occurred to her that neither of them had said they were sorry. But the moment was past and there were more important matters at hand. Hope wasn’t looking forward to seeing Brad Talbot, though she guessed she should be grateful he’d thought highly enough of her work to request her for this assignment.

She watched the boat ease up to the
Conquest
and saw him step out on the boarding platform. He was maybe five-foot-ten, with short blond hair perfectly styled, combed back from a face that at thirty-eight years old had already undergone cosmetic surgery. He always dressed expensively. She was sure his navy blue slacks, white pullover shirt, and navy deck shoes were Ralph Lauren and not off the rack at Bloomies.

Hope took a fortifying breath, pasted on a smile, and went to greet him.

Conn spent the next few hours with his partner and one-and-only investor in Treasure Limited, explaining the progress he and his crew had made so far in the search. Brad was a little pissed he hadn’t been told about finding the cannon, but Conn said they had wanted to be sure about what they actually had, and in the end, the discovery had provided a huge leap forward in their ongoing exploration.

“The good news is, we think we know more specifically where the
Rosa
went down and if we’re right, the recovery will be a whole lot easier than if she had sunk on the reef.”

He explained that the coral had probably overgrown the wreck of the
Santa Ynez
and that any excavation of the ship would involve a helluva lot more work, blasting to remove the rock-like substance.

“On the other hand, if the
Rosa
hit the sandbar—and we think she may have—she’ll be buried mostly in sand. If there’s treasure, bringing it up will be a lot less problematic.”

Talbot nodded, seemed satisfied, didn’t press for more information.

In fact, Brad appeared to be more interested in Hope than he did the
Rosa
or even finding the treasure. When she suggested an interview for her next
Adventure
article, Talbot jumped at the chance. Though Conn was glad to be rid of the guy for the rest of the afternoon, he found himself continually glancing toward the galley, trying to figure out what was happening inside.

He couldn’t help wondering if Hope had told him the truth about her involvement with Brad, or if there was more going on between them than she had been willing to admit.

To hell with both of them, he told himself.

He just wished he meant it.

The galley was empty, giving them a bit of privacy thanks to King, who had shooed everyone out and then left himself. Brad sat across from her on the padded vinyl seat of the dinette while she set up her small, portable tape recorder and pulled out her old-fashioned steno note pad, which she actually preferred. They’d been at it for at least two hours but Brad didn’t seem the least bit bored.

Why should he be? They were discussing his favorite subject—him.

“So…are you excited about the prospect of finding the treasure? Are you feeling reassured, now that you’ve actually visited the place Professor Marlin and Conner Reese believe the ship went down?”

“I’ve never doubted that we’re going to find the ship—and the treasure. I’ve got a lot of confidence in those men. They’ve got years of experience and they’re doing a really great job. Treasure hunting is a very tough business. It takes men of strong determination and iron will to get the job done. It can also be dangerous—which all of us know. We’re resigned to it, willing to take the risk.”

Hope fought not to roll her eyes. The only danger Brad Talbot faced was slipping on the marble floor in his bathroom when he got out of the shower in the morning.

“Well, that about winds it up,” Hope said with a too-bright smile. She had kept him talking for hours, hoping to keep him out of Conn’s hair. Sort of a way of making amends for the trouble she’d caused with the article. She hoped he appreciated her efforts.

“All right,” Brad said, resettling himself on the seat. “Now that you’ve got what you need from me, let’s talk about you.”

Her head came up. “Me?”

“Sure. I heard you had to give up a story you were working on in order to take this assignment. I appreciate that, by the way. What was it you were doing?”

She sighed, thinking of Buddy Newton and wishing she had heard from that detective she had hired. “I was working on an article that dealt with closing down a retirement home on the south end of Manhattan…old people being run over by a big corporation. It was an interesting story.”

“I read about that place in the paper. Hartley House, it was called, wasn’t it? I didn’t really notice the article carried your byline. Sorry about that.”

“You read the
Midday News?
I would think that’s kind of small-time for you.”

Brad glanced away and an uneasy feeling started trickling down her spine.

“My secretary reads it,” he said. “I pick it up off her desk once in a while.” He gave her one of his practiced smiles. “The way I hear it, that old place is practically falling down. Fortunately for the owner, some big company wants the land and they’ve made the guy a very reasonable offer. The old man oughta take it.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Yeah, I do. I think everyone would be a winner.”

There was something in the way he said it that made her nerves kick up. “You don’t think the people who want to buy the property would do anything illegal, do you?”

Brad leaned back against the seat. “Like what?”

“Like start the fire that burned up two of the apartments.”

Brad shook his head. “Nah. You’ve been watching too many movies. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life.” He sat up a little straighter, his eyes locking with hers. “But if those guys actually
were
behind the fire…if they wanted the place that badly, then the people who are getting in their way had better back off. Guys like that mean business. You might want to remember that, Hope.”

There was a coldness in his expression, a look of warning that sent goose bumps over her skin.

Brad cracked a smile. “But I said, those things don’t really happen—except in the movies.”

But his dark eyes said something else entirely. She couldn’t help wondering if Brad Talbot was there to give her a message, the same message someone had tried to deliver by vandalizing her apartment.

Was it possible Brad knew she had hired a detective?

Was Talbot somehow involved?

Keeping her smile in place, Hope got up from her side of the booth and so did Brad.

“Well, thanks for the interview,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

Now that’s the truth.
“Will you be staying on Pleasure Island for a while?”

“Just overnight. I gotta go back in the morning.”

He had told her he was staying at his house in Palm Beach and just flew down to check on the progress of the treasure search. But she wondered again if he hadn’t really come for some other reason entirely.

His words ran through her head.
Guys like that mean business. You might want to remember that, Hope.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” Hope said.

“Same here. Say…why don’t you come back with me to the island? The Villas has a great restaurant and a fabulous chef who cooks really gourmet food. We can have a nice supper, then go back to my place and listen to some music, have a couple of after-dinner drinks. Chalko can bring you back to the boat…if you decide that’s really what you want to do.”

Hope was already shaking her head. The last thing she wanted was to spend more time with Brad—or fend off his advances at the end of the evening.

“I appreciate the offer, Brad, I really do, but—”

“But you’ve got work to do. Yeah, I know. That’s what you said the last time.” It was obvious he wasn’t happy with her refusal, but he didn’t press her. He must have known it wouldn’t do him any good.

“I’ll tell Andy to radio the island,” Hope said. “Tell Chalko to come and get you.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

She started for the ladder, had her foot on the bottom rung, when his softly spoken words reached her.

“Remember what I said, Hope. Don’t get involved in something you can’t handle.”

Hope didn’t answer, just continued up the ladder, suddenly feeling desperate to get out in the sun, away from Brad, and out into the fresh ocean air.

Hope waved good-bye to Talbot as the speedboat roared away, glad to have seen the last of him, at least for a while.

“I thought maybe you’d be going with him.” Conn’s voice drifted toward her as he walked up to where she stood.

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

Conn shrugged. “You know…a fancy supper, expensive bottle of champagne, maybe a few after-dinner drinks in his villa. You two seemed pretty cozy. I figured—”

“Well, whatever you figured, you figured wrong. I told you before, Brad Talbot doesn’t interest me. The truth is, I kept him busy as a favor to
you.
Not that you appreciate it. He’s hardly fun company, and he’s the last man I’d want to spend the night with—which is exactly what he’d expect if I went back to the island with him.”

She started to turn away but Conn caught her arm. “All right—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I was way out of line. I just didn’t like the idea of you spending time with him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d rather you spent time with me.” His eyes were blue and intense as he backed her up against the deck house, his hard body pressing into hers. One big hand slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head, tilting her mouth up to receive his kiss, which was hard and thorough, and incredibly arousing. Though it didn’t last long, it made her sizzle all over.

She was breathing too fast when Conn stepped away, but then, so was he. She couldn’t help noticing the thick ridge pressing against the front of his swimsuit.

She moistened her lips, tasting him there. “What was that supposed to be?”

“Just something I’ve been wanting to do. By the way, thanks for keeping Brad out of my hair.”

“You’re welcome.”

He stared out over the water, following the path of the speedboat, which looked like a speck of white against the blue of the sea. “I guess he’ll be heading home in the morning.”