Blue Moon (4 page)

“You see, Captain Avery—”

“Gabe,” Gabe insisted, adding with flirtatious wink, “After all, fair is fair.”

“Right, um . . .
Gabe
.”

He had the feeling a blush accompanied her stammer, even though he couldn't see it in the dim lamplight.

“This is my first expedition,” she confessed, moving up another notch in Gabe's estimation with a humility that was absent in her companion. “I put it together with funding from grants and pledges and formed a company called Genesis Corporation. It's taken six months to get permission from the Mexican government to search for the wreck and work out the details of disbursement, if we find the treasure. Half goes to Mexico and the rest is to be divided among the participants in the dive. Which brings me to our reason for being here. We'd like to hire out you and the
Fallen Angel
.”

Hire? Gabe would give his right arm to be a part of the
Luna
Azul
expedition. He was on board already, but he maintained a poker face. Besides, they hadn't seen the
Angel
. The old girl was sound enough, but needed some cosmetic maintenance—a paint job for one.

“But naturally, we'd like to see the ship first,” Remy put in, as though reading Gabe's thought. “Safety regulations leave much to be desired south of the border, as it were.”

“The
Angel
will do the job. The biggest problem is going to be maneuvering around that reef.” Gabe highlighted the area with his penlight.

“Yes, that will be a problem,” Jeanne agreed. “But I have to tell you up front, we need you to furnish the boat for a share of the treasure, if we find it.”

Gabe looked shocked. “Wait a minute. I don't have the kind of money on hand to put out on the chance we might find this ship. The
Angel
doesn't run on air.”

“We'll provide the fuel or whatever expenses you incur for the job. All we ask is that you provide the boat and captain it. For that, you'll receive a share for yourself and one for your ship.”

“I don't know, Jeanne.” He was bluffing. Truth was, for treasure, Gabe would go—even if the
Angel
wasn't paid for.

“I can speak for myself and my boat, but I can't speak for my deckhand. He has a family to support.”

“Maybe we could pay him a minimal fee, say ten dollars a day, and a share, of course.”

Manolo would jump at the chance. His brother, who worked in a manufacturing plant in Matamoros earned little more and had no chance at becoming wealthy for life.

“Sounds fair,” Gabe said at last. “We'll talk it over and get back with you in the morning, if that's all right.”

“You're not booked for charter?” Jeanne asked.

“No, as a matter of fact, we're not. Interested?”

She laughed. “I would
love
to go fishing, but I'm saving pennies wherever I can. Besides, Remy and I have a flight back to Texas tomorrow evening to tie up loose ends. This is our reconnaissance visit.”

Gabe picked up her hand from the map and lifted it to his lips in a show of gallantry. “The
Fallen Angel
and I will be right here at the dock's end.”

“You can count on it, Cap . . . Gabe,” she amended, a shy smile claiming her full lips. Concern vexed her brow as she withdrew her hand and propped her chin on it. “I'm just curious. Where did you come up with the name for your vessel?”

Taken aback at the personal turn of the conversation, Gabe scuffed a well-worn Docksider on hard-packed sand beneath the table. “A joke,” he said at last. “Or perhaps not. Call it a reflection of myself.”

“It's getting late.” Remy tapped his watch.

Jeanne dug out a business card from her purse and handed it to Gabe. “My cell phone is on all the time, in case you need to get in touch with us.”

“Thanks. And you know where I am,” he teased, wishing Primston would take a long walk off the short Marina Garza pier.

“Who knows?” She closed her handbag. “We might find more than a ship. All things are possible.”

Gabe fell into the dancing pool of her gaze, searching for the possibilities. Just then, the cantina awning began to fold.

“The awning!” Remy shouted in alarm.

The map! Realizing that the awning was about to dump its accumulation of the afternoon's rain, Gabe threw himself over the table—and the young woman who already had the map covered with her body.

“For heaven's sake, Jeanne, we have copies,” Remy derided, flipping his arms and jacket like a mad sea lion.

“I know. I forgot,” a muffled voice replied from under Gabe's upper torso.

Feeling the fool himself, Gabe pulled away so that the equally water-soaked Jeanne could get her breath. Facing off nose to nose over the smeared ink that had been a map, he took in the stained front of the clingy blouse and jacket that she wore over it. What hair wasn't plastered to her scalp dangled limp and dripping from the tortoiseshell clasp.

But it was once again her eyes that cornered Gabe's attention. Amusement gathered there and began to escape her lips, a snicker at first, then outright laughter.

“Well, I see that we have at least one thing in common.”

Gabe lifted his brow. “That we're both daft?”

“Maybe that too,” Jeanne admitted with a grin that made Gabe's shivering pulse leap. “But I was going to say that we both are passionate.”

“I believe the word is
enthusiastic
,” Remy interjected.

Jeanne glanced at her companion. “Well, of course, Remy. What else . . .” She broke off, her bewildered expression giving way to an awkward embarrassment. Lips thinning with impatience, she went on. “Remy, I am certain the captain knows that I speak strictly in reference to the
Blue Moon.”

“Like the lady said, Primston,” Gabe chimed in, a tad disappointed. “What else?”

CHAPTER THREE

“You can't be serious,” Remy declared the following morning at the marina as they stared at the large rusted fishing vessel with the name
Fallen Angel
across its transom.

Jeanne checked the plunge of her heart at the sight.

The paint job looked more like a battleground of brush versus rust, with patches of white paint making a stand against mounting forces of corrosion. The windows were opaque with salt accumulation. Some were cracked and patched with duct tape.

On the bright side, there was a nice flying bridge and the stern deck had ample room for the installation of a deployment arm. In fact, it looked as though one had been mounted there at one time. And the pilothouse would easily accommodate their equipment.

“Look at it this way,” she said. “Aside from cosmetics, she's perfect.”

Remy cocked his head, staring at the ship's stern. “Isn't she listing?”

“Remy,” Jeanne chided, taking a second look just in case. To her eye, the ship simply rocked with the lap of the tide. “Stop being such a nitpick.”

“I will remind you of that undeserved aspersion when we are suspended by our life preservers on the Caribbean,” he shot back.

Jeanne walked out on the ramp that separated the
Angel's
slip from the empty one on her starboard side. Okay, the
Fallen Angel
looked like a last chance, but the truth be told, it really
was
their last chance. She'd tried every reputable captain on the Yucatán. No one would put up his boat and services for less than a daily charge, despite offers of prospective fortune and paid expenses.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” she called out, knocking on the low rail of the stern deck.

No answer.

“Perhaps we should have checked the Cantina Gaviota first.”

“He said he'd be here.” Gingerly placing a foot on the deck, she boarded the vessel with an easy spring. “Well, come on,” she said, waving at Remy. “Where's your sense of adventure?”

“Between the pages of a good book,” he replied, looking as if she'd just asked him to jump off a cliff without a parasail.

“Hello?” Jeanne shouted again as she climbed the short steps to the pilothouse level and knocked on its partially closed door. “Is anyone home?”

Through the film-covered glass of its weathered wooden doors, she could see that what the
Fallen Angel
lacked in money spent on aesthetics, she more than made up for in technical equipment. Eager to get a closer look, she called back to Remy. “Maybe he was called away and left the boat open for us.”

The sliding door hung at first, but with a little more exertion, Jeanne opened it. “Jeanne, honestly,” Remy whined from the deck. “What if that beast is aboard?”

“Knock, knock, anybody home?” she said above Remy's protest. From what she'd seen of Nemo, he was more playful than fierce. And besides, the dog would be barking if he were on board.

Her attention was immediately drawn to a bridge that would make any marine enthusiast drool. There was a state-of-the-art radar system, depth sounder, GPS Plotter, autopilot, a VHF radio, and other gizmos that Jeanne had never seen. Pablo hadn't told her that Gabe Avery was a techno-addict—another plus in the tall-dark-and-dashing's favor.

Not that the tall, dark, or dashing part mattered, she reminded herself. This was business, nothing more. Gabe Avery could look like Ichabod Crane and she'd be just as glad to have him.

“I should hate to have to bail you out of some south-of-the-border calaboose for trespassing, Dr. Madison.”

Oh dear. Remy is getting seriously impatient. But he'll get over it,
Jeanne thought, noting the large navigation table. Overhead was a rack filled with charts. As for the salon part, a tatty canvas-upholstered sofa lined the starboard bulkhead, while its mate, judging from the shadow on the sun-bleached wood on the opposite wall, had been removed and replaced by a homemade combination storage chest with a padded seat for a lid.

Must be for his diving parties
, she thought, tempted to see if there were tanks stored inside. But that would be going too far . . . although a peek couldn't hurt. It wasn't as if she intended to make off with them. Tiptoeing over, she lifted the lid. Sure enough, there was Gabe Avery's diving equipment. Nothing skimped there either, she mused, recognizing the name brands.

Unable to resist, Jeanne bent over for a closer examination when a husky voice sounded behind her.

“Sweetheart, you'd best have good reason for rummaging about on my boat.”

With a start, Jeanne pivoted away from the chest, the lid slamming down behind her. In the companionway, a bare-chested, sleep-ruffled Gabe Avery peered at her, eyes narrowed against the assault of bright morning light. Most of his raven-dark hair had escaped his ponytail and framed his scowling face.

“Where's N-Nemo?” Jeanne stammered as he fully emerged from below. Thankfully, the rest of his magnificent torso was clad in low-hanging sweatpants. “I did knock,” she said, backing away from the one-eyed peek of his navel over the waistband. She tore her wayward gaze away. “It's me, Captain . . . Jeanne . . . I mean, Dr. Madison.”

Not trusting his ears, Gabe shaded his eyes from the light blinding him through the open double doors. Recognition shoved its way between the drums pounding in his temples. The more he saw of the lady doctor, the less she looked like one. Certainly the long golden legs that ran all the way from her deck shoes to the stretched edge of her pink jogging shorts didn't belong to one. He'd thought some flaky college coed had wandered aboard looking for charter.

“Well, well, it rises from its drunken sleep to the light of day,” Remy Primston jeered, drawing Gabe from his wonder to where the man stood on the lower deck, looking ready to abandon ship at any moment. “Best move, Jeanne, before he or that dog of his drools on you. Where
is
the beast?” he asked, the starch crackling in his voice.

Last night, Gabe had felt sociable. So after changing into dry clothes, he'd gone back to the cantina to celebrate his good fortune. Today, head pounding and stomach growling, he felt anything but. “You know, Primston, you are an—”

“Is Nemo aboard? May I take a look inside?” Jeanne interrupted quickly. “I mean, everything looks fine up here, but I'd just like to see the rest of the boat.”

Gabe twisted his lips, mentally shifting from assault to politeness for pretty-in-pink. “Nemo went home with my first mate . . . he's got divided loyalties when there are kids to play with,” he explained. With a sweep of his arm, he motioned to the companionway. “Be my guest.”

As Jeanne descended the curved stairwell, Gabe turned to Primston, who started up to the bridge to follow. “Remember, Prim. She's the boss, not you,” Gabe growled out the side of his mouth. “You stay topside like a good professor until I finish showing the boss around.” It wasn't polite, but frankly, Gabe couldn't care less what Primston thought.

By the time Gabe entered the small galley, Jeanne had already wandered down the forward companionway. “Sorry about the housekeeping,” he called out, walking over to the small stainless sink and filling a glass of water. After ferreting two aspirin out of a bottle stored in the built-in cabinet behind the faucet, he took them. The water from the
Angel
's water purification system wasn't the best, but it was safe and was wetter than his mouth.