Her Passionate Protector

by Laurey Bright

  Brodie laughed outright. "There was no bed that first time, as I recall. Just you and me and the moonlight on the beach. And it was enough, wasn't it?"

  "Yes." She sat back, her gaze on the work in front of her. "It was enough, and I don't need to repeat it." She turned the bottle, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. "I have to get on with this. You're distracting me."

  That might be a good sign, Brodie hoped as he straightened and strolled toward the door. "See you later," he said, and turned briefly, catching a wistful expression on her face as she stared after him. But she quickly dropped her head, fixing her eyes on what she'd been doing.

  Maybe he'd imagined that look after all.

  Sienna tightened her hold on the mallet and stared at the wine bottle, not seeing it. A strange sensation fluttered in her stomach, and she firmly quenched it.

  She should have treated Brodie as she did Tilisi, who flirted with her, his brown eyes teasing, obviously not at all serious, making her laugh with his exaggerated dejection when she failed to respond. But he always bounced back even more outrageously. It was a game, a natural reaction of a certain type of male to any attractive female who happened to be around and apparently available. And she was the only one handy at the moment.

  Tilisi was easy to handle, but with Brodie she'd been unable to keep it light, to laugh.

  She'd succumbed once so he thought he might get lucky again. And perhaps he was a bit piqued that since leaving the island she'd tried to be pleasant and aloof and make it clear that a mistaken incident in the tropical moonlight wasn't going to lead anywhere. A new experience for him, very likely.

  Well, it wouldn't do him any harm.

  A few days later the trawler disappeared over the horizon and off the radar. Apparently the skipper had decided there was no point in hanging about any longer.

  The divers cleared away more sand, revealing that much of the wreck's hull was remarkably intact. The winch lifted the larger pieces of timber out of the jagged hole in the side.

  Soon Sienna was busy cleaning and cataloging other finds. Half a dozen rusted muskets found lying together in a heap were carefully lifted to the barge. Sienna was able to date Joe's candlestick as circa 1840 and a pocket watch that Tilisi found as manufactured in 1850. With only six helmet divers working on air supplied from the surface, Brodie was one of the team as well as supervisor. When Rogan took his place in the computer room Sienna couldn't help noticing a drop in her inner tension, a curious flatness in her mood.

  After surfacing from a dive, Brodie handed her a gleaming fob chain as Rogan left to go back on deck.

  "It's beautiful," she exclaimed. "And as good as new."

  Gold didn't tarnish or pick up much in the way of accretions underwater. It survived for centuries.

  Brodie stood by as she fingered the chain, each finely wrought link a work of art. "Gold lasts forever," he said. "I guess that's why it's traditionally used for wedding rings."

  Sienna glanced at him, then put down the chain. "A gold ring will certainly outlast any marriage. Especially now."

  "Now?"

  "Divorce is an easier option than it was in earlier times. People can just walk out when they want to."

  "Like your father?"

  She glanced up again swiftly, then looked away, pretending to study the chain again. "I was generalizing." She wished she hadn't told him about her father.

  Brodie said, "My parents are still together after forty years."

  "Nice for you."

  "Hey!" he objected softly.

  Sienna looked up at him, feeling guilty. "I don't mean to sound sarcastic."

  "It is nice," Brodie told her. "And something to aspire to, if I ever get married."

  "Well, good luck."

  He was looking at her thoughtfully. "You sound as if you think I'll need it."

  "It's not personal."

  It was a moment before he spoke again. "Did you ever think about getting married?"

  The blunt question surprised her. "All little girls dream of a white dress and veil to go with the handsome prince who's going to carry them off to a castle where they'll live happily ever after." She laughed but it came out a little strained. "Unfortunately princes are thin on the ground."

  "You're waiting for one to come along?" Brodie queried. When she looked at him again he was giving her a quizzical grin.

  Obviously he wasn't taking this conversation seriously.

  "Heavens no! I was snapped out of that—" She stopped abruptly there. "I'm not waiting for anyone. I have more important things to do. Like cataloging this chain." She picked it up again and moved to the computer that held her records.

  Ignoring the hint, Brodie watched her for a few minutes, then turned to pick up a shiny sovereign from several on the table.

  "Why would a ship heading for America be carrying British coins?" he wondered idly.

  Glad of the change of subject, she told him, "British money was standard in Australia by the 1850s. Before, gold or silver coins from almost any country were used—in the eighteenth century Spanish dollars were the closest to a universal currency. The miners could have exchanged the sovereigns for dollars once they got home, but they probably carried most of their gold as dust or nuggets, or bars."

  Brodie nodded and spun the sovereign on its edge, then caught it and carefully set it down.

  "Apart from a few coins," Sienna said, "there's no sign of any gold hoard so far."

  "The Maiden's Prayer had a bullion safe. We haven't found that yet."

  "Suppose there's nothing in the safe after all? Camille could only guess from the records and the rumors at the time the Maiden's Prayer had sailed as to how much gold was on board."

  "The signs are good. We won't quit until we know for sure, one way or the other.' Rogan doesn't give up easily."

  Sienna turned from her computer notes. "Do you?"

  His head tipped to one side, he regarded her as if she were a chess board and he was planning some kind of tactic. Then he smiled slowly. "No," he said. "I've never been a quitter, Sienna."

  The way he said her name sent a flutter of something like apprehension into her midriff. To her relief, he turned and left her without another word.

  After another week what looked like the broken bow of the ship was exposed, its shattered, worm-eaten timbers stark testimony to the fatal collision with the coral that had violently torn it open. Sienna urged Rogan to call a temporary halt to operations while she went down to inspect the newly revealed section in person.

  "Twenty minutes is all the time you'll have," Rogan warned.

  Brodie said, "You take over as dive master, Rogue. I'll go down with Sienna."

  They finned down quickly to the dead ship, Sienna wearing only a brief two-piece swimsuit with her fins and dive gear, Brodie a big, sleek presence at her side in dive pants but with no top under his buoyancy jacket. They wouldn't be down long enough to get too cold.

  Broken timbers told their mute tale of long-ago tragedy. Several fish shimmered away through the clear water that deepened to murky green in the distance.

  Sienna peered into the cavity, not yet entirely clear of sand, noting every detail and taking photographs. Timber that had fallen inward mixed with the remains of what had probably been the seamen's quarters, and a jumble of objects that might have been almost anything, crusted with a century and a half of sea-growth.

  A bulkhead blocked them from going farther. Brodie's hand circled Sienna's wrist, pulling her after him. They left the bow to inspect the hole blown in the middle of the ship. They didn't touch anything, but Sienna took more photographs, and on deck again she compared them with the pictures on the computer and typed in notes.

  Brodie leaned on the back of her chair, making occasional comments, adding his impressions to hers while Rogan, standing next to him, asked a few questions. Camille sat next to Sienna in Brodie's chair.

  Brodie said, "It looks as though the ship struck the reef, then sank and slid down the slope, either immedi
ately or over time. Between the wreck and the reef she could have spilled a lot of stuff on the way."

  "The magnometer might pick up any large amounts of metal in the ship now we've got rid of some of the sand," Rogan suggested. "Even handheld metal detectors might find something."

  Sienna drew in another grid line on the computer and numbered it, concentrating on her task, while aware of Brodie only inches away. "Metal detectors miss a lot. China, wood, other materials. And I don't want anything moved until I've mapped exactly what we've got down there."

  "Ah … Sienna," Rogan said, "divers' wages don't come cheap."

  Brodie asked, "When can we put them back in the water?"

  "I'm almost done. Tell them, pick up everything that isn't part of the sea flora or fauna, and whatever it is, not to move from that spot until I've logged it. And anything small or fragile needs to be brought up by hand."

  "I think they know that."

  Sienna twisted to look at him. "Sometimes people get excited and forget."

  "I'll remind them again," he promised.

  The divers sent up basketfuls of nails and ship fittings, table utensils, an inkwell and more china. Tilisi found a silver thimble, dented and dulled with verdigris, but after an electrochemical bath followed by thorough washing and a final polish with a baking soda paste it regained its sheen. Sienna began fitting together some of the broken china pieces, with help from Camille.

  After two weeks they could see the outline of the ship, the bow smashed where she'd struck the reef, and other timbers stoved in or rotting away but many in quite good condition.

  "She must have settled into the sand pretty quickly," Brodie said as he and Sienna watched Tilisi and Olin below clearing more sand away. "If she sank in a storm she could have been buried almost immediately."

  Sienna nodded. When they were both intent on the job they were doing, she could almost forget how his very presence disturbed her. She'd worked hard at ignoring the prickling awareness that she felt every time he came near, and Brodie seemed to be treating her with much the same casual friendliness he extended to the rest of the crew. She ought to be relieved. Instead she felt a kind of hollow chagrin.

  On the seafloor, Tilisi stooped and poked at something, then quickly backed off. His voice came through the receiver at Brodie's ear. "Bones, boss. Human."

  "Don't touch them unless they're in the way," Brodie ordered. "See if you can find a hatch."

  "Sure thing." Relief in his voice, the diver waved an acknowledgment and moved along the hull.

  Rogan came in and watched as the airlifts were shifted to where the divers might find a hatchway. Joe followed him, saying, "Can I come in?"

  Rogan shrugged without taking his eyes from the screen. Sienna was conscious of a muted excitement mounting in the small space.

  The sand churned as the airlifts sucked it away, and the screen became cloudy. Then dimly she saw a dark corner of a square and Brodie gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  "It's open," Tilisi reported. "But there's a lot of sand."

  Brodie said, "The poor bastards probably used the hatch cover for a raft when the ship was going down."

  "Or," Rogan surmised, "the impact blew it off."

  Sienna could imagine the panic when the sailors and passengers realized the ship was sinking. "It must have been terrifying," she murmured.

  Brodie cast her a glance. "Pretty grim," he agreed.

  Camille slipped into the cabin and Rogan hooked an arm about her waist.

  The hole became larger, almost all of the hatchway now exposed, and Olin asked, "Can we go in?"

  "No!" Brodie said sharply. "Your time's almost up."

  "Aw, boss—"

  "I want you on deck in fifteen minutes. We'll send someone down on scuba to have a look."

  When the divers had surfaced and entered the decompression chamber Brodie began suiting up.

  Sienna said, "You're going down?"

  "There could be all kinds of hazards in there. The umbilicals might get tangled or cut. I won't ask my divers to go in until I've checked it out for myself."

  "You need a buddy diver. I want to go."

  Bending to pull on his wet suit, Brodie looked up.

  "I want to check it out before we start removing things, to get some idea of the layout."

  "Too risky." He shook his head. "I'll take one of the guys."

  Sienna raised her eyebrows. "It's my job. That's what I'm here for, remember? And you know I'm qualified for this."

  Brodie, hauling the suit to his waist, paused. "Okay," he said grudgingly. "Get your wet suit—you'll need some protection from snags and hazards inside the ship. But stick by me and do as you're told. Remember who's dive master."

  As if she could forget.

  Brodie shone a beam of light into the darkness, then slipped through the hatchway, followed closely by Sienna.

  He looked back to check on her, and she gave him the signal for okay. Dimly she made out jumbled shapes piled together: the rusted hoops of broken barrels, smashed boxes, and a litter of smaller objects that had spilled from them—bottles, tools, coins, even shoes and boots that were still recognizable.

  This must be a cargo hold. Sienna snapped pictures and tried to memorize where everything was as they swam above the chaos, until stopped by a heap of shattered timbers where light filtered through from the hole blown in the side of the ship.

  Brodie signaled they should return and she started to follow him back, then paused when a strange dizzy sensation passed over her. She felt lightheaded, lethargic. An orange-and-blue striped fish darted by and she half-turned to watch its progress, fascinated by its colors and wondering where it was going. Another fish followed, gleaming and jewel-like, so pretty she reached out to touch it, unable to resist. She felt as if she were dreaming. Maybe she was…

  Her sluggish brain warned her, This isn't right—wake up! She must get herself to the surface but, disoriented, she was no longer sure which way to go.

  Then a hand closed about her wrist and she was tugged around to face Brodie, scowling behind his mask and holding his dive computer in front of her.

  Sienna slowly raised her hand in the okay signal. Concentrate, she told herself. Her mind felt foggy. You have to get out of here.

  Brodie pulled her with him out of the hold and into clear water.

  At the first decompression stop on the way to the surface, her head began to clear, the peculiar feelings completely gone by the time Brodie hauled her after him onto the deck of the barge.

  As they removed their masks he turned to her, demanding, "What were you doing down there?"

  "I got distracted," she said. "Sorry."

  He looked at her closely. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, perfectly." She was now. Whatever happened had been temporary.

  Joe asked, "Anything interesting down there?"

  "There's a lot of stuff to sort through," Brodie said. "It's hard to tell yet."

  Rogan looked from Brodie to Sienna. "What happened?"

  "Nothing," Sienna told him.

  "Dunno." Brodie was still watching her even as he stripped off his suit.

  The others dispersed, but he and Sienna were both still in the brief swimsuits they'd worn underneath their wet suits when Brodie said, "I want to talk to you." He took her arm and walked her to her workroom, where he firmly closed the door.

  "Now," he said, "what really went on down there? Nitrogen narcosis?"

  "Rapture of the deep? We weren't down far enough for that, were we? Nowhere near a hundred and fifty feet. It can't have been—"

  But it had been alarmingly like the symptoms of the dangerous drunken sensation caused by nitrogen bubbles in the blood at depth.

  Brodie looked grim. "Then something did happen to you. It can hit at less than a hundred feet."

  "I told you, I just got a bit distracted—there was a fish…"

  "And you were going to follow it."

  "I wouldn't have been that stupid." Reluctantly she admitt
ed, "I had a touch of dizziness but it only lasted for a minute."

  "Because I got you out of there and into shallow water. Guys with narcosis have swum off into the deep ocean following some illusion and are never seen again—or they've been known to offer their mouthpiece to a passing fish," Brodie said. Then abruptly, "I don't want you diving anymore."

  "You can't stop me diving!" Her head came up and her eyes flashed.

  Brodie didn't remind her again that he was the dive master. His implacable expression said it for him.

  "PTS is paying me good money to be their archaeologist," Sienna said. "You surely don't want it wasted."

  "Better than wasting lives. You can supervise on the screen. It's worked pretty well so far."

  "It'll be much harder now we're inside the hull. You saw what it was like down there."

  "Yeah, I did. Dangerous."

  "I need to do my job!"

  "You need to be kept safe. That's my job."

  Sienna stiffened. "I was perfectly safe—"

  "With me," Brodie argued flatly. "And I intend you to stay that way."

  "If I go to Rogan—"

  "He'll back me up."

  Sienna had no doubt he would. The two of them had been friends forever. "This is because I'm a woman, isn't it?" she accused. "Can't you forget that for once?"

  "Forget it?" Brodie's glance encompassed her thin one-piece swimsuit and went all the way to her toes and back. A slow grin curled his mouth. "Uh-uh."

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  Suddenly conscious of her near nakedness—and Brodie's—Sienna felt her cheeks heat again. Despite herself, her body reacted to his lazy scrutiny, a melting sensation spiraling through her.

  Brodie's gaze dropped to her breasts, the peaking centers clearly visible through the flimsy Lycra.

  Her teeth closed on her lower lip, and he looked up again, paused at her mouth. "Don't do that," he said softly. "You'll hurt yourself."

  Then he stared straight into her eyes, holding them with his, a lambent blue flame hypnotizing her. She released her abused lip and his hand came up, the thumb gently smoothing the aching flesh. He made a little sound, his mouth briefly pursing. He stepped close to her, his body heat warming her, and bent his head.