"You're not immune."
"Didn't you get a thrill when we opened that box?"
"Yes, though I can't help thinking about what happened to the owners. So much blood, sweat and tears, and they never got home again to enjoy it."
"Yeah," Brodie said. "I hope they had a rip-roaring time of it while they could."
"They probably did. The goldfields offered plenty of entertainment, according to contemporary accounts. In fact the shopkeepers and entrepreneurs probably went home with more money than a lot of the miners."
"So maybe some of the passengers were sharks rather than honest, hardworking gold diggers grubbing the stuff out of the soil?"
"Shopkeepers aren't necessarily dishonest or lazy. You're one yourself."
"You got me there," Brodie acknowledged. "A low blow."
Sienna had to laugh, and he smiled at her, his eyes lit with humor and a disconcerting male gleam that despite her best intentions evoked an involuntary response, tightening her skin and warming her body.
"How's your arm?" she asked him, to distract herself from the way he made her feel and him from studying her with his too-penetrating blue eyes.
"Fine." He flexed it, and asked with a wicked slant to his grin, "Want a demonstration?"
"No." Hastily she shook her head and sat farther back in her chair. "I'll take your word for it."
Brodie laughed and returned his attention to the screen in front of him.
Late in the afternoon Rogan entered the control room. "The last of what's in the safe is coming up now. We'll transfer the gold on board the Sea-Rogue, lock it up, and as soon as the tug arrives we'll be out of here."
Sienna's head jerked up. "We can't leave yet! The archaeological survey isn't complete!"
"Sorry," Rogan said. "We've got millions of dollars' worth of salvaged cargo and we need to get it to a safe place as fast as possible."
"Money!" Sienna exclaimed in disgust. "Is that all you two care about?"
Brodie said, "Hey! That's not fair."
Rogan glanced at him. A thud on deck announced the arrival of the last box. "Explain to her, Brodie," he said, and left them.
"Explain what?" Sienna turned on Brodie. "That your precious profit is worth more than my research? That the only reason I'm here is to lend a false respectability to your treasure hunt? I should have known—Aidan was right."
"Who the hell's Aidan?"
"My department head at Rusden," she said. "He warned me not to trust treasure hunters. Thugs and thieves—"
"I object to that!" His chin was thrust out.
Sienna stood up. "And I object to being used."
"You weren't used!" As she made to leave he stood too and grabbed her wrist with his good hand, swinging her to face him.
She thumped a fist against his chest. "What would you call it then? Granger promised me Rogan would let me do the job properly! And now the minute he finds gold—suddenly, poof! That's it, we're done, let's go home and see how much we can get for our loot!"
"Listen—"
"I did listen, that was my mistake!" She tugged at his hold, trying to free herself.
"Whoa, there!" He clipped her arm behind her and brought her close, body to body, and before she could stop him his mouth came down on hers, hard and fierce.
It only lasted a moment, then he lifted his head, having effectively silenced her, and abruptly released her wrist, letting her step away from him. "Now, listen. You're way off beam. Rogue's worried. Have you forgotten how I got this?" He indicated his wounded arm.
Sienna looked at it, then up at him, resentful that even with one arm he could use his masculine strength against her, and obscurely angry too that he'd charged after the would-be thief and been hurt. When he'd arrived on deck bleeding she'd felt sick and had to steel herself to act sensibly and not scream or faint. "If you hadn't gone after him like some macho film hero," she raged, "he wouldn't have had the chance."
"So it was okay for him to pull a knife?" Brodie demanded.
"No! Of course it wasn't!" Remembering how much blood there had been and the sharks circling in the water, she inwardly shuddered. "But when you and Rogan disturbed him he ran—swam—away, didn't he? You chased him and he panicked. He probably didn't have any intention of killing you."
"He might be capable of it. We can't guess at what he might do next. I don't know-how many guys are aboard that trawler, but they probably outnumber us. And as long as we stay here we're sitting ducks."
"The trawler? They're probably just waiting for us to vacate their fishing ground so they can go on with their business in peace."
"Or for us to lift the treasure so they can grab it for themselves."
"Aren't you being a bit melodramatic? You think everyone's out to steal the treasure!"
"Someone on board here could be in cahoots with the guys on the trawler. And we don't know who. Remember, James Drummond's a known killer. That trawler's been around too much, and behaving mighty strangely for a fishing boat. Rogue doesn't want anything like this—" he lifted his bandaged arm "—and maybe worse happening to Camille. Or you."
Sienna blinked at him. He sounded deadly serious and grimly determined. "Camille and I are grown women," she said, "and not wilting violets, in case you hadn't noticed."
He gave a faint grin. "I've noticed a lot about you." His gaze dropped momentarily, then he raised it to her face. Her breath stopped and her heart seemed to flip over.
The glint in his eyes had turned to a blinding glitter, like sunlight on the sea. Briefly he closed them, before focusing on her again.
Then he said, "For everyone's protection we ought to get out of here fast. We can't just abandon the guys on the barge—though if there is a spy he'll know the gold is aboard the Sea-Rogue. But once the tug gets here…"
"With the police," Sienna remembered.
"One cop isn't much of a deterrent. Still, safety in numbers and all that. If we stick together for the trip back to Parakaeo we're less likely to be attacked on the way."
"Attacked? Piracy?" It seemed fantastic, but then Rogan and Camille had already been subjected to one such episode. If Rogan was paranoid she couldn't blame him.
"It's not as uncommon these days as people think," Brodie said seriously. "Word of a treasure hunt brings out the hyenas of the sea."
"All right," Sienna conceded. "Maybe Rogan does have good reasons." With Brodie's bandaged arm as a reminder of the lengths some people would go to, she reluctantly had to agree it might not be safe to linger at the wreck site. "But I want to make a last survey of anything that's left, and bring up what I can in the time we have."
"I don't think so, not after what happened last night."
"It's broad daylight now."
"No."
"Brodie!" She put her hands on her hips, eyes flashing.
"No. It's too risky."
Sienna stormed out and went on deck to find Rogan.
To her surprise, after listening to her arguments and giving her a long, brooding look, he said, "If you can persuade Brodie it's okay by me."
Camille insisted on a last dive too, and Brodie, following a low-voiced conversation with Rogan, reluctantly allowed it. Rogan went down with them, since Brodie wasn't supposed to get his stitched arm wet, and Sienna studied and photographed as much as she could in the limited time, sending up a last basket of fragments and unidentifiable coral-covered objects to the barge.
"The tug should be here by morning," Rogan told Brodie when the women had taken their haul to Sienna's workroom. "Tonight we show no lights and you and I keep watch."
"Okay." They were well out of shipping lanes and the reef was clearly marked on modern charts. It was unlikely that another craft would accidentally hit them in the dark.
Rogan repealed the strict no-alcohol regime he'd imposed on the team while they were diving, and at dinner he opened several bottles of champagne he'd kept aboard the Sea-Rogue for just this occasion.
Sienna was aware of undercurrents at the table. The g
old was the main topic of conversation, and as for the blown safe, the consensus was that the trawler crew had guessed what the salvors were doing out in the middle of nowhere and had tried to muscle in on the treasure hunters' patch.
Brodie and Rogan didn't contradict the theory, both seemingly relaxed, leaning back with champagne flutes in their hands. But beneath apparently sleepy lids, Brodie's vivid blue eyes were watching the other team members intently, and a creak of the deck boards brought him instantly to his feet and out there to see what had caused it, with Rogan on his heels.
When they came back into the cabin all eyes turned to them, and Brodie shrugged. The atmosphere was thick with unvoiced questions and the party atmosphere dissipated. Joe put down his empty glass and stood up. "Think I'll turn in," he said.
There were murmurs and shuffles round the table, and the other men finished their drinks and went off to their bunks.
It was two o'clock in the morning. Brodie sat on the bow of the Sea-Rogue, his back against a bulkhead, peering through the darkness to where he'd last seen the trawler. A loaded rifle lay across his knees. Overhead, an awning cast a deep shadow.
A faint sound came to his ears, something that wasn't the shushing of the waves or the creak of boards contracting. Maybe a soft footfall.
He turned his head and saw a ripple against the blackness, a mere hint of movement on the barge.
Someone was moving over there, stealthily.
He lost sight of the darker shadow and wondered if he'd imagined it, then a light flashed for an instant. A second's wait, then another flash. Another second, another flash.
Very quietly Brodie got to his bare feet, stepping lightly and surely to the side of the boat and leaping to the deck of the barge, the gun held across his body while he switched on the flashlight in his other hand.
The man sprang to face him, blinking, and Brodie said, "You're up late, Joe."
Chapter 9
« ^ »
"Couldn't sleep," Joe said. "What the hell do you think you're doing with that gun? You scared me half to death."
"What the hell were you doing with that light?" Brodie retorted. "Talking to your friends?"
It was a moment before Joe spoke again. "Dunno what you're on about," he said. "Thing's not working properly. Keeps going out."
"Every second or so, huh? Shove it over here. Maybe I can fix it."
"Brodie…"
Brodie shifted his grip on the gun, pointing it straight at Joe. "Put the torch down on the deck and push it over here."
"Aw, hell, Brodie." Joe stooped and obeyed, and Brodie caught the flashlight with his foot.
Rogan was there now beside Brodie, also holding a rifle. "What's up?"
"Why don't you tell us, Joe?" Brodie invited him. He stooped, not taking his eyes from the other man, and put down his own light to pick up Joe's, flicking the switch. The light burned steady and bright. "Well, look at that, it works perfectly. What were you saying to your mates over there on the trawler, huh?"
"Nothing!"
"He was signaling?" Rogan queried.
"Loud and clear," Brodie answered. "Telling them to come and get it, were you, Joe?"
"You've got it all wrong," Joe protested. "Rogue—you know me."
"I thought I did. I know you've sailed pretty close to the edge of the law a couple of times, but I didn't think you'd cheat on us."
"You don't understand—"
"Damn right I don't," Rogan answered.
Brodie said, indicating his injured arm, which was throbbing anew, "Reckon I owe you for this, mate. Rogue, do we shoot him now and push him overboard, or wait for the tug and take him in to be charged with attempted murder?"
"You wouldn't…" Joe looked sick. "I'm not a murderer!"
"Be a lot simpler to just shove him overboard," Rogan said casually.
Brodie put down the light in his hand, straightened and moved the gun he held to his shoulder, steadying it with his bandaged arm.
Joe flung his hands up in a gesture of panicked surrender. "Bloody hell, Brodie!"
Behind him Brodie heard a tiny sound, between a gasp and a cry, the first indication that Sienna, and he supposed Camille, were watching the ugly scene.
Tilisi and the engineer now appeared on the deck of the barge, demanding to know what was happening.
Brodie lowered the rifle but kept it aimed at Joe. "Well, maybe not yet," he said. "Keep back," he warned the newcomers. And to Joe, "When are you expecting your friends, and how many of them are there?"
Joe licked his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about. Are you crazy?"
"Nope," Brodie answered. "But you are if you think you can get away with this."
Rogan said, "We're not going to get anywhere. Let the cop deal with it when he gets here."
"What cop?" Joe asked, looking apprehensive.
"The one who should be here in—" Rogan glanced at his watch "—a couple of hours. Meantime you can be our guest on board the Sea-Rogue."
They gave the other men a brief explanation of their suspicions, tied Joe's hands and locked him in the securest place they had—the cargo hold of the Sea-Rogue where they'd stowed the gold and other treasures.
"Ironic," Brodie said as he and Rogan scanned the sea with flashlights while Sienna and Camille watched.
Rogan switched off his light. "No sign of anyone. If Joe was guiding them to us they'd probably have realized something had gone wrong with the plan when they saw your light. They could even have watched the whole thing."
Brodie switched off his own flashlight. "I guess we don't want to give them any help if they try again."
"If they do, we're ready for them." The other team members had been roused, and several of them were armed with spearguns. Hunk had even produced a pistol. Everyone was awake and alert.
"Are you sure you're right?" Camille asked. "About Joe?"
"If we're not," Brodie said, "he can sue us for wrongful imprisonment. But he was definitely signaling."
"Why don't you girls go back to bed?" Rogan suggested.
Camille gave a little snort, and Sienna said, "You expect us to sleep while you men guard the ramparts?"
Brodie turned a grin to her. "I don't mind if you want to stay and keep me warm."
"We're in the tropics," she retorted. "You don't need … anyone to keep you warm."
Brodie sighed loudly and Rogan gave a quiet chuckle.
Camille said, "Can you use a speargun, Sienna?"
"No." She'd never been interested in killing the beautiful creatures she saw underwater, even suffered a pang of regret at eating those that others caught. "Maybe the men could show us."
"No," Rogan said.
Brodie added, "A couple of women who've never used them, loose with spearguns on a rocking boat? We'd be safer jumping overboard."
Camille said darkly, "I'll get you for that. Remember, I'm the cook."
Rogan laughed. Camille moved closer to her husband and he put an arm about her. They sat side by side, perched on the afterdeck above the cockpit. Brodie clambered onto the cabin roof and sat there cross-legged, the rifle resting on his thighs.
Sienna, feeling helpless and irritable, wedged herself into a corner of the cockpit. She had no intention of being sent off to bed. Dawn was still some way off.
She was almost dozing when Brodie said quietly, "Something's out there."
Her head jerked up, a shiver spiraling down her spine. Brodie and Rogan, crouching shadows against the faintly lightening sky, moved noiselessly forward to the bow.
Sienna heard a splash, somehow stealthy, then another. Too rhythmic to be fish, different from the wavelets hitting the hull of the boat.
Carefully she stood up, looking over the cabin roof.
Camille came to stand beside her. Rogan said, his voice barely audible, "Camille—you and Sienna go below."
Neither of them moved.
The splashing came closer. A gray shape appeared, and dimly Sienna made out the fat outline of a rubber dingh
y, with several black-clad figures sitting in it.
Rogan called, "Stop right there!"
The splashing abruptly ceased. Then a motor roared, the dinghy leaped forward, and Brodie yelled, "Down!"
He and Rogan flung themselves prone, and Sienna and Camille, grabbing at each other, ducked to the floor of the cockpit. A loud, rapid chatter of gunfire—a sound she recognized with disbelief from myriad TV programs but discovered was much more terrifying in reality—sent Sienna's heart into overdrive, and she winced at the shattering of wood and glass, the motor coming closer, roaring past them.
Brodie, she thought in panic. And Rogan. Had they been hit?
Camille's hand dug into her arm. She hardly felt it.
Then Brodie was there, leaping into the cockpit almost on top of the two women, snarling, "You were told to go below! Get the hell down that companionway!"
Rogan followed him as the runabout turned back toward them.
This time Camille and Sienna obeyed, leaving the men room to maneuver the rifles from where they crouched in the cockpit.
"They mean business," Rogan muttered.
"Damn right." A submachine gun was far too businesslike for Brodie's liking. His mouth was dry, and if he hadn't been so fired-up mad at whoever these murderous thugs were he'd have been scared out of his mind.
"Try to get the rear pontoon," Rogan said, leveling his rifle and firing off a shot, but the dinghy was already turning.
Brodie nodded. The motor would be almost unusable if the rear chamber of the inflatable was punctured.
Tilisi, holding a speargun, leaped over the side rail from the barge and joined them, hunkering down just before another round of bullets tore at the top of the cabin, sending splinters of wood flying.
Brodie waited for the boat to pass before he steadied his rifle on the coaming and fired. A sputter of white foam briefly rose off the dark water. "Missed, dammit."
The attackers were concentrating on the Sea-Rogue, and there was precious little cover. The men on the barge were blocked by the ketch, while the inflatable again roared by with a fresh burst of gunfire. Two more of the dive crew leaped to the Sea-Rogue's side deck, sheltered by the cabin structure. Hunk let off a couple of pistol shots as the dinghy came round again in a spray of white water. A quick chatter of fire answered and everyone flattened themselves to the deck.
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