Jake squinted at her. “Let’s go.” He turned for the boat. “I told you not to talk to anyone. What did you say to him?” The tone of his voice implied he’d judged her guilty.
“Nothing.” Animosity again. Good. She hiked the bag onto her shoulder and trudged after him. That was exactly what she needed to propel her down the dock. “He asked where we’re going, but I’m not an idiot. Who was that, anyway?”
“My ex-business partner.”
“Who’s Valerie?”
“My ex-wife.”
He stated that fact without the slightest bit of emotion. Either he’d completely reconciled his feelings for the woman, or this man had none to begin with. Looking at him now, Annie thought the latter more likely. With his tanned skin and scruffy beard, he looked every inch the pirate suggested by the skull-and-crossbones flag on his Buccaneers baseball cap. That curly black hair of his, hanging dangerously close to the collar of his T-shirt, only added to, rather than softened, his threatening image. Of course, she was forced to admit, he did have a certain he-mannish appeal. And since when had she become the type to notice such a thing, let alone care?
Refusing to analyze her feelings, she quickly sought the relative comfort of hostility. “You seem to have a lot of exes in your past.”
“With any luck, I’ll soon be adding ex-marine archaeologist to my list.” He stopped and stared at her. “We’re here.” He jerked his head to the side. “Your new home for two weeks.”
Though pristine white with crisp blue stripes and lettering, there was nothing luxurious about the Mañana. The ship was about a hundred feet of pure working boat, with the helm and galley sitting forward on the upper deck, leaving an ample area at the stern for divers and their gear. The spacing of the portholes told of adequate room for cabins below deck, and all machinery and equipment appeared clean and well-maintained. She couldn’t have picked a more seaworthy vessel if she’d had one custom built.
“Hey there, Jake.” A dark-haired woman ambled down from the Mañana. Annie envied her ease. “Harold radioed to fill me in. You must be Annie, our new crew member.” She extended her hand. “I’m Claire Rawlings.”
Annie found her hand swallowed by the other woman’s more than competent grip. “Jake’s…sister?”
“In-law.” She reached for Annie’s bag.
Annie was about to protest and then gave in. Everyone seemed to want to get their hands on her duffel.
Claire hopped easily back onto the boat. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
Annie really wanted to follow her, only there was one problem; the water between dock and boat. The blood drained from her face, and she felt Jake studying her.
“You don’t look so ready for this,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You can always stay back, you know.”
“Absolutely not.”
“All right.” He held out his arm for her to proceed. “Let’s go.”
She couldn’t get her feet to move, could only concentrate on keeping her eyes averted from the sight of water. First Jake’s face. Then the Mañana. Then the grain of wood on the dock.
“Well, I’ll be,” Jake whispered. “You’re afraid of the water.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She forced herself to look off the dock and into the wavy depths below. A dizzy rush made her stomach flip-flop. Her body seemed to tilt toward the left. Toward the edge of the dock. Toward— Oh, no! She tried taking a step forward, tried making it to the relative safety of the boat. And lost her balance.
“Son of a—!” Jake lunged for her arm.
Annie reached for him. Too late.
She dropped backward into the water. Coolness, startling in its entirety, engulfed her. She sputtered and choked on the saltwater flowing into her mouth and nose, and coherent thoughts deserted her. Struggling to keep her head above water, her arms and legs flailed ineffectively. Within seconds, she started sinking. The dock posts drifted out of sight, and the surface of the water moved farther and farther away. As the last bubble of air escaped her lungs, her limbs grew heavy.
Memories, painful ones, flooded her senses. She closed her eyes to them, forcing them from her mind. Only darkness took their place.
CHAPTER THREE
“COME ON! Come on!”
Through the syrupy blackness Annie felt warm lips on her mouth, something pinch her nose and air flow down her throat. She felt pressure on her chest, a hard pumping rhythm, working fast. Once, twice, three times, four. She lost count.
As if from a great distance, she heard the command, “Breathe, Annie! Breathe!” A forceful touch under her chin, tilting back her head, and the warm lips again, hard and insistent, on her mouth.
She struggled to open her eyes and found Jake’s face an inch from her own, his gaze focused with intent. Startled, she sucked in a breath and coughed out a bit of seawater.
Jake sat back on his heels, his legs straddling her. “Can you hear me? Annie?”
She nodded, sucked in another breath, and coughed some more. His genuine concern surprised her. After all his blustering in Harold’s office, she would have guessed her drowning would have solved every one of his problems.
“Should we get a doctor?” a woman asked from somewhere to the left. Annie glanced up to find Claire Rawlings hovering nearby. Somehow, Annie had gotten on board the Mañana.
Jake cupped Annie’s cheeks and made her look into his eyes. He assessed her breathing, took her pulse and then urged her to a sitting position. The instant he seemed satisfied all was clear the scowl returned to his face, and he stood. “She’ll be fine.”
Annie coughed again, causing Jake and Claire to turn in her direction. She dragged in a deep breath and a man appeared above her, blocking the sun. His bluer-than-blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Hiya, sport. I’m D.W. Need more mouth-to-mouth?”
“Knock it off, Romeo.” Claire thwacked D.W. on the arm. “Give her some room.”
“Worth a try,” D.W. said, winking. He helped her to her feet, and Annie noticed the words Divers Do It Deeper emblazoned in red on the front of his gray T-shirt.
She smiled and coughed again. “Thanks, D.W.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Claire asked.
“A little damp.” Annie tugged at her wet linen shirt, the now translucent white cloth leaving little to the imagination. “Otherwise, I’m fine.”
“She’d give you a run for your money in a wet T-shirt contest, Claire-belle,” D.W. added with a low whistle.
Claire narrowed her eyes at him, and the whistling immediately stopped. Her arms crossed, she turned toward Jake. “What’s going on here?”
Every trace of Jake’s earlier concern for Annie’s safety completely disappeared. “Our marine archaeologist is afraid of water.” He glared at Annie. “That’s strike number four.” Water dripped from his soaked shorts and T-shirt onto the boat deck. Apparently, not only had he administered CPR, he’d also dived in after her. “You’re going back to Chicago. Where you so obviously belong.”
Annie spun toward him. The swift movement brought another dizzying rush to her head and she faltered, taking a full breath. “Harold hired me,” she finally