The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  Then the face.

  The juices the body had stirred went directly to simmer.

  She’d changed, unfairly, he thought. Gorgeously. Mouthwateringly. While she’d been fresh, lovely and sweet at twenty, the woman she’d become was heart-stopping.

  Her skin was ivory, almost transparently pure with just a blush of rose. Her unpainted mouth was full, luscious, and set in a bad-tempered pout that had his own mouth going bone-dry. She’d let her hair grow, and it was swept back now in a no-nonsense ponytail that left that face unframed. Behind her shaded lenses, her eyes were hot with anger.

  Realizing he was on the edge of gawking, Matthew unfolded himself. In defense, he tilted his head and offered a quick, careless smile.

  “Hey, Red. Long time.”

  “What the hell are you doing here, getting my parents tangled up in some ridiculous scheme?”

  In a negligent move, he leaned on a tree. His knees were water. “Nice to see you, too,” he said dryly. “And you’ve got it backwards. Ray’s got the scheme. I’m going along for the ride.”

  “Taking him for a ride more likely.” Disgust fountained up. It wasn’t possible to swallow all of it. “The partnership was dissolved eight years ago, and it’s going to stay that way. I want you to go back to whatever hole you climbed out of.”

  “You running things around here now, Red?”

  “I’ll do whatever I have to to protect my parents from you.”

  “I never did anything to Ray or Marla.” He lifted a brow. “Or to you, for that matter. Though in that area I had plenty of opportunity.”

  Her cheeks heated. She hated him for it, hated those damned glasses that hid his eyes and tossed her own reflection back at her. “I’m not a young girl with stars in her eyes now, Lassiter. I know exactly what you are. An opportunist with no sense of loyalty or responsibility. We don’t need you.”

  “Ray thinks differently.”

  “He’s softhearted.” She angled her chin. “I’m not. Maybe you’ve conned him into putting his money into some wild plan, but I’m here to put a stop to it. You’re not going to use him.”

  “Is that how you see it? I’m using him?”

  “You’re a born user.” She said it mildly, pleased with her control. “And when things get rough, you walk. Like you walked on Buck, leaving him in some hole-in-the-wall trailer park in Florida while you sailed off. I was there.” All but shimmering with resentment, she stepped closer. “Almost a year ago, I went to see him. I saw that sty you dropped him in. He was all alone, sick. There was barely any food. He said he couldn’t remember the last time you’d been there, that you were off diving somewhere.”

  “That’s true enough.” He’d have sawed off his tongue with his own pride before he would have told her differently.

  “He needed you, but you were too self-involved to give a damn. You left him to drink himself half to death. If my parents knew how callous, how cold you really are, they’d pitch you out on your ass.”

  “But you know.”

  “Yes, I know. I knew eight years ago when you were considerate enough to show me. That’s the only thing I owe you, Matthew, and I’ll pay you back by letting you have the chance to bow out of this business gracefully.”

  “No deal.” He folded his arms. “I’m going after the Isabella, Tate, one way or the other. I’ve got my own debts to pay.”

  “You won’t use my parents to pay them.” She turned on her heel and strode off.

  Alone, Matthew gave himself a minute to let the storm of emotions settle. Slowly he sat on the hammock, braced his feet to keep it from rocking.

  He hadn’t expected her to greet him with open arms and a sunny smile. But he hadn’t expected such complete and utter loathing. Dealing with it would be difficult, but necessary.

  Yet that wasn’t the worst of it. Not by a long shot. He’d been so sure he was over her. She’d barely been more than a passing thought in his life for years. It was a jolt, an embarrassing, devastating jolt to realize that rather than being over her, he was desperately, foolishly in love with her.

  Still.

  Before Marla could repeat her offer of lunch, Tate had sailed through the kitchen, into the homey, cluttered living room, down the steps to the foyer and out the front door.

  She needed to breathe.

  At least she’d held on to her temper, she told herself as she stormed over the sandy soil toward the sound. She hadn’t decked him the way she’d wanted to. And she’d made her position crystal clear. She would see to it that Matthew Lassiter was packed and gone by nightfall.

  Tate took another gulp of air as she stepped on the narrow dock. Moored there was the New Adventure, the forty-two-foot cruiser her parents had christened only two years before. She was a beauty, and though Tate had only managed one brief run on her, she knew the boat to be quick and agile.

  She might have gone onboard, just to spend a few minutes alone with her anger, if there hadn’t been another boat on the other side of the pier.

  She was frowning at it, its unusual lines and double-hull construction, when Buck came on deck.

  “Ahoy there, pretty girl.”

  “Ahoy yourself.” Grinning, she hurried onto the pier. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”

  “Permission granted.” He laughed, holding out a hand as she leapt gracefully down.

  She could see instantly that he’d lost some of the weight the bloat of drink and bad food had ballooned on him. His color was ruddy again, his eyes clear. When she hugged him, there was no stale scent of whiskey and sweat.

  “It’s good to see you,” she told him. “You look renewed.”

  “I’m getting by.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You know what they say, a day at a time.”

  “I’m proud of you.” She pressed her cheek to his, but sensing his embarrassment, pulled back. “Well, tell me about this.” She spread her arms wide to encompass the boat. “How long have you had her?”

  “Matthew finished her only a few days before we sailed up.”

  Her smile faded; her arms dropped back to her sides. “Matthew?”

  “He built her,” Buck said with pride ringing in every syllable. “Designed her, worked on her off and on for years.”

  “Matthew designed and built this boat, himself?”

  “Just about single-handed. I’ll show you around.” As he led her around the deck from bow to stern, he ran a commentary on the design, the stability, the speed. Every few minutes, his hand would run along a rail or fitting with affection.

  “I gave him grief over her,” Buck admitted. “But the boy proved me wrong. We ran into a squall off of Georgia, and she took it like a lady.”

  “Umm-hmm.”

  “She carries two-hundred-gallon freshwater capacity,” he went on, bragging like a doting papa. “And storage, the way he set her out, she’s got as much as you find on a sixty-footer. Got twin motors, a hundred and forty-five shaft horsepower.”

  “Sounds like he’s in a hurry,” she muttered. When she stepped into the pilothouse, her eyes widened. “God, Buck, the equipment.”

  Stunned, she walked through, examining. Top-of-the-line sonar, depth finders, magnetometer. The cockpit held excellent and pricey navigational equipment, a radiotelephone, radio direction finder, a NavTex for offshore weather data and, to her complete amazement, an LCD-screen video plotter.

  “The boy wanted the best.”

  “Yes, but—” She wanted to ask how he’d paid for it, but was afraid the answer might be her parents. Instead she took a deep breath and promised to find the answer herself, later. “It’s quite a setup.”

  The pilothouse boasted full visibility, access from starboard and port. There was a wide flat chart table, empty now, and glossy cabinets with brass fittings for storage. Even a settee berth with thick navy padding over wood had been built into a corner.

  A far cry, she mused, from the Sea Devil.

  “Come take a look at the cabins. Hell, guess I should call ’em staterooms. Got
two of them, with heads. Sleep snug as a bug down there. And the galley’s one even your ma would be proud of.”

  “Sure, I’d love to see. Buck,” she began as they exited to stern. “How long has Matthew been planning on going back to look for the Isabella?”

  “Can’t say. Probably since we left the Marguerite. Ask me, it’s been preying on his mind all along. All he lacked was the time and the means.”

  “The means,” Tate repeated. “Did he come into some money then?”

  “LaRue bought in.”

  “LaRue? Who—”

  “Did I hear my name?”

  Tate saw a figure at the base of the companionway. As she stepped down she made out a thin, nattily dressed man somewhere between forty and fifty. Gold winked out of his grin as he offered a hand to help her down.

  “Ah, mademoiselle, my head spins.” He swept her hand up to his lips.

  “Don’t pay this scrawny Canuk any mind, Tate. He thinks he’s a ladies’ man.”

  “A man who reveres and appreciates women,” LaRue corrected. “I’m enchanted to meet you at last, and to have such beauty grace our humble home.”

  At a glance, the neat, shipshape deckhouse looked anything but humble. Wood gleamed on the dining bar where colorfully padded stools stood waiting. Someone had hung framed charts, yellowed with age, on the walls. She was astonished to see a vase of fresh daffodils on a table.

  “Guess it’s a big step up from the Sea Devil,” Buck commented.

  “From Sea Devil to Mermaid.” LaRue grinned. “Can I offer you tea, mademoiselle?”

  “No.” She was still blinking in shock. “Thanks. I have to get back. There are a number of things I have to talk over with my parents.”

  “Ah, yes. Your father, he was thrilled that you would be going with us. Me, I’m delighted to know two such lovely ladies will be adding charm to the journey.”

  “Tate’s not just a lady,” Buck said. “She’s a hell of a diver, a natural born treasure hunter, and she’s a scientist.”

  “A woman of many talents,” LaRue murmured. “I’m humbled.”

  Baffled, she stared at him. “You shipped with Matthew?”

  “Indeed. It has been my trial to try to induce some culture into his life.”

  Buck snorted. “Shit with an accent’s still shit. Begging your pardon, Tate.”

  “I’ve got to get back,” she said again, dazed. “Nice to have met you, Mr. LaRue.”

  “LaRue only.” He kissed her hand again. “A bientôt.”

  Buck shouldered LaRue aside. “I’ll walk back with you a ways.”

  “Thanks.” Tate waited until they were back on the pier and headed for shore. “Buck, you said Matthew’s been working on that boat on and off for years?”

  “Yeah, whenever he had a little extra time or money. Musta done a dozen drawings and designs ’fore he settled on this one.”

  “I see.” That kind of ambition, and tenacity, was more than she would have given him credit for. Unless . . .

  “All right.” She put a friendly hand on his arm. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure any of this is a good idea.”

  “You mean us partnering up with Ray and Marla and going back?”

  “Yes. Finding the Marguerite was practically a miracle. The odds of it happening twice are very dim. I know it took a long time for all of us to get over the disappointment before. I hate to see you, and my parents, go through all of it again.”

  Buck paused to shove his glasses back into place. “I can’t say I’m happy about it myself.” Automatically, he reached down to rub the artificial leg. “Bad memories, bad luck. Matthew’s set, though. And I owe him.”

  “That’s not true. He owes you. He owes you his life.”

  “Maybe he did.” Buck grimaced. “Fact is, I made him pay for it. I didn’t save his father. Don’t know if I could have, but I didn’t. Never went after VanDyke. Don’t know what good it woulda done, but I didn’t. Then when my time came to pay, I didn’t take it like a man should.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” She hooked a protective arm through his. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

  “Now. For a couple of weeks. Don’t really make up for all the years between. I let the boy shoulder it all, the work and the blame.”

  “He left you alone,” Tate said furiously. “He should have stayed by you. Supported you.”

  “Done nothing but support me. Worked at a job he hated so I could have what I needed. I took it, used it and tossed it in his face every chance I got. I’m ashamed of that.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The last time I came to see you—”

  “I lied to you.” He stared down at his feet, knowing he had to risk her affection for his own self-respect. “I made it seem like he pushed me off, didn’t come around, didn’t do nothing for me. Maybe he didn’t come around much, but it’s hard to blame him. But he sent me money, took care of things best he could. Paid to have me in detox I don’t know how many times.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I wanted you to think. Wanted him to think it, too, ‘cause it was easier for me if everybody was miserable. He did the best he could.”

  Far from convinced, she shook her head. “He should have stayed with you.”

  “He did what he had to do,” Buck insisted, and Tate bowed to unshakable family loyalty.

  “Regardless, this new brainstorm strikes me as being impulsive and dangerous. I’m going to do my best to talk my parents out of it. I hope you understand.”

  “Can’t blame you for thinking twice about hooking up with the Lassiters again. You do what you have to do, Tate, but I’ll tell you, your daddy’s got the wind in his sails.”

  “I’ll just have to change his course.”

  CHAPTER 15

  B UT THERE WERE times when the wind ran strong and true and defeated even the most determined sailor.

  Tate tolerated Matthew’s presence at dinner. She made conversation with Buck and LaRue at the big chestnut table. She listened to their stories, laughed at their jokes.

  Her heart simply wasn’t hard enough to spoil the celebratory mood, or dim the light of delight in her father’s eyes with cold, hard facts and logic.

  Because she was sharp enough to notice her mother’s occasional looks of concern in her direction, Tate managed to be marginally polite to Matthew. Though she did her best to limit contact to the obligatory “pass the salt.”

  When the meal was over, she maneuvered the situation in her favor by insisting on clearing up the dishes alone with her father.

  “Bet you haven’t had a meal like that in a month of Sundays,” he commented, humming under his breath as he stacked dishes.

  “In a year of Sundays. I’m sorry I had to pass on the pecan pie.”

  “You’ll have some later. That LaRue’s something, isn’t he? Exchanging recipes with your mother one minute and arguing foreign policy the next with a side trip into baseball and eighteenth-century art.”

  “He’s a regular Renaissance man,” she murmured. But she was holding out on judgment of him. Any friend of Matthew’s, she thought, required careful scrutiny. Even if he was interesting, well read and charming. Particularly if he was. “I haven’t figured out what he’s doing with Matthew.”

  “Oh, I think they suit each other well enough.” Ray filled the sink with soapy water for the pots as Tate loaded the dishwasher. “Matthew’s always had a lot going for him, he’s just never had much chance to put it all to use.”

  “I’d say he’s a man who knows how to make the most of an opportunity. Which is something I want to discuss with you.”

  “The Isabella.” Sleeves pushed up, Ray began to attack pans in the sink. “We’re going to get to that, honey. Soon as everyone’s had a chance to settle in for the evening. I held off saying anything more to the rest until you got here.”

  “Dad, I know how you felt when we found that virgin wreck eight years ago. I know how I felt, so I under
stand that you may think it’s a good idea to go back. But I’m not sure you’re considering all the details, the pitfalls.”

  “I’ve thought of them a great deal over the years, and little else for the last nine months. We had our share of luck, good and bad, the last time. But we’ve got a hell of a lot more going for us this time around.”

  “Dad.” Tate slipped another plate into the dishwasher, straightened. “If I have the right information, Buck hasn’t dived since his accident, and LaRue worked on ship as a cook. He’s never had on tanks in his life.”

  “That’s all true. Maybe Buck won’t go under, but we can always use another hand on deck. As for LaRue, he’s willing to learn, and I have a feeling he’s a quick study.”

  “There are six of us,” Tate went on, trying futilely to chip away at the optimism. “Only three of whom can dive. I haven’t done any serious diving myself in nearly two years.”

  “Like riding a bike,” Ray said easily and set a pan aside to drain. “We need people to read and run the equipment in any case. Now we’ve got a professional marine archeologist on hand, not one in training.” He sent her a beaming smile. “Maybe you’ll do your thesis on this expedition.”

  “I’m not concerned about my thesis right now,” she said, straining for patience. “I’m concerned about you. You and Mom have spent the last several years playing at hunting, Dad. Exploring established wrecks, pleasure diving, shell collecting. That’s nothing compared to the full out physical labor needed for something like you have in mind.”

  “I’m in shape,” he told her, vaguely insulted. “I work out three times a week, dive regularly.”

  Wrong tactic, she thought. “Okay. What about the expense? It could take months of your time, plus the cost of supplies, equipment. This isn’t a vacation you’re talking about, or a hobby. Who’s backing this venture?”

  “Your mother and I are very stable financially.”

  “Well.” Fighting temper, she snatched up a dishrag to swipe the counters. “That answers my last question. You’re putting your money on the line, which means you’re carrying the Lassiters.”