Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1)

by Sarah Monzon

  “You’ve wanted to get a photograph published in that magazine since you were twelve.”

  “Yeah, and I thought I’d finally have a shot at it, but—” The buzzer on one of the dryers rang out loud and long. “But the editor said my photos aren’t edgy or unique enough.”

  Mom wheeled over a metal cart to the large machine and started transferring warm bedding into it. She paused and looked up. “And?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “It is, but something tells me there’s more.” She pushed the cart to the counter, then slid a large black leather purse toward her, rifled around in it, and brought out a few coins. “Want a Coke?”

  Summer shook her head and held up her water bottle.

  “I’ll be right back.” Mom walked out the door toward the long hotel hallway. Around the corner was a vending machine.

  Summer puffed out a breath and massaged her temples. She should have brought along her bathing suit and soaked in the hotel hot tub. That would have released the tension constricting the muscles in her shoulders. It wouldn’t have been the first time her mom had snuck her in either. Not that she really needed to do any sneaking. The hotel was Summer’s second home growing up. She’d spent hours back here in the laundry room, pouring over her homework, eating snacks from the vending machine, and swimming in the indoor pool.

  The door opened and Mom walked through, a Diet Coke in her hand. She pulled up a stool from under the counter and took a seat. The bottle hissed as she twisted the lid. “Okay, spill the rest. The phone call was bad, but I sense there’s more.”

  “You’re right.” Summer fiddled with her bottle. “I thought it was a practical joke at first, but it turns out he was serious.”

  “Wait. Wait. wait.” Mom waved at her. “Back up. You’re not making any sense. What did you think was a joke, and who was serious?”

  “Get this. So earlier today I was at the coffee shop trying to get a moment to myself just to breathe, and this guy I’ve never met asks me if I’m Summer Arnet.”

  Mom’s eyebrows rose.

  “I know, right? He wanted me to take him to the dive site where I photographed the great white. That’s when the editor at Our World called and I left the coffeehouse. Well, I hadn’t even been home five minutes before the guy comes busting through my front door.”

  “He followed you?” Mom’s hand flew to her heart. “Should we call the police?”

  “Calm down, Mom. Everything’s fine. I was a little scared at first, but he’s harmless. He got my address off my website.”

  Mom jumped from her stool. “You have your address on your website!”

  “Anyway…” Summer said it slowly, exaggerating every syllable. “He finally told me why he wanted to go to that particular site. He thinks there’s a sunken treasure ship down there.” She snorted. “Said he’d spilt the treasure with me if I took him.”

  Mom settled back on her stool, but her lips were pressed in a thin line. “So it wasn’t a practical joke?”

  “Nope. He was dead serious.”

  A moment of silence followed. “So when are you taking him?”

  Summer’s eyebrows knitted together. “What? I’m not taking him anywhere.”

  “Why not?” Mom stood and walked to Summer, taking her hands in her own. “Listen, honey, this may be the big break you’ve been looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That editor said she wanted something new, right? The ship may not be new—I’m sure it’s quite old. But the discovery will be…new, that is.” She brushed a strand of hair off Summer’s forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “And exciting.”

  “You’re not making any sense.” The plastic bottle in Summer’s hands crinkled as she twirled it in her fingers.

  “The ship.” Mom smacked her thigh. “You take that man and do the dive and take some fabulous pictures, and voila, you’ll have that editor eating out of your hands. Not to mention be half a treasure richer.”

  “Mom! Looting that ship would be the same as stealing from a culture, from history. I might as well get a parrot, put a patch over my eye, and start making people walk the plank.”

  “Arg!” One side of Mom’s mouth lifted, and the opposite eye squinted as she tried her best pirate impersonation.

  Summer crossed her arms, but her lips twitched. “It’s not funny.”

  “Then why are you trying so hard not to laugh?” Mom’s eyes twinkled.

  “Okay, fine, it’s a little funny.”

  Mom pulled her stool up close and laid her hand on Summer’s knee. “Sweetheart, I admire your moral stand, but this is the real world. Do you think if I had a chance at half a treasure I’d still be living in the single-wide at the trailer park or cleaning up after people here at the hotel? Besides, what’s a bunch of Spanish doubloons, or whatever’s on that ship, doing for their culture or history? Nothing. No one can appreciate or benefit from it buried under gallons of water.”

  Mom cupped Summer’s cheek and brought her face around to look her in the eye. “But you, you could make your dreams come true.” She stood and kissed Summer’s forehead before picking up a fitted sheet to fold from her pile in the cart. “Think about it.”

  The door that led to the front desk opened, and a head peeked around the edge.

  “Oh, hi, Summer,” the middle-aged woman said when she spotted Summer on the stool. “Your mom here?”

  Summer pointed as her mom answered. “What do you need, Liz?”

  “Suite 315 called and said they’d be checking in early, and Tanisha isn’t finished cleaning in there yet. I’d put them in another room, but they’re regulars and will only stay in that suite. Crazy rich people. A bed is a bed, am I right?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll head up and help Tanisha finish.” Mom grabbed supplies from the closet.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Patti.” Liz blew the woman a kiss before ducking back out the door.

  Arms loaded with a few extra rags and cleaning chemicals, Mom turned back to Summer. “Call him. Today. Don’t be the one standing in the way of your dreams. All it will get you is calloused hands and neighbors five yards away.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She replied to her mom’s retreating back.

  Should she call? The discovery of a sunken ship possibly hundreds of years old did sound exciting. And it wasn’t the discovery of it she was morally against—it was the robbery of items that belonged to a culture of people. They didn’t belong to a single person for personal gain. He had said he’d share half the treasure with her. What if she donated her half to a museum? If the treasure stayed on the ocean floor, then no one could appreciate or benefit from it, right? And if she did take him down there, she was only doing it for the pictures she could take, anyway. They would be sure to impress Tabitha Michaels. Maybe even get Summer a regular spot in Our World.

  She stood and reached into the front pocket of her khaki shorts. She pulled out a small slip of paper and unfolded it, staring at the numbers written in black ink. Call or not call? She held her bottom lip prisoner between her teeth as she vacillated. Her eyes closed. Boy, was her pride going to sting when she told him she’d changed her mind.

  She grabbed a memo pad with the hotel logo at the top and scrawled a quick message for her mom. Calling him. Xoxo, Summer.

  With a wave to Liz at the front desk, she exited the automatic doors. Maybe this would be fun. What was the word her mom had used? Exciting. A definite adventure. An image of rows of razor-sharp teeth tearing her from limb to limb flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. Maybe she’d say a prayer beforehand that all sharks, at least the more aggressive ones, were no longer roaming the vicinity. She glanced to the cloud-dotted sky. If God was up there, it wouldn’t hurt to cover her bases.

  Fishing the square fob out of her small clutch, she unlocked her silver PT Cruiser and opened the door. A wave of heat surged from the inside of the vehicle. Summer crouched under the car’s soft top, reached out, and pulled the D ring
at the center where the roof and windshield met. A press of a button and the top folded down. She unplugged her phone from the car charger. Eyes darting between her phone and the paper with Trent’s number scrawled on it, she punched in the numbers.

  The phone rang, and she toed a pebble in the road. An elderly man with a Gone Fishin’ cap rode by on a motorized scooter. The Chihuahua he had tucked under his arm barked at her as they passed. The ringing stopped, and a default greeting on the answering service responded with a short message and a long beep. “Mr. Carrington, this is Summer Arnet. I’ve changed my mind. If you still want me to take you to the dive site, then call me back, and we can work out the details.” She punched End and dropped the phone into her clutch.

  Chapter Six

  Morning sunlight squeezed through narrow slats in the window blinds. Trent stretched, his arm brushing the empty, cold space beside him on the bed. Turning his head, he squinted, seeing through sleep-filled eyes. Alone. He felt a familiar stab in his chest. Guilt? He pressed a fist to his sternum, pushing against the pressure, weeding out the roots of remorse. He had nothing for which to be ashamed. It was only his Christian upbringing, the indoctrination of his parents’ faith that nicked his conscience. He propped himself up on his elbow and reached for a small piece of paper lying on the pillow next to his.

  There’s coffee in the pot and a cup on the counter. Had fun last night. Maybe we can do it again sometime. Red lipstick colored the corner of the paper where she’d pressed a kiss.

  A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Last night had been fun. His smile faltered. But why did he feel so empty this morning?

  He pushed back a purple paisley-printed comforter and then padded across plush carpet on bare feet. The shower turned on with a squeak, and he ran his fingers through his hair as he waited for the water to heat. Steam rose from behind the curtain, and he stepped in, warm water washing away vestiges of drowsiness.

  His forehead rested on cold tile as warm water ran down his back. The hollow ache returned and caved in his chest. He was still waiting for it—the assurance of happiness, of the fulfillment society promised. Was this all there was? Brief moments of pleasure and then back to a half existence? He lifted his head and let the water pound his scalp.

  Jesus wants to make you whole. To give you an abundant life.

  Trent snorted at the remembered words of his mother. His parents seemed to forget that God not only gave, but also took away. If God was all-powerful like his parents proclaimed, then it was He who’d torn Trent in two in the first place. He didn’t want anything to do with a God like that.

  He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. After drying himself off, he used the towel to wipe away the fog from the mirror. Empty eyes stared back at him. No. God simply could not be trusted. It was up to him alone to make the most out of life. He’d steal his moments of pleasure. Buy his happiness, if need be. One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. With the amount of antiquities he was hoping to salvage from the sunken galleon, that could be a lot of happiness indeed.

  Who would’ve thought the photographer would change her mind? He picked up discarded jeans from the bedroom floor and shimmied into them. Where would she take him? Off the coast of South Carolina? Mexico? In the Gulf around Louisiana? He doubted Cuba. Too many politics involved. Maybe more local. Could the ship be in the waters around Florida? For some reason the magazine hadn’t noted where the photo had been taken, which was unusual.

  Trent retrieved the mug from the counter and poured a cup of coffee. Four clear cylinders lined the back of the counter. He licked his finger before pressing the tip into the contents of the second-smallest container. He popped the digit back into his mouth. Sugar. He had to open three drawers before he found a spoon. Two scoops, stir, and his coffee was perfect.

  How would Summer Arnet react when he arrived at her studio again today? He imagined her green eyes widening with surprise, her pert little mouth opening in a small O. A few fun ideas of how to occupy that cute mouth flashed through his mind, and a mischievous grin split his face. Who said you couldn’t mix business with pleasure? Maybe he should prove them wrong.

  He drained his mug and rinsed it in the sink.

  ***

  Trent dismounted his Harley and clipped his helmet around the handlebars. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, hands on his hips. Man, it was going to be a good day. He could feel it. All the pieces in the puzzle were finally coming together, with no need for plan B.

  Summer’s studio was in a fun, artsy part of town. Small bungalow-style buildings with vertical siding lined the street, each painted a different tropical color—coral, lime, sunshine yellow, and lastly a sky blue. The blue one was Summer’s.

  He jogged up the few steps to Summer’s studio and opened the door, a dashing smile in place. Three pairs of eyes lifted at his entrance. Summer sat behind her desk, flanked by two men. They straightened from their hunched positions behind the computer screen.

  Summer stood, hands on the desk. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you again too.” Trent winked. He was tempted to tack on “babe” just to get a rise out of her, but the older gentleman was watching him, a warning in his look. Her father maybe?

  “Sorry,” she mumbled as she sat and started rearranging pencils on her desk. “I figured you’d call, not show up unannounced. Again.”

  The younger man’s eyes darted between Trent and her. “You know this guy, Summer?”

  She exhaled. “Yeah. I’m taking him diving.”

  “Oh, come on now. Don’t say it like that.” Trent sat in the same chair he’d occupied the day before, and stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles. “Try saying it without looking like you just found a worm in your boiled peanuts.”

  Summer’s eyes narrowed. “When do you want to go?”

  The younger man shook his head. “Wait. You’re not taking him by yourself, are you?”

  Who was this guy? He didn’t share any resemblance with the photographer, so he couldn’t be her brother. Boyfriend? Well, that would be a serious damper on Trent’s fun.

  Trent folded his arms, mirroring the two men on both sides of her. “Does she need a chaperone, Sparky?”

  Folding her own arms, Summer leaned back in her chair. She smirked. “You know, Jonathan, that’s a great idea. You and Mark should come with us.”

  Trent leaned forward. “Hey, now, wait a minute. That’s not what we agreed to.”

  “We haven’t agreed to anything, Mr. Carrington.”

  “Trent. And I’m not splitting…I’m not paying more than I already offered.”

  “No problem.”

  “Great.”

  “Terrific.”

  Summer glared at him, a challenge in her eye. As for Trent, he schooled his features, swallowing a genuine smile. Who was this woman? Not only was she unaffected by his charms, something he rarely encountered, she also had grit…and sass. A beguiling combination.

  The middle-aged man on the right hid a chuckle behind a cough, and the photographer speared him a look out of the corner of her eye.

  “Can someone please fill me in here?” The man she’d called Jonathan was beginning to grate on Trent’s nerves.

  Summer flung her arm out in his direction. “This man—”

  Trent stood and extended his hand first to one man and then the other. “Trent Carrington. Nice to meet you.”

  “Like I was saying—”

  “Summer’s not a dive instructor or excursion guide.” Jonathan gripped Trent’s hand—hard.

  Make that his last nerve. “I don’t think she needs someone to fight her battles for her either, Sir Galahad. But to put your mind at ease, I don’t need an instructor. I’m scuba certified.”

  “How about some iced tea, Summer? Before these two go outside to see who can spit the farthest.”

  “Right, Mark.” She stood. “Four sweet teas coming up.”

  Minutes later, she returned holding a tray with four
tall glasses filled with russet-colored liquid.

  “Let’s start over.” She handed a glass to Trent. “Trent Carrington, this is Jonathan Morris and Mark Sutton. They were both with me on the great white dive.”

  Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up. “He wants you to take him there? But you said you’d never dive there again.”

  Interesting. Summer cast a quick glance in Trent’s direction before looking back at her friend. “Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to. It’s called life.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Trent set his glass down and clasped his hands together, resting them on the desk. “So, are we all in?” Summer looked at him, gratitude in her eyes. He liked the spit and fire—it was fun. But this…this he could get lost in. He cleared his throat. “I was hoping we could head out in two weeks. That would give us enough time to make any arrangements for equipment and boat rentals and buy plane tickets, if need be.”

  “I don’t have any major photography plans scheduled since hurricane season is coming up, so that works for me.” Summer turned to her friends. “What about you guys?”

  Mark shook his head. “Sorry. I promised your mother I’d help patch up her roof.”

  All eyes turned to Jonathan. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Trent resisted the urge to groan. It wasn’t like he minded the extra person along for the trip. He just minded this person. Less than ten minutes and the guy had gotten under his skin like a festering splinter.

  Why was that, anyway? Maybe it was the way he hovered over Summer. He might as well have hiked a leg and marked his territory. But why should that bother Trent? If he needed company on the trip, there were bound to be women who’d be willing companions. In fact, he should be happy. With Secret Service Skippy acting as bodyguard, there’d be no distractions. He could keep his eye on the prize…literally.

  Then why did he feel like there had been something great right in front of him, and when he’d reached out, it had dissipated like a mirage, his hands empty, as always?