by Rachel Lee
Five minutes later he was in his car, driving down Truman Avenue a few feet behind Tam. Given local customs, it wasn’t a problem to slow down, lower the passenger window, and call, “Want a ride?”
Tam bent down, looked in on him, and said, “Yeah, sure. Aren’t you the guy who came out to the boat before we left?”
Luis didn’t deny it. “Yes. I saw you get off the boat.”
That seemed to be enough for Tam, who willingly tossed his duffel in the backseat and climbed in beside Luis.
“I’m on my way to get a drink,” Luis said. This much had been easy, so he decided to go for the rest without beating around the bush. “Join me? I have a business offer to make.”
Tam looked at him. “You need a diver? I’m booked for a while.”
Luis shook his head. “Something much easier with better pay.”
“Sounds good to me. Sure, let’s have that drink.”
Too easy, thought Luis. Either this man was stupid, or he was leading Luis on. He decided a little more caution might be in order.
So he didn’t say much more until they reached the heart of Old Town and he managed to find a parking space. He let Tam pick the place, one that didn’t even have any tables, just the long bar with stools, and doors that opened onto the street.
Luis ordered Tecate. Tam, who had more serious business in mind, ordered a Chivas. Why not, Luis thought. Tam wasn’t paying for it. “How was your trip?” he said.
“Boring,” Tam said. “I spent the whole damn time reading a book. We didn’t do a thing.”
Luis clucked sympathetically. “I wouldn’t like that.”
“Me neither. I only signed on because I thought I’d be diving.”
“Why did you not dive?”
Tam opened his mouth as if to answer, then apparently changed his mind. Instead, he downed his shot of Chivas and sighed happily. “Damn, I missed that.” Then he turned to Luis. “Why are you so curious?”
“I am an archaeologist. I understand Miss Coleridge is looking for a sunken Spanish treasure ship. So I am curious.”
“Hmm.” Tam stroked his moustache. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with all that gold, would it?”
“What good would that do me? I could never get it out of your country. No, I’m just excited to maybe see an important wreck found.”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait a damn long time, because we didn’t find anything at all. It’s turning into the worst vacation I ever took.”
Luis nodded sympathetically. He was good at looking sympathetic; the talent had been of great use to him over the years with Emilio. “It may be boring for a long time.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Oh, well, it’s a job.”
“Ah! You are getting paid for this.”
Tam suddenly looked uneasy. “Well, yes.”
Luis nodded again and took a moment to sip his beer so Tam wouldn’t feel he was being pressured.
“I have always wanted to do what Miss Coleridge is doing,” he said. “But I don’t have the money.”
“It can get real expensive,” Tam agreed. He ordered another Chivas.
This was good, Luis thought. The more whiskey, the looser the tongue. Maybe he’d wait a bit, and let Tam have another shot or two. Then he decided, no, he would talk around the issue without pressuring. That would seem more natural.
“It has been my dream since I was a child,” he told Tam. “To find a treasure ship. When I was young I dreamed of piracy, but as I got older I dreamed of fame as an archaeologist.”
“Yeah?” Tam regarded him with interest. “I used to wish I could be a pirate, too.”
Luis flashed a rare grin. “The thought of treasure makes me remember that.”
“Yeah.” Tam laughed and shook his head. “But I ain’t gonna touch it, man. The state would be all over my ass.” His smile faded. “What are you after?”
“Just information. I just want to know what is happening, and what is found. Nothing more.”
“Curiosity, huh?”
“Just curiosity.”
“And you’re willing to pay for that information?”
“I’m prepared to pay very well.”
Tam pushed his glass aside. “Forget it,” he said, his tone steely. “You’re lying, and I don’t sell out my friends.”
Luis, quick as a snake, reached out and closed his hand around Tam’s forearm. For such a slight man, he had amazing strength, and Tam looked shocked.
“Let me tell you, my friend,” Luis said, his voice low and menacing, “I want information. That’s all you have to do. Information. I pay for it.”
“No.”
“Well, then, I will have to get someone else on board that boat.”
“There’s no room for anyone else. There’s two divers, and I’m one of them.”
Luis shook his head. “You don’t understand me. I will make room to put my own diver on that boat.”
Tam looked dead into Luis’s eyes, and he began to pale. After a moment he nodded. “Information only.”
“Just information. Nothing more. I just want to know. What I do with that information needn’t concern you. And your friends won’t get hurt.”
Tam gave another short, jerky nod. “Fair enough,” he said finally. “Fair enough.”
“Good. We understand each other.” Luis smiled again and took a roll of bills out of his pocket. He put them on the bar in front of Tam. “Your down payment.”
Tam took the money and stuffed it in his pocket. As Luis had suspected, the other man liked easy money.
“Okay,” said Tam. “I can do that.”
“Of course you can. It’s only a little thing.”
“Yeah,” said Tam. “Yeah.” And after another shot of Chivas, he looked as if he thought it was a pretty good deal.
But after that, Tam seemed eager to get away from him, and Luis was glad enough to let him go, once they had worked out arrangements. Tam would call Luis’s pager when he came ashore, then Luis would call him to get the information. The business was settled. Well, except for the phone calls.
The first one he made to Emilio, then waited impatiently for the man to come to the phone. Emilio often kept him waiting. It seemed he was watching a videotape of Die Hard and didn’t want to interrupt a riveting action scene, at least according to Elena Zaragosa, who answered the telephone. Luis reminded himself that this call was on Emilio’s bill.
At last Emilio picked up the phone. “Digame,” he said. Tell me.
“One of the divers has agreed to keep me informed,” Luis told him. “But so far they have found nothing at all.”
“They might find nothing at all for years,” Emilio said philosophically. “I’m a patient man.”
Luis was not nearly so patient, probably because he was the one who was going to be expected to spend the rest of his life in this godforsaken little town, checking in with Tam Anson until the ship was found. This, thought Luis, was beginning to feel like a sentence to life in prison.
Emilio evidently sensed his employee’s discontent. Things like this had Luis nearly convinced that Emilio was a mind reader. “It won’t be so bad, Luis,” Emilio said sympathetically. “You don’t have to stay there.”
“No?”
“Of course not. You can have this man of yours call you with the information. And, once in a while, you can return to Key West to check up on him.”
Luis’s life suddenly looked brighter. “Thank you.”
“I am not a heartless beast.”
But then there was the call to El Desconocido, to tell him things were going well. He fretted over that one, wondering what he would do if El Desconocido thought Luis should stay in Key West. How would he explain that to Emilio?
But he didn’t have to answer that question right away, because all he got was an answering machine, and the whispery voice saying, “Leave a message.” So he left a message, making no promises about when he would call again, or how he was going to keep on top of the situation. It wa
sn’t the man’s business, after all, because he only wanted to know when the ship was found.
After hanging up the phone, Luis decided that this arrangement might work after all. No contact between them, other than messages, and eventually a huge check to be deposited to his anonymous account.
Yes, it would work. Emilio would never know what happened. And no one would ever know that Luis had been involved.
Life was good. He decided to treat himself to the most expensive meal in town.
Unlike Tam, who had climbed off the boat like a jail-breaking prisoner, Veronica remained to help Dugan with the chores, such as emptying the perishables from the refrigerator and securing all the hatches and tarps. By the time they were done, they were both soaking wet from the rain.
Dugan never understood the impulse that made him then say, “Want to come to my place to dry off?”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment she didn’t say anything. Then she said, “Pardon me?”
He was already regretting the impulse that had made him speak, but he had a sneaking suspicion she had understood him perfectly and was just buying time. So he repeated the fateful words.
“Want to come to my place to dry off? I can make us some dinner.” Her father wasn’t expecting her back until the next day, but he wondered if she would use that as an excuse. Part of him hoped like hell she would, while another part of him was reluctant to say good-bye to her. Between her remark about being isolated and her reaction to the storm, he discovered he was fascinated by her. As fascinated as a moth by a candle flame, knowing full well he could get burned, but unable to help himself.
She finally nodded, almost hesitantly. It amazed him that she hadn’t found a reason to say no. But maybe she was tired of her isolation and had decided to reach out.
He wasn’t sure, though, that he wanted to be the one she reached out to. However, it was too late now.
He loaded their duffels into the back of his truck and drove them to his house. The rain was beginning to lighten, but the evening was dark and gray, and passing swiftly into night. He pulled off the street and into his driveway, which was just long enough and wide enough for him to park without blocking the sidewalk. Tam’s motor scooter was there, but that didn’t mean anything since Tam had walked to the dock. But the upstairs windows were all dark, and Dugan felt surprisingly relieved. For some reason he didn’t feel like dealing with Tam tonight.
“Home sweet home,” he told Veronica as he ushered her inside and flipped on the lights.
Rugs were scattered over gleaming wood plank floors, darkened from age and layers of varnish. The room was filled with old furniture, some of which had come with the house, some of which he’d picked up secondhand. The effect was to make it seem that the house and furnishings had been passed down through generations.
It was no decorator showpiece, but it suited him, probably in part because it would have appalled Jana. There had been a time when that seemed like a good enough reason to do anything.
Veronica stood right inside the door, looking about uncertainly. He caught her eye and pointed. “Bathroom’s in there. Feel free to freshen up and change. Want some coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll go make it.” He waited a moment, to be sure she headed for the bathroom, then made his way to the kitchen.
The kitchen was the one place where he ceded space to the current century. Every appliance was new; there was a dishwasher and a trash compactor, and nearly every kitchen gadget known to man from a drip coffeemaker to a food processor to a pasta maker. And he used every one of them.
The pot was just finishing brewing when Veronica joined him. She had changed into white shorts and a loose red shirt with long sleeves that she had rolled up. Her dark hair was still damp, pulled out of the way in a ponytail that somehow emphasized the gray streak. Something deep inside Dugan stirred, but he ruthlessly stamped it out.
“Coffee?” he asked, holding out a mug. After the last few days, he knew she took hers black.
“Thank you.” She pulled out a chair at the round oak table in one corner of the kitchen and sat, looking around curiously. “What a contrast,” she said. “All the old cabinets and all the brand-new appliances.”
He smiled and sat in the chair facing her. “This is one place I need my conveniences.”
She smiled and nodded. “And in the bathroom.”
It was true, his bathroom was as modern as his kitchen . . . except for the tub. It was a huge, claw-footed tub that he wouldn’t have parted with for a fortune, because it was big enough for him to stretch out his legs in. “What do you think?”
“I like it. It feels homey.”
That’s what he thought too. For an unwanted bachelor he’d done pretty damn good at making a home.
“So you cook?” she asked.
“Sometimes.”
She lifted an inquiring brow.
“Well, when I need to get away, but I can’t sail away because of business, I sometimes go on a cooking spree.”
“I’m sorry?”
He repeated himself more slowly, and saw her understanding.
She glanced at his flat stomach. “What do you do with all the food?”
“It’s easy to get rid of. I pick up a phone and call Tam and a few other friends. Next thing I know, the house is overrun with people, and we’re all eating and having a party.”
The look she gave him just then was so wistful that he felt his heart ache.
“Don’t you ever have parties?” he asked.
He could tell that she understood him, but for an instant he had the feeling that she was going to pretend she didn’t. But then she answered.
“No.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “No time, I guess.”
“Aw, come on, you can’t possibly work that hard.”
This time she didn’t answer, and he knew she wasn’t going to. What was going on here?
Leaning back in his chair, he sipped his coffee and considered going to change. He was getting chilly in his wet clothes with the air-conditioning on. But something made him reluctant to leave Veronica at that moment. He had the feeling that she was struggling with something, not quite ready to speak about it or admit it even to herself.
And hadn’t he just warned himself for the umpty-umpth time not to play the knight-errant? So what was he doing sitting there waiting for her to spill her guts?
“I’m going to change,” he said. He realized she hadn’t been looking at him when her eyes suddenly leapt to his face, and she said, “Sorry?”
“I’m going to change.”
“Okay.”
He rose and headed for his bedroom, wondering how she could stand not being able to hear, and how other people could stand repeating things so often. And then it suddenly struck him . . . he actually didn’t mind it that much. He was getting used to it.
God forbid. No way. Life insisted on sending enough hassles his way. He didn’t need to ask for any more.
He stripped his clothes and hung them to dry over a wooden rack he’d purchased for the purpose. Living in such a humid climate, clothes were apt to be damp more often than not when you took them off, and he’d learned his lesson about mildew his first week there.
Still feeling chilled, he changed into jeans and a yellow polo shirt, then returned to the kitchen. He found Veronica sitting hunched over her mug, staring into her coffee as if it were a crystal ball.
“Reading the tea leaves?” he asked.
She didn’t even look at him. That’s when he realized she had removed her hearing aids. The waterproof pouch was beside her on the table.
Great. What were they going to do? Sit and stare at one another?
He touched her shoulder and she jumped, looking up swiftly at him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. Can you hear me?”
Apparently she couldn’t, because she shook her head and pointed to her ear. “I took out my aids.”
He pushed the pouch toward
her. “Put them in. We can’t talk without them.”
He knew she didn’t understand a word he was saying, probably couldn’t hear his voice at all. But talking was a habit, one he couldn’t break overnight.
She had understood the gesture, though, and for a few seconds he saw mulishness in her face, a stubbornness that reminded him of a recalcitrant child. Oddly enough, it made him want to laugh. She was cute when she stuck her chin out like that.
But finally she reached for the pouch and with irritated gestures put her aids back in her ears.
“Thank you,” he said.
Her blue eyes regarded him resentfully.
“Why are they bothering you?” he asked. “It’s quiet in here.”
“I’ve had them in all day. My ears feel sore.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked as if she didn’t believe him.
“How can we talk if you can’t hear me?”
“What do we have to talk about?”
Good question. But he had an answer for it. “Would I have invited you here if I didn’t want to talk with you?”
“Yes.”
He felt his jaw drop. Certainly she hadn’t thought . . . hadn’t expected . . . Hell’s bells! If that’s what she had believed, why the hell had she come with him?
“I’m insulted,” he said sharply.
“What?”
“Insulted. Offended.” He found himself jabbing at his chest.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry.”
He pulled out the chair across from her, swung it around, and straddled it. He was still annoyed. “What kind of men do you hang around with?”
“What?”
But before he repeated his question, he felt the wind go out of his sails. What kind of men? What kind of stupid question was that? He’d been around enough men to know that most men were that kind of man. He passed his hand over his face, wiping away his anger and frustration. This woman could madden him more quickly than any woman he’d ever known. Not a good thing.
“Let’s start again.”
She cocked her head. “Start what again?”
“This conversation.”
“Oh.” She shrugged again. He was beginning to hate that shrug. It kept making him feel as if nothing he said or did mattered, as if she were utterly indifferent to him. And why that should be bothering him was something he didn’t want to examine too closely just then.
