The Reef (12 page)

One day, they would lead him to Angelique's Curse and the one fortune that continued to allude him.

O
UT OF BREATH
and pale with fury, Tate rushed into the hospital. She spotted her parents and Matthew in a huddle at the end of the corridor and barely prevented herself from calling out. She headed for them at a jog that had her mother turning and staring.

“Tate, for goodness sake, you look as though you've been swimming in your clothes.”

“I have. We have trouble. There was a boat. They're excavating. There was nothing I could do to stop them.”

“Slow down,” Ray ordered and put both hands on her shoulders. “Where have you been?”

“I went out to the site. There's a boat there, a hell of a boat, luxury yacht, fully loaded. First-class excavation equipment. They're working the
Marguerite.
Saw the airlift cloud.” She paused half a second to catch her breath. “We have to get out there. They've been aboard the
Adventure
and the
Sea Devil.
My catalogues are gone, and a lot of the artifacts are missing. I know he took them. He'll deny it, but I know.”

“Who?”

Tate shifted her gaze from her father and looked at Matthew. “VanDyke. It's Silas VanDyke.”

Before she could speak again, Matthew gripped her arm, whirled her to face him. “How do you know?”

“His steward called him by name.” The fear she'd experienced onboard the
Triumphant
was nothing compared to seeing murder leap into the eyes of the man she loved. “He knew you. He knew what happened to Buck. He said—Matthew.” Alarm trembled in her voice as he strode down the hall. “Wait.” She managed to catch him, brace herself in front of him. “What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done a long time ago.” His eyes were cold and flat and frightening. “I'm going to kill him.”

“Get a hold of yourself.” Though Ray's voice was calm, he had Matthew's arm in a surprisingly strong grip. Tate recognized the tone and breathed a small sigh of relief. Little or nothing got past her father in this mood. Not even murderous rage. “We have to be careful, and we have to be sensible,” he continued. “There's a lot at stake.”

“That bastard isn't going to walk away this time.”

“We'll go out. Marla, you and Tate wait here. Matthew and I will straighten this out.”

“I'm not waiting here.”

“Neither of us is waiting here.” Marla ranged herself with her daughter. “This is a team operation, Ray. If one goes, we all go.”

“I don't have time for family debates.” Matthew shook himself free. “I'm going now. You can hang here and see if you can control your women.”

“You ignorant—”

“Tate.” Marla took a deep breath to control her own temper. “Let's consider the circumstances.” She aimed a look at Matthew that could have melted steel. When she spoke again, the southern honey in her voice was frozen over ice. “You're right about one thing, Matthew, we're wasting time.” With this, she sailed to the elevator, jabbed the down button.

“Idiot,” was all Tate said.

 

When they were aboard the
Adventure,
Tate joined her mother at the rail. Ray and Matthew were at the bridge,
piloting the boat and, she imagined, discussing strategy. The insult of it burned in her blood.

More frightened than she wanted to admit, Marla turned to her daughter. “What was your impression of this man? This VanDyke?”

“He's slick.” It was the first word to come to Tate's mind. “With a nasty layer under the shine. Smart, too. He knew there was nothing I could do, and he enjoyed that.”

“Did he frighten you?”

“He offered me champagne and a tour of the boat. Genial host to welcomed guest. He was reasonable, entirely too reasonable.” Tate flexed her hand on the rail. “Yes, he frightened me. I could see him as a Roman emperor, nibbling on sugared grapes while the lions tore the Christians to shreds. He'd enjoy the show.”

Marla suppressed a shudder. Her daughter was whole and safe and here, she reminded herself. But she kept a hand over Tate's as reassurance. “Do you believe he killed Matthew's father?”

“Matthew believes it. There.” She lifted a hand to point. “There's the boat.”

On the bridge, Matthew studied the
Triumphant.
It was new, he noted, more luxurious than the rig they had used in Australia. As far as he could see, the decks were deserted.

“I'm going over, Ray.”

“Let's take this one step at a time.”

“VanDyke's already taken too many steps.”

“We'll hail them first.” Ray maneuvered the boat between the
Triumphant
and the
Sea Devil,
cut the engines.

“Get the women in the cabins, keep them there.” Matthew picked up a diving knife.

“And what are you going to do?” Ray demanded. “Clamp that between your teeth and swing over on a rope? Use your head.” Hoping the scathing tone worked, he left the bridge. On deck, he glanced at his wife and daughter before going to the rail.

“Ahoy the
Triumphant,
” he called out.

“There was a woman,” Tate supplied. The hair on her
arms and neck began to tingle as Matthew joined them. “Crew—seamen and stewards. Divers.”

Now, the
Triumphant
looked like a ghost ship, silent but for the flap of awnings and lap of the water on its hull.

“I'm going over,” Matthew said again. As he readied to dive into the water, VanDyke strolled out on deck.

“Good afternoon.” His beautiful voice carried over the water. “Gorgeous day for a sail, isn't it?”

“Silas VanDyke.”

Like a pose, VanDyke leaned on the rail, ankles crossed, arms folded. “Yes, indeed. And what can I do for you?”

“I'm Raymond Beaumont.”

“Ah, of course.” In a gallant gesture, he tipped the brim of his panama. “I've met your charming daughter. Lovely to see you again, Tate. And you must be Mrs. Beaumont.” He bowed slightly in Marla's direction. “I see where Tate gets her fresh and intriguing beauty. And it's young Matthew Lassiter, isn't it? How interesting to meet you here.”

“I knew you were a murderer, VanDyke,” Matthew called out. “But I didn't know you'd sink to piracy.”

“You haven't changed.” VanDyke's teeth flashed. “I'm glad. It would be a shame to have all those rough edges polished away. I'd invite you all onboard, but we're rather busy at the moment. Perhaps we can arrange a little dinner party for later in the week.”

Before Matthew could speak, Ray clamped a hand on his arm, fingers vising. “We have first claim on the
Santa Marguerite.
We discovered her, and we've been working her for several weeks. The necessary paperwork was filed with the government of Saint Kitts.”

“I'm afraid we disagree.” Gracefully, Silas took a slim silver case from his pocket, chose a cigarette. “You're welcome to check with the authorities if you find it necessary. Of course, we are beyond the legal limit. And when I arrived, there was no one here. Just that unfortunate, and empty, boat.”

“My partner was seriously injured a few days ago. We had to postpone the excavation.”

“Ah.” VanDyke lighted his cigarette, took a
contemplative drag. “I heard about poor Buck's accident. How difficult for him, for you all. My sympathies. However, the fact remains that I'm here, and you're not.”

“You took property from our boats,” Tate shouted out.

“That's a ridiculous accusation, and one you'll have a great deal of difficulty proving. Of course, you're welcome to try.” He paused to study and admire a pair of pelicans in their dance from sky to sea and back again. “Treasure-hunting is a frustrating business, isn't it?” he said conversationally. “And often heartbreaking. Do give my best regards to your uncle, Matthew. I hope this bad luck that runs in your family ends with you.”

“Fuck this.” Even as Matthew vaulted to the rail, Tate sprang to stop him. He'd barely shaken her off when Ray shoved him back.

“Top deck,” he murmured. “Forward and aft.”

Two men had stepped into view, each with rifles shouldered and aimed.

“I believe in guarding my possessions,” VanDyke explained. “A man in my position learns that security isn't merely a luxury, but a vital business tool. Raymond, I'm sure you're a sensible man, sensible enough to keep young Matthew from getting himself hurt over a few trinkets.” Well satisfied with the situation, he took another drag on his cigarette as the pelicans plopped gleefully into the water between them. “And I would be devastated if a stray bullet happened to strike you, or either of those precious jewels beside you.” His smile spread. “Matthew would be the first to tell you that accidents, tragic accidents, happen.”

Matthew's fingers were bone white on the rail. Everything inside him screamed to take his chances, to dive in. “Get them inside.”

“If he shoots you, what happens to Buck?”

Matthew shook his head, riding on the rush of blood to his head. “I only need ten seconds. Ten goddamn seconds.” And a knife across VanDyke's throat.

“What happens to Buck?” Ray insisted.

“You're not going to ask me to walk away from this.”

“No, I'm telling you.” Fear and fury helped Ray
muscle Matthew back from the rail. “This isn't worth your life. And it sure as hell isn't worth the lives of my wife and daughter. Take the wheel, Matthew. We're heading back to Saint Kitts.”

Even the thought of retreat made him ill. If he'd been alone . . . But he wasn't. Saying nothing, he turned on his heels and headed for the bridge.

“Very wise, Raymond,” VanDyke commented with a glint of admiration in his voice. “Very wise. The boy is a tad reckless, I'm afraid, not as mature and sensible as men like us. It was a pleasure to meet you all. Mrs. Beaumont, Tate.” He tipped the brim of his hat again. “Good sailing.”

“Oh, Ray.” As the boat circled around, Marla crossed to her husband on jellied knees. “They would have killed us.”

Feeling unmanned, helpless, Ray stroked her hair and watched the dashing figure of VanDyke grow smaller with distance. “We'll go to the authorities,” he said quietly.

Tate left them, rushed to the bridge. There Matthew gripped the wheel, the course set.

“There was nothing we could do,” she began. Something about his stance warned her against touching him in any way. When he said nothing, she stepped closer, but kept her hands locked together. “He would have had them shoot you, Matthew. He wanted to. We'll report him as soon as we dock.”

“And what the fuck do you think that will do?” There was something mixed with the bitterness in his voice. Something she didn't recognize as shame. “Money talks.”

“We went through all the proper channels,” she insisted. “The records—”

He cut her off with one flaming look. “Don't be stupid. There won't be any records. There won't be anything he doesn't want there to be. He'll take the wreck. He'll strip her, take it all. And I let him. I stood there, just the way I did nine years ago, and I did nothing.”

“There was nothing you could do.” Ignoring her own instincts, she laid a hand on his back. “Matthew . . .”

“Leave me alone.”

“But, Matthew—”

“Leave me the hell alone.”

Hurt and helpless, she did what he asked.

 

That evening, she sat alone in her room. She imagined this was what was meant by being shell-shocked. The day had been a series of hard slaps, ending with her father's shaken announcement that there was no record of their claim. None of the paperwork they had so meticulously filed existed, and the clerk Ray had worked with personally denied ever having seen him before.

There was no longer any doubt that Silas VanDyke had won. Again.

Everything they had done, all the work, the suffering Buck had endured was for nothing. For the first time in her life, she was faced with the fact that being right, and doing right, didn't always matter.

She thought of all the beautiful things she had held in her hands. The emerald cross, the porcelain, the bits and pieces of history she had lifted out of its blanket of sand and brought into the light.

She would never touch them again, or study them, see them winking behind glass at a museum. There would be no discreet card heralding them as pieces of the Beaumont-Lassiter collection. She would not see her father's name in
National Geographic,
or pore over photographs she'd taken herself on those glossy pages.

They'd lost.

And it shamed her to realize how much she had wanted those flashes of glory. She'd imagined herself going back to college, impressing her professors, sailing through to her degree on a wave of triumph.

Or simply sailing off with Matthew, riding on the current of their victory on the way to the next.

Now there was nothing but bitter failure.

Too restless to stay in her room, she headed out. She would walk on the beach, she decided. Try to clear her head and plan the future.

It was there she found him, standing with his face to
the sea. He'd chosen the spot where they had once come onto the island. Where she had looked, seen him look, and had known she loved him.

Her heart squeezed with sorrow for him, then settled. For she was sure now what to do.

She walked to his side and stood, letting the breeze ruffle her hair. “I'm so sorry, Matthew.”

“It's nothing new. Bad luck's my usual kind.”

“This had to do with cheating and stealing. Not with luck.”

“It always has to do with luck. If I'd had better, I'd have gotten to VanDyke alone.”

“And done what? Rammed his boat, boarded it, fought off his armed crew single-handedly?”

It didn't matter now how foolish she made it sound. “I'd have done something.”