Tuck's Treasure (2 page)

He fell silent again as he studied the map, and then he shook his head, handing it back. “Tuck talked about this supposed treasure all his life. If it is there, why didn’t he get it before he died?”

Charlene shrugged. “I can’t answer that question. All I know is that last night he was very specific. He said the treasure was from pirates long gone, that he’d found it while he was diving years ago and that he hid it.”

“Yeah, right.” Dylan stood and moved his chair back to where it had been before. He dropped the map in her lap. “Thanks for the bedtime story, sweetie, but I’ve heard it before. I find it hard to believe that Tuck would leave his so-called treasure for us to find after he was dead and gone. The exit’s that way.”

He walked back toward the stern and Charlene stood, hurrying behind him. It was time to pull out what the dream Tuck had called her secret weapon. “Either
 
 
 
you help me or I’ll get Max to do it.”

“Excuse me?” He’d wheeled around so fast that Charlene had to take a step back, almost losing her balance. She hadn’t realized she’d been that close to him. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her, but the angry stare in his blue eyes didn’t match the nice gesture. “You want to say that again?”

“Tuck said if you wouldn’t help me I should go to Max. He said Max could use a portion of the treasure, even if you wouldn’t take it.”

Dylan’s laugh was more a snort of derision. “That son of a…” When he laughed she was surprised. “That’s just like Tuck, pulling out the one name that would piss me off.”

Charlene stood her ground when he took a step closer to her. They were standing just inches apart now and the smell of salt water reached her nostrils again. “I’ll be damned if I let Max Ives get anything from Tuck, whether it’s money or just the satisfaction that you’d come to him for help.”

Well, her uncle had definitely known what he was doing, she thought to herself, carefully schooling her features so they didn’t show her surprise at winning their little standoff. Thank you Uncle Tuck. “You’ll help me, then.”

He held out his hand and she gave him the map. He studied it carefully and she could see him calculating the distance to their destination from the Keys, where they were now. “I need to get some supplies. We can leave first thing tomorrow morning, and by first thing I mean just that. Be here by six.”

When he turned without saying goodbye she let the smile she’d been fighting come through. This just might work after all. “See you tomorrow.”

He answered with a grunt and she turned toward the dock, grabbing her shoes before she stepped back onto the wood. Better not to push her luck. Dylan Cray would help her, and that was all that mattered right now.

*
*
*

Dylan waited until she was walking back toward her car before he clenched his hands in fists and shook them at the sky. “Damn you, Tuck, what the hell are you up to now?”

He hadn’t wanted to tell Miss I’m Here From Atlanta to find the treasure that Tuck had come to see him in a dream, too. In that dream he’d laughed and told Dylan that a beautiful redhead would be coming his way soon.

“Treat her nice and do exactly what she asks you to do,” Tuck had said, laughing. “If you don’t I’ll be mad at you, son.”

Son. Dylan closed his eyes as he remembered the endearment Tuck had always used when referring to him. Tuck hadn’t had any children, and Dylan’s own parents could care less if he lived or died. They spent their lives fighting with each other, the only thing that seemed to give them purpose. Dylan was pretty sure that he’d been born from one of their make-up parties after one of those fights.

He didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Growing up it had been just the three of them, and Dylan had spent most of his time in his room, listening to them screaming, and then hearing their bedroom door slam. He knew better than to interrupt either the rights, or the making up. He’d stayed in his room and read books, and dreamed of owning a boat and going out to sea.

Now he had the boat, and his first real trip on it would be with the woman Tuck had told him would be coming into his life.

“You could have told me she was your niece,” he said, knowing there would be no answer. Tuck had talked about his niece quite a bit, saying that, like Dylan, she was an only child.

“Her mother’s a real witch, though,” he’d said one day as they’d sat watching a few of their customers work their reels. “She was always upset that I didn’t do anything with my life, as she put it. Said I wasted it, which, of course, I didn’t. I tried to tell her I loved my life but she thinks it’s all about making money.”

Maybe that was the reason Tuck had never retrieved his treasure, if there even was one, Dylan thought. Maybe he thought going after the money would make him like his sister. Thinking about that made Dylan wonder about Charlene Tucker. Why was she here? For the money? Or because her uncle wanted her to be here?

She hadn’t had contact with the man for twenty years, and if she was in her thirties, which was where he’d pegged her, she’d had a good many years since she’d become an adult to make contact with her uncle. Why hadn’t she done it? Did she, like her mother, think Tuck had wasted his life? If so then she didn’t deserve the money.

He needed to remember that when they were out there searching. If he thought she was in this for the money only then he would lead her astray, keep her from finding the treasure. If he thought she was doing it to honor Tuck’s memory then he would do his best to help her.

Of course that was supposing there was a treasure. There was always a big part of him that thought Tuck had been blowing smoke when he’d talked about finding the chest containing jewels “just like those in the pirate stories.”

If he had it, why hadn’t he used it? Not that he needed the money. The business had always done well, and Tuck had a very nice boat, which he’d been kind enough to leave to Dylan. And Tuck had never been about material possessions. He had a few things, books that he read, and then reread, and a few trinkets that he’d said had belonged to his mother. They were downstairs, in Tuck’s cabin.

Maybe he should give them to Charlene. Then he decided that he’d wait and see how things played out. If she proved that she wasn’t here just for the dough then he’d give her the jewelry, knowing it should be kept in the family. If she were here only for the money then it would stay in his possession until he decided what he should do with it.

He wished he’d kept the map, give him a chance to study it before tomorrow. The look that he’d had showed an island about a day’s journey from the Keys. There were no other instructions on it, like where to find the treasure once they’d found the island. And who was to say that this island wasn’t private, that the owners would greet them with shotguns when they put in? And, in the same vein, who was to say that the so-called treasure hadn’t already been found?

He tried to remember Tuck’s story about finding it some ten years back while he was taking a group of businessmen diving. They’d wanted something exotic, something away from the norm and they’d found the little island, and gone from there.

Tuck hadn’t told his fare that he’d found the treasure one morning when he’d gone swimming while they were sunning themselves. He’d found the chest close to shore, the wood rotten and the contents covered with slime and sand.

When the trip was over he’d gone back by himself and brought the chest up on deck. After cleaning the jewels he’d buried them on the island, he’d said, because he didn’t want to take it back with him. He’d never really given a clear reason why.

But now here Dylan was, about to go on what could possibly be a wild goose chase. He didn’t think Tuck would lie about finding the treasure, but Dylan was confused about why he’d left it on the island all these years.

Now was the time when he wished he could Tuck questions and he could answer them. His friend’s death had been sudden, and had shocked Dylan. He had told no one about the trip out to sea, where he’d shared the bottle of rum with the ocean, thinking about his business partner and the fact that his life was over.

When she’d started to describe it, chills had run up his spine. Had Tuck watched the strange ritual? Had he seen Dylan break down and cry like a baby because his father figure and friend was gone. Obviously, he had. There was no other explanation for how she could have known that. Dylan had made sure there was no another boat in the area when he’d picked his spot.

“Tuck?” No answer came to the greeting, but then again Dylan hadn’t really expected one. It would be nice, but it was not really plausible. Dylan shook his head at the thought. If it wasn’t a reasonable idea that Tuck was watching him, then how had he known about the rum?

“Damn it, Tuck, give me a break here. Answer some questions. Once we get to this island how do we find the treasure? Does X mark the spot? Or will this be some sort of scavenger hunt? Did you leave clues there? Will I need a shovel? Will I need to mark off paces? And, why did you leave it there all these years?”

Silence greeted his words and Dylan slapped his hand against wheel, then plopped himself down in a nearby chair. “Thanks a lot, Tuck, thanks a lot.”

Maybe this trip would provide him with some of the answers that he sought. And it wouldn’t be too bad, really. Charlene Tucker was a beautiful woman, curvy in all the right places. He loved a woman who wasn’t a stick figure, and she definitely wasn’t one. The fact that she hadn’t run when he’d tried to shock her made him smile.

That made her a Tucker, all right. Tuck never backed down from a fight, and it was obvious that his niece didn’t either. Even if she’d had little contact with her uncle during his lifetime she still had some of his traits, and that made her okay in Dylan’s book.

Yeah, this might turn out to be an interesting trip after all.

Charlene slowly made her way toward the boat, wondering if she’d ever been up this early in her entire life. The sun was up, making the day seem warm already. As she neared the boat, sounds of U2 reached her ears. She wondered if Dylan’s neighbors were angry about his early morning musical choices, then decided there probably weren’t that many people on the boats moored nearby.

But then again maybe there were. This was Florida, after all, and some of the boats could be used by tourists who let them double as hotels; or it could be locals who lived on boats. She wondered if Dylan lived on this one, or if he’d gone home last night and come back early this morning.

She was well past his deadline for when he’d expected her, but she didn’t care. She had an excuse. Not that she would tell him about it. His taking her out was tenuous enough. If he’d known who her early morning visitor had been he’d probably scrap the whole trip.

Max Ives showing up when she’d just opened her door this morning had startled her more than just a little bit. The older man had smiled warmly, then offered her a paper cup filled with creamy coffee.

His innocent, “Going somewhere?” had made her smile. He knew damn good and well where she was going, and it was why he was there. He’d met her outside the lawyer’s office, trying to buy the map from her. She’d refused, and when she’d seen him that morning she’d half expected him to show up with goons, who would throw her to the ground and search her belongings to see if they could find the map.

It wouldn’t do them any good, though, just having the location to the island. Tuck, in his infinite wisdom, had given her two sheets of paper, one with directions to the island, the other with directions to exactly where the treasure was hidden.

She was pretty sure Max didn’t know that. Of course neither did Dylan. He would find out in good time, but Max would be left in the dark. Hopefully. Unless he tried to follow them. She remembered back to his pleasant smile from this morning. He’d offered her money for the map and she’d refused.

At first the amounts had gone up, until he was at twenty thousand dollars. When she’d refused even that his face had turned ugly and his eyes had narrowed in anger.

“Young Mr. Cray is an ass, Ms. Tucker. You can’t trust him.”

“Why should I trust you? I know nothing about you, Mr. Ives, and I know that my uncle trusted Dylan Cray.”

The anger blossomed on Ives’ face and he stalked off without even saying goodbye, something which didn’t really surprise her.

Still, she’d been cautious as she’d driven to the pier, wondering who was behind her, waiting to see what they would do to try and get the map. No violence had occurred though, which made her very happy. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen later, though, so it was probably best if they could get underway as soon as possible.

“You’re late.” Dylan’s reprimand broke into her musings and she smiled at him, hoping to sooth the annoyed look that was on his handsome face.

“Sorry, I overslept.”

“Hum, well, let’s go.” He offered her his hand and she took it, stepping onto the boat. “Where’s your bag?”

“Bag?” She indicated the backpack that she held. “Right here.”

“You got enough clothes and things in there for two days? At least?”

“Two days?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as shrill as what she thought it did. “We’re not coming back tonight?”