The Santidad Cross drew her gaze. “You’re going back where you belong,” she whispered, stuffing it under her mattress. “Where all the treasure hunters in the world, including Captain Jake Rawlings, will never find you.”
JAKE SAT AT his narrow desk and studied the aerials Harold had taken of the north shore of Andros, comparing them to maps on the screen of his laptop. The wood-paneled walls of his small, neat cabin surrounded him with the comfort of familiarity. A balmy breeze from the open porthole blew fresh ocean air across his face. The Mañana’s engines droned their reassuring tune as the crew navigated toward Andros Island. And in a matter of a few hours he and his crew would be diving for the Concha. If Dr. Annie’s research was correct, his crew was poised, quite possibly closer than they’d ever been, for the discovery of a lifetime. Life didn’t get any better than this, right?
Wrong.
Thump. Bang, thump. The sounds of Dr. Annie Miller bumbling around in the cabin adjacent to Jake’s momentarily distracted him from the screen. The boat made a sudden shift, and she slammed into the wall.
A marine archaeologist afraid of water. Sam would have gotten a hearty laugh over that one, and then, no doubt, tucked her firmly under his wing. Jake chuckled to himself in the quiet of his cabin, but guilt fluttered at the edge of his conscience. It was, after all, his fault she’d fallen in the water. He’d goaded her, and when she’d faltered, he hadn’t been able to get there fast enough to catch her.
Damn leg. Surgery may have repaired most of the physical damage from the accident, but the remaining stiffness in the muscles and tendons definitely slowed him down.
Reality forced away the guilt. Their new archaeologist had lied to them. What if the logic behind her research was flawed? What if he dragged his company and all of its employees further down bankruptcy road with her wild-goose chase?
You worry too much. Sam’s constant admonishment still haunted Jake after all this time.
He found his favorite photo of his brother on the overhead bookshelf. Claire had caught Sam and him tipping a few on the beach in front of Jake’s house. Sunset on a rare night, a night when they’d both been completely content in each other’s presence. No need to do anything, except talk and laugh. A night when Jake had completely loosened up with Sam. He hadn’t felt the need to set an example for his younger brother, to prove anything, to be anything. And Sam hadn’t felt the need to keep up, let alone surpass his older brother.
Almost a year and a half after the accident, and Jake still couldn’t believe his little brother was gone. One minute they’d been diving beside each other, and the next it was over. Jake’s foot started cramping. He stretched out his legs and forced his shoulders to relax. If only Jake had been able to save Sam. If Jake had been stronger. Smarter. Faster. If only…
Thump. There Dr. Annie went again.
For one quarter of a split millisecond, Jake softened toward her. He didn’t know her story, but it couldn’t be a happy one. He found himself torn between chuckling at the absurdity of the mess she’d landed herself in and having a discussion with the helmsman about making this transition a little smoother for their new crew member.
Smoother? Why not make it as rough as possible? She’d made her bed. She could lie in it, or bump into it, whichever she preferred. Let the helmsman toss her around a little. If she were half as smart as she sounded, she’d eventually figure out she didn’t belong on a boat.
Especially not his boat. His boat ran precisely by the numbers. His crew was the best. A mistake could mean the difference between life and death. This wasn’t the type of business that allowed for second chances. Dr. Annie, on the other hand, would need a third, fourth, maybe even fifth chance. Aside from being afraid of water, she had no boat-sense and questionable diving experience, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He returned to the aerials and marked the coordinates where he wanted to begin diving in a few hours. They’d be at the first site before dinnertime, and he couldn’t wait to hit the water. By sunset, if they were lucky, they might find something—a cannon, an anchor, anything—to give some credence to Dr. Annie’s theory. With any luck, the tropical storm Harold worried would strike in a few days would bypass them entirely.
She hit the wall again, this time accompanying the thud with a short little screech. That was it. No longer able to concentrate, he flipped the laptop closed and locked the aerial photographs in the safe under his bunk. Repositioning his baseball cap low on his brow, he stepped into the narrow hall and rapped on her door. “What are you doing in there? Remodeling?”
“None of your business. Go away.”
“All you have to do is say the word, and we’ll take you back to Miami. You could be back on solid ground in no time.”
“I’m fine right where I am, thank you very much.”
The boat hit a wave, shifted and something sounding an awful lot like a body part hit the wall inside her cabin. He leaned against the doorjamb and smiled. “Sounds like a panic attack to me.”
“I’m attempting to get sheets on this stupid bunk. Okay with you, Captain?” The door swung open.
Damn. If this was what she called invisible, she definitely needed a full-length mirror in her cabin. Although she’d replaced baggy black pants with just as baggy cutoff jean shorts, those long slender legs put a big crack in that Annie Hall facade. The gray sweatshirt, zipped only halfway, did little to repair it, considering the cleavage beneath the scooped neckline of her black swimsuit. Her reading glasses were gone, and she’d drawn her hair back off her face, revealing a healthy pink glow attempting to break through her pale skin. He’d been right about her, looking all curvy and soft. Tongues were going to wag.
“Every time I try to tuck under the sheet corner,” she continued, “the boat lurches and I lose my balance. We’re in open water. Who do you have at the helm, anyway?”
He grinned. “Probably Simon. He’s never been known for his steady hand.”
He glanced past her into the cabin, looking for clues to this enigma. Back in Harold’s office, he’d sensed she’d held something back. Was it only her fear of water? Or was there something more? Curiosity getting the better of him, he squeezed his way into her cabin.
“And where, exactly,” she said, glancing up at him, “do you think you’re going?”
CHAPTER FOUR
JAKE RAISED HIS EYEBROWS at Annie. “Want help with your bunk, or not?”
“Not,” she said. “I’ll manage.”
“Without putting a hole through the wall?”
At that, she stood back, if it was possible in an area about half the size of his cabin. There was barely enough room for them to stand side by side, and it certainly hadn’t taken much for her to personalize the small space. A radio, clock and a bestselling paperback sat on the dresser, along with a framed photo of two middle-aged adults. He picked it up. “Parents?”
She nodded, impatiently crossing her arms.
“They back in Chicago?”
She looked as if she might not answer him, and then, reluctantly, she shook her head. “They passed away—died—years ago.”
He wondered if she had brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins. Speculated about her fear of water, but he bit back the questions. “‘Passed away.’ Hmmph. Can’t stand that phrase.”
She tilted her head, as if surprised they’d something even so slight in common. “Death’s rarely quiet or peaceful.”
“You got that right.” He