by Sarah Monzon
Trent’s grin faltered, and he broke eye contact for a second before looking back at her and lifting one corner of his mouth. “Would you believe I accidentally left my phone at home?”
Yes. She could believe it. She’d done the same thing a few times. But leaving one’s phone at home didn’t elicit such a faltered reaction. What was he trying to hide? The blonde and brunette she’d pictured earlier returned to her mind.
And why should that surprise her?
It didn’t. Not really.
What did surprise her was the ache it caused in the middle of her chest.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What had happened? Trent scratched the back of his head. One minute he and Summer were teasing, and the next a curtain closed over her expression and he was left reeling, as if he’d missed something important.
She moved to step around him, but he reached out and captured her arm. Time stood still as she peered into his eyes and then snapped her gaze to his fingers holding her. His hand fell away.
He needed a do-over. Whatever he’d said to earn the cold shoulder, he needed to turn back time and not say it. She was acting like she had when they’d first met—aloof, distant, guarded. Hadn’t he already broken down some of those walls? Proven—even if slightly—he wasn’t the man she thought he was? Or even if he had been, he wasn’t anymore. Why couldn’t she see that and give him a chance?
Jonathan tossed the ropes that tied the boat to the wharf into the Whaler, then hopped down onto the deck. The boat drifted away from the dock and rocked with the lapping water.
The man looked at him with lowered brows, then flicked his head toward Summer.
Message received. Although Jonathan would have as much of a guess at what was going on as Trent did.
He shrugged and shook his head.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes, then turned. His shoulders hunched, and he brought his hands to his mouth. Beatbox sounds rent the air as he swayed and dipped.
Summer’s head swiveled.
“Bahama mama, don’t ya wanna dive down under that clear blue watta.” Jonathan’s hands jived in the air, and then he flicked his nose with his thumb. “Come back up with picture perfect. Don’t object, because with all due respect, I predict your dreams come true.”
The dude was a horrible rapper. Totally embarrassing.
Summer laughed, and the sound made Trent wish he’d been the one to make a fool of himself. Then maybe she’d be looking at him with a smile and gratitude in her eyes, instead of at Sparky.
Her gaze drifted to his, and her expression cooled. “We were just about to cast off before you showed up. We can wait while you grab some gear.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Jonathan put the key into the ignition, the orange buoy dangling. “He can use mine. I’ll stay up with the boat while you guys dive.”
Trent watched as Summer’s gaze oscillated between him and Jonathan, her lip caught between her teeth.
“Are you sure?”
It was déjà vu all over again. The same reason Sparky had ended up in the Bahamas the first time around—she was using him as a buffer. Which begged Trent to question, why didn’t she want to be alone with him? Did she not trust him? Or maybe she didn’t trust herself when she was around him.
“I’m sure. Now let’s go make all your dreams come true.”
The engine revved to life, and Jonathan pushed the throttle forward.
Trent gripped the railing to keep his balance and watched as Summer shuffled around the helm to sit on the seat directly in front of the steering column. The short bench could technically seat two, but she’d dropped right down in the middle and stretched out both arms along backrest.
One side of his mouth quirked up. If she thought that’d keep him away, she’d better think again.
The boat cruised at a slow speed through the no-wake zone, and Trent easily walked from the bow to where Summer sat, legs crossed.
“Is this seat taken?”
She looked up at him but otherwise didn’t move a muscle. “Yes.”
“That’s too bad.” He plopped onto the seat, half his leg on top of hers.
“Hey!” Her thigh wiggled free from under his, and she scooted over.
They passed the Slow No Wake buoy sign into open ocean, and the boat burst forward with speed. The bow rose above the horizon, white spray arching at the fiberglass sides. Twin four-stroke engines, as well as the friction and displacement of water, caused a static louder than an entire percussion section.
“Why are you mad at me?” Trent shouted over the noise.
Summer crossed her arms. “I’m not mad.”
He gave her arms a pointed look.
They unfolded. “Happy?”
“Not until you tell me why you’re upset.”
“I already told you—I’m not mad.”
The wind pulled strands of his hair from where he’d fastened them earlier and whipped them in his face. “I’m not buying it.”
One slender shoulder lifted. “That’s your problem, not mine.”
“Is it?” He rested his elbow on the backrest. “If it were only my problem, then these muscles right here”—his thumb followed the curve of her neck, over the thin strap of her bikini top, all the way down to where her clavicle met scapula—“wouldn’t be so tense now, would they?”
She sucked in a breath and held perfectly still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” He let his thumb rub back and forth along her smooth skin. Every freckle dotting her shoulder begged to be kissed.
Green eyes turned toward him, and he read vulnerability in their depths. “Where were you yesterday?”
He didn’t want to hurt her. Definitely didn’t want to ruin the day she finally realized her dream.
“Do you trust me?”
She bit her lip, and her gaze wavered. “I want to trust you.”
It was something, but not what he wanted to hear. “Please do. I promise I’ll tell you, just…not right now. Okay?”
A sigh blew from her mouth. “Fine.”
Good. It gave him time to figure out how to cushion the blow when he told her about her dad. If he could avoid it at all, pretend yesterday had never happened, he would. But then he’d have to break the promise he just made, and he could never do that.
The boat slowed, and the bow dipped back down as the hull sank deeper into the ocean. Jonathan killed the engine, and water whooshed around them. He peeked over the low windshield. “We’re here.”
Trent stood and looked around. Nothing in sight except endless blue sea meeting endless blue sky. And hopefully endless possibilities.
Summer leaned over and unzipped the camera case at her feet. She brought out a large black square with knobs and buttons. Definitely the most high-tech camera housing he’d ever seen. A click of a button, and the display screen lit up. She pointed the lens in his direction, then brought the viewfinder to her eye.
He ran a hand down the front of his torso. “I doubt this is what your magazine is really looking for.”
“Just a test shot, I assure you.”
A splash off the stern brought his attention around, but it was just Jonathan dropping anchor.
Trent turned back around. “So what kind of pictures are you hoping for today, besides phenomenal ones?”
She looked up at him while she pushed her feet into booties. “Photos of a sunken treasure ship, of course.”
“No sea life?”
Her lips bowed. “It did cross my mind that a sperm whale would be cool. They’re known to frequent these waters. If I could get a shot of one swimming by the ship, it would give the photos a Moby Dick feel.”
“Your Tabitha Michaels would eat that up, I’m sure.”
She grinned, then scanned him head to toe. “Aren’t you going to get ready?”
He’d snagged a wet suit at the rental place and had managed to pull it up to his hips before he’d dashed down the wharf after them, but he still had his white V-neck on an
d needed Ato suit the rest of the way up. Gripping the bottom edge of the shirt, he tugged it up. When his head popped free of the material, he found Summer sitting very still, staring. At his abs. He lowered his arms slowly, amusement dancing a victory jig in his chest. She could act cool and nonchalant, like his presence had no effect on her at all, but she was only lying to herself.
“Enjoying the view?” He grinned. Teasing her was too much fun.
Her cheeks infused with color, and she tore her gaze away. She reached for one of the oxygen tanks and brought it between her knees. Next came the buoyancy control device, or BCD, which she slid over the tank valve and then secured the device to the tank with straps. The dust cap came off the regulator, and she slid the regulator over the yoke valve of the tank and tightened the yoke screw. She attached the low pressure inflator to the BCD, and it clicked in place.
Trent watched as she opened the tank valve and checked the pressure.
Every movement performed with precision. How many times had she gone through the ritual before? After zipping his wet suit, he followed her example by readying his gear.
Jonathan jammed the diving flag, a midsized red rectangle with a diagonal white slash through the middle, into one of the slots on top of the roof.
By the time Trent hoisted his BCD on his back, Summer had finished slipping her mask over her head. Her top lip puckered from the soft silicone rubber encasing her face. He reached and outlined the pout with a finger. “Cute.”
They shuffled to the stern of the boat, the fins on their feet making it awkward to walk. On impulse he stopped Summer with a hand to her shoulder. “I know this sounds weird coming from me, but I think we should pray.”
She lifted the mask from over her eyes and let it rest on her forehead. “You do?”
“There’s a story there, but we don’t really have the time right now.”
“Later?”
He nodded. “I promise.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Wow. Two Trent Carrington promises in one day. I must be a lucky girl.”
Luck had nothing to do with it, and he was willing to promise a lot more than an explanation. If only she’d trust him.
He held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. He looked over his shoulder at Jonathan sitting at the helm. “Want to pray with us?”
The man stood. “I didn’t take you for a praying man.”
“It’s new.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Losing some of your spots?”
Huh? “What are you talking about?”
Jonathan looked at Summer, his other eyebrow joining the first high in his forehead. “Never mind.”
Something was going on there, but Trent didn’t have a clue as to what, nor the time to find out.
He cleared his throat, nervousness suddenly making him antsy. “I’ve heard thousands of prayers in my life, but I’m pretty new at saying them myself.” His weight shifted to the other foot.
Summer leaned in and whispered, “Your mom said to talk to Him like a friend.”
Friend. Right. He bowed his head. “God, uh, thanks for this opportunity…for Summer. I hope it’s everything she’s always imagined and the pictures she’s about to take will impress everyone at Our World. Um, thanks. Amen.”
Summer squeezed his hand, her head still bowed. “And keep us safe. Amen.”
Probably still thinking of the great white. The creatures were known to travel over twelve thousand miles in less than a year, so the probability of it still being in the area was pretty slim.
Summer pulled her mask back into place and stuffed her regulator into her mouth. Trent did the same while he watched her jump into the water, legs scissored. He stepped up onto the side of the boat and looked into the water below.
For a second he stood there, searching for the part of him that had been plagued for twenty-eight years. The part that had driven him to search for…something. Anything. But had never been satisfied. Until yesterday. Sure, there was still anticipation. Excitement for the adventure and the thrill of discovery, but he knew his happiness wasn’t pinned on what they found today. Peace invaded every pore.
Then he plunged.
Chapter Twenty-Thirty
Atlantic Ocean, 1689
Isabella hit the water with a force that took her breath away. The tempestuous ocean caught her with a stinging slap of frigid fingers. It pulled her under, gripping her skirts and yanking, twirling and twisting her in a devilish dance until she didn’t know which way was up. Pieces of wood sliced through the water like they had been shot from one of Santa Rosa’s cannons. Her eyes burned, and her lungs were about to explode. She kicked hard, but her head never broke above the surface. Darkness crowded in on her, and she felt herself sinking even farther.
Something wound its way around her waist and tugged her back against a solid surface. An arm perhaps? Her foggy brain refused to cooperate as it slipped further away from the light. Just when she thought she’d succumb to the blackness, she burst out of the watery grave. Her chest heaved as she gulped in air, violent coughs seizing her body.
“Are you unharmed, Isabella?”
She turned her head and looked into the captain’s eyes—eyes that matched the storm raging around them. Lightning lit up the sky, and for a second, his features. The gash above his brow looked to need stitches. Her gaze traveled down to his mouth, where it seemed the cool water had done some good for the swelling.
Captain Montoya’s lips parted, and Isabella became aware of his breathing. Her own matched his shallow intakes.
The arm around her waist tightened.
A swell rose and fell to their left, reality crashing around them.
The captain, however, did not loosen his hold. “Can you swim?”
She nodded instead of shouting against the wind and rain.
The hand he had been using to tread water now extended and pulled against the current, his other arm still secure about her. She kicked her feet to help propel them forward. With a sinking heart, she noticed no additional crewmen bobbing above the surface. Where were Tío and little Luis?
They swam to a large board that floated from the ship a short ways away. Captain Montoya lifted her enough so she could relax her upper body on the wood while the rest of her dangled in the water below.
The rain finally died to a drizzle, and the wind blew away. The sea began to return to its normal rhythm. Isabella eyed the captain’s hand on the plank, the only part of him touching the lifeline. “Do you not wish to rest as well?”
“I fear it will not hold both our weight.”
She slid fully back into the water. “Then we will take turns.”
His eyes narrowed before he grabbed her waist and hoisted her back onto the wide plank. “That will not be necessary.”
Teeth chattering against the cold, she tried to hold her jaw tight. “Do not let your pride be your downfall, el capítan.”
He looked away and then peered harder toward the distance.
Isabella followed his gaze. “Que es? What do you see?”
“I think there’s someone…”
Before he completed his sentence, he disappeared under the water and emerged again on the other side of the board. His arms arced overhead as he swam away from her.
She squinted to see whatever drove him away from her, but nothing caught her eye.
A second later she saw it. A small hand waving slightly above the ocean’s surface. Little Luis? She kicked her feet behind her, but the length of her skirt hindered her movement.
With a slowness that caused her heart to ache, the distance separating them shrunk. Finally, she was near enough to make out the survivor’s features, and her breath hitched. A gaunt face surrounded by a mass of scraggly hair had never looked so handsome. Luis’s son, her son now, had not been lost forever.
Captain Montoya helped the boy swim as he held fast to his own sliver of the once-grand ship.
Luis’s gaze combed her face, and his mouth fell open. “The other men, they said you were r
eally a woman, but I did not believe them. I thought they must have dreamed of the mystical sirena.”
Isabella laughed. “I am afraid I am no mermaid.” She lifted a leg until a foot emerged, the silk slippers she’d been wearing long lost in the ocean’s depth. “See? Ten toes.” She scanned the horizon, not a speck of land in sight. “Although fins would benefit us greatly.”
“How about sails?” Captain Montoya looked beyond her shoulder.
She turned and saw a ship much smaller than Captain Montoya’s Santa Rosa, with one tall mast protruding from its middle. It drew near, and Isabella had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying with relief.
Captain Montoya drew to her side and bent his head toward her ear. “I will be the one to speak.”
What did it matter to her who said what to whom? The good news was, they weren’t going to drown after all.
A rope ladder flew over the side of the vessel, and Isabella eyed it warily. Luis gripped the rigging first and ascended faster than one of the monkeys she’d heard about in Gibraltar.
“You next.” The captain’s warm breath fanned her ear when he spoke.
She swallowed hard and enclosed her fingers around the rough cords. The ladder swung with her weight, and she squeezed her eyes shut against a wave of dizziness. Warmth seeped through her wet bodice at the back, and she turned her head only to have her gaze collide with the captain’s. His body arched around hers. Never had she felt so protected.
He nodded toward her. “You are doing fine. I will not let you fall.”
A small smile angled her lips before she returned her focus to climbing the roped rungs.
Strong hands reached for her at the top and helped to pull her fully on board. Little Luis stood near the ship’s railing, his hands clasped in front of him and his gaze held fast to his scuffed boots.
She knelt in front of the boy. “I have been wanting to do this for a long time.” Her arms wrapped around his thin shoulders, and she pulled him close. At first he stood rigid, but then he became softer than a good flan. He laid his head on her shoulder and hooked his arms under hers. After a few moments he stepped back, a shy grin playing across his mouth.
