The Reef (8 page)

Behind them the ballast pile loomed. And beneath, the shining prize of the galleon
Santa Marguerite
and all her treasure.

There was a roaring in Tate's ears as she reached down and closed her hand over a thick gold chain. Slowly she drew it up. From it dangled a heavy cross crusted by sea life. And by emeralds.

Her vision blurred as she held it out to Matthew. With sudden formality she carefully lifted the chain over his head. The simple generosity of the gesture touched him. He wished he could have held her, told her. All he could do was point a finger up. He cracked the valve on the airlift and followed her to the surface.

She couldn't speak. Even now it took all of her effort just to draw air in and out of her lungs. She was trembling like a leaf when she hoisted herself aboard. Strong arms lifted her.

“Honey, you okay?” Buck's face, lined with worry, loomed over her. “Ray, Ray, come on out here. Something wrong with Tate.”

“Nothing's wrong,” she managed and sucked in air.

“Just lie still.” Fretting like a mother hen, he eased off her face mask and nearly shuddered with relief when he
heard Matthew clattering over the side. “What happened down there?” he demanded without turning around.

“Not much.” Matthew let his weight belt fall.

“Not much, my ass. Girl's white as a sheet. Ray, get us some brandy here.”

But Ray and Marla were already rushing out. Voices buzzed in Tate's head. Hands were poking and probing for injury. She got her breath back on a giggle, then couldn't stop.

“I'm all right.” She had to press both hands over her mouth to hold back a fresh stream of hysterical laughter. “I'm fine. We're both fine, aren't we, Matthew?”

“Fine and dandy,” he agreed. “We just had a little excitement.”

“Come on, honey, let's get you out of that suit.” With some impatience, Marla shot a glance at Matthew. “Just what kind of excitement? Tate's shaking.”

“I can explain.” Tate snorted behind her hands. “I gotta get up. Would you let me up?” Tears began to stream from her eyes as she fought to control the laughter. Brushing away restraining hands, she got unsteadily to her feet. Trembling with breathless giggles, she upended her goody bag, tugged open her suit.

Coins rained gold onto the deck.

“Fuck me,” Buck croaked and sat down heavily.

“We found the mother lode.” Tate threw back her head and screamed at the sun. “We found the mother lode.”

She threw her arms around her father, whirled him into a dance, only to break off and swing her mother. She planted a big smacking kiss on Buck's bald head as he continued to sit and stare at the coins at his feet.

With their voices babbling around her, Tate turned a circle and launched herself into Matthew's arms. By the time he'd managed to regain his balance, her mouth was clinging to his.

His hands went to her shoulders. He knew he should push her away, keep the kiss a product of the moment's excitement. But a current of helplessness swamped him, and his hands slid to her back, crossed, embraced.

So it was she who drew away, her eyes still glowing,
her face flushed now and eager. “I thought I was going to faint. When I looked down and saw the coins, all the blood drained out of my head. The only other time I've ever felt like that is when you kissed me.”

“We're not a bad team.” He ran a hand over her hair.

“We're a great team.” She clamped a hand over his and dragged him to where Buck and Ray were already suiting up. “You should have seen it, Dad. Matthew moved the airlift like it was a divining rod.”

Happily recounting every minute of the discovery, she helped Buck and her father with their tanks. Only Matthew noticed that Marla remained silent, and the warmth in her eyes had been cooled by concern.

“I'm going down to take pictures,” Tate announced, hooking on fresh tanks. “We have to document everything. Before we're done, we'll have the cover of
National Geographic.
”

“Don't go pulling them in yet.” Buck sat on the side, rinsed his mask. “We gotta keep this quiet.” He looked around as if expecting a dozen boats to come speeding in on the claim. “Finds like this are one in a million, and there're plenty who'd do whatever it took to get a piece.”

Tate only grinned. “Eat your heart out, Jacques Cousteau,” she said, and rolled into the water.

“Get some champagne chilling,” Ray called to his wife. “We'll have a double celebration tonight. Tate's earned herself a hell of a birthday party.” He flashed a smile at Buck. “Ready, partner?”

“Ready and willing, hoss.” After lowering the airlift, they disappeared beneath the surface.

Matthew fueled the compressor, murmuring a thanks when Marla brought him a tall frosted glass of lemonade.

“An exciting day,” she commented.

“Yeah. You don't get many like this.”

“No. Twenty years ago today I thought this is the happiest I can ever be.” She sat on a deck chair, tilted her sun hat to shade her eyes. “But over the years I've had a lot of happy moments. Tate's been a joy to her father and me right from the first. She's bright, eager, generous.”

“And you want me to keep my distance,” Matthew concluded.

“I'm not sure.” Marla sighed, tapped her finger against her own glass. “I'm not blind, Matthew. I've seen the signs between the two of you. It's natural enough. You're healthy, attractive people, working and living in close quarters.”

He took off the cross, ran a thumb over the glint of grass-green stones. Like Tate's eyes, he thought, and set the chain aside. “Nothing's happened.”

“I appreciate your telling me that. But you see, if I haven't given Tate the foundation to know how to make her own decisions, then I've failed as a parent. I don't believe I have.” She smiled a little. “That doesn't stop me from worrying. She has so much ahead of her. I can't help wanting her to have all of it, and at the right time. I suppose what I'm asking you to do is be careful with her. If she's in love with you—”

“We haven't talked about that,” Matthew said quickly.

Under other circumstances, Marla might have smiled at the panic in his voice. “If she's in love with you,” Marla repeated, “it will block everything else. Tate thinks with her heart. Oh, she thinks she's practical, sensible. And she is. Until her emotions are stirred. So be careful with her.”

Now she did smile, and rose. “I'm going to fix you some lunch.” Laying a hand on his arm, she lifted to her toes and kissed his cheek. “Sit in the sun, honey, and enjoy your moment of triumph.”

I
N A MATTER
of days, the seabed was riddled with holes. The
Santa Marguerite
gave up her stores generously. Between the airlift, and the simple tools of coal shovel and bare hands the team mined both the spectacular and the ordinary. A wooden worm-eaten bowl, a dazzling gold chain, pipe bowls and spoons, a sumptuous cross crusted with pearls. All were lifted from the sandy vault where they had rested for centuries, and hauled into the light in buckets.

Now and again a pleasure boat would cruise by and hail the
Adventure.
If Tate was onboard, she would lean on the rail and chat. There was no disguising the murky cloud from the airlift that stained the surface. Word of the underwater excavation was spreading. They were careful to downplay their progress. But each day, they worked harder and faster as the prospect of rival treasure hunters arriving increased.

“A legal claim don't mean squat to some of these pirates,” Buck told her. He zipped his thick torso into his wet suit. “You gotta be alert, and you gotta be tough.” He winked at her as he passed her his glasses. “And cagey. We'll dig out that mother lode, Tate, and we'll play her out.”

“I know we will.” She handed him his face mask. “We've already found more than I ever imagined.”

“You start imagining bigger.” He grinned, spat into his mask. “It's good having a couple of young ones like you and Matthew along. Figure you could work twenty hours out of twenty-four if you had to. You're a good diver, girl. And a good hunter.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Don't know many females who can handle it.”

Her brow shot up as he rinsed out his mask. “Really?”

“Now don't go shooting that equal stuff at me. Just stating a fact. Plenty of girls like to dive all right, but when it comes to pulling their weight on a dig, they ain't got what it takes. You do.”

She thought it through, then smiled at him. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Should. Best damn team I ever worked with.” He settled into position, slapped a hand on Ray's shoulder. “Since I hunted with my old man and my brother. 'Course once we get it all up, I'm going to have to kill hoss here.” Buck grinned as he lowered his mask into place. “Figure on beating him to death with his own flippers.”

“I'm on to you, Buck.” Ray slipped over the side. “I've already decided to smother you with a boat cushion. The treasure's mine.” He let out a wild, evil laugh. “Mine, do you hear? All mine.” Rolling his eyes madly, Ray plugged in his mouthpiece and did a surface dive.

“I'm after you, hoss. Going to run him through with a coal shovel,” Buck promised and splashed into the water.

“They're crazy,” Tate decided. “Like a couple of bad little boys playing hooky.” She turned to grin at Matthew. “I've never seen Dad have so much fun.”

“Buck's not this loose unless he's got a quart of whiskey in him.”

“It's not just the treasure.” She held out a hand so that he would join her at the rail.

“No, I guess it's not.” Looking out over the water, Matthew linked his fingers with hers. “But it helps.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder and chuckled. “It doesn't hurt. But they'd have clicked without it. So would
we.” She turned her head so that her lips could graze his jaw. “We'd have found each other, Matthew. We were supposed to.”

“Like we were supposed to find the
Marguerite.
”

“No.” She turned into his arms. “Like this.”

Her lips were warm and soft. Irresistible. He could feel himself sinking into them, slowly, weightlessly, until he was steeped in the seduction that was Tate. She seemed to surround him, tastes and scents and flavors so unique he would have recognized them, recognized her, if he'd been deaf, dumb and blind.

There had never been another woman who could twist his system into such shivering, slippery knots with one quiet kiss. He wanted her so desperately it terrified him.

And when she drew away, her eyes dreamy, her lips curved, he knew she had no notion of his need, his desperation or his terror.

“What's wrong?” Tate lifted a hand to his cheek. “You look so serious.”

“No. Nothing.” Pull yourself together, Lassiter. She's not ready for what's running through your mind. With an effort, he smiled. “I was just thinking it's too bad.”

“What is?”

“That after Buck takes care of Ray, I'll have to get rid of you.”

“Oh.” Willing to play, she tilted her head. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

“I figured I'd just strangle you.” He circled her throat with his hand. “Then toss you overboard. We're going to keep Marla, though. Chain her to the stove. A man's gotta eat.”

“Very practical of you. Of course, that only works if I don't get you first.” She wiggled her brows, then dug her fingers into his ribs.

Helpless laughter buckled his knees. He made a weak grab, but she was darting away. By the time he'd gotten his breath back, she was around the starboard side of the deckhouse.

“Want to play rough?” He charged the port side to cut her off. He'd nearly made the bow when he saw her, and
the bucket. Before he could dodge, she'd heaved the load of cool seawater.

While he choked and dripped, she held her sides. But when he'd blinked the stinging water out of his eyes, she saw their intent. With a shriek, she went into full retreat.

Her only mistake was in dropping the bucket.

Marla came out of the deckhouse, where she'd been cleaning cob coins, and ran headlong into Tate.

“Goodness. Is there a war?”

“Mom.” Giddy with laughter, Tate ducked behind her mother just as Matthew rounded the cabin, armed with a freshly loaded bucket.

He skidded to a halt. “You'd better stand aside, Marla. This could get messy.”

Choking with laughter, Tate wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, using her ruthlessly as a shield. “She's not going anywhere.”

“Now, children.” Marla patted Tate's hand. “Behave.”

“She started it,” Matthew claimed. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face. It had been years since he had felt this free, this foolish. “Come on, coward. Stand clear and take your medicine.”

“No way.” Smug, Tate sneered at him. “You lose, Lassiter. You wouldn't use that with my mother between us.”

He narrowed his eyes, frowned down at the bucket. When he looked back up, Tate was fluttering her lashes at him. “Sorry, Marla,” he said, and drenched them both.

Female shrieks rang in his ears as he raced to the side for more ammunition.

It was a messy battle, ripe with ambush and retaliation. Since Marla threw herself into the war with an enthusiasm Matthew hadn't anticipated, he found himself outgunned and outmaneuvered.

He did the manly thing. He dived overboard.

“Good aim, Mom,” Tate managed before she collapsed weakly against the rail.

“Well.” Marla fluffed a hand over her tangled hair. “I did what had to be done.” She'd lost her hat somewhere during combat, and her crisp blouse and shorts were limp
and running with water. Still, she was all gracious Southern hospitality as she peered over to where Matthew was warily treading water. “You give up, Yankee?”

“Yes, ma'am. I know when I'm licked.”

“Then haul yourself aboard, honey. I was about to fix up some nice beer-battered shrimp when I was interrupted.”

He swam toward the ladder, but shot Tate a cautious look. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she agreed and held out a hand. When their hands locked, she slitted her eyes. “Don't even think about it, Lassiter.”

He had. The idea of toppling her into the water had its merits. But it wasn't nearly as much fun since she was on to him. Revenge could wait. He dropped lightly on deck, slicked his hair out of his eyes.

“That cooled us off, anyway.”

“I never thought you'd blast Mom.”

He grinned, settled on a boat cushion. “Sometimes the innocent have to suffer. She's terrific, you know. You're lucky.”

“Yeah.” Tate settled beside him, stretched out her legs. She couldn't remember ever being more content. “You've never mentioned your own mother.”

“I don't remember her much. She took off when I was a kid.”

“Took off?”

“Lost interest,” he said with a shrug. “We were based in Florida then, and my father and Buck were doing some boatbuilding and repair on the side. Things were pretty lean. I remember them fighting a lot. One day she sent me over to the neighbors. Said she had errands to run and didn't want me underfoot. She never came back.”

“That's terrible. I'm so sorry.”

“We got by.” And after so many years, the hurt had healed over with only the occasional unexpected throb. “After my father died, I found divorce papers and a letter from a lawyer dated a couple of years after she'd left. She didn't want custody or visitation rights. She just wanted her freedom. She got it.”

“You haven't seen her?” It was incomprehensible to
Tate that a mother, any mother, could walk so carelessly away from a child she had carried and held and watched grow. “Never once since then?”

“Nope. She had her life, we had ours. We moved around a lot. Up the coast, California, the islands. We did okay. Better than okay, now and then. We got work doing straight salvage up in Maine, and my father hooked up with VanDyke.”

“Who's that?”

“Silas VanDyke. The man who murdered him.”

“But—” She sat up, her face pale and tense. “If you know who . . .”

“I know,” Matthew said quietly. “They were partners for about a year. Well, maybe not partners so much as my father worked for him. VanDyke picked up diving as a hobby, and got interested in treasure-hunting along the way, I guess. He's one of these business tycoons who figures he can buy anything he wants. That's the way he looked at treasure. Something to buy. He was looking for a necklace. An amulet. He thought he'd traced it to a ship that went down on the Great Barrier Reef. He wasn't much of a diver, but he had money, pots of money.”

“So he hired your father?” Tate prompted.

“The Lassiters still had a rep back then. He was the best and VanDyke wanted the best. My father trained him, taught him everything, and got caught up in the legend. Angelique's Curse.”

“What does that mean?” she demanded. “Buck was talking about that.”

“It's the necklace.” Matthew rose to go to the ice chest, fished out two cans of Pepsi. “Supposedly it belonged to a witch who was executed in the fifteen hundreds somewhere in France. Gold, rubies, diamonds. Priceless. But it's the power it's said to hold that caught VanDyke's interest. He even claimed he had some sort of family connection way back to the witch.”

He sat again, passed her a chilled can. “Bullshit, of course, but men kill for less.”

“What kind of power?”

“Magic,” he said with a sneer. “There's a spell on it.
Whoever has it, and can control it, will have untold riches and power—whatever their heart desires. If it controls them, they lose whatever's most precious to them. Like I said,” he added, swallowing deep. “Bullshit. But VanDyke's big on control.”

“It's fascinating.” And she made up her mind to do some research on the legend at the first opportunity. “I've never heard the story before.”

“There's not a lot of documentation. Bits and pieces. The necklace bounced around, wreaking havoc supposedly and gaining a rep.”

“Like the Hope Diamond?”

“Yeah, if you go for that stuff.” He eyed her. “You would.”

“It's interesting,” she said with some dignity. “Did VanDyke find it?”

“No. He thought my father had. Got the idea in his head that my father was holding back on him. He was right.” Matthew took a long, cold drink. “Buck told me that my father had found some papers that made him think the necklace had been sold to this rich Spanish merchant or aristocrat or something. He spent a lot of time researching, really got into it. He decided it was on the
Isabella,
but kept it between him and Buck.”

“Because he didn't trust VanDyke.”

“He should have trusted him less.” The memory glinted like a sword in Matthew's eyes. “I heard them going at it the night before that last dive. VanDyke accused him of hiding the necklace. He still figured it was on the wreck they were digging. My father just laughed at him. Told him he was crazy. The next day, he was dead.”

“You never told me how he died.”

“He drowned. They said it was bad tanks, that the equipment hadn't been properly rigged. That was a fucking lie. I was in charge of the equipment. There was nothing wrong with it when I checked it that morning. VanDyke sabotaged it. And when my father was eighty feet down, he was taking in too much nitrogen.”

“Nitrogen narcosis. Rapture of the deep,” Tate murmured.

“Yeah. VanDyke claimed he tried to get him up when he realized something was wrong, but my father fought him off. There was a struggle, he said. VanDyke's story is he started up for help, but my father kept pulling him back. I went down right away once the bastard came up with the story, but he was already dead.”

“It could have been an accident, Matthew. A terrible accident.”

“It wasn't an accident. And it wasn't Angelique's Curse the way Buck likes to think. It was murder. I saw that bastard's face when I brought my father up.” His tensed fingers crushed the can in his hand. “He was smiling.”

“Oh, Matthew.” To comfort, she cuddled against him. “How horrible for you.”

“One day I'll find the
Isabella,
and I'll find the necklace. VanDyke will come looking for me. I'll be waiting.”

She shivered. “Don't. Don't think about it.”