Unidentified (Treasure Hunter Security #7)

by Anna Hackett

  He gripped the back of the shirt with one hand and yanked it over his head. Sloan froze.

  Holy. Hell. The man was pure, solid muscle. His chest was like marble slabs with hard pecs, and a ridged, six-pack abdomen. She saw a faint trail of dark hair leading down into his shorts. His skin was all sleek and brown, with no white tan lines. She guessed he had genetics to thank for that.

  Her gaze fell on the intricate black ink that covered his left shoulder, bicep and pec. She’d never had a thing for tattoos before, but Diego wore his well. So well. She peered closely at the markings. They looked like Aztec designs to her, but she was no expert.

  Her gaze traveled over him, drinking him all in, and then fell on his right arm. There was no sleek skin here. His forearm was covered in terrible scars. Some sort of knife wound, it appeared. God, whatever had been done to him had to have been agony.

  Her gaze moved back up, and she saw the bloody crease in his bicep. The bullet had just winged him, thank God. She stared at the bright-red blood smeared over his skin, and her stomach did a slow, sickening somersault.

  Ugh. She hated her little weakness. One she hid ruthlessly from her colleagues. If she didn’t look directly at the blood, she was usually fine. No way she was fainting in front of Diego Torres.

  She grabbed some antiseptic wipes from the kit, tore them open, and started cleaning his injury.

  “What’s wrong?” Diego asked.

  She flicked her gaze up to his. “Nothing.”

  “You’ve gone pale.” He glanced down at his arm. “It isn’t that bad. I’m sure you’ve seen worse.”

  She nodded. The wipe she was using had turned red, and she tasted bile in her throat. Tossing it down, she grabbed a fresh one. Doggedly, she went back to wiping his wound. “It doesn’t need stitches.”

  Suddenly, a big, scarred hand pressed over hers. “It’s fine.” He tilted his head, a shit-eating grin lighting up his face. “You don’t like blood.”

  “No one likes blood.” Damn, her voice was too fast, pitched a little too high.

  “You look like you’re about to faint.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Am not.”

  He shook his head. “Tough, rock-hard Agent McBride has a weakness.” Diego reached into the first aid kit, pulled out a large adhesive bandage and slapped it over his wound.

  Instantly, Sloan’s belly calmed. “I do not.”

  He snorted, and she decided it was time to change the subject. She looked at his tattoo again.

  Diego saw the direction of her gaze. “I got it a year after I became a SEAL. Was on leave in Mexico. The Aztec designs seemed appropriate.”

  “Your family’s Mexican-American?”

  He nodded. “Not that my ma was impressed with the ink, but she ignores it, now.”

  “It’s amazing.” Before she realized what she was doing, she reached out and stroked the design on his shoulder. She’d been right, his skin was smooth.

  Electricity arced between them, and she sucked in a breath. Their eyes met.

  Liquid heat moved through Sloan. His eyes looked like velvet, sucking her in. Her fingers brushed against his tattoo again.

  “Thanks for bandaging my injury.” Diego’s voice was husky.

  “You bandaged it, I just swiped at it.” She wasn’t mentioning the blood.

  “Yeah, but it’s nice to have someone take care of it other than myself. Once, I had to stitch myself up on a mission in Afghanistan.” He grimaced. “Not fun.”

  She imagined him in some hot desert camp, hunkered down and gritting his teeth through the pain as he stuck a needle through his skin. Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the bandage.

  Diego groaned. “Hell, Sloan.”

  She leaned back and pulled in a breath. “We don’t like each other.”

  “I like you. You just pissed me off when you boarded my ship with a team of DEA agents.”

  “And handcuffed you,” she reminded him.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t mind that bit so much.”

  Heat hit her belly in a rush. His hand curled around her arm and tugged her forward until their faces were a whisper apart.

  “Kiss me,” he murmured.

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He made a growling sound, but she slid a hand around his neck and leaned forward. Their lips met.

  Oh, his lips were firm but full. She opened her mouth and instantly his tongue slid inside.

  As though it were a signal, they devoured each other. Sloan shifted, and practically sat in his lap. He groaned, and her own moan vibrated through her. The man kissed rough, hard, and real. And he tasted even better than she’d dreamed.

  After a long moment they pulled apart, and Sloan’s brain refused to form any thoughts. “Well.”

  Diego smiled and her gaze fell to his lips. Lips she’d tasted and knew the feel of.

  “I was gonna say, wow,” he said.

  Wow worked for her, too.

  “I’ll help you find your wreck and the Emerald Butterfly,” he said.

  Sloan closed her eyes, then opened them. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “But no more kisses, though.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She frowned. “Torres, I’m serious.”

  He smiled a slow, sexy grin. “How are you going to stop yourself from kissing me?”

  So arrogant. Time to focus on their treasure hunt. “Do you want to see what I’ve got?”

  When his smile widened, she realized how that had sounded. “My research. See my research on the Atocha.”

  “Sure thing.” He stood and pulled his shirt back on.

  The wicked part of Sloan moaned in disappointment. Down, hussy. He nodded toward the bridge, and she followed him up the stairs.

  As they entered the uppermost level of the Storm Nymph, Sloan looked around with interest. All the high-tech consoles and screens gleamed. She knew he looked perfect out on the deck, with the sea breeze ruffling his dark hair, but this suited him too. As he moved to a console, she could see him as the captain of a pirate ship, striding across the deck, barking orders, seducing virgins.

  God. She needed to get a grip. She pulled out her tablet from her backpack and set it down on a table that was covered in paper maps.

  “Let me show you my weather program.” She pulled it up. Electronic maps flashed on the screen.

  Diego crossed his muscled arms, studying her research.

  “The sterncastle of the Atocha is about forty miles off Key West.”

  “That’s a long way from where the other half of the ship was found.”

  She nodded. “That’s why no one’s found it. The hurricane caused it to drift a long way before she sank, and the second hurricane moved it even farther away.”

  “This is your show, Sloan. Once we get out there, we’ll know.”

  She smiled. “That’s right, I’m the boss.”

  He arched a brow and shot her a heated look. “Chiquita, it’s my ship. There’s only one Captain.”

  That look made her insides quiver. “When can we leave?”

  “I need to stock up on some things so we can leave in the morning. Grab your gear from your car, and I’ll show you to your cabin.”

  Excitement winged through her. She thought of her granddad, lying so still and sick in a hospital bed. “We’re going to do this.”

  “Yeah,” Diego said. “We’re going to find ourselves a priceless emerald.”

  She held out her hand for a businesslike handshake. His big hand engulfed hers, and electricity zipped along her arm. A smile tipped up the corner of his lips.

  Sloan hoped to hell she wasn’t in over her head.

  Chapter Three

  The boat engines vibrated under his feet, and outside, the sun was shining in a clear, blue sky.

  Diego maneuvered the Storm Nymph out of the marina. He loved this. Loved knowing he was captain of his own ship, and that he got to spend the day out in the sun and fresh air. There, no one wo
uld be shooting at him.

  Hopefully.

  Out the window, Sloan came into view on the deck below. He sucked in a breath. She was wearing short cutoffs—very short—made of faded denim. They showed off long, toned legs. She wore a bikini top in electric blue that lovingly cupped her full breasts. Her thick, brown hair was pulled up in a messy knot on the top of her head.

  Shit. He’d fantasized about that glossy hair loose and spread over his pillows. And those legs wrapped around his hips, while he tasted that sweet, sexy mouth again.

  And the thing was, he’d been fantasizing about it for months. Ever since she’d first boarded his ship and handcuffed him.

  He shook his head. He had a job to focus on, and Silk Road nipping at his ass. That had to be his focus right now, not kissing Sloan McBride senseless.

  She disappeared from view, and a moment later, he heard footsteps as she came up to the bridge.

  “Hey,” she called out. “How long until we reach the location?”

  “Couple of hours. Sleep well?”

  “No.” She leaned against the console. “You?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Not fun when bullets are flying,” she said.

  He hadn’t even given that a thought. His dreams had been full of her. He noticed her eyes were shadowed. “You okay?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I just spoke with my grandfather.”

  “He okay?”

  “Tired, but hanging in there.” She straightened. “I’m really grateful that Darcy, Dec, and Cal’s parents go to see him at the hospital all the time.”

  “It must be hard not to be close to him.”

  She nodded. “But I know holding the Emerald Butterfly will cheer him up.”

  As Diego moved the Nymph out into open water, he picked up speed. Sloan sat down at the table nearby, working on her research notes and tapping on her tablet. The silence felt companionable. Most women he knew felt compelled to fill any quiet with words. His mama and sisters were champions at it.

  The minutes slipped by. A few times, Sloan asked questions, and scribbled in her notes. Then he looked at his screen and realized they’d arrived. He scanned the blue water around them. The sea was calm and empty.

  “We’re here.” He cut the engines. “Let me drop anchor and then we’ll get to work.”

  Once the Nymph was secure, Diego turned to face Sloan. His gut clenched. Dios, the look on her face. It was excited and energized.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  “Now we get the ROV out.” He strode off the bridge and, gripping the railings, hurried down the steps.

  “Remotely operated vehicle.”

  He nodded. “I have a collection of them.” He pointed to the rack where the ROVs were stowed. “Larger one has attachments for recovering objects in deep water. But we only need this guy today.” He unlocked a smaller, boxy-shaped ROV that was painted bright yellow. “This is Poseidon. He’ll relay video feed back to us. Step back.”

  He grabbed the crane controls and maneuvered the yellow crane arm until the ROV was dangling over the side of the ship. He lowered it into the water.

  “Now to the computer control room.”

  She followed him. “Sounds fancy.”

  “It’s not. I converted a cupboard.”

  They moved through the dry lab, and he opened the computer room door.

  Sloan laughed. “You weren’t joking.”

  The tiny room was dominated by a large chair with joysticks built into the arms. Big screens covered the wall.

  Diego dropped into the chair and fired up the system. The screens flickered to life, and Sloan sat close behind him on a stool.

  He touched the joysticks and the ROV zoomed away from the Nymph, powering through the water.

  Sloan leaned over his shoulder, gaze glued to the screen, and intense interest on her face. They watched as a trio of gorgeous blue fish swam past the camera.

  “Halfway down,” he said. “Visibility is great.”

  She was leaning against him, and damn, she smelled good. He could smell her fruity shampoo, and a scent that was pure Sloan. He ignored his hardening cock and focused on the screen. The sandy bottom came into view.

  “Boy, I want one of these ROVs,” she said.

  “If we have time, I’ll teach you to operate it.”

  “Really?”

  He turned his head and she did the same. They found themselves only an inch apart. His gaze dropped to her lips. “Really.”

  “I’d like that,” she said huskily.

  The screen beeped, and he ripped his gaze from hers. He forced himself to concentrate on operating his expensive piece of equipment.

  “I’m going to set Poseidon up to run a search grid. If we spot anything of interest, we’ll note the coordinates, and check it out when we dive.”

  “Great.”

  Her warm breath puffed against his neck. His cock was pressing hard against his zipper now. Dios, what had he done to deserve this torture?

  The ROV began sweeping back and forth through the water. They had a clear view of the sandy bottom, dotted with lumps of rocks and coral.

  “So, where are you from, Torres?” she asked.

  “Right here. Miami.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You have family here?”

  “A mob of them. My mother, two sisters, and a brother. My dad passed from a heart attack a few years back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. His father’s death had rocked them all. Diego had been deployed on a classified mission at the time. His papa had already been buried by the time he’d returned home and found out.

  “It’s hard to lose someone you love.”

  Her voice was quiet, and he remembered that she’d lost her parents. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t get me started on all my uncles, aunts, cousins, second cousins.”

  She stared at him.

  “What?”

  “You have this whole lone sea wolf vibe going on. I got the impression that your ship was your only family, and you sprang fully formed from a clam, or something.”

  He barked out a laugh, but guilt nipped at him. “I visit my family.”

  Shrewd eyes watched him until Diego felt naked.

  “You know, I interrogate suspects for a living. I can smell a lie a mile away.”

  He hunched his shoulders.

  “You keep a wall up,” she said quietly. “You keep your family at bay.”

  He hunched more. “You sound like the Navy shrinks now. I see my family. They’re loud, noisy, and nosy, so I can’t be blamed for wanting to avoid them sometimes.” He needed to change the subject. “What about your family?”

  Pain flashed on her face. “Dead or dying.”

  God, he was an idiot. “Sloan—”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay, Diego. My parents were killed in a gas station robbery when I was thirteen. They were killed by an eighteen-year-old addict who was high on drugs. He took twenty dollars from my mom’s purse. That’s all she had. Twenty dollars. They lost their lives for a twenty.”

  “Chiquita…” Something clicked in his head. “That’s why you joined the DEA.”

  She nodded. “I wanted to stop other kids losing their parents.” She smiled, but it was sad. “Luckily, I had my grandfather.”

  And now she was losing him, too.

  “If I had a loud, noisy, nosy family,” Sloan said, “I’d never keep them out.”

  They stared at each other, and he pulled in a breath. “I didn’t come back the same man who left.” He looked down at the scars on his arm. “I scared them.”

  Slim fingers touched his shoulder. “I thought SEALs never gave up?”

  He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to forget all the pain and the darkness that still rotted his insides, and lose himself in Sloan McBride.

  But she turned her head and looked at the screen. Her eyes widened. “Hey. What’s that?”

  Diego glanced over. The ROV was passing
over a large, rocky outcrop. Fish darted around like tiny dancers. “Rock with some coral. It’s natural.”

  She sighed. “Let’s keep looking.”

  The ROV continued its sweeps. This was the not-so-glamorous side of underwater archeology. The boring side that required patience.

  A few times, Sloan left the room to scan the horizon. “No sign of Silk Road.”

  But Diego’s nerves were tingling. Nerves that had been honed during his time as a SEAL. Silk Road didn’t give up, either. Declan and Treasure Hunter Security had taken down two of the group’s bigwigs. Only one was left—the so-called Collector.

  He’d be consolidating his power, and something like the Emerald Butterfly would be just the kind of artifact that would help him do it.

  Diego turned back to the screen. He gently moved the controls, and Poseidon reached the end of the search grid.

  There was no sign of the Atocha. He turned to Sloan.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Sloan sat hunched over her tablet, rerunning her simulations. Beside her rested a plate with a half-eaten sandwich. She’d been so sure her coordinates were right….

  “Sloan.” Diego appeared beside her. “This kind of hunt takes time and patience. Quit beating yourself up.”

  “We don’t have time.” She threw an arm out. “Silk Road is out there waiting to pounce, and granddad—”

  The pain was bright and sharp. She was going to lose the man who was most important to her. She’d be alone.

  “Sloan?”

  Diego’s deep voice made her shake off the emotions. Or at least, she tried to. “I think my assumptions on the windspeeds might be off. It puts us a bit too far east.”

  He looked at her for a moment before he nodded. “Poseidon is charged and ready to go back in the water.”

  She stood. “Okay then, let’s get to work.”

  As the crane lowered the ROV beneath the waves, Sloan scanned the horizon. There were no other ships in sight. No sign of Silk Road.

  But she knew they were out there, somewhere.

  Soon, she stood behind Diego’s chair in the cramped computer room. The blue light from the screen washed over his rugged face, and he moved the controls with experienced ease. There was so much more to Diego Torres than the angry loner she’d pegged him to be when they’d first clashed.