by Zoe York
“And knives?” he asked dryly.
“If need be.”
“You want the job? If not, we’ll let you off at the next safe stop.”
“If you’re offering, I might give it a try on a trial basis. If I don’t have to yes-sir a bunch of idiots and I can be queen of the kitchen.” She might want to stay with Marat, but she also wasn’t ready to sign away her life for X number of years, nor volunteer herself to be on the bottom rung of some irritating military chain-of-command.
The corners of Mandrake’s mouth turned down. She had a feeling he liked irritating military chains-of-command. Mercenaries weren’t quite the same as pirates.
As Ying was wondering if she had just talked herself out of a job, the door opened. She half-expected Marat returning to check on her, but a woman strolled inside, dark wavy brown hair bouncing around her shoulders. She had a lithe, athletic form, but didn’t look like one of Mandrake’s soldiers. She wore light makeup, a blouse that accented her breasts, and her eyes twinkled without wariness or fear when Mandrake squinted suspiciously at her.
Before the captain could say anything, the new woman spun toward Ying.
“Is this the new cook?” she asked, spreading her arms. “Can I hug her?”
Ying didn’t know whether to step back or to just stare in horror. She didn’t want a hug from a stranger.
She glimpsed Marat standing outside in the corridor and peering in her direction before the door closed. The pleased smile on his face kept her from scurrying backward.
“That’s still up for debate,” Mandrake said.
“Whether she’s a cook? Or whether I can hug her?” Thankfully, the woman lowered her arms and stuck one out for a handshake instead. “I’m Ankari. I loathe food logs. Please join the crew and become my savior.”
Mandrake issued a noisy snort.
“Whatever he’s offering to pay you, I’ll double it,” Ankari added.
Ying blinked. She hadn’t been thinking about money, but getting paid would be an added perk to having her food and lodgings taken care of again. This time she could save more and plan better for her future.
“That better not be out of my twenty percent,” Mandrake grumbled.
Ankari grinned and walked around the table toward him. “Didn’t you just get a new ship to sell?”
“It’s full of bodies and has a hole in the hull where some combat team drilled its way in.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” Ankari stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. Mandrake didn’t exactly melt into goo at her gesture, but he did look faintly pleased. He patted her on the back before she walked back toward Ying. “Let’s get this negotiation wrapped up, shall we?” Ankari asked. “You’ve been offered double pay. Do you accept?”
Hm. Did she accept? The idea that not everybody here was a mindless soldier drone marching around with guns and grenades reassured Ying somewhat. And she would have Marat too. She smiled to herself, remembering him hefting her over his shoulder and “rescuing” her from the androids. He certainly wasn’t a drone.
“I told him I’d cook for the ship on a trial basis,” Ying said, “but that I wouldn’t sign a contract or yes-sir him.”
“He agrees,” Ankari promptly said.
“Ankari,” Mandrake warned.
Ankari didn’t even look at him. She waved at Ying, then strode back through the door. “We have a cook,” she announced in a loud, cheerful voice.
The round of cheers and applause that erupted from the corridor surprised Ying. She hadn’t realized anyone except Marat was out there. His eyes were only for her as he gazed past Ankari and through the doorway. He gave her a shy wave and a big smile.
The door shut, not quite drowning out the continuing cheers and exuberant shouts.
“In the past, I’ve had nightmares of mutiny,” Mandrake said. “This wasn’t quite how I imagined it unfolding.” Shaking his head, he rounded the table and headed for the door. Before walking out, he offered Ying his hand. “Welcome to the outfit, Ms. Brooksmouth.”
Though Ying felt a little dazed, she accepted his firm handshake.
Marat rushed in as soon as he could squeeze past the captain. He engulfed Ying in a hug, one she did not try to reject. She met his kiss with enthusiasm.
“You’re on duty, Azarov,” came Mandrake’s voice before the door slid shut.
“Sorry I won’t have time to give you a tour,” Marat said, though he did not rush to release her. “I’m sure Ankari will show you around.”
“Or she’ll show me straight to the kitchen where she’ll tie me to a pot rack so I can’t escape.”
Marat grinned. “That is a possibility.”
As Marat kissed her again, she found herself grinning back, realizing she was pleased by the new situation. The fact that people actually wanted her here. This might just work out.
—THE END—
— AFTERWORD —
Thank you for giving The Pirate Captain’s Daughter a read. I agreed to submit a story for the Romancing the Alphas anthology before it had a title, and realized as I was finishing this one that Marat isn’t much of an “alpha.” As Ying says, he’s more of a nice guy. Ying may qualify as an alpha in her own right though! Either way, I hope you enjoyed the story.
If you would like to read more of the Mandrake Company adventures (and find out how Ankari and the captain ended up together), you can start with Mercenary Instinct. The novel is available for free in all of the major online bookstores.
Want to get in touch? Or learn more about the books? Find me at:
rubylionsdrake.com
[email protected]
HER TREASURE HUNTER EX
ZARA KEANE
Website | Facebook | Mailing List
GENRE: Underwater Adventure Romance
DESCRIPTION: Book 1 in the Ballybeg Bad Boys Series
She’d left him in the past. He’s about to blow up her future.
Underwater photographer Katy Ryan snags the assignment of a lifetime—the chance to explore the wreck of RMS Lusitania. But there’s a catch: Her infuriating ex-fiancé is on the exploration team.
Declan “Dex” Fitzgerald is a treasure hunter on a mission. Priceless necklaces are hidden in the wreck of the Lusitania. With a loose idea of where to find the gems, and even looser morals, Dex wrangles a last-minute job on the exploration team. And realizes he’ll have to work alongside his uptight-but-sexy-as-hell ex.
And they’re not the only ones in pursuit of the treasure. With sparks flying and oxygen tanks running low, can Dex and Katy retrieve the gems before the bad guys?
Turn the page to begin reading Her Treasure Hunter Ex, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.
— ONE —
Dublin, Ireland
The pockmarked man leaned back in his leather chair, his hard obsidian gaze pinned on Katy. “So, Dr. Ryan,” he said in his clipped Oxbridge accent, “are you interested in the job?”
Was she interested? Hell, yeah. He was offering her the chance to explore the wreck of RMS Lusitania up close. Growing up with Grandma Ryan’s vivid tale of how her parents survived the torpedoing of the ship in 1915 had given Katy an early interest in the topic—an interest strong enough that she’d written her doctorate on its ramifications for the First World War. Given how stingy the Irish government was about handing out dive permits to explore the wreck, this was quite literally the opportunity of a lifetime.
And yet…Something didn’t smell right.
Katy returned the man’s stare, equally hard and unwavering. “Don’t bullshit me. You were sure you’d hook me with your offer before you opened your mouth. What I want to know is this: where’s the catch?”
Mr. Devon—or whatever he was called when he wasn’t using a pseudonym—cracked a hint of a smile. “I was warned about you, Dr. Ryan.”
Katy jutted her chin, irked by the emphasis the man placed on the academic title she’d gained only recently. So what if it had taken her a coupl
e more years than most to finish her doctorate? She’d done so with distinction, so screw him. “What did they say? That you can take the girl out of the Navy but not the Navy out of the girl? Or is it a class thing like you Brits are obsessed with? Brooklyn-girl-goes-to-Trinity-College and all that crap?”
“I was told you were as street-smart as you were academic, and possessed of razor-sharp instincts. In short, precisely the sort of person we need for this mission.” The smile broadened to expose a set of teeth so blindingly white they had to be veneers. “Plus I understand your mother is ill. The money from this venture would allow you to cover her medical costs in America.”
Whoa…Bringing up her mother was a low fucking blow. Glaring at her visitor, Katy drew a pack of chewing gum from her desk drawer, popped a piece into her mouth, and engaged in some ostentatious mastication. She didn’t much care for gum but she loved screwing with people’s stereotypes of the dumb American abroad. The man on the other side of her desk was a cool customer but he was a millisecond too late in disguising his distaste. Score to Katy.
“The word ‘mission’ doesn’t conjure up thoughts of a staid academic project, Mr. Devon, and you don’t strike me as the kind of guy to fund one.”
He opened his mouth, as if to protest but she cut him short.
“Wherever you work, it’s not Oxford. Yeah, you might have gone to college there—in another lifetime and under a different name—but I don’t believe for an instant that you have any academic or scientific interest in the Lusitania.”
His crater-ridden jowls wobbled. “I—”
“Yet here you are offering me a ridiculous sum of money to join a research project and take underwater pictures of the wreck. Why? More importantly, why me?”
The large man stiffened. “You’re an experienced deep sea diver and you’ve photographed numerous shipwrecks in the Pacific and around the British Isles. Your specialization in the sinking of the Lusitania makes you the ideal candidate for this job.”
Katy shifted her gum from one cheek to the other. “Flattery will get you far but not with me. In my time as a diver for the US Navy, I participated in several shipwreck dives, check. My main role in those dives was to take pictures, another check. However, I haven’t dived much since I sidelined into academia. As you not so subtly noted, the ink is barely dry on my PhD. Yet here you are dangling a crazy sum of money as bait. Why do you want me to dive that particular wreck? And who is your mysterious employer?”
“I work for a man named Trevor Masterson. He collects antiques and rare jewels.” Without so much as a flicker of emotion across his fleshy face, Mr. Devon withdrew a piece of paper from his briefcase and laid it on her desk. “A map of the Lusitania.”
“I can see that,” she said dryly, taking in the elegant reproduction. “After looking at maps of that damn ship for the past three years, I could give you a guided tour.”
“That is precisely why we want to hire you.” The man tapped the area where the first class cabins had been located. “Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt. What do you know about him?”
Katy rattled off the details from memory. “Wealthy American playboy and son of Cornelius Vanderbilt II. Traveling on the Lusitania from New York to Liverpool on a business trip. Accompanied by his valet, Ronald Denyer. Went down with the ship after allegedly acting the hero during the sinking. Body never recovered.” She eyed the man across from her. “Have I left out any pertinent details? I didn’t think his womanizing warranted a detailed analysis.”
The man on the other side of her desk smirked. “That’s where you’re wrong, Dr. Ryan.” With a flourish, he produced an old sepia photograph. “Do you know what this is?”
Katy squinted at the grainy picture. “Some kind of necklace. Whatever it is, it’s gaudy as hell.”
“That is a priceless diamond-and-ruby necklace,” Mr. Devon said in a severe tone. “It’s a photograph of one of the items from the Fire and Ice collection.
With a one-shouldered shrug, she leaned back in her chair and shoved her hands into the pockets of her utility pants. “What can I say? I don’t accessorize.”
“Not only is that necklace worth a fortune, it is part of a set Mr. Vanderbilt was carrying with him on the ship.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Alfred Vanderbilt had a penchant for elaborate jewelry?”
“Alfred Vanderbilt had a penchant for expensive mistresses,” Mr. Devon said in a bone-dry tone.
“Lemme see that up close.” Katy picked up the photograph and snorted with laughter. “So Trevor Masterson wants me to attach myself to the expedition as photographer and find this butt ugly necklace and its companions. Did you steal the plot from James Cameron’s Titanic? Infamous shipwreck and a priceless necklace at the bottom of the sea?”
“Necklaces,” he corrected. “This is no film script, Dr. Ryan. The jewelry was being transported in a special carrier case Vanderbilt kept in the safe of his stateroom.”
Katy tossed the photo back on her desk. “Sir, do you even know the history of the ship? The Lucy is a wreck in every sense of the word. She was torpedoed by a German submarine and suffered a second explosion due to the munitions she wasn’t supposed to be carrying. The British Navy is alleged to have dropped depth charges on the wreck in an effort to conceal the evidence, causing further damage.”
“Tut, tut, Dr. Ryan. The munitions story has never been proven. The second blast could have been caused by a boiler exploding or coal dust igniting.”
Katy shook her head. “Bullshit. The ship took just eighteen minutes to sink. Torpedoes back then weren’t as effective as they are today. One torpedo into a ship that size shouldn’t have caused damage so devastating that it sank within eighteen minutes. The Titanic was a similar size, and it took almost three hours to go under. Survivors reported only one explosion within the ship, so it had to have been devastating. The only logical explanation is that the torpedo hit the cargo hold, and the cargo included explosives.”
Mr. Devon’s bland expression was irritating the hell out of her. “Whatever the cause of the sinking,” he said in his clipped accent, “the British were keen to get the Americans to enter the war. The opportunity to accuse the Germans of murdering twelve hundred innocent civilians was ideal fodder for the propaganda machine.”
“Well, you’ve answered one question,” she said, eyeing him speculatively.
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What question was that?”
“You’re not a spook. If you were an intelligence agent, you’d want to oil the cover-up the British and American governments have been maintaining for the past one hundred years.”
This comment elicited a chuckle. “For an academic, you have a strange proclivity for dramatic accusations. I work for a private collector. I’m not a spy, although I have no doubt one will be dispatched to monitor the exploration of the wreck. As you said, the British and American governments don’t appreciate questions being raised about the precise cause of the sinking. Which means you’ll have to be extra careful in concealing your true purpose in participating in the project.”
“You talk like I’ve already accepted your offer.”
That arched eyebrow again. “Haven’t you?”
He had her there. The memory of her mother’s panicked voice when she described her latest medical bill still rang in Katy’s ears. Damn. Even if she never found the jewels, the base fee Mr. Devon was offering would cover her mom’s medical expenses for the next few months.
And she’d be a liar if she said the prospect of exploring the ship she’d spent years researching didn’t have her blood humming. For better or worse, Katy could never resist an adrenalin-fueled challenge. That was one thing she had in common with her reckless former fiancé.
On instinct, her hand slid to her flat stomach. Her eyes stung with unshed tears when she recalled the nightmare of the past year. She blinked them away and considered her options. If Dex were in Ireland, he’d be all over this dive. Last she’d heard, he was on the other side of the world, explori
ng a shipwreck off the coast of Queensland. Which meant there was no reason for her to turn down Mr. Devon’s offer and every reason to accept it.
“All right. I’m in.” She extended a hand, resisting the urge to spit on it first and totally horrify her snobby visitor.
The man’s handshake was surprisingly limp for a man of his size. His oily smile sent a shiver of unease down her spine.
“Excellent, Dr. Ryan,” he said in his smooth baritone. “You won’t regret this.”
Part of her already did.
— TWO —
Ballybeg, County Cork
Dex Fitzgerald slung his bag on the floor and surveyed the apartment that would be his home for the next couple of weeks. “Good of you to put me up, bro. You sure I’m not kicking you out?”
His older brother grinned, reminding Dex of how much Seán resembled their late father. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Clio’s mother is away during the week. I can stay with her and Tammy. Besides, your expedition leader is paying me a hefty rent.”
“Staying with Clio and Tammy, eh?” Dex whistled. “You’re getting scarily domesticated in your old age. Do I need to buy a wedding suit?”
Seán’s grin widened. “Not yet, but I’ll keep you posted. Speaking of nuptials—” he handed Dex a cold beer bottle, “—whatever happened to that photographer you planned to marry?”
Dex swallowed past the lump in his throat and kept his tone nonchalant. “Didn’t work out.”
Understatement of the century. Thoughts of Katy’s honey-colored hair and warm amber eyes ambushed his normally steely reserve. The raw ache caused by her absence from his life hadn’t dulled over the last year, and the memory of their last fight still had the power to flay him like a lash. He pushed the thoughts away and focused on the present.
“Rick says we’ll be done with the diving in two weeks,” he said. “Not that we have much of a choice. That’s when our funding runs out. We’ve got to hope the weather plays nice and allows us to dive as often as possible.”
