Lovely, Dark, and Deep (The Collectors)

by Susannah Sandlin

  She raised an eyebrow at Shane. “Seriously. Don’t look so shocked. I was raised on a gator ranch in Louisiana. I’ve been around them all my life.”

  “You just didn’t mention gainful employment when we met earlier.” She’d just thrown around a lot of money.

  “It didn’t seem important to our discussion. Speaking of which…” She took a sip of her beer and looked at Jagger, then Shane. “Will you take the job?”

  Finally down to the negotiations. “There are some things we need to do first, as I told you yesterday. I need to bring Jagger in to handle the dive boat, whether it’s The Evangeline or something we lease on site. Right now, I’m thinking it makes more sense for me to use my own equipment and take my own boat. Having Jagger along is nonnegotiable. I’ll pay him out of what you’re paying me, so don’t worry about the money.”

  Shane didn’t think he’d ever said the words “don’t worry about the money” in his life. It felt kind of nice.

  “Understood.” She nodded, but her brows were knit in a worried expression as she turned to Jagger. “This might be a dangerous trip. You realize that, right?”

  Jagger nodded. “That’s why you need me. I used to fish that area with my dad, so I know it pretty well. And The Evangeline’s gonna need some work.”

  “Right, Shane told me that.” She looked back at Shane. “How long will the retrofitting take?”

  Shane pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair. He’d been thinking about a timeline. “Well, the hull might need to be replated to withstand the rough seas, all the mechanical and electrical systems and airlocks will need to be checked. Most of that can be done here. We’ll need to do a scouting run ahead of time, set up a base in Canada, and get the permits.”

  Gillian’s face had grown pale, and her eyes widened in what looked to Shane like alarm. He continued. “There’s more. We’ll need to identify someone from the area to help us navigate, not just the water but the local politics. We don’t know what the locals are sensitive about, and I’m guessing we want to get in and out without attracting a lot of attention.”

  She nodded but still had a glazed look on her face. He could see it as clearly as if she’d written “unprepared” across her forehead with a permanent marker. She had no clue what she’d asked of him. Which sort of pissed him off, a million dollars or not. Did she think he’d just sail up the coast, slip on some fins, and go wreck hunting?

  “Finally, before any of those things happen, we need to know where we’re going,” he added. “Canada has more coastline than any other country on earth, and a hell of a lot of it borders the North Atlantic. We have to narrow it down if we have any hope of finding your ship.”

  Gillian finished off her beer, set the bottle down, then began picking the paper label off in shreds. “I’m sorry; I had no idea how complicated it all was, but it sounds like you know what you’re doing.

  “About the last part, the location, I might have some answers tonight. I’ve rented a place here in Cedar Key and brought an old trunk of family papers with me. I have no idea what’s in it yet, but I’m hoping it will give us a clue.”

  Jagger cleared his throat. He’d been uncharacteristically silent while Shane went through his list of preparations. “Is there anybody in your family who might know more? The ship was coming from Spain, right? In the 1500s?”

  “Yeah, that’s my understanding.” Gillian gathered her beer label shreds into a small pyramid. “I’m not sure exactly where the ship was headed, but I do know my family was part of the Grand Derangement.”

  Shane looked at Jagger, who looked back with a shrug. Good. He wasn’t the only stupid guy at the table. “Explain.”

  She shoved the denuded bottle aside and took a sip of her water, running her fingers through the condensation formed on the sides of the glass. “Well, to make a long story shorter, the British ran the French colonists out of the maritime provinces in the mid-1700s. A lot of them in the so-called Grand Derangement, the Great Expulsion, fled to Louisiana. The French word for them, Acadians, got bastardized down to ‘Cajuns’ in modern times.

  “The point being, though, that at the time of the expulsion, my family was in Nova Scotia, around Louisbourg. The family legend I’ve always heard is that Duncan Campbell, my ancestor, had a young son with him on the ship, and the boy survived. And here I am, all these years later.” She laughed and shrugged. “No idea if that part’s true, but obviously old Duncan didn’t father babies from the depths of the Atlantic.”

  Shane grinned. “That would be a whole different kind of story.”

  Jagger broke into a chorus of the Stones’ “2000 Light Years from Home,” and Shane’s head shaking finally earned him a genuine smile from Gillian. He liked it. Maybe too much.

  “Can it, Mick.” Shane had another question, a big one he should’ve asked yesterday. “Assuming we figure out where this ship went down, and assuming we can get the boat retrofitted and successfully anchor it in Canada, and assuming we find the shipwreck…” Those were a hell of a lot of assumptions already. “What are we looking for?”

  Gillian looked down at her plate and picked at the remains of her sandwich. “It’s a cross. Sort of a pendant, like you’d wear around your neck on a chain, except pretty big.” She pointed to the smallest of the paper plates on the table. “Probably about that size. Like a priest might wear. It’s worth a lot of money.”

  Shane studied her downcast eyes, fidgety hands, soft voice. This wasn’t about money. “Why do you want it, Gillian? Why now? If I’m going to risk my life to find this thing, I at least want to know why I’m doing it.”

  “It’s made of gold and is inset with garnets and rubies, or at least that’s what I’ve read.” She looked up at him, brows raised, but Shane shook his head. Not good enough. She could have one of those made for a thousand dollars.

  “What about this particular cross makes it so valuable?”

  She bit her lip and stared at the bar. Shane followed her gaze to the overdressed tourist guy he’d noticed when they arrived. Whoever he was didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them, so she was stalling.

  Shane leaned forward and kept his voice low. “Gillian, if you can’t answer that question, I can’t do the dive. Something doesn’t add up, and I need to know the truth. You trap gators and work for the state, so you don’t make the kind of money you were throwing around yesterday. What’s so fucking special about that cross?”

  She flinched but looked him in the eye. “It’s believed to have belonged to the Knights Templars—you know, from the Crusades.” She lowered her own voice to a whisper. “It’s worth billions. And I need it.”

  Holy shit. Shane had heard of the lost Templar treasure; any diver who’d ever had delusions of finding some strike-it-rich sunken treasure knew about the riches that had never been found. “There was more lost than just one cross; the Templars had a lot of treasure that’s unaccounted for.”

  “Here’s an interesting thing,” Jagger said. “My dad used to tell me stories when we’d be out on the trawler. Some folks over the years believed that part of the Templar treasure was lost off Nova Scotia on ships following the old Viking trade routes.”

  “So it could be true!” Gillian leaned back in her chair.

  “I’ve heard those stories too,” Shane said. “But the thing that doesn’t jibe with Duncan Campbell is that the treasure was lost in the 1300s, not the 1500s.”

  She nodded, her face still flush with excitement. “It still works with the family legend in a way. I’ve read that part of the Templar treasure was sent to the New World, but some the Knights stashed in other European countries. Our family stories say that old Duncan somehow found the cross and stole it from the Templars, then grabbed his family and hopped the first ship to the New World. Ship sinks and—poof—the cross is gone, and so is Duncan.”

  Things still didn’t add up for Shane; there was more Gillian wasn’t telling them.

  But what a story. His blood heated at the thought
of going after a piece of the Knights Templars’ treasure, warming up his muscles and firing off synapses in his diving brain. His thoughts spiraled into what breathing apparatus and mix of gases he’d need, how deep a wreck that old would have settled and how cold the water would have to be for it to have remained intact. Where Duncan Campbell might hide something so small and yet so valuable.

  “Uh oh, Shane’s thinking.” Jagger grinned at him. “And I bet you’re thinking this is the coolest damned thing you ever heard.”

  Shane laughed and finished off his beer. “Pretty much. What I still don’t understand is why now? Why do you need to find this thing now when it’s been forgotten for so long?”

  The light went out of Gillian’s eyes, and the circles under her eyes seemed to darken. “I’ve told you all I can,” she said, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear it over the bar chatter. “Let’s just say someone’s life depends on us finding it. Someone really important to me.”

  Shane blew out a frustrated breath. He had a feeling that was all the information Gillian was willing to give for now. Maybe he could wear her down enough to trust him with the truth eventually.

  In the meantime, he had enough to hook him: a million dollars and the chance to discover something archaeologists and historians had been puzzling over for centuries. He’d be like a fucking underwater Indiana Jones.

  “Okay,” he finally said. He looked at Jagger, who nodded. “We’ll do it.”

  There—the warm smile again. Give the woman what she wants and she’ll reward you. A good thing to remember.

  “When do you think you can get started?” Gillian had come back to life, losing the haunted look as she leaned over the table, brown eyes warm and twinkling. “What can I do to help?”

  This question Shane had prepared for. “We’re going into the winter season now, so I figure we can get The Evangeline’s work done here while we research Duncan’s story and ship. Then we can sail her up the East Coast, do our business in Louisbourg or wherever we decide’s the best place to set up a base…”

  He counted on his fingers until he reached nine. “We should be able to do our test dive by the end of May, first of June. Then we’ll hit prime diving season in July.”

  Shane had expected Gillian to be excited by that timeline—it was fast, but realistic. Instead, she’d gone all pale again, with eyebrows knit in a worried line. She bit her lip so hard he expected to see blood gushing out.

  “That won’t work,” she said, taking a quick glance at the bar. “We have to be finished by the end of September.”

  He stared at her. “Tell me you mean September of next year.”

  Gillian shook her head. “We have twenty-seven days.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Gillian’s hopes sank with each change of expression on Shane’s face.

  “Twenty-seven days?” Disbelief.

  “Right, you’re joking. Funny.” Sexy smile.

  “Good God, you’re serious.” Smile replaced by lowered brows and frown.

  “Why the hell would you even think that was possible?” Shane finally settled his face into a seabed of confusion. She knew how he felt. When he’d described all the things they needed to do in order to make this dive happen, fingers of panic had begun creeping around her throat and she’d had to pick at the beer label to distract herself so she wouldn’t hyperventilate.

  She spoke softly and couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “I know this sounds melodramatic, but someone’s life really does depend on the dive being done this month.”

  Shane shoved his plate away and drained his beer, setting the bottle back on the table with a thud. “Whose life? And your story better be convincing.”

  God, what she wouldn’t give for a nice snarling gator to wrangle right now. Alligators were simple and predictable. They’d run from you if they could and fight if they had to. She seemed to be trapped, afraid to either run or fight.

  If she told Shane the truth, he might do something to jeopardize Holly. Tell the authorities, maybe, or confront the gun-toting guy at the bar.

  If she kept lying to him, or only giving him half-truths, he might walk away. But she’d seen his imagination take hold during the Knights Templars story. His green eyes had lit up like they had a flame behind them, and he practically radiated adrenaline and testosterone.

  She had to rely on his financial problems, his ego, and the lure of adventure to keep him committed to the dive. She couldn’t risk Holly’s safety.

  “Well?” Frustration had given way to impatience, and he thrummed long, tapered fingers on the top of the table.

  “I can’t tell you any more. Please believe me when I say it’s important, though. Someone could die if I don’t come up with that cross.”

  Shane leaned forward, his green eyes narrowed and a dangerous curve to his lips. “But you’re sure willing for me to die on some half-assed, half-planned treasure hunt, aren’t you? Well forget it. I might be broke, but I’m not stupid. You can keep your bag of money. I might lose my boat but I’ll still be alive.”

  He pushed his chair back, caught Jagger’s gaze, and jerked his head toward the door. “Have a nice life, Gillian Campbell.”

  She sat frozen in place, watching him walk away, the bang of the door slamming behind him audible even over the bar noise. “Will he change his mind?”

  Jagger pushed his chair back as well. “Not unless you tell him the truth. Shane’s been through some shit and he’s still trying to put his life back together. He doesn’t trust people easily, especially if he thinks they’re using him.”

  She shook her head. “He needs the money, and I’m offering a lot of it. Why does it have to be any more complicated than that?”

  Jagger smiled, and Gillian couldn’t help but think how easy it was to underestimate this guy with his laid-back mien and his Rolling Stones songs. He said Shane didn’t trust easily, but this was a person he did trust.

  “Shane’s not a simple man, so you might want to keep that in mind and not expect simple reactions from him. Yeah, he needs the money. He probably even thinks he’s considering the job because of the money. But it’s more than that.”

  Gillian stared at the closed exit door, willing Shane to walk back in, to make things easier. “If he’s not doing it for the money, why is he considering it?”

  Jagger paused before answering. “If you tell him I said this, I’ll have to kill you.”

  Gillian let out a harsh laugh. He’d have to get in line behind Tex and his cohorts. “Fair enough. What?”

  “Shane needs this job to remind him how good he is at this kind of thing. Planning. Organizing. Doing complicated dives. He needs to find himself again; he’s been lost for a long time.” Jagger stood up and threw his napkin on the table. “He’ll help you if he can, but not if you don’t come clean with him. Your choice.”

  Gillian didn’t know many Rolling Stones songs, but she caught the chorus of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” before Jagger exited Harley’s.

  What a nightmare. She rubbed her temples and looked up to see Tex, or Son of Tex, or whoever the guy was, watching Jagger leave. He shifted his gaze to her, and suddenly the air conditioning felt too cold. Chill bumps spread up and down her arms, and her palms grew clammy. Could he have heard what they were saying?

  He cocked his head at her and tapped his watch. She got the message: the clock is ticking. Like a bomb.

  She put some cash on the table and avoided another look at the gun-toting terrorist on her way out of the restaurant. The midday heat felt good and she leaned against the giant clam to let it soak into her skin and bring her numbed hands and feet back to life.

  “Looks like your negotiations went south.”

  Gillian jumped away from the clam, tripped over the edge of the stump it sat on, and pinwheeled to stay on her feet. “You think?”

  Son of Tex didn’t smile. His expression was inscrutable, his features bland. Short mud-brown hair. Mud-colored tanned skin. Probably had mud-brown eyes,
but Gillian wouldn’t know because she hadn’t gotten close enough in Harley’s to see their color and he again wore his mirrored sunglasses. She only saw a funhouse mirror version of herself.

  “Here’s what I do think. That you need to go after Mr. Burke and change his mind. If he’s no longer useful to us, we’ll provide you with another diver to find the object my employer wants. But you’ve lost valuable time, and you’ll have the death of Mr. Burke and his friend on your conscience.”

  Gillian’s mouth went dry. “Why would you kill them? They don’t know anything.”

  “To show you we’re serious, Ms. Campbell. Your actions, or inactions, have consequences.”

  “Why can’t your employer just hire his own diver and leave me alone?”

  “It’s against the rules.”

  Gillian frowned. Rules? “Rules for what?”

  He didn’t answer, but walked down the ramp of Harley’s. He turned back when he reached the sidewalk. “We’ll be in touch tonight. I suggest you have Mr. Burke convinced by then. Try giving him a blow job. Works for me.”

  Not even at gunpoint, asshat. Gillian watched him walk toward the head of C Street. As soon as he turned the corner onto First, she jumped in the pickup and drove after him. It wasn’t Tex—the accent was all wrong. But he worked with Tex. If she could find out where he was staying, maybe she could convince Deputy Miles to keep an eye on him or find out what he was driving and get a license plate to trace.

  By the time she turned, however, he’d been absorbed into the Saturday bustle of the village, and First branched off into a dozen side streets. He could’ve gone anywhere.

  Gillian looped around the downtown blocks a few times but never spotted the guy.

  Finally she turned toward the marina. She had to tell Shane the truth and hope Jagger was right about his willingness to help.

  She parked at the edge of the lot and, on impulse, called her sister. Gretchen and her husband had tried for years to have kids before they’d final gone the in vitro route. Even then, it hadn’t looked like a baby was in their future. They’d begun researching adoption possibilities when she finally got pregnant.