Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (22 page)

His cock lurched. “I love you, too,” he whispered, nipping at her ear.

“How much?” she rasped out as she tilted her head so he had better access to the whorls of her ultrasensitive ears.

“Oh, sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask.”

With those words, he showed her just how much he loved her. And then he showed her again. And again.

Yeah, but how long would it last . . . ?

At the wreck site on Monday afternoon, everyone waited, in their own way, for the safe to be hoisted up.

Steve and Tony, the good fairies of the Mafia, had shown up in Barnegat yesterday with a crane that fit on top of
Sweet Jinx.
When Frank had asked how much he owed them for the equipment—probably worried how he was going to afford the expenditure in his dire straits—the two men declined to answer. Since no one questioned them further, deciding it was better not to know, Veronica assumed it was another object that “fell off the truck.”

Adam had splashed down a half hour ago with chains that he would attach to the safe for the hoisting, and Caleb splashed ten minutes ago, timing it so that he could complete the job once Adam’s twenty minutes on the ocean floor were maxed out. It would be more than an hour before they were back on board. John was geared up, too, minus the flippers, fitted hood, and gloves, so that he could finish the job, if necessary; or if the salvage was complete, he would go down and attempt to put the site in order so authorities wouldn’t know something had been retrieved.

Adam had taken the Nazi cross with him. He was going to return it to the soldier to whom it belonged, not out of any respect for a Nazi commander, but to maintain the historical integrity of the site.

Tony was in the other boat, weapon at the ready, in case some pirate treasure hunters, or the Coast Guard, showed up. Not that he was going to shoot at the Coast Guard. She hoped.

Brenda, after greasing and testing the crane apparatus, went down to the galley with Tante Lulu to make what they hoped would be a celebratory feast for dinner. Tante Lulu had soon shooed Brenda away, stating, “Go fix a motor or sumpin’. I kin make a meal faster without you interferin’.” Flossie and Rosa were down there, too, playing pinochle; by their hushed voices, she suspected they were planning some mischief.

As for her and Jake, well, they were in the wheelhouse with Frank, working on the two computers and a series of maps laid out there. They’d decided to keep their new relationship secret; well, as secret as anything could be with this gang. No sleeping together or fooling around on the boat. Everything was too tentative and, yes, shaky between them to risk outside interference, like from her grandfather or Tante Lulu.

“Come look at this, honey,” Jake said, motioning her away from her laptop, where she’d been recording data that Frank fed her, much of it material that existed only in his head.

Frank’s head shot up at Jake’s use of the word
honey
and her failure to call him on the endearment.

Veronica ignored Frank’s questioning stare and sat down next to Jake. He wore a baseball cap, flip-flops, a gray Boston U T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and black bathing trunks. And he smelled delicious, like shaving cream and minty soap. She probably smelled minty, too, since they’d showered together this morning and used the same shampoo and deodorant. She’d also shaved her legs with his razor, and he didn’t even complain like he usually did. In fact, he helped her.

Without thinking, Jake put an arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer, kissing the top of her head. Then he pointed to the screen of his laptop, which was super techy compared to what she’d been working on.

Veronica was about to shrug out of Jake’s “embrace” but decided,
What’s the use?
Besides, she missed him. Hard to believe when they must have made love a dozen times since they’d hooked up Friday night.

Out of her side vision, she noticed her grandfather’s gaze latched onto Jake’s arm. Then he grinned and sat down to read the data that Veronica had been inputting.

Once again, she thought,
What’s the use?
She would have to set her grandfather straight later.

Jake showed her a montage of frames he was making of the treasure hunt, like a slide show of people and their activities, but interspersed were map grids of the shipwreck site, techy charts showing the software program he’d used to pinpoint the exact location. All this he’d put together in a matter of hours. Perhaps it was his talent with computers that frustrated her so. In her opinion, his genius was wasted on poker. But that was something she refused to think about now.

Veronica had been compiling the text that would accompany his work, making for a good narrative account. At this point, no one was thinking about a TV documentary, or even press coverage, because of the legal implications. But the history might be important in the future.

“Hey, Frank, I want you to see this, too.”

Frank stood and ambled over, then leaned on Jake’s shoulder. Today Frank wore faded jeans so worn they threatened to shred in the least wind, spiffy yellow suspenders, and a flashy Hawaiian shirt about fifty years old by the looks of it, or at least twenty-five years old since she recalled seeing him in it when she was a child. His usual cigar hung from his mouth, unlit, thank God! And polka music played in the background.

Jake exited the program he was in and showed Frank a series of folders, which he said might be useful if he ever did any other deep-sea hunts. “This one marked ‘Dive Profiles’ is a calculation of dive times and depths, cross-referenced. This one marked ‘Tremix’ gives your divers accurate proportions for the combinations for mixing the gases.” Tremix—an oxygen-helium-nitrogen cocktail—was the modern replacement for compressed air in some divers’ tanks. For deep diving, it was safer and longer-lasting than pure oxygen.

Veronica got up and let Frank take her seat. While Jake explained all the work he’d done so far, located in various other folders, her grandfather asked questions and made approving sounds. She stood behind Jake for a second, then decided to go out on deck and see what was happening.

Sensing her movement, Jake reached up over his shoulder. Without turning, he took her hand, tugged it forward, and kissed her wrist. It was a whispery promise kiss, as in “See you later.” That kind of kiss had always been their signal, when in public, that they would pick up later where they’d left off . . . as lovers.

With no more words but in a dreamy state, she went out on deck to watch all the activity. Brenda was with John and Steve, working on the hoist that had been rigged to the boat deck on the starboard side. It made a loud, grinding noise as the three worked to lift up the safe, which must have already been secured by Adam and Caleb.

Brenda glanced up, while still straining to help pull up the heavy safe, and grinned. “Looks like someone got some.”

Veronica couldn’t help but grin back at Brenda’s bluntness.

But Caleb’s head shot up. While his muscles were
really
straining—and
really
impressive—he tilted his head in question at her. She didn’t need to respond. She could see that he got the message. “Crap! Are you a glutton for punishment?”

“Guess so.”

Steve just shook his head . . . at her hopelessness, she supposed.

“Hey, do we all get to attend wedding number, what, Five?” John asked. “I know this great Cajun band; my brother René plays in it. The Swamp Rats.”

“There is no wedding being planned.”

“Yeah, right,” Brenda commented. Then, “I could be your maid of honor . . . unless you have someone else in mind.”

“There is no wedding being planned,” she repeated.

With a gleam of mischief in her eyes, Brenda added, “And Peach here would make a great best man.”

“Fuck that,” Peach said with his usual succinctness.

“You know what happened, don’t you?” John threw in. “My great-aunt has you on her short list of love connections. She’s the Chuck Woolery of the bayou. Really, bachelors run when they see her coming. Plus, Tante Lulu prayed to St. Jude all weekend for you two.”

“It’s a losing battle, then,” Veronica murmured. And that appeared to be the truth.

Sometimes all a guy can do is pray. . . .

“Congratulations!”

“For what?” Jake asked Frank, who was sitting beside him, happier than a player with a nut flush. “Working with computers is what I do, when I’m not playing poker. No big deal!”

“Not that, dummy. You and Ronnie. Congratulations for getting back together.”

“We’re not back together. It’s just tentative, at this point.”

“Well, make it untentative, boy.”

“Stay out of this, Frank. It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business, all right. I can’t stay out of it.”

“Why, for chrissake!” He turned to look directly at the old man. The crafty expression on his face caught Jake’s attention immediately. He wondered what it was, then laughed when an idea came to him. “You aren’t having any financial problems, are you?”

Frank waved a hand dismissively.

“Ronnie’s gonna kill you.”

“I don’t care what she does to me as long as you two are together and running Jinx, Inc.”

Jake noticed how Frank was including him in his grand scheme but decided to shelve that issue for later. “I repeat, why?”

“You and Ronnie belong together. Everyone can see that.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want the same thing to happen to you two that happened to me and Lillian.”

“Which was?”

“It may come as a surprise to you, but Lillian and I loved each other just as much as you two do. We were wild about each other.”

“What happened?”

“We were too stubborn to bend. Both of us. I wanted to have an adventurous life, taking risks; she wanted a normal life, no risks.”

The unspoken message was that he and Ronnie were the same way. “Okay, I accept that you want us back together, but why go to the extreme of getting Ronnie out on a boat? And why manipulate her into running this business?”

“I’m seventy-five years old. I promised Flossie a long time ago that we would give up the business and spend a couple years just cruising around the world. We even bought a little boat.”

“A little boat?”

“Okay, a big boat, dammit. A sea cruiser.”

“That’s practically a friggin’ yacht.”

“A big boat,” he insisted.

“Ronnie’s gonna kill you,” he repeated. “In fact, I might take a number myself, because I notice you’ve included me in those schemes of yours. Me, a treasure hunter?” Despite his words, Jake was smiling. God bless Frank and his schemes. At least he’d gotten him and Ronnie back together, even if only temporarily.

Maybe I oughta check out that St. Jude character. Maybe he can help me figure out what to do different this time.

Sure,
a little voice in his head said.

Chapter
23

A Polish rainbow . . . ?

The safe, covered with rust, lichen, moss, and small sea creatures all fused together, was lifted over the ship’s rail by the crane.

All the men, along with Brenda and even Ronnie, helped to set it in place. They handled it as though it were the Holy Grail. If they were going to save the safe, which they probably wouldn’t, it would take a strong chemical bath to remove all the crud.

Flossie and Tante Lulu stood off to the side, beaming. LeDeux had stayed below, cleaning up the ocean floor as best he could, where the safe had rested for fifty-some years, but he should already be on his way back up. They were waiting for him, and for Famosa and Peach, to continue decompressing before attempting to open the safe.

These were the moments Frank lived for, the gold at the end of the rainbow. That’s how he thought of successful treasure hunts. Jake must get the same rush when he got a royal flush in a high-stakes poker game. This recovery was especially gratifying to him today because he was seeing it through Ronnie and Jake’s eyes. Their excitement enhanced his excitement.

The question was whether their excitement, Ronnie’s in particular, would be enough to convince them this would make a good lifetime venture. Together. Jinx, Inc., meant too much to him to let it just disappear. But Flossie meant too much to him not to spend their last years together, fulfilling
her
dream of seeing the world from the porthole of an ocean vessel. She’d gotten the idea years ago from that stupid
Love Boat
television show. He’d be damned if he would ever set foot on a wussy ocean liner, though. That’s why he’d bought
Last Fling,
the so-called miniyacht.

Brenda did a victory dance around the deck, then opened a bottle of champagne Frank had brought aboard for just this occasion. Soon they all held plastic glasses of the bubbly and were raising toasts to each other.

He watched with pleasure as Jake and Ronnie kissed and embraced, then kissed again, in between sips of champagne. Meanwhile, Peach and Famosa glared at the pair, both of them having had their sights on Ronnie. But then the two men joined in the celebration, too.

Flossie came up and hugged him warmly. “Congratulations, honey. You did it. Again.”

He gave her a loud smack of a kiss.

Rosa joined them, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you, Franco. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Touched by her emotion, he got a bit choked up himself. “We haven’t got the diamonds yet.”

“We will,” Rosa said, giving him a warm embrace, then going off to hug her son Steve as well.

Tante Lulu was leaning over the rail, waiting for her nephew to come up. When he did, a big ol’ rascal grin on his wet face, they all circled the safe, wondering what to do first.

The decision was soon taken from their hands.

The great chase . . .

All hell broke loose.

Panic washed over Veronica as satellite phones rang simultaneously all over the ship.

Tony called Steve from his boat about a mile away where he was keeping watch. He alerted Steve that “pirates” were on their way, a competing treasure-hunting company known as Shipwreck Salvagers. Tony said he could hold them off for about fifteen minutes if they used that time to get away from the wreck site.

Veronica worried about
how
Tony would be holding them off. She sure hoped it didn’t involve violence.

Then Rosa got two calls from cousins who were manning other boats within a one-mile perimeter of
Sweet Jinx. Who knew!
In these cases, it appeared to be a Coast Guard cutter, alerted that Frank might be engaged in some wreck diving that needed investigation. The cousins also said they could hold off the “visitors” till
Sweet Jinx
got a head start.

Ominously, Veronica thought she might have heard a gunshot through the phone. Rosa was standing right next to her. But maybe she was mistaken.
I hope.

Frank got a call directly from Pete Porter, the Asbury Park reporter, who reminded Frank of the story he had promised him first dibs on weeks ago. He was about to board a boat in Barnegat that would take him out to the site, which he apparently didn’t have the numbers on yet because he kept asking Frank to tell him how to get there.

Famosa and Peach were already raising the anchor. Steve, Tony, and LeDeux were dismantling the crane as best they could and laying the parts on the deck. Frank yelled to Brenda to start up the motor and beat it back to Barnegat. Immediately,
Sweet Jinx
’s motor turned over, and then it was full-throttle ahead as Frank and Brenda manned the wheel. There was no danger of the safe slipping off due to its weight, but Adam and Caleb still kept an eye on it. Flossie looked worried, and Tante Lulu looked excited enough to pee her pants.

“Come on over here, honey,” Jake said, taking Veronica by the hand and leading her to the front wall of the wheelhouse, facing the bow.
Sweet Jinx
was riding the top of the waves like a speedboat, which it was not. If it blew a gasket or something, they were in big trouble . . . not that they weren’t already in big trouble. What she didn’t want, or need, was an explosion that resulted in (a) her treading the ocean depths or (b) her death.

“This is crazy. We can’t run away from the Coast Guard. They’ll arrest the whole bunch of us.”

Jake patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Frank knows what he’s doing.”

Which worried Veronica even more because she did not have as much confidence in Frank as Jake did. “Do you know a good lawyer?” she half-joked. “We’re all going to land in jail.”

Overhearing Veronica’s last statement, Tante Lulu let out a little whoop of joy. “I haven’t been in the slammer fer a long time. I gots to get material fer the book I’m writing. How’s my hair look? I wanna look good in my mug shot.”

“You’re writing a book?” she and John, who was some distance away but approaching, exclaimed at the same time.

“This is news to me,” John told Veronica.

“I doan tell you everything,” the old lady boasted.

With hysterical irrelevance, and probably stupidity, Veronica asked her, “What’s your book about?”

“My life story, and it’s gonna be hot, hot, hot.”

“Oh, my God!” Veronica said.

“Way to go!” This from Jake.

John just grinned at his great-aunt’s outrageousness, then walked away toward the galley steps with her, warning her that the ride back was going to be choppy.

Choppy? I do not do choppy. Where are my Peptos?

Pulling her down to sit on the deck beside him, knees raised, with their backs to the wheelhouse, Jake extended a hand in front of her, palm up. It was filled with Peptos.

For some reason, it made Veronica feel all fuzzy inside at his thoughtfulness. But then, the fuzziness might be the onset of seasickness.

Jake was worried that Ronnie would soon be hurling. So he tried to distract her from her nauseousness and panic by talking nonstop. Bless his heart, as Tante Lulu would say.

“Did I tell you that I made an offer on a beachfront cottage in Stone Harbor two weeks ago? No? Well, I did, but I think I’m going to rescind the offer. I don’t really see you that close to Atlantic City. Oh, good Lord, don’t look like I just asked you to walk the plank. We’re not talking about forever here, just a . . . uh . . . mutually agreeable . . . uh, meeting place. I can’t believe I said that.
Meeting place,
for chrissake. How about love nest? Just kidding, just kidding.

“Do you still have your engagement and wedding rings? Good. Unless you want new ones. . . . No, I am not talking about getting married again. Just a sign of . . . something . . . like a friendship ring, but more. Anyhow, the only reason I asked is because maybe you want to set one of the diamonds we recover today in a new ring.”

That brought her out of her stupor like a bucket of cold water. “I do not, ever, want new rings. Ever. You, or the Mafia Bobbsey Twins, better not show up with any, either. Do you understand me?”

“Loud and clear.” Her vehemence surprised him, and, yeah, hurt him a little.

“I like the ones I have too much.”

Okay. I’m not hurt.

Ronnie went back to being silent and holding her stomach with one of her hands. He made an effort to distract her some more.

“You do know that Frank wants you—and me—to take over Jinx, Inc., and live in his house so that he and Flossie can cruise the world?”

“Whaaat? Since when? How come this is the first I’ve heard about a cruise or me living in his house?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What would they be cruising in, this old boat?”

Jake felt his face flush, and he noticed the way Ronnie was studying him and the determined effort he made to bluff himself into a no-tell mode. Hmmm. What was the best way to squirm out of the tight spot he found himself in? “Maybe you should ask Frank—about the world cruise—once we get back to Barnegat.” He hated lying to Ronnie, but maybe a lie of omission wasn’t so bad.

Yeah, right!
that voice in his head remarked.

“Ronnie, don’t get angry with Frank. Despite his roughshod methods, he’s trying to make up for lost time with you.”

“Maybe. I am glad that this treasure will enable him to get out of financial trouble.”

Now would be a good time to tell her that there is no financial trouble, that it was all a ruse. That Frank, in fact, purchased a half-million-dollar miniyacht called the
Last Fling. But fool that he was, he remained silent.

Remember your theory about holes, Jake my boy. Keep on digging and you’ll never get out.

Shut up!

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, honey. Nothing. As I was saying, we have some decisions to make when we get back. Now, now. Don’t get your back up before you hear me out. I’m not talking marriage; we both know our track record in the matrimonial department. But you and I have career choices to make. Then living arrangements.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“I don’t care where I live or what occupation I have. Really. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. You can say whatever you want, push all my hot buttons, make me live in god-awful Boston, although I will probably grind my teeth to nubs if I have to be around your grandmother. And be forewarned, I intend to seduce you upside down and sideways till you can’t think anymore. You don’t stand a chance.”

She smiled softly at his spiel.

I’m making progress. She wouldn’t smile if I had no chance. Hallelujah!
“Bottom line, babe. I’m in for the long haul this time. I am not leaving.”

Tears misted her honey eyes, and he could have smacked himself for pushing too hard, too soon. But he was afraid that she would scoot back to Boston once they hit land. This might very well be his last chance.

“Oh, Jake, I don’t see any way it’s going to work for us.”

“Don’t say that. Just don’t.” He had to stop and work down the lump in his throat.
This is just friggin’ great. Next I’ll be crying.
“Life is like a poker game, sweetie.”

“I can’t wait to hear this one.” At least she wasn’t groaning or glaring at him.

“Life is like a poker game,” he repeated. “You don’t re-ally know what’s going to happen till all the chips are on the table. And, baby, you haven’t seen all my chips yet.”

He pulled her close to him, an arm looped over her shoulders, and kissed her forehead. After that, they remained mostly quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

All Veronica could think about was the mess she’d embroiled herself in. She had no idea what Jake was thinking—probably ways to convince her to stay with him, which, little did he know, wouldn’t take much at this point. She’d felt more alive the past few days than she had in years. She had no intention of marrying him again, nothing permanent, but a temporary fling? No,
fling
was too casual a word for her and Jake. An affair? No, that demeaned what they had between them. In the end, she could think of no word to describe the fragile relationship she was willing to try with him. She wasn’t willing to walk a mile with him, but a step or two didn’t seem too dangerous.

When she’d come to that decision, she had no idea. Maybe when she’d seen him again after two years in Atlantic City and got the crushing engagement news. That had been a wake-up call of monumental proportions.

The question was, Is a flawed relationship, warts and all, better than no relationship at all? There was no easy answer.

So, she thought and thought.
What should I do?

Long after Jake had made the remark about all his chips not being on the table yet, in the midst of their silence, she blurted out the answer to her own silent questions: “I’m willing to hang around and see how those chips fall.”

His head shot up, and he looked directly at her. Pale blue eyes, starkly beautiful. No explanation was needed for her comment. He knew. He nodded and said, “Deal!” But then he laced the fingers of one of her hands with his and grinned. “One of my chips might involve lists.”

“Hey, isn’t that a coincidence? One of my chips involves lists, too.”