Dangerous Waters

by Laurey Bright

  "What stuff?"

  "A…a few coins." James tried to twist away, unsuccessfully.

  "And…?" Rogan queried.

  "What…what do you mean?"

  "I mean," Rogan said menacingly, "a few coins wouldn't be enough to convince you the treasure was genuine and make it worth your while buying the Sea-Rogue just to find out where it was. What else was in the safe?"

  James didn't answer and Rogan, his expression murderous, pulled him closer, their eyes only inches apart.

  "A couple of gold watches!" James gasped. "A—a pearl and diamond necklace. A silver bracelet set with stones…"

  Camille made a small sound.

  A momentary sneer appeared on James's mouth as his eyes swiveled to her. "Yes," he said. "You had your chance, but you're so pure, so incorruptible—except for him! You lied about him finding the log—lied very badly. That's when I started to suspect he had it after all."

  Rogan roughly jerked his attention away from Camille. "So you had proof the treasure existed. You just didn't know where it was. Who ransacked the boat while we were at the funeral? Evan?"

  Evan said quite loudly, "You can't pin that on me. Or hitting the old lady. I wasn't even in town then."

  "Shut up," James snapped. "You bloody fool!"

  "So it was you," Rogan said, still glaring at James. "You turned over the boat, looking for the log, when you knew everyone around the anchorage would be at the funeral."

  "I didn't—"

  Rogan pushed him farther across the rail and Camille made a small sound of protest. "Yes!" James admitted. "It should have been there! I thought you must have taken it, or…"

  "Or it was at Mollie's place. I guess everyone in town knew she was close to Barney. You hit her on the head and searched her house. There was no danger from a defenseless woman. You might have killed her!"

  Camille said, "Mollie didn't say she'd been burgled."

  "He was careful," Rogan commented. "He didn't want to arouse any suspicion that Mollie's 'accident' wasn't one. But he put her keys back in the wrong place."

  "You can't prove any of this," James said. "It's under duress—"

  "I don't need to. The irony is even if you'd found it, the log wouldn't have been much use to you, unless you're way cleverer than I think. You were looking for the wrong thing. One more question. How did Gary die?"

  "I don't know!"

  "I'm sure you do." Rogan looked so dangerous, so threatening, that Camille exclaimed, "Rogan!"

  There was another splash in the water below, and James flinched. Rogan said, "I could get rid of you. I wouldn't mind at all—and it would save a lot of trouble. No one would know, and it would only be justice for my father. If I shove you overboard and dangle Evan as shark bait I'm sure he'll sing like a bird. Did you kill Gary to keep him quiet?"

  "I've never killed anybody! Camille…" James bleated, appealing to her.

  Rogan said, "What happened to Gary?"

  "I had nothing to do with it!"

  Camille didn't even see Rogan move, but James's eyes suddenly widened and he said quickly, his voice high, "I told the stupid bastard to make himself scarce. He didn't have the brains to get himself out of trouble if the police got hold of him. I don't know what happened to him."

  Without turning Rogan said, "Evan?"

  "All I did was what he told me," Evan said. "Everything was his idea. Everything."

  * * *

  "Including murder," Rogan told Brodie, sharing a six-pack with him and Granger in the Sea-Rogue's saloon some weeks later. "Evan finally confessed to the police that Drummond told him to get rid of Gary before the cops caught the kid and he told them everything. So Evan took him out to sea with the story that he was helping him evade arrest by putting him aboard a trawler bound for Taiwan with some of Drummond's stolen merchandise, a regular trip for them. And in midocean he hit the guy over the head and dumped him overboard. The autopsy showed the blow."

  Funnily enough, now he knew his father's assailant was dead, Rogan was vaguely sorry for the weasely little crook, who'd been small fry compared with Drummond.

  Granger said, "Even if Drummond gets away with his story that he didn't intend Evan to kill Gary, he'll likely be put away for a few years and his business will be down the drain. Plus his reputation."

  "Yeah." That would give Rogan some satisfaction. He picked up a can and pulled off the top to swig some beer down.

  "Pleading guilty to receiving and smuggling is the best thing he can do," Granger said, "after his boat skipper spilled the beans. That stunt of yours with the tape recorder—" he added reprovingly "—no court would admit it as evidence." He'd been shocked when Rogan played him the tape.

  "I didn't do it for the court," Rogan said. "I needed to know who killed Dad. Drummond's lucky I didn't feed him to the sharks."

  "Were there any?"

  Rogan shrugged. "No idea."

  Brodie regarded him thoughtfully. "You don't seem happy. You've found your treasure, got investors falling over themselves to fit out the Sea-Rogue as a proper salvage tender, even persuaded me to come in as a partner—and thanks again for the opportunity. I'm looking forward to joining the dive team. So what's your problem?"

  Granger suggested, "He's a man of property now. He's not used to it. The burden of responsibility…" Pouring beer into a glass, he asked his brother, "Have you seen Camille lately?"

  Rogan scowled. "No."

  After the navy guys had removed Drummond and Evan to the naval vessel and taken the Catfish in tow they'd instructed Rogan to follow them into the nearest port that had a police station. They'd also put a couple of men aboard the Sea-Rogue, presumably to make sure their instructions were followed.

  Rogan had hardly had a chance to be alone with Camille. When he did manage to trap her in her cabin one night she was aloof and tense, while claiming she was perfectly fine.

  "Are you upset about Drummond?" he asked, and she laughed—a brittle little laugh.

  "Obviously I'm not a good judge of men."

  He wondered if that went for her judgment of him too. He didn't want to ask.

  "He used me," she said. "Pumped me for information, and I never realized…I thought he was interested because he liked me. He even sounded me out about…persuading you to sell the Sea-Rogue to him."

  With sex, Rogan guessed. He remembered uncomfortably he'd almost accused her of using it after he found the sale agreement. "And you said no."

  Camille nodded. "He offered me a bracelet—I think from the Maiden's Prayer. I suppose he thought it amusing, piquant—that he could give it to me and neither of us would know where it came from."

  "And maybe he was testing you," Rogan guessed.

  "Testing me?"

  "Plenty of people can be seduced by money and jewels into doing things they wouldn't normally do. He would have used you, if he could, in any way possible."

  "I suppose…" she said.

  Then she told him she was tired and made it clear she'd like him to leave.

  * * *

  Once all the red tape had been cleared at Rarotonga, Drummond and his skipper were returned to New Zealand under guard, leaving Rogan free until he and Camille were needed to testify at the trial.

  Then Camille had announced her intention of flying out.

  "Where are you going?" he'd asked in disbelief.

  "Home. I do have one, you know. Most people do."

  He'd never needed one himself. Not since his mother died. He supposed the Sea-Rogue was his home now. The only kind he wanted—not tied to a house and mortgage but able to up-anchor at any time and sail away on a moment's whim.

  Except that he was committed now to raising Barney's treasure and returning the money that various investors had put into the venture; he was fully occupied equipping the boat and gathering an expert dive team. He hadn't seen Camille since he'd seen her off at the airport in Rarotonga.

  He tried to ignore the hollow feeling he'd experienced when he brought the Sea-Rogue into her bert
h at Mokohina and finally had to relinquish the half-formed hope that Camille would be waiting for him. She had already collected her car from Brodie, who'd hot-wired it on Rogan's instructions and moved it to his place, and then she'd left, long before the Sea-Rogue arrived.

  He told himself he'd get used to not having her on board, that in time he'd forget her. But daily the aching void she'd left in his life grew larger and more painful.

  No woman had ever left him feeling this way. As if half his heart had been summarily removed, leaving a gaping wound.

  He kept reminding himself of his resolution never to get involved with a woman who wanted—deserved—any kind of commitment to a normal life, remembering his mother's sacrifice, his father's total unsuitability for marriage or anything resembling it.

  And he was like his father—wasn't he? He had no business even thinking about a woman like Camille.

  It was just that he couldn't help it.

  He put down his beer morosely and caught Granger's eye, an eye that held a disconcerting glint of concerned sympathy. Damn, his brother knew him too well.

  * * *

  Camille turned into the short driveway of the little house she'd bought, and nearly drove into the fence, jamming on the brakes just in time, her heart thudding. Rogan was leaning against the porch, arms folded, wearing jeans, his sleeveless jacket and his stubborn look. He strode to her and jerked open the car door.

  At first wordless with shock, she climbed out and simply stared. Then, the reality of his solid presence, the faint, remembered scent of him assuring her she wasn't dreaming she said, "What are you doing here?"

  "I came to see you."

  "Is it about the Sea-Rogue? The business?" Granger had told her the sale agreement she'd signed with James was null, and she'd had regular bulletins from him detailing the setting up of a company to garner the necessary investment to fit out the boat and recruit the recovery team, and the complex process of complying with the regulations designed to ensure that valuable archaeological material wasn't damaged or destroyed by salvors.

  "It's about us," Rogan said.

  "Us?" That sent her heart into overdrive. When she'd told him she was leaving—but not that it was sheer self-preservation, tearing herself away while she still could—she'd harbored a foolish, futile hope that he'd ask her not to go, say he loved her and couldn't do without her.

  Of course he hadn't. He'd never said he loved her, never suggested she meant more to him than any other woman he'd loved—or slept with—and left. So she'd left him first.

  She'd known the first time she laid eyes on him what sort of man he was, that she could expect nothing but heartache from him. And she'd realized that the sooner she made the break the less long-lasting the resulting pain was likely to be. But that hadn't stopped her from crying most of the way back to Rusden. And it hadn't stopped the dreams that tormented her, dreams where she sat with him again on the deck of the Sea-Rogue, where yesterday and tomorrow were beyond the limitless horizon, and today was all they had, and all she wanted.

  Trying to be normal, not to fling herself into his arms and sob her heart out, she made for the kitchen, asking prosaically, "Do you want a cup of coffee?"

  "No," he said. "I want…"

  She turned to face him, her hand clutching at the back of one of her kitchen chairs because she felt unsteady, "What, then?"

  He made a strange, choked sound and reached for her. "I want…I need…this!"

  The last word, muffled but with an urgent, despairing undertone, was uttered against her mouth. Then he was kissing her in the same way, almost clumsy, lacking his usual confidence and finesse, but with a hopeless passion that pierced her.

  She couldn't help but respond, her body shaping itself to his, her hand stroking his hair, her mouth answering the movements of his with unguarded passion of her own, but even as her heart sang with gladness her mind was telling her that no matter what this was leading to it couldn't last, and when Rogan lifted his head hot tears spilled onto her cheeks.

  Consternation in his face, he said, "I hurt you!" He loosened his hold on her, touched a trembling thumb to her cheek. "I'm a stupid, selfish oaf. I didn't mean to be rough."

  He looked so anxious and contrite she laughed shakily. "You didn't hurt me." It was the thought of the hurt waiting in the future that caused the tears. "It's all right."

  "It's not all right! I made you cry. I'm sorry."

  She didn't tell him how many times she'd already cried, secretly, longing for him, his kisses, his arms about her just like this. Pulling away, she rubbed at her wet cheeks with her hands, and gave him a poignant smile. "It isn't your fault." He couldn't be blamed for making her love him. He'd made no promises, and it had been her own mistake to sleep with him. She'd fought the temptation to repeat the experience, tortured day and night by his nearness, knowing that if she gave in she'd never be able to break free. That she'd spend her life pining for a man who would forget her as soon as the Sea-Rogue's sails disappeared over the horizon.

  But unbelievably he had followed her, he was here, and…

  Warily she dared to look at him again. "Why did you come?"

  "Because I had to," he said somberly. "I had to know if you love me the way I love you."

  Camille's mouth soundlessly opened, her throat locking. He loved her?

  "I'm taking a desk job in the new company," he said. "There's plenty of shore work organizing equipment and crews, and a hell of a lot of paperwork and red tape."

  "Isn't Granger—?"

  "He looks after the legal stuff and finances but he can't do all the administration himself."

  Camille couldn't imagine Rogan behind a desk all day. "Why not hire someone else? Surely the company can afford it."

  "Because," he said as though she had missed the obvious, "you need a proper home and security and a man who's always there for you—all the things your mother missed out on."

  Camille blinked. "I need…?"

  He smote his forehead with a fist. "Oh, hell! I've got things back to front. I'm sorry. You love me, Camille—you wouldn't have kissed me the way you did just now if you didn't. And you'll never know how thankful I was for that. I meant to talk…but when I saw you I had to touch you, and you came into my arms so naturally…and then you cried. I hate that. Darling, I don't care what it takes to make you say yes. I swear I'll be the kind of husband you want…need…and spend my life making up for what your father did to you. So please—will you marry me?"

  How could any woman not love a man like this, who offered to sacrifice his whole life, go against his nature, simply to give her what he believed she needed?

  "You can't do this!" she said, and as he started to protest she put her fingers over his lips. "I won't tie you to a desk! Or a house. You'd hate it!"

  He snatched her hand away and held it tightly in his. "You don't understand! All I want is you…I'll do anything if only I can have you in my life forever."

  "Give up everything you are?" she said. "You wouldn't be the man I fell in love with. Rogan, you've no need to pay for my father's sins…or my mother's."

  "Your mother's?"

  "She told my father to stay away. Every time he visited and then left when I was little it would be days before I stopped pining and settled down, and she thought I'd be better not seeing him at all. At first he did send letters and presents, but she returned them unopened until he stopped. She hoped I'd forget him. But he did send a little money occasionally, to her bank account. She never told me." Camille blinked, and sighed. "I'm trying to forgive her."

  Rogan pulled her back into his arms, an embrace of comfort. "I never did understand how Taff could have just abandoned you," he said. "If we have children I won't be leaving you to bring them up alone." He loosened his hold to fish in the pocket of his jacket. "I brought this…I meant to make it an excuse for visiting, while I tried to work out how you felt."

  A photograph. Her father, laughing at the camera, looking young and strong and eager for life. "Than
k you," she said softly.

  "I have a few more of him, with my father. And the carving he did of you—I keep it in my cabin on the Sea-Rogue." Granger had noticed it there, sent him a quizzical look but refrained from comment.

  "You can't take an office job," she said. "I won't let you."

  "Camille," he groaned, "please—"

  "No! I'll marry you, but there are conditions."

  "I told you—anything!" But he looked worried.

  "You take me with you when you go treasure-hunting. And you never leave me. At least not for long and only by mutual consent."

  "Your job…" He stared at her, apparently stunned.

  She said, "I'm a historian. I can be useful to you—to the company. Pacific Treasure Salvors needs a researcher, Granger said."

  "Granger…?"

  "He offered me the job weeks ago. I turned him down but he said he'd keep it open."

  "Oh, did he?" Rogan said, chagrined. "The cunning b-brother." He could imagine the I-told-you-so grin on Granger's face when he heard the news of Rogan's engagement.

  Camille smiled. "Do you object?"

  "Hell, no! It's a great idea…if you're sure you want to do it."

  "I'm sure. We won't make the mistakes our parents did. I loved being at sea with you. And diving…quite apart from finding treasure, the reef and the sea life were breathtaking. I miss the Sea-Rogue."

  "You were furious with me."

  "Do you blame me? That was a pretty drastic thing to do."

  "I know. But I don't see what else I could have done. Am I forgiven?"

  "I suppose so. I always knew you were a pirate. Just don't ever try another trick like that."

  Not that he'd need to, she thought as he kissed her again, at first more gently, but soon exploding into a fierce possession, plundering her mouth, her heart.

  Somewhere in his ancestry there was definitely pirate blood. She knew it as surely as she knew he'd keep his promise—that no matter what seas they sailed, what rough waters they encountered and storms they weathered together, she'd be always safe and loved in the harbor of his heart.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8106-0

  DANGEROUS WATERS