Deep Blue (13 page)

The professor tapped a bony finger on the edge of the photo. “Looks like a sheet anchor. They weigh up to two thousand pounds.”

“We’ve searched the area, but haven’t found any cannons yet. We’re going to move farther along the shoal, see if we can get some hits.”

“We need to start plotting the scatter pattern,” Dr. Marlin said. “There are probably other anchors leading toward the sandbar. The stream anchor would have been dropped. It would have had a very long line. The anchor would have started bouncing along the bottom once the depth came up to two hundred feet. The captain knew the island was here, knew the reef protected it. He might have seen what happened to the
Santa Ynez
and tried to avoid that same fate.”

A little shiver went through her. It was hard not to think of the people who had died in that terrible storm.

“They probably dropped their two bower anchors,” the professor went on, “trying to keep the ship from being driven up on the shallows. You will probably find them scattered along the bottom in a line that points this way.” He pointed to the anchor visible on the screen.

“There were six anchors in all. Let’s back up, try to find another, or perhaps something else, a few more clues that will point us toward the ship’s final resting place. If she was taking on water, they might have jettisoned the cannon. Anything we find will be a marker pointing the way to where we should look.”

“I’m not crazy about backing up,” Conn said. “Not when we seem so close. But I know you’re right. Tomorrow we’ll plot a new grid, try to pick up a cannon or something a little farther out to sea.”

The professor just nodded. For the moment he seemed satisfied. Hope glanced over at Conn. She could clearly read his impatience. He was eager to find the ballast pile, the actual spot where the hull had cracked open and the ship had gone down, but he knew their chances for success would be greater if they had more to go on.

His gaze snagged hers, caught and held, and she watched that impatience transform itself into something hot and clearly sexual. Her stomach lifted and her pulse kicked up. She wanted him, too, but she still wasn’t sure of the consequences, wasn’t sure that she could handle them.

“I need to make some notes,” she said. “If you men will excuse me…” Turning away, she headed back to the deck for a breath of cooling air and a chance to clear her head. It wasn’t until some time later that she went down to her cabin and went to work.

As usual, Conn thought, Doc Marlin was right. In the deeper water farther out to sea, the magnetometer started pinging. Beneath a dense layer of sand, the side-scanner outlined the shape of another anchor, not as big as the first, but with the shaft pointing in the same direction as the sheet anchor they had found.

Conn and Joe went into the water to examine it. It appeared to be brass, like the first, and was lying on its side. The end that had once been attached to the ship pointed toward the shallows, a marker of which way the boat had been traveling when the anchor was lost.

The ocean was crystal clear. Manatee grass and tall stems of algae swayed in the current, and several schools of French grunt darted past. A couple of big reef sharks circled around the men as they swam, but the sharks kept their distance and seemed mostly just curious.

Using the handheld blower, Conn cleared quantities of the heavy, deep sand, then worked some more, finally uncovering the anchor enough that they could get a good look at it.

They made a cursory exam, then took another, more thorough look. And there is was, cast into one side of the long, brass shaft—
Nuestra Señora de Rosa
!

He couldn’t believe the thrill that shot through him. He knew the guys were watching on the video screen and that they must be wildly excited, too. They had found their lost ship! Or at least definite remnants of it. The
Rosa
was there. Conn could almost feel her.

And he was determined to find her.

They finished their dive and returned to the ship, coming aboard to find a grinning professor popping open an icy bottle of French champagne. Several more corks made loud, popping sounds as Andy, Captain Bob, and the rest of the crew joined the party. Conn and Joe set their tanks and vests aside, stripped off their wetsuits, and joined Hope and the crew.

Conn took a long pull straight from the bottle and passed it to Hope. Her pretty green eyes were smiling as she lifted the bottle in silent tribute, then held it to her lips and took a big drink.

“You did it, my boy!” the professor said, slapping him on the back. “My God, the
Rosa
…after all of these years.” Conn knew the professor had made the
Rosa
his lifelong study, though until the two of them had met, Marlin had never really dreamed of actually finding the vessel.

The professor stared out across the water along the trail where the anchors had been found. “She was probably in very bad shape after being blown so far off course. Leaks in the seams—perhaps the mast was gone. The captain would have known the island was here. He might even have tried to make landfall. Instead, she must have hit that hidden shoal and it was her death knell.”

Unconsciously, he gazed off toward the island. “Those poor, tortured souls. How terrified they must have been. The ship must have sunk very quickly, since no survivors were found.”

Conn cast a glance at Hope, whose features had gone from radiant to pale.

“It didn’t seem real,” she said. “Not until this moment. That huge galleon sinking, four hundred frightened people dying.”

“It was a long time ago,” Conn said gently, passing the champagne bottle back to her in an effort to steer her attention in a less painful direction. For all her bravado, there was a tender side to Hope he was just beginning to see. He wondered how deep it went and thought that it made her even more appealing.

She shook her head as if to clear it, forced a slightly too-bright smile to her face. “You’re right—that was a very long time ago. We should be thinking about what you’ve accomplished—and what you might find down there. Today’s a day of celebration.”

That it was.

Conn had learned a long time ago to celebrate the little victories in life. In the long run, they were often more meaningful than those that seemed larger. They were on the track of the
Rosa.
They knew that now for sure. That in itself was incredible.

Still, they could be a very long way from actually finding the treasure.

The celebration continued into the evening. King prepared a meal of red snapper and rice, Indian kale, and roasted vegetables. The crew all ate together, crammed into the galley wherever they could find room, drinking Red Stripe beer and cheap red wine and laughing at the silliest jokes.

Spirits were high. The crew of the
Conquest
had already done something no one had been able to do in four hundred years.

Hope ate more than she usually did, but so did everyone else. Her ribs were aching from the quantity of food she had consumed and from the laughter. Tommy kept making groaning sounds, as if his stomach were going to pop, but when King started handing out homemade chocolate chip cookies for dessert, he was the first to grab a handful. The cookies disappeared in seconds, then Joe got out his guitar.

Perched up on the back of the dinette, he strummed away, playing a sort of Latin version of “Yo ho ho, it’s a pirate’s life for me,” which the men began to sing with him.

All but Conn, who, along with the professor, had excused himself and gone down to the chart room to pore over the charts and maps of the area.

Needing a breath of fresh air, Hope slipped away from the others, left the crowded galley, and made her way up to the bow of the boat.

A cool breeze whipped across the deck. A quarter moon cast a silvery path over the water, making the sea look ink-black. Around her, she could hear the quiet scrape and occasional clank of the halyards, the squeak of the crane, the jangle of small brass fittings. It was peaceful out here, a place that helped quiet the thoughts running through her head.

They had found the
Rosa.
She would have to give the details in her next article, which might mean problems for Conn. But after they had found the anchor, Conn had felt obligated to call his partners and relay the news. Both Brad Talbot and Eddie Markham now knew about the discovery. Brad would want the publicity that came with the find and so would Eddie.

In a few more days, the world would know that evidence of a four-hundred-year-old galleon—once heavily laden with treasure—had been found off Pleasure Island.

The newspapers would speculate as to whether or not the ship itself would be found, whether the treasure was still there, and if it would be discovered. The world would know and not because of her. It soothed her conscience a little, and she couldn’t help being excited to be the journalist covering what might turn out to be the find of the twenty-first century.

Footsteps sounded on the deck behind her. She didn’t think it was Conn. Instead, Pete Crowley appeared out of the shadows.

“Nice night.” He gazed at the sky as he walked up beside her.

“Yes…yes, it is.”

He was taller than she had realized, and spare to the point of being gaunt. His eyes were as black as the sea and they sharpened as they ran over her. “You look real pretty tonight.”

Unconsciously, she took a step backward. She could smell the peppery fish he had eaten, mixed with the odor of tobacco. “Thank you.”

Pete moved closer, drew out a pack of unfiltered Camel cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I thought Captain Bob didn’t allow any smoking onboard.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “We’re celebrating, aren’t we? Won’t hurt nothin’”

But she knew neither Conn nor the captain would approve, and so did Pete Crowley.

Still, he lit up, took a long, lung-filling drag, let the smoke drift out through his nostrils. She felt his eyes on her again and unconsciously she shivered.

“I’m getting cold.” Not the truth, but a good excuse to get away from him. She didn’t really like Pete Crowley. The night she had accompanied the crew over to Willy’s, Pete had gotten drunk and made a couple of lewd remarks. He managed to say them when none of the other men were around, then apologized the following day. She had chalked it up to the buckets of booze he’d consumed and the disappointment all of them were feeling, but she still didn’t like him.

“Enjoy your smoke.” She started to go around him but Pete tossed his cigarette over the rail and caught her arm, forcing her to turn and face him.

“What’s your hurry? Why don’t you stay a while and keep me company?”

Irritation trickled through her. “I told you I was cold.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I can warm you up.”

Anger tore through her as he jerked her against him and tried to press a sloppy kiss on her mouth.

Disgusted, Hope turned her head and pushed hard at his chest. “Let me go, dammit.”

“What’s the matter? Not good enough for you?”

“I’m just not interested.” She shoved again, but his arms remained locked around her. “Let me go, Pete. I mean it.”

It wasn’t her threat but the sound of someone coming in their direction that convinced him to release her. His long arms fell away and she stepped out of his embrace just as Conn rounded the corner and came toward them.

He must have seen something in her face. His glance moved from her to Pete and back again. Hope said nothing. She didn’t need Conner Reese to protect her. She could take care of herself.

“Hey, boss.”

“Pete.”

“Nice night.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Gettin’ kinda late, though. Think it’s time I turned in. Have a good evenin’.” He cast a last glance at Hope and started off down the deck, whistling as he went along.

“I’m not sure I like that guy,” Conn said.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

“He’s a good hand. Good help is hard to find.”

When Hope made no reply, his eyes narrowed. “He wasn’t giving you trouble.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Conn’s gaze followed Pete until he disappeared through the hatch leading down to the crew’s quarters. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Like I said, it was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Conn looked into her eyes for several long moments. Reaching out, he caught her chin. “How about this? Can you handle this?” Bending his head, he kissed her.

She’d expected fierce and hot. She got soft and coaxing, sexy, long, and deep. Damn, the man could kiss. Her insides melted like butter and her legs turned to taffy. God, she had never known a man who could slip beneath her defenses so easily.

For a while, she returned the kiss, savoring the fire, the heat that curled in her belly, the pleasure that spread out through her limbs.

“Let’s go down to my cabin,” he whispered against the side of her neck, taking nibbling little bites as he went along.

She could feel his arousal, iron-hard and tempting, making promises she knew he could keep. Her body softened even more, turned liquid and pliant. But her mind kept shouting a warning.

Don’t do it! Protect yourself while you still have a chance!

“I don’t…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Conn’s dark head came up. “Why the hell not? You want me, dammit—I can feel it. Let me make love to you.”

She stepped a little away from him. “I need more time. I need to be sure I can handle this.”

“That’s what this is about? You’re afraid?”

Her defenses went up. “Afraid? Are you kidding? I’m not afraid of you or any other man. I’m just not sure this is what I want.” But she
was
afraid, and she knew it. And every time he kissed her, she was more afraid than before.

“I’m getting cold,” she said. “I think it’s time I went in.” She turned away from him and started walking, her canvas shoes making a soft sound on the deck. Conn made no move to stop her. He was angry, she knew. He thought she was playing with him, using her sexuality to get under his skin.

She hoped he stayed good and mad. It was a whole lot safer that way.