Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1)

by Sarah Monzon

  © Sarah Monzon. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Radiant Publications

  Moses Lake, Washington

  Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrase is taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®) Copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2011

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events is strictly coincidental.

  Front cover design by Sarah Monzon

  Spine and back cover design by Perry Kirkpatrick at www.perryelisabethdesigns.com

  Manuscript edited by Dori Harell

  This one’s for you Mom.

  Thank you for always being my biggest cheerleader.

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  Prologue

  Seville, Spain, 1689

  Isabella stumbled along the rough boards of the dock, feeling exposed without her corset and many layers of petticoats. The coastal breeze tugged at the coarse wool of her stepfather’s loose-fitting breeches, which rubbed the inside of her legs. A seagull cried as it soared overhead, but she refused to look up. Two miles she’d hiked that morning without giving in to the urge to glance over her shoulder, ever keeping her eyes before her—and she did not dare lose that focus now.

  The first mile had been the hardest, her imagination turning every snap of a twig and falling shadow into a frightening pursuit. By the second mile she’d convinced herself that no one had even missed her yet and the plan would work. That was when the pain in her toes—from the ripped cloth she’d stuffed into Hernando’s oversized boots—began to register. Despite the situation she found herself in, Isabella felt the corners of her mouth tip up. Hernando would be livid when he discovered she was missing. Her smile widened. He’d be none too happy about his absent wardrobe either, but after everything he’d taken from her, the few articles of clothing she’d filched were meager compensation.

  A hand gripped Isabella’s shoulder and spun her around. Her heart leapt to her throat, and she braced her feet, preparing for whatever punishment was about to befall her. If Hernando had uncovered her plans already, then Díos have mercy. The Atlantic’s dark, churning waters beneath her feet invited her into an eternal escape.

  Forcing her shoulders back, she looked at the man who had stopped her, and willed her heart to return to its normal rhythm. The tall man in front of her held no resemblance to Hernando’s squat physique. Would her stepfather have sent someone to fetch her in his stead?

  “What are you about, lad?” The deep voice held no malicious intent that Isabella could detect.

  A small gust of wind blew over the surface of the water, causing the bright plumes on the gentleman’s hat to dance. Isabella’s cheeks grew warm as the breeze pulled the thin cotton fabric of her shirt across her chest. Her stepfather’s tattered waistcoat added an extra layer of protection against certain feminine curves being revealed, but would it be enough? It was all she could do to resist covering herself with her arms.

  The man stood with raised eyebrows, the corners of his lips turning down. She’d take impatient over the lustful stares she was accustomed to enduring.

  Bueno. Her disguise was working.

  “I’ve come…” Isabella stopped and cleared her throat. She tucked her chin and started again an octave lower. “I’ve come to sign on to a ship headed to Hispaniola and the New World.”

  A small flock of seagulls resting on the masts took flight, squawking their protest. Isabella bit the inside of her lip. Fuerte. Valiente. Strong and brave—she had to encompass those characteristics now. The unknown could not be more frightening than the reality she was leaving behind.

  The man regarded her, his head tilted. Isabella tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. Unable to withstand his steady gaze, she averted her eyes to the planks of the dock. Maybe a show of humility and meekness would help her acquire a position on a vessel. In her experience, it was better not to challenge a man—they being prideful creatures.

  “Look at me, boy.” The man’s voice possessed a stern quality, but not unkindness.

  Isabella slowly lifted her eyes. Black shoes with a square buckle, white stockings tucked beneath blue breeches, matching vest and overcoat. A brown leather sword belt angled across his broad chest. She forced her gaze past his waxed goatee and stopped when she met his piercing black eyes.

  The man grabbed her chin between his index finger and thumb and turned her head slightly to the side. Isabella cringed. She hoped the ashes she’d rubbed on her face would hide any feminine resemblance. The lack of hair along her jaw and the smoothness of her skin could very well be attributed to a young age. As well as her slight stature. Her long, thick lengths of hair, which she had been piling high atop her head for many years, lay at the bottom of the wastebasket in Hernando’s kitchen. What little hair left was now tied back in a leather thong at the base of her neck.

  With a grunt, the man released her chin. “Ever been aboard a ship before, son?”

  She chewed her lip. Would he hire her if she said no? The large vessel, tied to the end of the dock with thick cords of rope, bobbed with the swells of the sea. Isabella gulped. If she said yes and he later found out that she’d been lying, would she be thrown overboard like some unwanted cargo? “N-no, señor. B-but I’m a fast learner.”

  He sniffed and eyed the galleon. “Very well.” He turned back to her. “I am Captain Montoya, and this”—he extended his left arm—“is my ship, the Santa Rosa.”

  Isabella’s knees began to bend in a curtsy before she caught herself. Estúpida, Isabella. It will take more than stolen men’s clothes to convince people you are not a woman. You must start acting like a man. Think like a man. She offered a small bow.

  “You will go aboard and talk to my first mate, Juan. We sail on the morrow.” With that, he stalked off down the dock and toward town, leaving Isabella to stare in awe at the Santa Rosa, her heart soaring at her good fortune.

  Fortune. Isabella’s hand shot to where her ribs met to form a V below her breasts. Held snug in the cloth she had wrapped to bind herself lay hidden the means to her future—her grandmother’s jewel-encrusted gold necklace.

  The force of a workhorse shoved Isabella forward. She stumbled, her arms careening to regain her balance.

  “Don’t be standing there in our way, boy.” Two burly men with biceps bulging carried a wooden barrel between them up the gangplank and onto Captain Montoya’s ship.

  Isabella took a deep breath and stepped onto the gangplank boards. It would work. She would sail across the world, and there was nothing Hernando could do to stop her.

  Instead of his intimidating glares shrinking her soul, she felt dwarfed by the three c
enter masts towering above her. Men’s voices surrounded her as she stepped onto the deck. Unwashed male bodies hurried like ants on a disturbed hill.

  She wanted to hide, to become small and invisible in the sea of masculinity. But that was a girl’s reaction. A frightened, timid girl. She lifted her chin. Hernando’s heavy hand would no longer hold her captive. This was the start of a new life, a new person.

  A man approached, his cotton shirt billowing out behind him as he purposefully strode across the deck. “Excuse me, señor. Can you tell me where…”

  The man walked past Isabella like he hadn’t seen or heard her. She squared her shoulders. The times of being ignored or brushed to the side were over. She would be seen and she would be heard.

  Another man came from the opposite direction. Isabella stepped in front of him. It was either he stop or plow into her, and she braced for the latter. At the last second he slowed his stride, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. “I am looking for Juan de la Cruz.”

  The man, or boy, really, for he looked no older than she, nodded behind him. “Captain’s cabin.” He scurried past her toward the front of the vessel.

  Isabella stepped down into the belly of the ship. She walked along a narrow corridor, then pushed open the first door she came to. The room was larger than expected. Windows framed by dark curtains lined the far wall. Dust particles spotted the stagnant air in the shafts of light. A desk stood near the center of the room, covered with maps and charts. A man leaned over the parchments, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Excuse me, señor, I am looking for Juan de la Cruz. The captain sent me, and I was told I could find him here.”

  The man lifted his head, and his eyes widened. “Isabella?”

  Chapter One

  Off the Coast of the Bahamas, Present Day

  There was no turning back. The skin on Summer Arnet’s arm prickled, and she shivered. It wasn’t from the sixty-degree water, either. Sharks for miles would smell the feast waiting for them just yards away. Her only protection—a few measly metal bars. No one could argue she wouldn’t do anything to get her photos in Our World magazine.

  A splash to her right, and tiny bubbles burst at the surface. The huge hunk of meat now submersed ruined the crystalline quality of the water. Bright-red blood leached out, turning a brown hue and then fading into nothing as it swirled with the ocean current.

  The sound of the regulator roared in her ears as she inhaled. Bubbles floating up, distorting her vision as she exhaled. Despite her quickening pulse and the fear that threatened to strangle her, she had to keep her breathing even. If not, she’d go through her thirty minutes of oxygen in less than thirty seconds. Her hands shook, and she tightened her grip on her Sony NEX underwater camera.

  She tried not to imagine the pointy head of a shark protruding between the horizontal rails. The rows of serrated teeth tearing through her wet suit, shredding her skin and crushing her bones.

  Try to think of something else. Anything else.

  Hadn’t there been a list of statistics on her Facebook News Feed about all the things that were more deadly than sharks? For the life of her she couldn’t remember any of them at that moment, except for cows. Soft-eyed, cud-chewing, fuzzy cows. Cows that only had one row of very flat teeth along their bottom jaw, none on top. That wasn’t scary. And if cows killed more people than sharks, she had nothing to be afraid of, right? Somehow that didn’t settle her nerves.

  Off in the distance a shadow formed. The shape resembled a torpedo, long and lean. The dorsal fin jutting from the center of its back was enough to instill fear in even the stoutest of hearts. Which hers was not. With each swoosh of its massive tail, its image became more clear.

  A great white.

  Its white underbelly shone in stark contrast to the muted gray on top. One large black eye regarded her as the shark circled the chum in the water, swimming with its mouth slightly open.

  Despite the regulator in her mouth, Summer gulped. Great white’s had forty-eight exposed triangular-shaped teeth, with about five more rows in various stages of development. Not to mention they were one of the most dangerous predators in the ocean.

  What I wouldn’t do to be in a field full of cattle right about now.

  She brought the camera to her face, focused the lens, and began snapping pictures. She could hardly keep her hands from shaking, and hoped the photos would turn out instead of being a blurry mess. As it was, she was surprised she had the presence of mind to even push the shutter release.

  As the shark opened its mouth wide, its jaws extended forward and its head receded back, making its mouth look like snarling lips. It bit down on the bait not far from Summer and shook its head violently, its gills rippling with each jerk.

  It didn’t take him long to devour the meat. It started to swim away, and then turned. She repressed the instinct to take a step back. The shark circled the cage, and she was able to get a few good profile shots. The lighting was perfect.

  Without warning, he spun, ramming the cage with the force of a pickup truck. The cage shook, and she struggled to maintain her position in its center. She didn’t dare venture too far to either side. The great white swam away and came back again, its jaws wide open. Fear clawed at the back of her throat. The shadows from the shark’s gills, the pink flesh from the inside of its mouth, the creased skin between its nostrils—all details she could have lived without seeing.

  I’m going to die.

  Her eyes welled with tears that spilled down her cheeks and pooled in her scuba mask. This was it. She loved the ocean, and now it looked like it would be her grave.

  For what seemed like forever, the shark toyed with Summer and the cage. Soon it grew bored and swam away into the ocean’s depths.

  At last the cage jerked upward, and she nearly lost her footing. The ascent smoothed out until stopping beside the hull of a boat dipping back and forth with the waves. Four hands reached down and gripped her extended arms, pulling her out of the cage and onto the boat.

  She spit out the regulator, gulping in huge amounts of tropical sea air. Her legs trembled. The swaying of the vessel did nothing to help her gain her balance. As she lifted the scuba mask off her face, she stumbled to the left and flung out her hand, searching wildly for something to grab on to so she didn’t fall overboard.

  Jonathan Morris caught her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Whoa there.”

  She yanked her hand free, curled her fist into a ball, and punched him on his bicep.

  Jonathan rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

  “How could…why didn’t…” Summer shook her head. The back of her eyes were starting to burn, but she refused to cry in front of the guys. “Why didn’t you pull the cage up sooner?”

  “What are you talking about? I bet you were able to get some great shots out there.” His eyebrows drew down, creating lines on his forehead. “Besides, you agreed to the cage dive.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose before walking the few feet to a cushioned seat. She ran her hand along the fiberglass of the boat in case she lost her balance again.

  Her shoulders slumped as she dropped to the seat. Her nerves were raw and left her drained. “I agreed to cage dive with tiger sharks, hammerheads, lemon sharks…not great whites.” She leaned her head to the side, grabbed the long, coppery strands of her hair, and twisted until most of the water had been wrung out. A puddle collected at her feet.

  “You guys okay over there?” Mark asked from the rear of the boat, where he was storing the rest of the gear.

  “We’re fine,,” Jonathan said over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Summer’s face.

  She stood, her legs a little less like Jell-O. She reached up and tugged the zipper of her wet suit down. As she peeled the neoprene material off her upper body, Jonathan took a seat, resting his forearms on his knees, hands clasped between spread-eagle legs.

  “You know as well as I do that great whites aren’t common in these waters. You’re more li
kely to see them off the coast of South Africa or Australia, not here.”

  Mark came up behind her and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Did you see the size of that thing?” His unlit cigar bobbed up and down as he spoke. “It must have been at least sixteen feet long.”

  Summer placed her hand against his palm-tree printed shirt and gave a small push. He was a nice man, about the age of her father, if she’d had a father, that was. But he smelled more of the salty sea and its fishy inhabitants than the sweetness of his personality.

  “If only I’d have had a video camera.” His arm slid from around Summer’s neck, and a beefy hand landed on Jonathan’s shoulder. “We could’ve recorded the whole thing and sent it in to Shark Week. They love that kind of stuff.”

  Was she the only one still sane here? Jonathan was brushing the whole incident off, and Mark thought it was the greatest thing since string cheese, or at least he would if he’d been able to get it on tape. Did they not get that she’d nearly been shark bait? She’d probably have nightmares for weeks.

  She placed her hands on her hips, freely allowing the anger to rise and stamp out the horrendous fear that had been suffocating her. “Do you guys not realize the danger you put me in?” Okay, so maybe it wasn’t fair to pin it all on them. She had agreed to the dive. But they were the ones who’d talked her into it. Or at least Jonathan was. Mark had just arranged the gear and driven the boat.

  “Calm down, Summer. Everything turned out fine.” Jonathan’s laid-back tone did nothing to reassure her. Like fanning the flames, it only made her hotter.

  “And what would you have done if he’d rammed the cage hard enough to get his nose stuck between the rails, huh? Sharks can’t swim backwards. He would have thrashed around and shook his head from side to side until he was free. Who knows if the cage would’ve held up against something like that.”

  The two men stared at her like she’d grown a mermaid tail. Fine. Let them gape all they wanted. They weren’t the ones who’d been trapped in a five-foot metal cage while the world’s largest predatory fish eyed them like the next item on his menu.