The Reef (20 page)

Ray took another paper from his pile. “And, he drew maps. A map,” Ray continued, “from an eyewitness who places the
Isabella
several degrees south-southeast from the wreck of the
Marguerite.
She's there. Waiting.”

Matthew rose to take the map. It was crude, and sparse, but he recognized the points of reference—the whale's tail of the peninsula of St. Kitts, the rising cone of Mount Nevis.

An old, almost forgotten need surged in him. The need to hunt. When he looked up, the grin he flashed was the one from his youth. Bold, reckless and irresistible.

“When do we leave?”

 

Tate couldn't sleep. There was too much racing inside her head, swimming in her blood. She understood, and struggled to accept, that the momentum was out of her hands. There would be no stopping her father from taking on this quest. None of the logic nor the personal doubts she used would sway him from partnering with the Lassiters.

At least the timing worked. She'd just tossed an enormous career advancement aside for principle. That gave her some satisfaction. And it also gave her the opportunity to help launch the expedition for the
Isabella.

At least if she was there, right on hand, she could keep her eye on everyone. Matthew in particular.

So she was thinking of him when she stepped outside to face the moon and the wind that washed through the top of the pines.

She had loved him once. Over the years, she'd told herself it had been merely a crush, a young woman's infatuation with wild good looks and an adventurer's heart.

But that was a coward's lie.

She had loved him, Tate admitted, and tugged her jacket tighter against the night's moist breeze. Or had loved the man she'd thought he was, and could be. Nothing and no one had embraced her heart so completely before him. Just as nothing and no one had ever broken it so totally, and so callously.

She tugged a leaf from a fragrant bay laurel, spun it under her nose as she walked toward the water. It was a night for reflections, she supposed. The moon, nearly full, rode a sky crowded with hot stars. The air was full of perfume and promise.

Once she would have been seduced by that alone. Before her romantic side had been sliced away. She considered herself fortunate that she could now appreciate the night for what it was, and not spin dreams around it.

In a way, she knew she had Matthew to thank for opening her eyes. Rudely, painfully, but he'd opened them. She understood now that princes and pirates were for young, foolish girls to dream of. She had more solid goals than that.

If she had to put those goals aside for a time, she would. Everything she was, everything she'd accomplished, she owed to her parents' support and belief in her. There was nothing she wouldn't do to protect them. Even if it meant working shoulder-to-shoulder with Matthew Lassiter.

She stopped near the water, downcurrent from where the boats were docked. Her parents had built up the bank here with duck weed and wild grasses to fight erosion. Always the water stole from the land. Always the land adjusted.

It was a good lesson, she supposed. Things had been stolen from her. She'd adjusted.

“It's a nice spot, isn't it?”

Tate's shoulders tightened at the sound of his voice. She wondered how she hadn't sensed him. But for a man who spent his life at sea, he moved quietly on land.

“I thought you'd gone to bed.”

“We're bunked down in the boat.” He knew she didn't want him beside her, so perversely he stepped forward until their shoulders nearly brushed. “Buck still snores like a freighter. Doesn't bother LaRue. But then, he sleeps like a corpse.”

“Try earplugs.”

“I'll just string a hammock out on deck. Like old times.”

“These are new times.” She took a bracing breath before she turned to him. As she'd expected, perhaps feared, he looked magnificent in the moonlight. Bold, exciting, even dangerous. How lucky she was that such traits no longer appealed to her. “And we'd better lay out the ground rules.”

“You were always more into rules than me.” To suit himself he sat on a bale of duck grass, patted the space beside him in invitation. “You go first.”

She ignored the invitation, and the half-empty bottle of beer he offered. “This is a business arrangement. As I understand it, my parents are fronting the bulk of the expenses. I intend to keep an accurate account of your share.”

Her voice still carried those lovely liquid vowels of the south, he mused, the consonants blurring like soft shadows. “Fine. Bookkeeping's your department.”

“You will pay them back, Lassiter. Every penny.”

He took a swallow of beer. “I pay my debts.”

“I'll see to it you pay this one.” She paused a moment before moving from one practical matter to another. The moon mirrored prettily on the calm water, but she paid no heed to it. “I understand you're teaching LaRue to dive.”

“I've been working with him.” Matthew moved his shoulders. “He's catching on.”

“Will Buck dive?”

Even in the shadows, she saw his eyes glint. “That's up to him. I'm not pushing him.”

“I wouldn't want you to.” She softened enough to move closer. “He matters to me. I—I'm glad he's looking so well.”

“You're glad he's off the bottle.”

“Yes.”

“He's been off it before. Lasted a whole month once.”

“Matthew.” Before she'd realized it, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “He's trying.”

“Aren't we all?” Abruptly, he grabbed her hand, tugged her down beside him. “I'm tired of looking up at you. Besides, I can see you better down here, in the moonlight. You always had a face for moonlight.”

“Personal rule,” she said briskly. “You keep your hands off me.”

“No problem. I don't need the frostbite. You've sure chilled down over the years, Red.”

“I've simply developed a more discerning taste.”

“College men.” His smile was a sneer. “Always figured you'd go for the academic type.” Deliberately, he looked down at her hands, then back into her eyes. “No rings. How come?”

“Let's keep our private lives private.”

“That's not going to be easy, seeing as we're going to be working in close quarters for some time.”

“We'll manage. And as to working arrangements, when we dive, one member of your team goes down with a member of ours. I don't trust you.”

“And you hid it so well,” he muttered. “That's fine,” he continued. “That suits me. I like diving with you, Tate. You're good luck.” He leaned back on his elbows, looked up at the stars. “It's been a while since I dived in warm water. The North Atlantic's a bitch. You learn to hate her.”

“Then why did you dive there?”

He slanted her a look. “Doesn't that come under the heading of private?”

She looked away, cursing herself. “Yes, though it was professional curiosity that made me ask.”

So, he'd oblige her. “There's money to be made salvaging metal wrecks. In case you haven't heard, World War II played hell with ships.”

“I thought the metal you were interested in was gold.”

“Whatever pays, sweetheart. I've got a feeling this trip's going to pay off big.” Because it pleased him almost as much as it hurt, he continued to study her profile.

“You're not convinced.”

“No, I'm not. But I am convinced this is something my father needs to do. The
Isabella
and the
Santa Marguerite
have fascinated him for years.”

“And Angelique's Curse.”

“Yes, from the moment he heard of it.”

“But you don't believe in curses anymore. Or magic. I guess you educated it out of your system.”

She couldn't have said why it stung to hear him say what was only the truth. “I believe the amulet exists, and knowing my father, that it was aboard the
Isabella.
Finding it will be another matter altogether. And its value will come from its age and its stones and the weight of its gold, not from some superstition.”

“There's no more mermaid left in you, Tate.” He said it quietly, and stopped himself before his hand lifted to stroke her hair. “You used to remind me of something fanciful that was as much at home in the sea as in the air. With all sorts of secrets in your eyes, and endless possibilities shimmering around you.”

Her skin shivered, not from the nippy little breeze, but from heat. In defense, her voice was flat and cool. “I doubt very much if you had any sort of romantic flights of fancy where I was concerned. We're both aware of what you thought of me.”

“I thought you were beautiful. And even more out of reach than you are right now.”

Hating the fact that such careless lies could make her pulse jump, she rose quickly. “It won't work, Lassiter. I'm not along on this trip to amuse you. We're business partners. Fifty-fifty since my father wants it that way.”

“Isn't that interesting?” he murmured. He set the bottle down and rose slowly until they were toe to toe. Until he could smell her hair. Until his fingers throbbed with the memory of how her skin felt under them. “I still get to you, don't I?”

“Your ego's still in the same place.” She schooled her features to mild disdain. “Just below the button of your jeans. Tell you what, Lassiter, if things get a little tedious and I'm desperate enough to try anything to break the monotony, I'll let you know. But until that unlikely event, try not to embarrass yourself.”

“I'm not embarrassed.” He grinned at her. “Just curious.” Hoping to loosen some of the knots in his gut, he sat again. “Any more rules, Red?”

She needed a minute before she could trust her voice. Somehow her heart had lodged in her throat. “If, by some miracle, we find the
Isabella,
I will, as marine archeologist, catalogue and assess and preserve all the artifacts. Everything gets logged, down to the last nail.”

“Fine. Might as well put those degrees to use.”

She bristled at his obvious lack of respect for her field.

“That's just what I intend to do. Twenty percent of whatever we find will go to the government of Saint Kitts and Nevis. And though it's only fair that it be put to a vote, I'll set aside what artifacts I find appropriate to donate.”

“Twenty percent's hefty, Red.”

“Try a little fame along with your fortune, Lassiter. If things work out as we hope, I'm going to negotiate with the government to establish a museum. The Beaumont-Lassiter Museum. If the wreck's as rich as reputed, you can spare ten percent of your share and still not have to work another day in your life. It'll keep you in shrimp and beer.”

Again he flashed a grin. “Still stewing over that sword. You surprise me.”

“As long as we keep our cards on the table, there won't be any surprises. Those are my terms.”

“I can live with them.”

She nodded. “There's one more. If we do find Angelique's Curse, it goes to the museum.”

He picked up his beer, drained it. “No. You've had your terms, Tate. I've only got one of my own. The amulet's mine.”

“Yours?” She would have laughed if her teeth hadn't been clenched together. “You don't have any stronger claim on it than the rest of us. Its potential value is tremendous.”

“Then you can assess it, catalogue it and deduct it from the rest of my take. But it's mine.”

“For what?”

“To pay off a debt.” He rose, and the look in his eyes had her backing up a step before she could stop herself. “I'm going to wrap it around VanDyke's neck, and strangle him with it.”

“That's foolish.” Her voice shook. “Crazy.”

“That's a fact. You live with that one, Tate, because that's how it's going to be. You've got your rules.” He cupped her chin in his hand and made her tremble. Not from the touch, not this time, but from the hot-blooded murder boiling in his eyes. “I've got mine.”

“You can't expect any of us to stand by while you plan to kill someone.”

“I don't expect anything.” He'd stopped expecting long ago. “It just wouldn't be smart to get in my way. Now you'd better get some sleep. We've got a lot of work ahead of us.”

He was lost in the shadows of the trees almost immediately. To ward off the chill, Tate wrapped her arms tight around her body.

He'd meant it. She couldn't pretend otherwise. But she could tell herself that he'd lose this thirst for revenge in the hunt.

The odds were they'd never find the
Isabella.
And if they did, the odds were even higher against finding the amulet.

For the first time, she prepared to go on an expedition hoping for failure.

I
T WAS BLISSFULLY
easy to fall back into the old routine. Tate found herself pushing the purpose of the voyage to the back of her mind and simply enjoying the ride.

They left Hatteras Island behind on a bright spring morning with the seas at a light chop. The wind was just brisk enough for a jacket and she'd pulled her hair through the hole in the back of a Durham Bulls baseball cap. At her father's insistence, she had first shift at the wheel. And took the Atlantic.

They sailed toward Ocracoke with its pirate ghosts, waving at passengers on a passing ferry as seagulls swooped and called in their wake. Then land became a shadow to the west, and there was only sea.

“How's it feel, Skipper?” Ray slipped in behind her, hugging an arm over her shoulders.

“It feels good.” Tate lifted her face to the wind that rushed through the partially open windows of the bridge. “I guess I've been a passenger too long.”

“Sometimes your mother and I will hop aboard and sail to nowhere for a day or two. I've enjoyed that.” Eyes on the horizon, he sighed deeply. “But it sure feels good to be sailing to somewhere. I've been wanting this for a long time.”

“I guess I thought you'd put the
Isabella,
and all of it, pretty much behind you. I didn't realize how much you still wanted her.”

“I didn't either, really.” Out of habit, he checked the course. She, the boat and his daughter, was right on the mark. “After we lost the
Marguerite,
and you went off to college, I just drifted awhile. It seemed like the right thing to do. I felt so helpless about Buck. He and Matthew off in Chicago, and Buck just wouldn't let me connect.”

“I know that hurt you,” she murmured. “You'd gotten so close that summer.”

“He lost a leg. I lost a friend. All of us lost a fortune. Neither Buck nor I handled it very well.”

“You did the best you could,” Tate corrected. She had lost her heart, she thought, and she, too, had done the best she could.

“I never knew what to say, or what to do. Sometimes I'd pop one of the videos your mother had taken during those months—watch and remember. It got easier to just drop a letter in the mail now and again. Matthew never let on how bad it was. We might never have found out if we hadn't taken a trip to Florida and gone by the trailer.”

He shook his head, remembering what a shock it had been to see his friend drunk, stumbling around a filthy trailer, surrounded by trash, covered in shame.

“The boy should have told us what a bind he was in.”

“Matthew?” She glanced back in surprise. “It sounds to me as if Buck was the one in trouble. Matthew should have stayed and taken care of him.”

“If he'd stayed, he couldn't have taken care of Buck. He had to work, Tate. Hell, money doesn't just float in on the tide. It must have taken him years to pay off the medical bills. Fact is, I doubt he's managed it yet.”

“There are programs for people in Buck's situation. Subsidies, assistance.”

“Not for people like Matthew. He'd ask for a loan, but never a handout.”

Disturbed by the idea, she frowned. “That's stupid pride.”

“Pride, anyway,” Ray agreed. “It was after I saw Buck
again that the
Isabella
started preying on my mind. I couldn't shake it. All those what ifs. So I went back over my old research, started new.”

He looked far out, toward something she couldn't see. Or had forgotten to look for. “I guess I started thinking if I could find some new clue, it would be a way to pay Buck back for what he'd lost as my partner.”

“Dad, that was no one's fault.”

“Not a matter of blame, honey. A matter of what's right. It's come full circle, Tate. Something tells me it was supposed to.” Shaking off the mood, he smiled down at her. “I know, it's not logical.”

“You don't have to be logical.” She rose on her toes to kiss him. “I'll take care of that part.”

“And your mother'll keep things shipshape.” Over the memories, the old excitement began to brew. “We make a good team, Tate.”

“Always did.”

“Mermaid
off the port bow,” he murmured.

So it was, Tate saw. She had to admit, it was a stunner of a boat. Those twin hulls cut through the water like diamonds through glass. Though the sun tossed light from the windows of the pilothouse, she could make out Matthew at the helm.

He pulled alongside until there was barely ten feet between them. She saw him turn his head in her direction, and sensed his challenging grin.

“Looks like he wants a race,” Ray said.

“Oh, does he?” Planting her feet a bit farther apart, she gripped the throttle. “Well, we'll just give him one.”

“That's my girl.” With a hoot, he raced from the bridge, calling for Marla.

“Okay, Lassiter,” Tate muttered to herself. “You're on.”

She punched the throttle, turning the wheel to give him her wake. The thrill of the competition had her laughing out loud as she felt the power hum under her hands. The
New Adventure
wasn't any Sunday crusier, and with the Atlantic spread before her, Tate let it have its head.

At twelve knots, it was purring.

It didn't surprise her to see the
Mermaid
coming alongside. She wanted a run. When their bows were even, she shot forward again, sprinting to fifteen knots.

Again he crept steadily even with her, and again, Tate pumped her speed until his bow trailed her stern. In lieu of thumbing her nose, Tate rocked the wheel so that her boat danced. She was chuckling to herself, feeling smug until the
Mermaid
shot by like a bullet.

By the time she'd closed her mouth, he was fifty feet ahead. She bore down, took her engines to full. Her mother's wild, appreciative laughter swam up from the bow. Infectious, it had Tate giggling as she gained ground. But try as she might, she couldn't match the
Mermaid.

“That's some boat,” she said to herself. “Hell of a boat.”

And though she knew she should be insulted when Matthew maneuvered a wide circle and came up alongside again, she wasn't.

Damn him, he made her smile.

 

On the evening of their third day, they moored at Freeport, just ahead of a storm that swept in thundering rain and choppy seas. A group dinner was planned aboard the
Mermaid
with LaRue's shrimp jambalaya as the centerpiece.

By the time second helpings were being dispensed, LaRue and Marla were deep into cooking theories while Buck and Ray fell back into their old habit of arguing baseball. Since neither topic fell into Tate's area of expertise, she found herself uncomfortably paired with Matthew.

Because silence seemed cowardly, Tate turned to ingrained Southern manners. “I'd forgotten you were interested in boatbuilding,” she began. “Buck said you designed the
Mermaid
yourself.”

“Yeah. I toyed with a few designs over the years. This one worked for me.” He scooped up more stew. “I guess I always figured I'd go back.”

“Did you? Why?”

His eyes shot up to hers, held. “Because I never finished what I started. You must have thought about it now and again.”

“Not really.” Manners aside, lies were safer. “I've been busy with other things.”

“Looks like college suited you.” She'd taken to wearing her hair in one fat braid that trailed down her back, he noted. That, too, suited her. “I hear we'll be calling you ‘Doctor' Beaumont before long.”

“I have some work to do yet.”

“You earned a pretty good rep on that Smithsonian thing a couple years ago.” Her surprised look made him shrug. “Ray and Marla passed things along.” There wasn't any point in mentioning that he'd gotten a copy of the magazine and read the five-page article twice. “They were jazzed about the idea of you identifying artifacts from some ancient Greek ship.”

“I was hardly in charge. I was part of a team. Hayden Deel headed the archeological end. He was a professor of mine,” she added. “He's brilliant. I was with him on the
Nomad,
my last assignment.”

“I heard about that, too.” It grated that she'd been a part of a VanDyke operation. “A sidewheeler.”

“That's right. The depths were too great for diving. We used computers and robotics.” Comfortable with shop talk, she rested her chin on her fist. “We have incredible film of plant and animal colonization.”

“Sounds like a barrel of fun.”

“It was a scientific expedition,” she said coolly. “Fun wasn't a prerequisite. The equipment that was devised to search for and excavate the
Justine
was stunningly successful. We had a team of top scientists and technicians. And,” she added with a bite, “beyond the scientific value and knowledge, we mined gold. That, I'm sure, you'd understand. A fortune in gold coins and bars.”

“So, VanDyke gets richer.”

He knew, she realized, and felt her face go cold, stiff. “That's beside the point. The scientific and historic benefit outweighs—”

“Bullshit. Nothing VanDyke does is beside the point.” It infuriated him that she should have changed so much to believe it. “Don't you care who writes your paycheck?”

“SeaSearch—”

“VanDyke owns Trident, which owns Poseidon, which owns SeaSearch.” Sneering, he lifted his glass of red wine, toasted. “I'm sure VanDyke's happy with your work.”

For a moment, she could only stare. It felt as though a fist had plunged into her stomach. That he would think so little of her, of her character, and of her heart, hurt more than she had believed it could. She could see herself standing dripping and defiant, facing VanDyke on his own yacht. And she remembered the fury, the fear, and the terrible sense of loss.

Saying nothing, she pushed away from the table and walked out into the rain. On a muttered oath, Matthew shoved his bowl aside and went after her.

“Is this how you handle things now when somebody puts a mirror up to your face, Red? Walk away?”

She stood at the starboard rail, gripping it tight while the rain poured over her. To the north, lightning cracked the sky.

“I didn't know.”

“Right.”

“I didn't know,” she repeated. “Not when I signed on. If I had, I wouldn't . . . I would never have been a part of anything connected with VanDyke. I wanted to work with Hayden again, to be a part of something big and important. So I never looked beyond the opportunity.” She was ashamed now, as she hadn't been when the anger and resentment had been so huge. “I should have.”

“Why? You had a chance, you took it. That's the way things work.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets to keep himself from touching her. “You made your choices, and so what? Bottom line is VanDyke's not your fight anyway.”

“The hell he isn't.” Fresh fury had her whirling around. Rain streamed from her hair and face. Thunder grumbled in the distance. “He isn't your personal demon, Matthew, whatever you think. He took from all of us.”

“So you took something back from him. You earned a little fame and fortune on the
Nomad.
Like you said, you don't care who paid for it.”

“Goddamn you, Lassiter, I said I didn't know. The minute I found out, the minute I realized he'd arranged to have me on the ship, I packed up and left.”

“You packed up and left because you were afraid I'd take advantage of your parents. Don't pull this crap, Tate. I know he called you, told you what was going down. You were on Hatteras in record time.”

“That's right, and one of the reasons I could be was because I'd already tendered my resignation and arranged for transport. The hell with you,” she said wearily. “I don't have to prove anything to you. I don't have to justify anything to you.”

But she realized she had to justify it to herself. Impatient, she pushed dripping hair back from her face. “I thought I'd gotten the assignment because Hayden had recommended me.”

A little kernel of jealousy glowed green just under his heart. “You and this Hayden got a thing going?”

“He's a colleague,” she said between her teeth. “A friend. He told me that my name was on the approved list before it got to him.”

“So?”

“Follow the logic, Lassiter. I did. Why would someone have done that? I wanted to know why, and who, and I found out. VanDyke chose me. He didn't strike me as a man who forgets. How many Tate Beaumonts with a master's in marine archeology do you figure are out there?”

Because it was starting to make sense, he began to feel like a fool. “At a guess, I'd say one.”

“Right.” She turned back to the rail. “He had to know who I was,” she said quietly. “And he wanted me on the
Nomad.
Whether you believe me or not, I was leaving the expedition before my father contacted me.”

He let out a long breath, rubbed his hands over his wet face. “I believe you. Maybe I was out of line, but I was steamed over the idea that you'd work for him just to build your rep.” The quick, cold look she shot over her shoulder had him feeling like a worm. “I said I was out of line. I should have known better.”

“Yes, you should have known better.” Now she sighed.
Why should he have trusted? she asked herself. They didn't really know each other anymore. “It doesn't matter. I'm glad we cleared the air about it, anyway. I've been stewing over it. I don't like knowing he'd used me. I like knowing less he's been looking over my shoulder all these years.”

It was a possibility that hadn't occurred to him. As it took root, the violent emotion that bloomed from it dimmed jealousy. He gripped her arms, lifting her to her toes. “Did he ever contact you, try anything?”

“No.” To keep her balance, Tate splayed her hands on Matthew's chest. Rain beat down on them in fat, warm drops. “I haven't seen him since the day he threatened to have us shot. But obviously, he's kept track of me. My first postgraduate expedition was for Poseidon, in the Red Sea. For Poseidon,” she repeated. “And now I have to wonder how many projects I've been involved with he's had a hand in. How many doors he opened for me, and why.”