by Nora Roberts
less than a foot away had been shattered. How could something as fragile as a china plate survive intact? Frowning in concentration he watched the next letter emerge. L.
If the L stood for Lassiter’s luck, they were wasting their time. He wanted to stop, roll out the ache from his shoulders, but a glimpse at Tate’s excited face had him keeping the flow steady.
The final letter came clear so that the monogram read TLB. She’d barely had time to consider the oddity of that when the plate, whole and miraculously undamaged, slipped effortlessly free.
Stunned, she nearly dropped it. With it held between her and Matthew, she could see the play of her own fingers under the base. The plate, so fine, so elegant, had once graced a gleaming table, she imagined. It had been part of a cherished set, carefully packed for the voyage to a new life.
And hers were the first hands to hold it in more than two hundred years.
In wonder, she looked up at Matthew. For an instant they shared the silent and intimate thrill of discovery. Then his face changed, became remote. They were only professionals again.
Sorry for it, Tate swam clear to set the plate beside the broken sword out of the range of fallout. She studied the two pieces lying side by side on the sand.
They had been on the same ship, through the same storm, had been tossed, then buried by the same sea. Two different kinds of pride, she mused. Force and beauty. Only one had survived.
What whim had chosen between them? she wondered. Snapping steel and leaving the fragile undamaged? Mulling through it, she went back to the chore of sifting debris.
Later, she would ask herself just what had made her look up and around at just that moment. There’d been no movement to catch her eye. Perhaps there had been a tickle at the back of her neck, or that visceral sensation of being watched.
But she looked up through the murk. The steely eyes and toothy grin of the barracuda gave her a jolt. Amused at herself for the reaction, she reached into the fallout again. And again found herself looking where the fish continued to hover—patient and watching. And familiar.
Surely it couldn’t be the same fish that had joined them daily on their excavation of the Marguerite?
She knew it was foolish to think so, but the idea of it made her smile. Wanting to get Matthew’s attention, she reached for her knife to rap on her tanks. Suddenly something flew out of the fallout and landed less than an inch from her hand.
It glittered and pulsed and gleamed. Fire and ice and the regal shine of gold. The water seemed to heat around her, move around her and grow clear as glass.
The ruby was a spreading of blood, surrounded by the iced tears of diamonds. The gold was as polished and bright as the day it had been fashioned into those heavy links and ornate setting.
There was such clarity to it that she could read the French inscribed around the stone perfectly.
Angelique. Etienne.
The roar in her head was her own blood singing. For there was no sound at all in the sea. No hum from the pipe, no clatter from the stone and shells that rained over her tanks. The silence was so perfect, she could hear her own words echo in her head as if she’d spoken aloud.
Angelique’s Curse. We’ve found it, and freed it, at last.
With numbed fingers, she reached down for it. It was her imagination, of course, that made her think she could feel heat radiating toward her. An invitation, or a warning. When she held it in her hands, it was only fantasy that made it seem as though the necklace vibrated like something alive taking a long greedy breath.
She felt a terrible grief, and anger and fear. Almost, the wild flood of sensation made her drop it again. But there was love welling through all the rest, a fierce and desperate love that tore at her heart.
Tate closed a hand around the chain, another around the stone and absorbed the war of emotion.
She could see the cell, the thin light through the single barred window set high in the thick stone. She could smell the filth and the fear, and hear the screams and pleas of the damned.
And the woman in a dingy tattered dress, her red hair dull and chopped off rudely at her neck, sat at a tiny table. She wept, and she wrote while around her thin throat, the amulet hung like a bleeding heart.
For love. The words drifted through Tate’s mind. Only and always for love.
Fire swept up greedily and consumed her.
Matthew. It was her first coherent thought. Tate had no idea how long she had clutched the necklace while debris fell like rain around her.
He was working steadily, his face angled away. Here it is, she thought. What you’re searching for is right here. How did you miss it? Why, she thought with a shiver, didn’t you see it?
She knew she should signal to him, show him what she held. The object that had drawn them together, twice, was right there in her hands.
And what would it do to him? she wondered. What would it cost him? Before she could question her own motives, she jammed the necklace in her goody bag, drew the drawstring tight.
Struggling for calm, she looked toward the barracuda. But the fish was gone, as if it had never been. There was only murk.
Five hundred miles away, VanDyke rolled off his surprised lover and got out of bed. Ignoring her complaints, he swung into a silk robe and hurried from the master suite. His mouth was dry, his heart throbbing like a wound. Stalking past a white-suited steward, he rushed up the companionway to the bridge.
“I want more speed.”
“Sir.” The captain looked up from his charts. “There’s weather due east. I was about to alter our course to swing below it.”
“Hold your course, goddamn you.” In one of his rare leaps of public temper, VanDyke swept a hand over the table and sent charts scattering. “Hold your course and give me more speed. You’ll have this ship to Nevis by morning or I’ll see you captain nothing larger than a two-man paddleboat.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t need to. VanDyke’s commands were always followed, his wishes always granted. But the flush of humiliation that had come across the captain’s face didn’t calm or appease VanDyke as it should have.
His hands were trembling, the bitter cloud of rage threatening to close over him. The signs of weakness infuriated him, frightened him. To prove his strength, he marched into the lounge, cursed at the bartender always on duty and grabbed a bottle of Chevis himself.
The amulet. He would have sworn he’d seen it flashing, felt its weight around his own neck as he’d ranged himself over the woman in his bed. And the woman in his bed had not been the increasingly tedious companion of the last two months, but Angelique herself.
Snarling at the bartender to leave, VanDyke poured the liquor, drank it down, poured again. His hands continued to tremble, to curl themselves of their own accord into fists looking for something to pummel.
It had been too real to have been a simple fantasy. It was, he was sure, a premonition.
Angelique was taunting him again, snickering at him from centuries past. But he would not be tricked, or outwitted, this time. His course was set. He accepted now that it had been set from the moment he’d been born. Destiny beckoned so that he could nearly taste it along with liquor. And it was sweet and strong. He would soon have the amulet, its power. With it he would have his legacy, and his revenge.
“Tate seems preoccupied,” LaRue commented, tugging up the zipper of his wet suit.
“We put in a long shift.” Matthew hauled tanks over to the tender. Buck would be taking them on island to be refilled. “I guess she’s tired.”
“And you, mon ami?”
“I’m fine. You and Ray want to work on that southeast trench.”
“As you say.” Taking his time, LaRue hooked on his tanks. “I noticed she did not linger on deck after you surfaced, as is her habit. She went inside quickly.”
“So what? You writing a book?”
“I am a student of human nature, young Matthew. It is my opinion that the lovely mademoiselle has something to hi
de, something that worries her mind.”
“Worry about your own mind,” Matthew suggested.
“Ah, but the study of others is so much more interesting.” He smiled at Matthew as he sat to put on his flippers. “What one does, or doesn’t do. What that one thinks or plans. You understand?”
“I understand you’re wasting your air.” He nodded toward the New Adventure. “Ray’s waiting on you.”
“My diving partner. This is a relationship that must have full trust, eh? And you know, young Matthew . . .” LaRue pulled on his mask. “You can rely on me.”
“Right.”
LaRue saluted, then went into the water. Something told him he would need to make another phone call very soon.
She didn’t know what to do. Tate sat on the edge of her bunk staring at the amulet in her hands. It was wrong for her to keep the discovery to herself. She knew it, and yet . . .
If Matthew knew she had it, nothing would stop him from taking it. He’d alert VanDyke that he had it in his possession. He’d demand a showdown.
She knew without doubt that only one of them would walk away from it.
All this time. Slowly, she ran her fingers over the carved names. She hadn’t really believed they would find it. What she hadn’t realized was that, against all logic, all scientific curiosity, she had hoped they wouldn’t find it.
Now it was real, in her hands. She had a foolish urge to open her window and heave it back into the sea.
She didn’t have to be an expert on gems to know that the center ruby alone was priceless. It was certainly easy enough to judge the gram weight of the gold and figure that worth in current market value. Add the diamonds, the antiquity, the legend, and what did she have? Four million dollars in her hands? Five?
Enough, certainly, to satisfy any greed, any lust, any vengeance.
Such a stunning piece of work, she mused. Surprisingly simple despite the flash and fire. A woman would wear it and draw eyes and admiration. Displayed, it would be the centerpiece of any museum. Around it she could build the most impressive, the most spectacular collection of marine salvage in the world.
Her professional dreams would be realized beyond any of her wildest imaginings. Her reputation would soar. Any and all funding she desired for an expedition would flow to her like river to sea.
All of this and more would come. She had only to hide the amulet, to go to Nevis and make a single phone call. Within hours she and her prize could be on their way to New York or Washington to stun the world of ocean exploration.
She jerked back, letting the necklace spill onto the bed. Shocked, she stared at it.
What had she been thinking? How could she have even considered such actions? When had fame and fortune become more important to her than loyalty, than honesty? Than even love.
With a shiver, she pressed her hands to her face. Maybe the damn thing was cursed if having it for so short a time skewed her integrity.
She turned her back on it, walked to the window and, opening it, took deep gulps of sea air.
The truth was, she would give up the amulet, the museum, everything, if it would turn Matthew away from this course of self-destruction. She would hand it over to VanDyke personally if the betrayal would save the man she loved.
Perhaps it would. Turning, she studied the amulet again, spread like stars over the serviceable spread of her bunk. Driven by instinct, she scooped it up, pushed it under the neatly folded clothes in her middle drawer.
She needed to act quickly. Through the doorway leading to the bridge, she spied out at the Mermaid. She could see her mother hammering conglomerate to the rhythm of some top-forty station on the portable radio. Buck was on his way to St. Kitts, she knew, and her father and LaRue were at the wreck.
That left only Matthew, and of him she saw no sign. There was no better time, she decided, and no better way.
Heart pounding, she slipped up the stairs to the bridge. She hoped the operator on Nevis could help her contact Trident Industries. Failing that, she would work to track down Hayden. Surely between them, they could find a way to get through to VanDyke.
She made the ship-to-shore call, wishing she’d thought quickly enough to hitch a ride with Buck to the island. It would certainly have simplified the contact.
After twenty frustrating minutes, and countless transfers, she was able to reach Trident, Miami. For all the good it did, Tate thought when she disconnected. No one there would even acknowledge that Silas VanDyke was associated with them. All she could do was insist the silky voiced receptionist take her message and see that it was passed to the proper source.
Remembering the man she had faced years before, she had no doubt it would be. But there was little time.
That left Hayden, she decided, and hoped that he was off the Nomad and back in North Carolina. Again, she made the ship-to-shore, waited while the call was transferred north and over the Atlantic.
For all her trouble, her call was taken by Hayden’s answering service.
“I need to get a message to Dr. Deel. It’s urgent.”
“Dr. Deel is in the Pacific.”
“I’m aware of that. This is Tate Beaumont, his associate. It’s imperative that I reach him as soon as possible.”
“Dr. Deel checks in for his messages periodically. I’ll be glad to relay your message to him when he contacts me.”
“Tell him Tate Beaumont needs to speak with him urgently. Urgently,” she repeated. “I’m at sea in the West Indies aboard the New Adventure. HTR-56390. He can contact the operator on Nevis for the transfer. Have you got that?”
Precisely, the service repeated the location and the call numbers.
“Yes. Tell Dr. Deel that I must speak to him, that I urgently need his help. Tell him I’ve found something of vital importance, and I need to contact Silas VanDyke. If I haven’t heard from Dr. Deel in a week, no, three days,” she decided, “I’ll make arrangements to join the Nomad. Tell him I need his help badly.”
“I’ll see that he gets your message the moment he calls in, Ms. Beaumont. I’m sorry I can’t tell you how long that might be.”
“Thank you.” She could back up the message with a letter, Tate thought. God knew how long it would take to reach the Nomad, but it was worth a try.
She spun around, then stopped dead when she saw Matthew blocking the doorway.
“I thought we had a deal, Red.”
CHAPTER 24
D OZENS OF EVASIONS and excuses ran through her head. Plausible evasions, reasonable excuses.
She was sure the man who faced her now would swat them aside like pitiful gnats. Still, by the way he leaned negligently against the jamb, she thought there was a small chance.
“I want to check some data with Hayden.”
“Is that so? How many times have you felt the need to check some data with Hayden since we found the Isabella?”
“This is the first—” She yelped and instinctively stumbled back when he straightened. It wasn’t the move, which had been slow and controlled. It had been the vicious temper that had leapt into his eyes. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never seen it fully unleashed.
“Goddamn you, Tate, don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.” She pressed back against the wall, for the first time in her life fully physically terrified. He could hurt her, she realized. Something in his eyes warned her that he’d like to. “Matthew, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t tell you you’re a lying, double-crossing bitch?” Because he did want to hurt her, was afraid he would if he let that last link of control snap, he slapped his hands on the wall at either side of her head to cage her in. “When did he get to you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She swallowed on a dry throat. “I just needed to ask Hayden . . .” Her excuse ended on a whimper when he closed a hand over her jaw and squeezed.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said, spacing each word deliberately. “I heard you. If I hadn’t heard you myself, no one could have convin
ced me you’d turn this way. What for, Tate? The money, the prestige, a promotion? A fucking museum with your name on it?”
“No, Matthew, please.” She closed her eyes and waited for the blow when his grip vised on her flesh.
“What were you so anxious to pass on to VanDyke? Where is he, Tate? Keeping a safe distance until we play out the Isabella? Then