by Rachel Lee
“So is everything in life. Doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”
She was close, and he was a fool, so he drew her closer. Well, maybe not so foolish, because it occurred to his dimwitted brain, even as he knew he was making a big mistake, that there seemed to be a cord or a current running between him and Veronica, and it kept tugging him close to her no matter how he tried to stay away. Since the time they’d made out, he’d found himself actually craving to feel her close again.
So he pulled her close, hugging her, promising himself he wouldn’t do any more than that. And when she came into his embrace he knew a feeling of satisfaction that went soul deep. But before he could start noticing things like how her breasts felt against his chest, or how her hips seemed to fit his exactly, Tam bobbed to the surface.
Dugan let go of Veronica instantly and stepped back. She looked questioningly at him and he pointed. She turned and saw Tam, and said in a plainly disappointed voice, “Oh.”
He wished she wasn’t so disappointed. Being strong and smart and wise would be a hell of a lot easier if she weren’t so plainly hankering after him the way he was hankering after her. If she’d put up a little fight and tell him it wasn’t good for either of them. If she’d even been a little bit pissed by the way he had treated her that evening in her cabin. Instead, she had acted like a cat who’d just had a bowl of cream.
And even while they’d been keeping a cautious distance ever since, he still caught her giving him . . . well, for lack of a better word, hungry looks from time to time. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if they hadn’t reflected his own internal longing so well.
Hell’s bells.
Thank God for Tam, who climbed onto the diving platform, shoved his mask back, and crowed.
Veronica looked at Dugan. “What did he say?”
“Something approximating cock-a-doodle-doo.”
She looked perplexed, so he repeated it. She laughed. Quit laughing, he thought. When she laughed he always wanted to kiss her.
“Yeehaw!” Tam said, pulling loose the pouch that was fastened to his diving belt. “Come take a gander.”
He pulled open the Velcro fastenings, reached into the bag, and pulled out a golden cross, about three inches long, that was encrusted with emeralds.
Veronica caught her breath. Dugan stared in amazement. Winking in the strong sunlight for the first time in three hundred years, the cross seemed to blaze.
“Ain’t she pretty?” Tam asked. He passed it to Veronica, who took it with a trembling hand.
“It’s fantastic,” she said reverently. “Fantastic. Look at the delicacy of the work.”
Dugan thought it wasn’t quite as fine a piece as you could find in most jewelry stores, then reminded himself it had been made by hand. The gold looked like gold wires twisted together in intricate knots, making the mountings for the emeralds. And the emeralds . . . the stones alone, if they were unflawed, were probably worth a small fortune.
Her hand still shaking, Veronica slowly turned the cross over. The back of it was flat gold onto which the wire and stones had been laid. Dugan heard her catch her breath again.
“There’s an inscription,” she said. “Oh my God, there’s an inscription.”
“What does it say?” Tam, still dripping, crowded in with them.
“It’s worn, hard to make out . . .” She held it closer to her eyes, squinting, trying to twist it so that shadows fell into the engraving and the glint of the sun didn’t blind her.
“It looks like . . . Felipe . . . Carlos . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Dugan. “Felipe Carlos Lorca. The captain of the Alcantara.”
Tam let out a whoop of joy, but Dugan hardly heard him. His gaze fixed on the cross, and his heart almost seemed to stop. Then slowly, he lifted his eyes to Veronica’s, and saw the same feeling of awe in them.
Slowly he reached out and took the cross from her. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he stared at it, thinking of the man on whose chest this cross must once have ridden, about a man who wouldn’t throw the gold overboard to save the ship. About a man who had met his Maker in these very waters. Had this been around his neck when he went down? Had it been pressed in his hand as he prayed mightily for salvation from the storm?
He raised his gaze again, wanting to say something of this to Veronica, wanting to share this incredible moment with someone he was sure felt exactly the same thing, unlike Tam who was thinking only of excitement and riches.
But when he lifted his eyes, he saw something behind Veronica. His heart stilled.
“We’ve got company,” he said.
Tam immediately fell silent and turned to look. A huge white yacht was sailing into view over the horizon.
“Just a pleasure tripper,” Tam said.
“What?” Veronica asked. Turning, she saw the boat.
Dugan spoke. “Just do me a favor, Tam.”
“Sure. What?”
“Get out of your diving gear and put it away. Veronica, let’s clear this stuff off the deck and put it below.”
Tam frowned. “Why? It’s just somebody out for a sail.”
“Just do what I said,” Dugan said shortly. “Damn it, Tam, we don’t want any questions. Got it? That boat will probably sail on without even really noticing us. But if it decides to get close and friendly, I don’t want to have to explain what we’re doing. Okay?”
“Okay, okay.” Tam started stripping his wet suit.
Veronica tugged on Dugan’s arm. When he looked at her she said, “You don’t think we’re in danger, do you?”
“Probably not. But out here you can’t dial nine-one-one, so it’s best to play it safe. Before that boat gets any closer, I want us to look like we’re out here to fish. I sure as hell don’t want to have to explain what we’re doing with a Ming Dynasty jar on our deck.”
Speaking of which, he grabbed the jar and carried it below, stuffing it into a locker with the spare blankets he rarely needed. In moments Veronica followed, her hands full of coins and a hammer. Those he stowed in the locker in the cabin she was using. Then came the corroded eating utensils. As for the cross . . . the cross he tucked into his duffel bag in a roll of socks. He saw a smile flit across Veronica’s face as he did it.
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting on deck, trailing a line in the water. It was impossible to hide the air tanks since they’d had to lash them to the deck, but that was easy enough to explain, even though there were an awful lot of them. He just put a speargun in plain view. Spearfishing. Diving for fun and pleasure.
The yacht was closer now, giving them all an appreciation of its size.
“Some rich dude for sure,” Tam remarked. “Bet he’s got a crew of six.”
“Probably.”
Veronica was sitting in a canvas director’s chair, sipping a soft drink. “I can’t imagine owning a boat that big. What’s the point?”
Dugan kind of agreed with her.
“I get the point,” Tam said. “The lap of luxury is the point. Your own private floating hotel, getting away from it all and not having to deal with the unwashed masses unless you want to go ashore somewhere.”
Dugan translated for Veronica, who nodded. “I guess. It seems sinful, somehow.”
Dugan had to laugh. She gave him an annoyed look, which he ignored. “What’s sinful about it? The guy has money to take floating vacations. How is it more sinful than taking a cruise? Or going to Disney World?”
“I don’t know. It just is. Maybe because you can’t use it all the time. So you spend huge amounts of money on something you might only use for a few weeks a year.”
“I guess that does seem a little wasteful. But it’s really on the same order as the guy who owns a car but only drives it once a week.”
“Not really. Because you need a car.”
Dugan laughed again, thinking she was being a little puritanical about this. “Who’s to say the guy doesn’t give a fortune to charity every year?”
“Maybe he does. But
he could have given another six or seven million if he hadn’t bought that yacht.”
“Come on, admit it. Wouldn’t you love to have a boat like that?”
Her disapproving expression suddenly melted into a smile. “Of course I would.”
Both he and Tam laughed. “So it’s just envy?”
“You bet it is. But I like your boat better.”
So did Dugan. He was very closely attached to his Mandolin. She was a sweet boat, the sweetest he could have asked for, and just right for one man. One man or a couple.
He didn’t know where that last thought came from, and he refused to look at it too closely. Instead, he returned his attention to the boat.
“They must be turning,” he remarked after a few minutes.
“Turning?” Veronica asked.
“Either that or they’re slowing down. I’m hoping they’re turning.”
“But why would they be slowing down?”
“That’s a question I’d rather not have to answer.”
He felt her look at him, but he’d already looked away, and he refused to meet her gaze. He didn’t want to see what he knew he was going to find there: worry and a dozen questions.
“Tam?”
“Yo.”
“Keep playing with that fishing rod. Make it look good. I’m going below to get my gun.”
“Might be a good idea, skipper.”
Boats could, it was true, slow down and pull alongside just to be friendly. But they didn’t do it very often. Veronica started to follow him, but he waved her back into her chair.
“Look like we’re all just out here to get a tan and catch a fish, okay? Don’t follow me below. Don’t act like we might be worried.”
“You are worried, aren’t you?”
“Just a little bit.”
She searched his face, then nodded and relaxed in her chair.
Below, Dugan unlocked the drawer where he kept a Glock 9mm. He’d never needed it before, but you didn’t sail in these waters alone without a little protection. Not if you were in your right mind. Because every so often—not very often, mind you—somebody would decide to steal a boat on the high seas. And like he’d said earlier to Veronica, out here you couldn’t dial 911.
The Glock was in a drybag, and he kept it in there. He didn’t want anybody to see it. But when he came back up on deck, he kept the bag beside him on the bench, unsealed so he could get the gun quickly.
“They’re slowing down, Dugan,” Tam told him.
“I can see that.” They were still a fair bit away, still beyond hailing distance, but getting closer. “I don’t like this.”
“Me neither.”
So Dugan pulled another soft drink from the cooler and popped the top on the can. Tam reeled in his line and replaced the bait on his hook. Veronica drummed her fingers nervously.
“They’ve stopped,” Tam said after a while.
“It looks like it.”
Dugan squinted into the sun, trying to make out details, but the boat was still too far away. It was a funny place to put down an anchor. Of course, they might be having some kind of trouble.
“Want me to get the binoculars?” Tam asked.
“Not just yet.”
“What are you two talking about?” Veronica asked.
Dugan turned to her. “The boat has stopped, and we were discussing whether to get binoculars. I said we’d wait a bit.”
“Why?” she asked. “If we weren’t all so paranoid, we’d get out the binoculars, wouldn’t we?”
She had a point.
“And why are we so paranoid anyway? It’s just another boat, and it’s not getting too close.”
“Well,” said Dugan, “I kind of get paranoid when I’m sitting on top of ten million dollars in gold bars, not to mention the value of the other treasures.”
“Oh.” Veronica subsided, but by way of making peace, Dugan got the binoculars from the cockpit and trained them on the other boat.
“La Conchita,” he said, reading the name on the boat’s bow. “Venezuelan.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Tam start. Lowering the binoculars, he looked at his friend. “You know that boat?”
Tam shook his head. “Never saw it before in my life.”
But it seemed to Dugan that Tam’s gaze slid away too quickly, and he felt his scalp prickle uncomfortably. “You sure, Tam?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Veronica spoke. “Will you two please tell me what you’re talking about?”
“The boat is out of Venezuela,” Dugan told her. “I just asked Tam if he knew anything about her.” He took another look at the yacht through the glasses, but didn’t see anything interesting one way or another. Somebody sunning on the deck, no unusual activity.
He put the binoculars down and resumed his seat on the bench. Then he had a thought. “Remember that guy who was hanging around when we first got started, asking questions about what we were doing?”
“What guy?” Tam asked.
“That Hispanic guy. Luis something-or-other. Wasn’t he from Venezuela?”
Tam said nothing. Veronica’s lips pressed together.
And Dugan felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t a coincidence.
Chapter 16
“I think we ought to just go back to diving,” Veronica said.
They’d been sitting on deck for over an hour, and time was dragging for them all. The other boat hadn’t moved any closer; in fact it hadn’t moved at all. From time to time Dugan looked through the binoculars, but saw nothing unusual on deck.
“No,” he said.
Tam stirred, reeling in his line once again. “Why not? They’re not doing anything.”
“That’s just it. They’re not doing anything. If they’ve got an engine problem, they should either move in the next hour or two, or they ought to be sending out a distress call.” He pointed to the radio in the cockpit. “I don’t hear anything.”
Tam sighed. Veronica, who’d only caught part of what passed between them, wiggled irritably in her chair. “This is ridiculous. What if they’ve decided to park there to fish, too? We could spend days here doing nothing at all.”
Dugan turned to face her. “Are you in such an all-fired rush to find that mask that you’re willing to risk your neck?”
“I don’t see what I’d be risking! So what if we do a little diving. They probably won’t think that’s any more unusual than if we sit here fishing. They couldn’t possibly know what we’re out here for.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. That Luis what’s-his-name knew what you were doing here. And even if they don’t know, what if someone is sitting over there in the covered bridge with a pair of binoculars trained on us watching every move we make? If we start hauling up interesting stuff from below, they’ll know exactly what we’re up to.”
Veronica swore softly but didn’t press the issue. “I’m going below,” she said finally. “The sun’s giving me a headache.”
Down in her cabin, she removed her hearing aids and rubbed her ears, erasing the feeling of them from her skin’s memory.
The sun was giving her a headache, but so was that other boat, and so was Dugan. Dugan most especially. After what had happened between them in this cabin such a short time ago, she could hardly believe he had retreated into a purely business relationship. Apparently he regretted the entire encounter.
She didn’t know whether she did. For one thing, it had taught her that her feelings weren’t as dead as she had believed. She could still feel attracted to a man, still get sexually aroused.
On the other hand, she wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Since Larry, she’d told herself she wasn’t ever again going to let a man get within ten feet of her heart. Hah. Apparently she had already done that.
Not that he was too close, but the distance they had between them was really troubling her since their encounter. It bothered her no end that he seemed able to encapsulate her, to put her away on a
shelf, with such ease after such intimacy.
Stretching out on the bunk, she gave the pillow one frustrated punch before she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Or the deck above, or whatever it was called on a boat. She was having trouble absorbing the terminology and at the moment she didn’t especially care what it was.
Dugan was irritating her with his detachment and careful distance, and no matter how much she told herself that it didn’t matter, that it was for the best, and that she was safer this way, she was still irritated.
Because the passion that had erupted between them was as addicting as cocaine. Heady and sweet, it had suffused her, made her feel alive, made her feel desirable—all things she hadn’t felt once since Larry had deserted her. She wanted to experience it again, wanted to test herself and see if the awakening was real or if it had been some kind of illusion.
And that was dangerous to her peace of mind—such peace of mind as she had anyway. It was like opening a door into a place where she might get hurt. A place where terrible dangers lurked. Never again did she want to feel what Larry had made her feel when he left her, and the only way to avoid that was to avoid men. All men. Any man.
So why was she feeling this way?
Annoyed with herself, and finding no answers to her confusion, she turned her thoughts to the yacht that was anchored maybe a half mile away. She couldn’t give up her quest just because some jerk with too much money had decided this was a nice place to take a rest. Surely Dugan couldn’t be proposing to cancel their work indefinitely?
What were they supposed to do? Pack up and go home? Not likely. She had a job to finish. But more than that, she wasn’t going to abandon the site to a possible treasure hunter. No way.
But her thoughts kept straying back to Dugan, and her body kept insisting on remembering how his weight had felt pressing her into the bunk. She even remembered the quick, short gasps of his breath, and the memory made liquid heat pour through her and settle heavily between her legs.
She had it bad.
Finally, realizing that staying below by herself was only making her more frustrated, she got up, put her hearing aids back in her ears, and went above deck.
