Pathways (9780307822208) (31 page)

“Oh, Sarah,” he said sadly. “What were you thinking in sending them to me? I don’t know what to do with your kids!” His fist struck the window sill.
How could she have given me this burden? Couldn’t she have made her friends their guardians, people who knew them? Knew how to care for children?

Kenna and Josh had stayed with the Johnsons, Sarah’s friends, for the two months that Mitch needed to finish work on his current dive site and decide whether to take them. Maybe he had made a mistake agreeing to take them. They needed a mother. And a father with more patience than he had.

He left the window and went to take a shower. The hot water did little to alleviate his angst. He stood under the spout, thinking.
Why, God? You took my whole family! Why saddle me with a couple of kids? Especially now?

Mitch heard no answer. He felt very far from God, as if even his loudest cry would never reach the Father’s ears. Glumly, he turned off the water, toweled off, and dressed. There were bigger things to worry about than the kids, he decided resolutely.
Like locating another find
.

It had been over eight years since Mitch and his friends had happened upon the mother lode of treasure ships,
La Bailadora del Mar. The Ocean Dancer
. Since then, he and Hans had established Treasure Seekers, Inc., while Chet had chosen to pursue an academic career. So far, Treasure Seekers had located and salvaged sixty-two ancient ships. None had held such wealth as the first, but the excitement of the work and the substantial potential riches to be gained drove them onward. They made a nice living and had chosen for their headquarters the island of Robert’s Foe: a tiny spot on the map, amid a chain of islands northwest of Cuba.

On Robert’s Foe, their modest wealth went a long way. Mitch’s home sat on the crest of a hill that sloped down a hundred feet to meet white sand beaches. The house had been built by a drug baron who was caught by international agents, and Mitch had purchased it for half of its worth. He loved it, and Robert’s Foe became his personal playground and private paradise.

Paradise, except for the loneliness. Hans had married a loving Cuban girl named Nora some years back, but Mitch never had time to date women, let alone marry one. His work consumed him. Nothing was more important than the next find. When he was lonely, he sought solace in his library, scavenging facts from ancient ship logs, tracking down valuable clues, and studying the maps that lined the room’s walls.

But this morning, after another long night, the loneliness hung on him like a soggy fur coat. He sat down at the breakfast table and sullenly helped himself to a freshly baked roll and the exotic fruits that were typical fare on Robert’s Foe—papaya, banana, kiwi, and star fruit.

“Good morning!” Hans’s booming voice startled him. Mitch scowled over his shoulder at his friend and partner. “Do you always have to be so cheery, Hans?”

“Sure! There are many reasons to be happy. You are a father now!” The big man slapped Mitch on the back, nearly causing him to choke on the bite of roll he was swallowing.

“He’s not my father!” Joshua yelled from the corner, his small four-year-old fists at his side. “He’s not!”

Both men turned to the boy and housekeeper, who had quietly slipped into the room.

“Joshua …,” Mitch said, rising and moving toward the boy. But Josh ran around Talle’s skirts faster than he could reach him, escaping down the marble hallway.

Mitch sighed, sitting back down. “Hans, this father stuff is getting to me.”

T
hree days later Mitch and the household had not fared any better at getting some sleep. Exhausted, crotchety, and roaring with anger at the late arrival of Talle’s niece, Mitch ripped aside the gauze living room drapes when he heard the boat launch.

“Finally! She had better have a good excuse!” He hurriedly dressed and strode down to the launch, where he would take the upper hand with Anya.

As he neared the new nanny, her beauty took the edge off his anger. She was slim and well proportioned, with long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. When she grabbed her big backpack and a duffel from the boat captain and turned to Mitch with a friendly smile, he faltered and took an odd step.
Still, she’s late. She’s lucky I’m not going to toss her right back on that boat
.

“Hello,” she started and held out her hand. “I’m—”

“—late,” he finished for her, ignoring her outstretched hand. “You agreed to be here three days ago, and because of your lackadaisical attitude, I have lost three solid days’ work. Do you know what that means financially?”

Christina was flabbergasted. “I don’t think you understand …”

“Save your breath. You’re here now, and we’ll just make the best of things. If I had any other option, you’d be outta here so fast it’d
make your head spin.” Mitch whirled around and began climbing the hill to the house, not offering to help carry her things.

“Of all the rude, ridiculous ways—,” she began, but her words were cut off by the engine’s roar as the boat reversed and sped away. Christina looked helplessly from the retreating launch to the back of the proud man who strode away. Swallowing her anger she swung her backpack up onto one shoulder and followed, resolving to straighten things out at the house.

Upon reaching the mansion, she paused to catch her breath, her inquisitive eyes catching every detail. Huge windows opened to catch the fresh breeze off the ocean, and some downstairs walls opened completely, creating an easy, airy feel. The effect was one of a luxurious tent, strewn with soft, welcoming couches, chairs, and overstuffed pillows.
Whoever decorated the place had great taste
.

“Don’t stand there and gawk. You’ve got work to do.”

“Now just a minute—”

“I don’t have time. I’ve had work on the back burner for weeks now. After you get settled and get the kids in line, then we’ll talk. Until then—”

“Kids? What kids?”

Mitch looked at her, puzzled.

Christina set down her bag, seeing that the man had finally calmed down enough to listen. He was arrogant, haughty, and out of line, but she noticed despite herself that his furrowed brow made him appear incredibly handsome.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Christina Alvarez. I’ve come to talk business, not to baby-sit.”

A slow blush crept up his neck as he realized his faux pas. He
turned and walked to the window, swallowing hard. “Ah, the famous Dr. Alvarez.”

Mitch knew very well who she was. In the short time she had been in the business, she had become famous for her work on the Civil War ships. But he had to take care of his family first. He couldn’t think until then.

“I’ve tried to reach you several times on the phone. I’ve left messages.”

“I didn’t return them. I already have a partner.”

“I know. The least you could’ve done was call me back and hear me out.”

“If the idea’s so good, why’d you come all the way to me? Why not try someone else?”

“I think you know why. Treasure Seekers is the only company that has unlimited access to the Florida Keys, Texas, or Mexico. You even have limited access in Cuban waters. Ask for a permit, and it’s yours. If I ask for a permit, it will take three years.”

He turned to look at her. She was pacing, clearly excited about the prospect of the find. And she was gorgeous. She spoke quickly, and her passion was contagious.

“I’ve been after this for years, Crawford. It’s my ancestor’s ship, and I’ve got insider evidence that no one else can touch. I’ve been to the Archivo de las Indias and found one document. If I went back, I bet I could find more. I’ve got a friend there who would help me. I know where the wreck is.”

“Which wreck?”

“
La Canción
.”

Mitch drew in his breath. “No way.” The ship was a fable; she was every treasure hunter’s dream, full of gold and a wealth of archaeological information. But nobody had any idea where she was. Mitch and Hans had decided years earlier that she didn’t exist.

“I’ll show you what I have if you make me your partner, sixty-forty.”

“
If
we ever took you on as a partner, it’d be seventy-thirty, our way. We’re the ones who have the equipment, the access to permits—”

“I’m the one who has the information that will lead you there.”

“Look,” Mitch pulled his hand through dark blond hair that reached past the nape of his neck. “I’d go broke if I chased every pretty girl’s dream. As I said before, I don’t need a partner. I have one.”

Christina was stunned into silence by his words, and Mitch instantly regretted them. But he had too much on his mind—his heart—for this.

“Of all the ridiculous, closed-minded—”

“I’ll call the launch back,” Mitch interrupted. “It’ll take a few hours. Please make yourself comfortable while you wait.”

She took a step toward him, really angry now. “You listen for just a minute. First of all, I am not just some girl chasing a dream; I am a woman who has a doctorate in nautical archaeology. Second, never before have I met such a pigheaded man. I wouldn’t willingly put myself in a working relationship with you unless I had to, but you’re my only option. Somebody else might find her by the time I get around the politics!”

He looked at her, smiling. She was fired up, her eyes huge, her cheeks taut.
A Spanish beauty’s anger is best avoided
, he remembered
reading on an ancient ship’s cannon graffiti. Out of the many slogans he had seen carved into ships by sailors long dead, that was the one that had stuck in his mind.

“I need a nanny, not a colleague.”

“That’s not what I hear,” she shot right back. “You need some new money to fund your operations.”

A small girl’s wail echoed down the hallway. Mitch ignored it.

“What do you know of my business?”

“Word travels fast, Mitch. I know how Treasure Seekers is faring.” She winced as the girl’s wail turned into an angry scream.

Mitch looked over his shoulder angrily. “Talle! Could you keep her quiet for just a minute?” He turned back to Christina. “Look, I don’t have time for this. Hans and I are close—real close—to something big. If I could get a little peace and quiet around here, I could concentrate enough to peg it. But between the kid’s crying and people like you barging in on me, I can’t do squat.”

“Well, pardon me. I’d heard of your reputation for arrogance, but had hoped that it was purely rumor. To think the Kenbridges told me such nice things about you … If you’ll call the launch, I will leave. I look forward to the day when you eat crow and I have the sweet joy of finding
The Song
.”

“Gladly,” Mitch said. His head hurt already from their confrontation.
Women. Useless distractions
. He walked to a phone that was hidden in an attractive mahogany cabinet and dialed. “No answer,” he grumbled after several moments. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll try again in a minute.”

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving a frustrated Christina in his wake.

Christina paced the room for half an hour, feeling helpless and angry.
How could he not even hear me out? Who does he think he is?
The child’s incessant crying only made her more anxious.
Whose kid is it anyway?
The Kenbridges had never mentioned Mitch having children, and she had not heard anything about it in the industry scuttlebutt.

The girl’s sobbing continued.
Is no one watching her? Comforting her?
Christina found it impossible to ignore the frantic wailing. She made her way down the marble-floored halls, following the sound of crying.

The ceilings were high, lending a palatial, airy feel to the building. As she peeked into the individual rooms, Christina noticed ocean breezes blowing through gauzy, fluttering curtains and well-crafted floors of wood and stone.
So he’s a rich man, but can’t be bothered with his own children
, Christina thought resentfully.
Just another guy who wants to pawn his kids off to a nanny and take no responsibility. Where was their mother?

The cries grew louder. Christina turned a corner and watched as a Cuban maid walked stiffly down the hallway in the opposite direction. Christina peeked into the room from which the woman had apparently come. There, on a small bed covered in white eyelet, a little girl lay on her side, sobbing. A little boy sat beside her, patting her hand, repeating over and over, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Hello,” Christina said with a big smile. The older child’s face shot around to search hers.

“Are you the nanny?” he asked quietly.

“No. I’m a … friend of your father’s.”

The boy looked puzzled. The little girl momentarily stopped her crying.

“You know where my dad is?” the boy asked suspiciously.

“Well, of course. He’s right down at the other end of the house.”

The boy turned away to look at his sister, his expression unusually mature for a child of his young age—four, Christina guessed. “He’s not my dad. He’s my uncle.”

“Oh,” she said, faltering for a moment. “Well, I’m Christina. What are your names?”