Treasure

by Helen Brenna

  He smiled, a twinge of sadness creeping into the corners of his mouth. “The simple truth is the only thing that keeps me from going stark ravin’ mad is not thinkin’ about it.”

  She shook her head. “That sucks, D.W., you know that? It sucks.”

  “Jake’s gonna be all right, Annie.” When she glanced back at him he cocked a single eyebrow at her. “You’re not the only one who sees things around here.”

  She plopped back onto the bench and clasped her hands tightly together as if that would keep the lid on her emotions. Simon appeared from below, grabbed a seat near D.W. and flipped through a magazine. Annie turned away from the sight of the island and stared at open sea. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, D.W. began whistling the theme to The Love Boat. She turned back around and glared at him. “Will you please stop that?”

  “My, oh, my, you are irritable this afternoon.”

  She got to her feet and paced off the narrow width of the boat, wanting nothing more than to haul off and wallop him.

  “Why don’t you jump into the water?” he said. “You’d probably feel a lot better.”

  She glared a little harder at him. A half-empty box of cream-filled sponge cakes sat on the bench between him and Simon.

  “Don’t you ever eat anything healthy?” she snapped.

  “And ruin my meals? Never.” The whistling started again and abruptly stopped. “By the way, when are you gonna to tell us peons exactly what we’re looking for here?”

  “That’s for Jake to decide,” Annie answered, wondering why D.W. needed to know. Could she really trust anyone other than Jake on this boat?

  “It sure would be easier for everyone, knowing what they’re looking for. Don’t you think?”

  “One shipwreck’s pretty much the same as the next.”

  At that, he went back to whistling. She took a deep breath and changed the subject. “I take it you and Claire have resolved a few things.”

  “A few.” He grinned. “For now.”

  Annie wished she could say the same thing about what was happening between her and Jake. And something was definitely happening, despite the fact that neither wanted any involvement. The fact remained he wasn’t part of her plan. Even if she made slight revisions to include a lighthearted dalliance with a man, he was the completely wrong man.

  Her man was supposed to be waiting in Chicago for her, in front of that solid brick-and-mortar house and behind that white picket fence. There was no room in the picture for a boat and water and diving equipment and treasure hunts and a man who looked like a pirate ready to pillage at the word go.

  There was no room in that picture for fear.

  A good life waited for her back in Chicago. While it was true she’d felt lonely in recent years, as if something key was missing, that surely had more to do with the cross and facing the past than with a lack of love.

  She had to convince Jake to move the Mañana, so they could find the Concha and she could get rid of the cross. The sooner she was back in Chicago and away from Jake, the sooner she’d find that man with his feet planted firmly on the ground.

  JAKE SWAM through the water and followed Ronny and Claire up the ladder to the Mañana. He threw his flippers onto the deck and unsnapped his buoyancy compensator vest. Days like this—without anything to show for nearly four hours of diving—were more common than not in this business. That didn’t make them any less frustrating.

  Napping in the shade of the galley, D.W. lifted his head, the effort almost too much for him. “What’s the matter with you guys? Quittin’ already? There’s still daylight left.”

  “Shut up, D.W.” Ronny tossed a wet flipper at him. “You’ve probably been lying there the whole afternoon, haven’t you?”

  “A-yep.” He sat up and stretched. “I could get used to this.” He finally stood to help Claire with her equipment.

  Simon came from below deck as Annie popped her head out of the galley. “I bet you guys are hungry,” she said. “Dinner’s ready anytime you are.”

  The oddest sensation swept over Jake. As tired and emotionally exhausted as he was, he wanted only to step into the circle of her arms and kiss her senseless. Immediately, he averted his eyes and concentrated on tending to their gear.

  “What’d you make?” Claire asked, flipping off her mask. “I’m starving.”

  “Chicken piccata and linguine.”

  “She’s been torturing me with the smell for an hour.” D.W. stacked their oxygen tanks inside a storage cabinet. “So you guys better be ready to eat. Now. None of this showering and cleaning up business first.”

  “We’re ready.” Ronny dried himself off and tossed another towel at Jake.

  Jake dried his hair and chest before dragging on a T-shirt. He’d watched Ronny like a hawk all day today, and none of his actions could have been construed as suspect. He wished he could have watched Simon and D.W. as well. “Simon, everything working okay with the engines?” The other man nodded. Jake made a mental note to verify that on his own after dinner and followed everyone into the galley. Unfortunately, the only seat available happened to be right across from Annie. Jake filled his plate and, along with the rest of the crew, devoured every morsel.

  “A woman who can cook.” Ronny took another bite and closed his eyes, sighing. “Where have you been all my life?”

  “Annie, that was delicious.” Claire licked her fork and eyed Jake. “Although he shall remain nameless, someone on this boat can cook only one meal this good.” She turned back to Annie. “This isn’t the only thing you can make, is it?”

  She laughed, effectively cutting off the air from his lungs. “I don’t usually have anyone to cook for, but my parents fancied themselves chefs. They used to spend hours preparing extravagant meals and, of course, making me help in the process.”

  Through the entire meal, he kept wanting to run his fingers under the spaghetti strap of her white tank top, or flatten his hand against that beautiful expanse of chest showing above her neckline and let it rest there, feeling the slow rhythm of her breathing.

  That was it. The final straw. If he had to spend the duration of his off-duty hours in his cabin, so be it. He gulped the last of his supper and carried his dishes to the sink. “Do I have cleanup detail tonight?”

  D.W. raised a finger in the air. “I’ll take care of it, Jake. Go take a shower.”

  “Thanks.” Jake headed below deck and was about to open the door to his cabin when the sound of Annie’s feet on the ladder made him turn.

  “I need to talk to you.” She headed toward him.

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest, keeping his hands firmly under wraps. “What do you need?”

  “I’d like to take a look at the aerials with you. Discuss the possibility of moving farther east.”

  “I don’t think there’s much point to that. I—”

  “Please. I saw something I want you to see.”

  He sighed. “All right.” He stepped into his cabin.

  As soon as she joined him in the confining space, he immediately regretted his decision. He had to close the door if they were going to look at the aerials, and he didn’t want to be that alone with her. He wanted her to leave. He didn’t want her to leave.

  Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t want her to leave any more than he wanted to put on his wetsuit again and spend another four hours diving. Having her near would have to be enough for now. He closed the door and leaned over his desk, pulling the photos from the backside of a picture frame.

  “Why don’t you have the aerials in your safe?” she whispered.

  “Because someone on this boat’s feeding information to Westburne, and that’s the first place they looked. I put a few decoys in there to keep them busy on the west side of Andros. Although it won’t take him long to realize that side’s all shoals.” He picked up her bracelet from his bedside table and handed it to her. “I forgot to give this to you earlier. Found it in my bed after…this morning.”

  “Oh.”
Her cheeks flushed the palest pink of a conch as her fingertips brushed against his. Were her breaths coming quicker, or was it wishful thinking?

  Down, boy. He spread the photos across the blanket. “Now what did you want to show me—”

  “Jake!” Someone yelled from the upper deck. “Flip your radio on! Harold wants you.”

  Figures. He could never count on privacy on this boat. He sat at the desk and turned on his radio.

  “You there, Jake?” a voice squawked loudly from the speaker.

  “Yeah, Harold, I’m here.” He reduced the volume. “What’s the status of the storm? Over.”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute. You alone?” Harold asked.

  “Annie’s here.” The look on her face surprised him. Normally, her expressions were an open book. At the moment, she was as unreadable as cement.

  “Talked to Jimmy,” Harold went on. “He told me about your GPS situation. Got more problems for you. Need to talk to you alone.”

  “To coin your own phrase, whatever you got to say, you can say it in front of Annie.”

  There was a brief silence on the line. “I’ve been looking at Annie’s research.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t think she was completely honest with us.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JAKE GLANCED AT ANNIE. Now he definitely didn’t like what he saw. She broke eye contact with him and paced the narrow width of his cabin. He didn’t need this. After the GPS business and a hard afternoon of diving, Jake was in no mood for pussyfooting around. “Harold, get to the point.”

  “The point is,” Harold continued, his radio voice resonating loudly in the small room, “most of her research is photocopies of a bunch of crap.”

  She made for the door. He caught her arm and held her there, disappointment washing through him. She wouldn’t even look at him.

  “Explain exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “She has two things here that appear to be legit. A letter from the Concha’s captain to his wife back in Spain and eyewitness accounts claiming the Concha and its fleet went down off the coast of Florida. There isn’t diddly here to indicate our wreck’s at Andros. No eyewitness accounts stating the ship was seen in the area. Zilch. And Jake,” Harold added, “one more thing. That tropical storm’s heating up. There’s talk of it turning into a hurricane. I’ve already ordered Jimmy back home. I want you to head back to Miami, too. You got that?”

  With a heavy sigh, he let go of Annie’s arm. “Roger that, Harold. We’ll be home tonight. Over and out.”

  She spun to face him. “That’s it? You’re not even going to ask—”

  “Don’t even try!” He glared at her. “I don’t know who I’m more mad at. Me, for letting myself get wrapped around your little finger. Or you, for doing the wrapping. I can’t trust anyone on this boat. I suggest you head to your cabin and stay there until we get back to Miami.”

  “Fine.” Her voice was tight, the hurt more than evident. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  She brushed past him, slamming the door on her way out. So he’d hurt her feelings for not hearing her side of the story. She deserved it, misleading them. Lying to them. Besides, what could she possibly say that could convince him the Concha was at Andros? What difference did it make that she was a Miller, a real treasure hunter, and not the amateur he’d assumed? She still didn’t have any facts to support her theory.

  At that moment, he realized his opinion of her had changed dramatically. It was more than being attracted to her. Finding out about her past, her treasure-hunting childhood, made him realize they were bound in ways difficult to put into words. He’d begun to put more stock in her opinions about Andros Island. Combine that with the uncertainty of who was sabotaging the boat, and he’d begun to think of her as a partner, someone he could trust, making what Harold had to say seem all that much more like a betrayal.

  Dammit to hell. He stalked into the narrow hall. Her cabin door was closed. He knocked. No answer. He turned the knob. Locked. “Annie, let me in.”

  “Go away.”

  “You owe me an explanation.”

  Silence.

  “I want to talk to y—”

  The door swung open. She stood to the side, looking away. He stepped in and the space seemed smaller than normal, his anger closing in on them both. “You wanted me to hear you out, so here I am.”

  “Too late.” She turned her back on him and stared out the porthole.

  He spun her around. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Trust me and anchor where I tell you to.”

  “I can’t,” he said, though part of him wanted to. “I need to find the Concha and getting back to my surveys is the best way to accomplish that.”

  “Jake, listen to me.” Her eyes pleaded. “I fabricated some documents only because there was no other way to get you to believe me.”

  “Without those documents, there’s no reason to believe you. It doesn’t make sense for one galleon to sail so far from its flotilla and designated trade routes.”

  “The Concha’s at Andros. You can do all the surveys you want off the coast of Florida. You’ll never find it there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.” She broke her arms free and turned her back to him. “Because it’s where my parents died.”

  “They found the Concha? How did they know where to find it?”

  “They didn’t. They just always anchored and dove where long-gone ships would have anchored. Out of habit. They got lucky.” Her shoulders sank. “If you want to call it that.”

  “How do you know it was the Concha?”

  “I’m not a fool.” She turned back around, memories and tears pooling in her eyes. “I know what I saw.”

  “Annie, you could have been confused. Your parents had just died.”

  “No. No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need you to find it again. Please trust me.”

  “I can’t. Not with a possible hurricane on the way.”

  Regret obscured the pain in her face. “Maybe this will change your mind.” Leaning across her bunk, she tugged a bundle from under her mattress.

  The urge to back up and away from her, away from what she held in her hand, overwhelmed Jake. Heaviness settled on his chest, and he couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. “Annie, what is that?”

  She unwrapped several layers of fabric, and snatches of gold peeked from under the soft cloth. Fully exposed, she dangled it in front of him. “I don’t have to tell you where this came from.”

  A fine layer of sweat broke out over Jake’s skin, making him feel cold and hot at the same time. Speechless, he ran a hand over his mouth. So it wasn’t myth. “The Santidad Cross,” he finally managed with more composure than he felt.

  A noise in the hall made them both glance toward her cabin door. It was cracked open. Jake reached behind him, snapped it shut and locked it. He turned back to Annie and reached out—

  “Don’t!” She swung the cross out of his reach. “Don’t touch it!”

  He dropped his hand. “You found it here? At Andros?”

  She nodded. “We came here after my graduation from college. My dad anchored at a spot near the north shore and started diving. After a few minutes, he surfaced with a couple coins, all dated before 1622. He was convinced he’d found the Concha, but for three days, we found nothing. I mean nothing. Not another coin. No knives. No muskets. And the whole time, I wanted to leave. I’d heard stories about the Concha’s curse since I was a little girl. And this wreck site was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Eerie. Spooky. Hardly any sediment or coral growth anywhere. Almost as if the sea wanted nothing to do with it.

  “On the fourth morning, they found the cross.” The chain trembled in her hand. “I was on the boat when they surfaced, yelling and shouting. We all knew what it was right away, and they couldn’t wait to find more. I asked them to put it back because the curse scared me. Dad just laughed.” She dropped it on the bed and sat. “B
oth of them were dead less than an hour later.”

  “Annie, it’s a cross and chain. That’s all. You said yourself that their death was an accident.”

  “I saw it happen, Jake. It was as if those boulders claimed my mom and dad.”

  Jake knelt on the floor in front of her and stilled her shaking hands. “It was probably a very small, natural earthquake.”

  Tears dried on her ashen face, and she shook her head. “The cross is cursed. It has to go back.”

  Now she was talking crazy. That cross had to be worth a fortune. “If you really believe that,” he said, “why didn’t you leave it there in the first place?”

  “I didn’t know I had it. After the fishermen found me, they took me ashore, docked my parents’ boat and dropped me off at a hotel. I don’t know how long I stayed in my room. The harbormaster sold the boat and everything on it except my one suitcase. I assumed he’d found the Santidad Cross and kept it. Until I found it in my bag when I got to Chicago.”

  “How did it get there?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but Dad joked about giving it to me as a graduation present. I suppose he stuffed it in my bag after Mom and I dove in.”

  “Why return it to the Concha now? Sell it, or give it to a museum.”

  She shook her head. “Last month, I found the diary of a Spanish soldier who’d been in Veracruz. He watched an Aztec prince put a curse on the cross and insisted that anyone with a greedy heart who touched it would die.”

  “If it was at a museum no one could get at it.”

  “Except for curators cleaning it or its display case. What if they imagined for one split second stealing it and ended up dying later.” She dropped her head. “Like Aaron.” She explained the car accident. “I couldn’t live with that happening again.”

  “Coincidence.”