Deep Blue (6 page)

“So did I.”

She told herself to turn away, to shove her trembling fingers into her purse and dig out her room key. She told herself to open the door and go in.

Instead she looked up at him, read the desire in his eyes. “We can’t do this,” she whispered, staring at his mouth, wanting him to kiss her. Praying he would not.

“We can…if it’s what both of us want.”

Hope shook her head. “You don’t know what I want. Even I’m not sure anymore.” It was true. There was a time she might have had the courage for this kind of brief, casual fling, but not anymore. Not until she knew she could handle it without suffering the pain she had felt after Richard.

“I want you, Hope, and I think you want me.”

An image appeared of the man she’d once loved, naked in bed with her best friend. She thought of the baby she had lost, the unborn child she had wanted so badly. Hope straightened, her control returning, her mask falling back into place.

“Is that so? Well, guys like you are a dime a dozen. If I wanted you, I’d have you. Obviously, I don’t.” She turned away from him, started to dig through her purse. Conn’s long fingers curled around her shoulders. He hauled her toward him and his mouth crushed down over hers.

It was a hard, taking kiss, a hot, wet, delicious kiss that turned soft and coaxing and left her utterly breathless. Her lips softened under his and she tasted him, opened for him. He took her with his tongue, an erotic parody of what he would do to her if she let him come into her room. A faint moan seeped from her throat as Conn broke away.

His eyes were still hot, burning into her like a brand, and filled with something she couldn’t quite name.

“Thanks for the dance,” he said. Turning, he strode toward the room next door and jammed his key into the lock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, but he didn’t go in, just stood there waiting until she finally found her key, fumbled it into the lock, went in, and closed the door.

Her eyes slid closed as she leaned against it. Her stomach was quivering. She was throbbing in places that hadn’t throbbed since Richard.

She wanted Conn Reese.

Worst of all, he knew it.

Hope walked over to the sink on shaking legs, ran water into the basin, and washed her face.

She was tired but her body still hummed with need. The bed beckoned, but it only made her think erotic thoughts of Conn and she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

The man who pounded on her door the following morning was a different man from the one she’d been out with the night before. He was just as tall and male, just as handsome and virile, but this man’s jaw was set, his eyes a cool shade of blue. He was different.

But then, so was she.

It was obvious both of them had their protective walls back in place. Sometime in the night, Hope’s common sense had returned. So what if Conner Reese was a good-looking man with a body right out of the movies? So what if she found him sexually attractive? She was only human. It was a completely natural reaction.

The problem was, she would only be in the islands for a few short weeks. Maybe even less than that. If nothing turned up of the
Rosa,
the magazine would probably be satisfied with the first article in the series and perhaps a brief follow-up months later when the search came to a disappointing end. The last thing she wanted was a quick fling and a sad good-bye.

On the surface, Hope seemed the most self-assured of the three Sinclair sisters, the coolest in an emergency, the strongest, the one the others could always count on. Her own personal, well-guarded secret was that she was also the most soft-hearted, the most sensitive, the most easily hurt. To compensate, she put on a tough façade and kept most people at a distance.

Other than her family, Richard was one of the few who had discovered the truth. He had used that knowledge against her, taken advantage, and broken her heart.

She wasn’t about to let it happen again.

Or even take the slightest chance that it might.

Which was why, on this bright Caribbean morning, with the sun beating down on her face and a soft ocean breeze blowing in off the sea, she was determined to keep her distance from Conner Reese.

“I spoke to the guys at the airport on Pleasure Island,” he said. “The plane’s coming in this morning. They’ll be waiting for us at the airport when we get there.”

He was all business this morning, and relief trickled through her.

“That’s good news,” she said just as mildly, stepping out of the room dressed once more in her white shorts and coral blouse, the purple dress stuffed into her oversized purse.

“I’ve already eaten but we’ve got time for you to get something if you’re hungry.”

“I don’t eat breakfast. But I could use a cup of coffee.”

He got her a cup to go from the pot in the lobby of the motel, then drove directly to the airport. As promised, the plane was there, a Beech/Raytheon Duke, Conn told her, an expensive twin-engine with The Villas logo of a palm tree over three wavy blue lines painted on the side. It sat on the tarmac, the cabin door open and the stair inviting them in, ready to fly them back to the island.

It didn’t take long to reach their destination, less than a hundred miles away. Chalko stood next to the Jeep at the edge of the private airstrip, along with Tommy Tyler, who had been busy shooting photos of the lush vegetation, waterfalls, and mountains.

“I heard you got stuck in Jamaica,” Tommy said, tossing a speculative glance between her and Conn. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and grinned. “Tough duty, but someone’s gotta do it.”

At the looks he received in return, the grin slid off his face.

“We had work to do,” Conn growled.

“Neither of us could afford to waste the time,” Hope snapped.

“Unfortunately, out here things happen on ‘island time.’ There’s not a whole lot you can do about it.”

Hope made no further comment. It definitely would have been better if they could have returned. At least it would have been safer.

They all climbed into the fringe-topped Jeep and Chalko drove them down to the harbor.

“I don’t see her,” Conn said, scanning the waves for the
Conquest,
which should have been visible somewhere along the reef.

The handsome young black man just smiled. “Cap’n Bob moved her a little. Joe wanted to take a look at the area south of the reef.”

Conn swore softly.

“I take it that wasn’t your plan,” Hope said.

“Joe’s always been a hothead. We’re supposed to be sticking to the GPS grid. That way we cover every inch of the ocean floor and don’t chance missing anything.”

“Maybe he ran across something interesting.”

He grunted. “One can only hope.”

They didn’t say more as the Jeep pulled into the parking lot. Though the day was cool, the sun was hot, and heat radiated up from the pavement as they climbed out and walked down to the dock, where the powerful white speedboat bobbed in its slip. Once they were out on the water, Chalko skillfully avoided the reef, using the channel at the entrance, then powering the sleek craft into the open sea.

“There she is!” Hope pointed toward the big, steel-hulled salvage boat anchored a little to the south, dipping and swaying in the waves. Even from a distance, she could see activity on the deck. When the speedboat pulled alongside, Joe Ramirez came over to the rail.

“Man, I’m glad you’re back.”

“What’s up?” Conn asked, climbing onto the boarding platform, then turning to help Tommy and Hope climb out of the boat.

Joe grinned like a schoolboy. “You won’t believe it. Hurry up—you gotta see this.”

Conn left to follow Joe without giving Hope a backward glance. It was as if the attraction that had sparked between them last night had never happened. It was just a dream, a little bit of island magic. The magic was gone now, as if it had never existed, and she had a job to do.

As she and Tommy started for the chart room, following Conn and Joe, she tried to tell herself she was glad things hadn’t gone any further last night.

But she wasn’t really certain that she was.

Trailing Joe, Conn descended the ladder to the chart room. Captain Bob was there, along with Andy Glass, and both of them were grinning. They hovered around the video camera, looking at the picture projected from beneath the sea. There was something on the screen, but mixed with snatches of plant life and covered with a dense layer of sand, Conn couldn’t tell what it was.

“Check this out.” Joe pointed to the side-scan sonar. “What’s that look like to you?”

The monitor sat next to the video camera, but the scanner itself hung from a cable below the boat. It was designed to recognize the shapes of objects lying on the ocean floor. Conn studied the screen. Though whatever was on the video screen was encrusted with corrosion and covered by a layer of sand, the object outlined on the monitor was clearly defined.

And the shape on the screen sent a rush of adrenaline shooting through him.

For the first time, he noticed the pinging sound coming from a few feet away and turned to look at the magnetometer reading. The equipment Talbot had provided was top of the line and this detector picked up both ferrous and nonferrous metals. The object on the ocean floor was definitely metal, the shape unmistakable.

Conn started to grin. “By God, you found one of the cannons!” He slapped Joe on the shoulder. “I should have listened to you sooner. You always were a lucky son of a bitch.”

For nearly a week, Joe had been trying to talk him into searching the area parallel to the coast south of the reef.

“I got a hunch,” Joe had said.

But Conn had been determined to be practical and stick with the grid, which moved them slowly across the reef.

“You found the cannon?” Hope repeated excitedly from behind him. Conn ignored a jolt of heat at the sound of her voice. Last night was over. Nothing had happened and this morning he was glad.

At least his brain was glad. After a sexually frustrating night and very little sleep, his body hated his guts.

“Yeah, looks like we did.” He couldn’t help a smile. They had all worked long and hard for this. “Of course, we’ll need to bring it up, try to verify it actually came off the
Rosa.
”

Conn turned to read the fathometer, which showed the depth of the bottom. “Forty-three feet. We’re about half a mile offshore and three-quarters of a mile south of the western curve of the reef. Maybe she struck some coral heads near the edge, tore a hole in her hull, then drifted this far south before she sank.”

“We’ve set buoys to mark the spot,” Joe said. “So far we haven’t found any sign of the ballast pile.” Ballast was weight carried in the hold to keep the ships stable in the water. The English often used pig iron. The galleons usually carried stones.

“We’ll recalculate the grid, use the cannon as a starting point, and work around it all the way back to the reef.” He looked over at Joe. “Let’s go down and take a look. If we take the sled, we can use the prop wash to blow away some of that sand.”

Joe grinned. “If you’re waiting for me, man, you’re backin’ up.”

Conn chuckled. “Give me a minute to get out of these clothes.” He started for the ladder and so did Joe. After a quick trip to his cabin to change into a swimsuit, Conn returned to the deck, where Joe had their diving gear laid out. Pete Crowley, one of the deck hands, was already hoisting the underwater sled up and over the rail, beginning to lower it toward the water.

Joe checked the tanks while Conn pulled on his wetsuit. He picked up his BC vest, dive computer, tank, fins, and the rest of his gear and started toward the loading ramp that also served as a diving platform. Joe sat down beside him on the platform and they both put on their fins.

As Conn adjusted his mask down over his face and prepared to go into the water, he glanced up to see Hope standing at the rail, the breeze whipping her glorious hair. She still looked good to him. Too damn good.

Conn gave the thumbs-up signal he and Joe always used, and they scissored off the platform into the water.

Standing at the rail, Hope watched the thin line of bubbles coming up from the divers’ tanks as they descended into the depths below. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Conn in his swimsuit, his chest bare and rippling with muscle. She had watched him pulling on his wetsuit, his body so incredibly fit, sinews moving, shifting beneath his suntanned skin. Her mouth still felt dry.

Shaking her head to clear the image, Hope turned to Tommy Tyler and the two of them returned to the chart room to watch the video screen. The water was remarkably clear, a gorgeous turquoise color that sparkled near the surface with the brilliance of the sun, then deepened to a crystalline blue farther down in the water. Hope could see the black-suited divers descending into the sea below the boat, disappearing now and then behind a school of flashing silver fish, weaving their way through tall stands of soft gorgonian. In the distance behind them, vivid blue and bright red sponges grew next to lacy black coral.

The sled easily carried the two men down, though they paused periodically to let their ears adjust to the depth, the light in front illuminating the area around them. As they went deeper, she could see the sandy ocean floor, interspersed with underwater plant life, floating tendrils of algae mixed with waving sea grasses, and a scattering of volcanic rock here and there, but a good portion of the floor was covered with fine, white sand.

Once the men reached the cannon, they turned the sled around and used the propeller-wash to clear the sand away so they could see what they had found. For an instant, the air grew cloudy, and men and cannon both disappeared behind a thick film of debris. The minutes ticked past; then the sled propellers stopped turning and the sand drifted away, allowing the water to clear, and the men slowly became visible again.

The divers swam the length of the cannon, searching for markings of some kind, but Hope didn’t think they found any. Now that the sand was gone, the weapon looked less corroded than it had first appeared.

“There were forty-two bronze cannons aboard the
Rosa,
” Hope said matter-of-factly, turning the men’s attention in her direction.

“How do you know that?” Tommy asked.

“I read it on a sunken treasure Internet site. You wouldn’t believe the stuff you can find. Professor Marlin mentioned a museum in Seville. As soon as I get the chance, I’m going to see what I might be able to access there.”

“Even if you get something, it’ll probably be in Spanish,” Tommy said.

“If it is, I imagine Joe Ramirez can translate it for me.”

Tommy thought the way Joe looked at Hope, the guy would be happy to do that and a whole lot more. But Tommy could already tell Joe Ramirez didn’t stand a chance. Not if the hot looks passing between Hope and Conner Reese were any indication, and he figured that they were.

Tommy had never seen Hope look at a man that way. Not even her no-good, cheating, ex-boyfriend. Hope had been engaged to the prick when Tommy first met her. He knew she’d caught the guy in bed with one of her best friends, and Tommy had seen how badly his betrayal had hurt her.

He sighed. He wished Hope looked at him the way she looked at Reese. It was never going to happen. Hope thought he was too young for her. Besides, up until now, she hadn’t been interested in men, not since she’d broken up with her rotten fiancé.

Tommy wondered if Conn Reese knew what a lucky bastard he was.

Conn and Joe finished their initial examination, searched the surrounding area, and returned to the
Conquest.
Though it was one of the smaller cannons, weighing only twelve hundred pounds, it took the rest of the afternoon to haul the weapon up on deck. All the while, Tommy Tyler photographed the event, taking shots from every angle.

Conn wanted to take the artifact along when they returned to Jamaica to resupply. He was hoping Doc Marlin would be able to positively identify the cannon as coming from the
Rosa,
though Conn was convinced it must have. How many ancient cannons could be lying in the waters off Pleasure Island? His pulse accelerated at the thought of what they might find next.

It was late in the afternoon by the time the cannon was finally hoisted over the rail, and in order to preserve it, submerged in a seawater-filled holding tank that waited on the bow. The men examined the piece as thoroughly as they could, but found nothing obvious that might identify the ship it had come from.

Hope could read their disappointment, but it lasted only briefly. The crew was certain they had found the
Rosa,
and spirits were high.

For the next three days, the ship searched the area and they got several hits off the magnetometer. Conn and Joe continued to dive, bringing up several more artifacts. The pieces were corroded, but appeared to be some sort of iron fittings. Nothing else of significance turned up.

They were scheduled to return to Port Antonio for supplies the following day, but eager to show the cannon to the professor, Conn decided to leave early. They pulled anchor that night, leaving their buoys in place, though according to Andy Glass, with the sophisticated GPS equipment aboard, the spot would be easy enough to find again.

They were under way, the first shift finishing their supper, when Andy walked into the galley with the satellite phone in his hand.

“It’s for you, Hope.”

She flicked a slightly embarrassed glance at Conn, knowing he wasn’t thrilled at her use of his equipment. “I gave the number out to a couple of people to use in case of emergencies.” She took the phone from Andy’s hand, and Conn got up so she could slide out of the booth to take the call.

“Hope, it’s Gordy,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “I wouldn’t have called, but I figured you’d kill me if I didn’t.”

“God, what is it?”

“Last night there was a fire at Hartley House. I was out of the office off and on all day. I didn’t find out until just a few minutes ago.”

Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Was anyone hurt?”

“A woman named Mrs. Gilroy was hospitalized for smoke inhalation.” She was one of the ladies who played bridge with Mrs. Finnegan. “They released her late this morning.”

Thank God.
“I’m glad it wasn’t serious. How much damage was done?”

“Two of the apartments were completely destroyed. The firemen said they were lucky they got it out before the whole damned place burned down.”

“Do they know what started the fire?”

“Fire captain thinks it was faulty wiring. They’re looking into it.”

But Hope didn’t think it was faulty wiring or any other kind of accident. Though she had only worked a few months as a newspaper reporter, she had been writing magazine articles for years. Her investigative instincts were kicking in, big time, and she had learned to listen to them.

“I want you to do me a favor, Gordy. You know that private investigator friend of yours?”

“Jimmy Deitz?”

“Yeah. You always spoke highly of him. Tell him I want to hire him. I want him to look into that fire, see if he can figure out what really happened. And I want him to find out who the players are in Americal Corporation. See if he can find out what their plans are for that piece of real estate Hartley House sits on.”

“Jimmy doesn’t work cheap. This could get a little expensive.”

Hope thought of the twenty thousand dollars she had inherited. She had been saving it in case something came up. She thought that her grandfather would approve her helping the people in Hartley House.

“Just get him on it,” Hope said. “Give him my e-mail address and tell him to keep me posted.” She looked over at Conn, who was watching her and frowning, the food getting cold on his plate. “Tell him to call me at this number if he thinks it’s important.”

She broke off and handed the phone back to Andy. Of all the crewmen, Andy was the most forgettable. Average build, average height, brown hair, mid-thirties. His horn-rimmed glasses were the only thing that distinguished him from a thousand other average-looking guys.

“Thanks, Andy.”

“No problem.” Turning, he quietly made his way back to the wheelhouse. When Hope returned to the booth, Conn got up so she could slide in. She ignored a little frisson of awareness as she brushed past him.

“I couldn’t help overhearing. I take it there was a fire at the retirement home.”

She nodded. “Two of the units were destroyed. Gordy—that’s my friend at the newspaper—says they were lucky the whole place didn’t burn down.”

“You said the building’s been condemned. Maybe it’s in worse shape than you figured.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, though I suppose it’s possible. The owner was going to get hold of some contractors, get estimates on how much it would cost to put the place back in good condition. I’ll e-mail him, see what he’s found out.”

“Call him,” Conn said. “Sounds to me like people’s lives may be in danger. If you’re right and someone set that fire, this could get deadly.”

She looked up at him, surprised and oddly relieved. “Thank you.”

“That part about hiring an investigator…”

“Yes?”

“You’re not paying for that out of your own pocket?”

Hope shrugged. “My grandfather left my sisters and me a small inheritance, about twenty thousand apiece. Charity and Hope used part of their money to pay for a summer adventure. We had all three vowed to do that, to have an adventure before we settled into our careers.”
Or got married,
which was now a very unlikely part of her future. “I figure helping the people at Hartley House is more important.”

His gaze held a hint of respect. “That seems pretty noble.”

“I just want to know the truth. And I don’t want any of those nice people getting hurt.”

Conn watched her a moment more. “You never know, maybe you’ll still get your adventure. You’re on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean, writing about sunken treasure. Out here, danger and excitement are all around you.” His gaze locked with hers and the heat she had seen before flared to life. “Who knows what might happen out here.”

His eyes remained on her face and suddenly she felt breathless. The danger was standing right next to her. Tall and male and unbelievably handsome. “Yeah…who knows?”