The Last Treasure (10 page)

The sound of water spraying from the bathroom faucet broke through the quiet.

Then the sound of a door slammed unnecessarily hard down the hall.

•   •   •

T
hey guzzled black coffee and piled into the truck. An old man with skin as sunbaked as the bill of his faded ball cap waved to them from the upper deck of a boat called the
Moonracer
.

“Fashionably late as always, kid.” Their captain navigated the ladder with the confidence and speed of someone three times younger, and gave Whit a hug and a hard slap on the back. “Good to see ya, Whitty.”

Whit made the introductions. “Lou, this is Sam and Livy.”

“And this is Andy, my mate.” Another man, younger by several decades, emerged from the compressor room and gave them a sharp nod before disappearing around the side. The smell of fuel and rust was everywhere. Liv felt foolish in her tidy clothes, her pale freckled skin.

“You kids are good luck,” Lou said. “Gonna be unseasonably warm today. At least on the boat.” He nodded to the shuttered hatch to the cabin. “You can change down there.”

Whit motioned for Sam to follow him belowdecks.

“What about you?” Lou's crinkled face neared hers. Liv drew back.

“She's staying topside,” Whit answered before she could. “So be nice to her, Lou.”

While the men suited up, Liv stood on the deck and looked out, soaking in the sea the only way she could.

“It's just swimming, Francis.”

“It's not safe, Liza.”

“You can't keep her out of the water completely.”

“Can't I?”

“You're sure you'll be okay up here by yourself?” Sam returned, his perfect body gleaming in his wet suit, slick as a seal. Behind him, Whit arrived, a few inches taller. Their collective beauty stole her breath.

“She'll be fine,” Whit said, checking his straps. “Won't you, Red?”

Fine
.

His smile gave her confidence—but it was fleeting.

Take me with you,
she wanted to say.
Never mind my traitorous lungs—just don't leave me behind.

But the plea remained safe in her throat as she walked with them to the swim platform. She squinted against the sun so she could make sure to see them take their giant strides—as Sam had called their exaggerated steps off—to land in the water. They gave Lou the thumbs-up sign and Liv watched them sink, thinking how glorious it must be to escape to that kind of peace, envy rising in her like a fever, so quickly she swore she saw stars when she finally blinked.

•   •   •

T
he wait up top was interminable.

Liv remained at her post on the deck, staring at the place where Sam and Whit had descended, her heart racing with expectation. What if at that very moment they were swimming over the hull of the
Patriot
? Or maybe digging out something precious and small from the seafloor—a hand
mirror, a toothbrush? All the times Liv had stood in front of museum displays, studying artifacts stored behind glass, her fingers itching to touch. What if today there was no glass partition? What if today she got to hold something of Theodosia's, something no one since Theodosia herself had touched? Maybe a collar button Theodosia had secured when the wind grew too harsh, or a bottle that had once held medicine she had taken to soothe her hurting heart?

“You know what they say about watched pots.”

Lou's voice startled her. She turned to find the captain approaching with a wide grin, wiry gray hair springing out in points from under his cap. “I have something you might find more interesting to look at it,” he said, pointing her to the bench. She followed him and sat down, watching as he picked up a bucket and set it between them. Liv peered in, the sour smell of rusted metal and old seawater blowing up at her. It appeared to be a collection of chunks of concrete, but Liv suspected it was much more.

“This is like my loose change jar. Just crap I've brought up here and there. They look like big rocks, but there's actually stuff stuck in 'em.” He reached into the bucket and pulled out a hunk the size of a baseball, tossing it into the air a few times. “A little salvor lesson for you. When metal hangs around on the ocean floor, the shells and sand and all the other stuff binds it together, forms a kind of hard coating like concrete, clumps everything into what they call—”

“A concretion.”

Lou slapped his sunburned thigh and leaned back. “Well, now, I didn't take you for a treasure hunter like those two.”

“I'm not officially. I've just read a lot.”

“So how come you're not down there with them? Scared of the water?” He dropped his voice. “You worried about sharks?”

“Sharks?” She smiled. “No.”

“Good. You'll have better luck up here anyway.” Lou popped off his cap and gave his forehead a hard scratch. “Between you and me, I give them thirty minutes before they surface. There's nothing to see down there.”

Disappointment flared. She'd been so very excited. “You don't think Warner found the
Patriot
?”

The old man snorted. “Shit, not even close. I knew it when I took that tightwad out here the first time—my boys went down with him; they said the same thing—but Warner comes up all sure of himself, telling me what's what. What the hell do I know, right? I just drive the boat.”

“Then where
do
you think she is?”

Lou squinted out at the water. “All over, probably. If the pirates took her, they dragged her to shore and tore her apart. Looters took the rest. Pieces and parts. Probably salvaged her boards for houses and God knows what else.”

“And if she sank in the storm?” Liv asked.

“Then the sea's spread her ashes real good by now.”

He handed her the chunk in his hand. Liv rubbed her thumb thoughtfully over an exposed sliver of metal. “Do you think there could have been any survivors?”

“If the Bankers got them, then I sure hope not.” He pointed to the rock. “See the ridge right there, that strip of greenish gold peeking out? I bet you money there's something in there.”

“Like a coin?”

“Could be. Have your boyfriend take it to that fancy college lab and dig it out for you.”

Liv looked at the concretion, then back at him. “I couldn't take this. Not if you think it's worth something.”

“Take it. Your first treasure.” Lou turned toward the water. “So, which one's yours?”

“What do you mean?”

His milky eyes narrowed, pleating the loose skin at their edges like tiny folded fans. “You haven't decided yet, huh?” Understanding bloomed quickly; he meant Sam and Whit. “Smart girl.” He nudged her shoulder. “Keep 'em guessing. We fellas hate to win a woman too quick.”

Andy swung around the side. “They're coming up.”

Liv closed her hands around the concretion and followed Lou back to the platform.

•   •   •

S
am and Whit broke the surface together, rearing up like mermen, their masks catching the sun. Liv rushed to the edge, stepping back as they flung their fins onto the deck. They climbed the ladder, first Sam, then Whit, both winded and glossy.

“There were a few ribs,” Sam said, trying to catch his breath. “They might be old enough, but they're way too small for a schooner. Warner's got a grid line set up, but there's not much inside it.”

Whit tore off his mask and tossed it onto the bench, spraying seawater. “It's something, all right, but it's not the
Patriot
. I'm not really sure what Warner's smoking that he thinks it is.”

Behind them Liv saw Lou back at the bridge. He gave her an I-told-you-so smile before motioning for his first mate to pull up anchor, the boat shuddering back to life.

•   •   •

T
hey returned to the marina ahead of a small chop. Liv waited for Sam to emerge from the cabin, eager to hear more of what he'd found. Eager too to hear what he thought about the night before. They'd shared a bed, fully clothed—a small intimacy in the pantheon of college debauchery—but his kisses had been deep and insistent. Had his affection been a minor thing for him, a fleeting opportunity when he'd had nothing better to do, not so unlike getting to view the wreck itself? No, she needed to believe a man like Sam Felder wasn't the whimsical sort, someone prone to mercurial lusts. That, she suspected, was Whit Crosby's forte.

Dressed again in his T-shirt and shorts, Sam joined her at the bow and came close, nearly touching, the smell of the sea still fresh on his skin. Her nervous heart stilled. She'd been so afraid he might want to pretend last night had never happened, that he might claim amnesia, when she could recall every moment.

She moved her hand closer to his, waiting to see if he'd slide his fingers toward hers, possibly thread them together as he had the night before.

“You do understand we can't talk about this, right?” he said low. “We can't tell anyone what we did.”

Hurt blew through her. She jerked her hand away from his. “I never assumed last night made us something more than
just—I mean, I don't have any expectations, if that's what you're worried about.”

Sam cast a strange look at her. “Expectations for what?” Then his strained features loosened with understanding. “I was talking about the wreck, about not telling anyone in the department that we did this. Not . . . Did you think I meant
us
? No,” he said. “Last night meant a great deal to me.”

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “You don't have to say that.”

“Why do you think I came on this trip in the first place? Sure, I was curious about the wreck, but I barely know Crosby—and what I
do
know I find annoying as hell.”

She smiled. “You don't know me either.”

“True.” He spread out his long fingers, reaching the edge of her hand. “I'm hoping that's all going to change now.” He felt the clump in her hand. “What's this?”

“Lou gave it to me.”

Sam took the concretion and studied it.

“He thinks it could be something valuable,” she said.

“Valuable, huh?” Sam smiled, but his eyes narrowed skeptically. “Then why give it away?”

Before she could answer, Whit burst out of the cabin, carrying sodas, and handed them each a can. “If this were my boat, these would be cold beers.” He snapped one open and raised it.

“I don't feel right toasting when I didn't go down,” said Liv.

Sam tapped her can. “You didn't miss much.”

“Next time,” Whit said, knocking his can against hers.

She smiled, grateful for his optimism, but as the harbor
appeared on the horizon, Liv felt as if her beating heart were a ticking clock, counting down her remaining minutes of freedom. She wanted to draw out the string of this adventure for as long as she could.

“We could stop somewhere for dinner on the way home,” she suggested. “Maybe get some clam strips?”

“I need to get back,” said Sam. “I've got a paper due I haven't even started yet.”

“And I've got a date with a girl named Greta,” said Whit. “Don't be jealous, Red.”

She rolled her eyes. She could just imagine what kind of woman turned Whit Crosby's head.

•   •   •

T
he ride back to Greenville seemed far quieter than the trip there. When they neared the campus, Sam stopped at a gas station to fill up. Whit climbed out to grab a Coke.

Alone in the truck, Liv pulled her phone from her bag. As wonderful as it had been avoiding her responsibilities for the last twenty-four hours, it was time to return to real life. With a steeling breath, she turned on her phone and waited for the screen to light up.

Her stomach dropped.

Forty-five missed calls
.

Fingers trembling, she scrolled through the call log, sure her heart would beat itself right out of her chest.

The calls weren't only from her father—though most were. There was another number, and they'd left several messages.

“
Miss Connelly, this is campus security. Your car was broken into overnight. One of the students reported it this morning. We put a call in to your father and he's—”

Oh God. Liv looked up and searched the store window. Sam and Whit were still at the counter. She reached behind the bench to grab her bag and yanked it free, her heart pounding. If she left out of the driver's side, they wouldn't see her go. She could run around the corner and hail a taxi down the block.

They'd worry, but she could leave a note.

And say what?

That on the other side of town, disaster was waiting to swallow her whole—that she'd had such a glorious twenty-four hours being able to use her hands for something other than holding up her father's whole world?

Through the glass, she could see Sam and Whit moving toward the door.

It was now or never.

She tugged a piece of scrap paper from her bag, scribbled a sorry lie, and slipped her note into the cup holder.

•   •   •

“I
thought you'd been abducted, Livy. I thought you'd been
murdered
.”

Her father was standing in the kitchen, ready to spring like a champagne cork, when Liv opened the door an hour later.

She walked calmly into her room and set her bag down on her bed, hearing her father's steps behind her. He stood in the
doorway while she unpacked. Maybe there was still a chance he didn't know about Hatteras, didn't know that she'd made the whole thing up.

“I called the school about the trip, Livy.”

Her hands slowed. She closed her eyes.

“They said they had nothing like that scheduled this weekend. What was I supposed to do?”