If that had been the extent of his blunder, Chrissy probably would’ve forgiven him and they might have found themselves competing in a two-person bedroom rodeo even now. Just like the busty redhead, the flaxen-haired Adonis hadn’t made another appearance after that fateful night. Which meant Mr. Tall, Blond, and Handsome had been no one important and certainly not worth Wolf’s jealousy. Unfortunately, that hadnotbeen the extent of Wolf’s error in judgment.
Oh, no. He’d gone and made things a hundred times worse in that dark storage closet.
For weeks after That Night, Chrissy had treated him like a cow patty, avoiding him like he’d ruin her shoes if she got too close. Then, a hair-raising encounter with a group of Iranians had precipitated her forgiving him.
Near-death experiences tended to put things in perspective, and Chrissy hadn’t been immune. She’d agreed to wipe their slate clean.
Sadly, her definition of a “clean slate” and his were two different things. He’d thought it would be a return to all the flirting and teasing touches from before. Butshehad insisted all she wanted from him was friendship.
Friendship…
Never in his life had that word sounded more wretched than the day it come out of her pretty mouth.
“It’s still possible the cargo might be found among the ballast.” Mia returned them to the subject. “We have a lot of rubble left to pick through.”
Seventeenth century galleons carried huge loads of stones stored deep in their hulls to keep their centers of gravity low in the water. TheSanta Cristina’sballast pile was twenty feet wide, one-hundred feet long, and stood almost as tall as Wolf.
“You know good and well the treasure won’t be found there,” LT muttered and Mia blushed at the perceived rebuke. Seeing her stained cheeks, LT was quick to add, “I appreciate you tryin’ to sprinkle sugar on this bowl of shit and call it candy, but there’s no denyin’ we’re screwed six ways from Sunday. TheSanta Cristina’smother lode is missin’.”
For a long moment, silence reigned. They’d all begun to suspect what LT said was true, but that was the first time the words had been spoken aloud. The syllables hung in the air like a dank, foul-smelling fog.
“Let’s think this through for a minute.” Alexandra Merriweather was the diminutive historian and ancient language aficionado they’d hired to help them read the old documents relating to the wreck. “We assumed Captain Bartolome Vargas skuttled the ship where he did to make free-diving salvage possible. And we assumed the entire crew was lost in the storm since there’s no mention in the records that any of theSanta Cristina’ssailors were found or rescued. But what if thereweresurvivors? Would they have salvaged the wreck themselves?”
LT shot her a thoughtful look. “It’s possible. But then what? They haul up the treasure and do what with it?”
“Bury it.” Alex adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses higher on the bridge of her zinc oxide-covered nose. “The old texts talk about how the seas were swarming with pirates and privateers hell-bent on claiming theSanta Cristina’sriches for themselves. Any of the ship’s survivors would’ve known this. Since they were loyal to their king and country, and since they would’ve been unwilling to see the bounty fall into enemy hands, no doubt they’d have done everything they could to ensure it stayed hidden.”
“And then what?” LT asked. “They lived out the rest of their lives on the island?”
“Who knows?” Alex shrugged. “Maybe they died of disease. Maybe once the treasure was secure, they made a suicide pact and ran into the sea. Anything is possible.”
“So what’s that mean for us? We stop diving down on theSanta Cristinaand start combing the island with metal detectors? That could take days.” This from Doc. He sat on the porch steps and, as usual, his face was hard and craggy, cut by the cold Montana wind. But it was his eyes that held Wolf’s attention. They looked weary. Bone-tired, actually.
Come to think of it,allof the Deep Six Salvage crew looked exhausted.
Treasure hunting sounded like a grand adventure in theory. In reality it was hard, backbreaking work done under the relentless Caribbean sun.
“Buck up, Sad Sack,” Bran Pallidino winked at Doc. “You’re sounding like a glass half empty kind of guy.”
“Right now, I’m a glassfullyempty kind of guy,” Doc admitted. “And the only reason you’re wearing that shit-eating grin is because you’re marrying into one of the richest families east of the Continental Divide. You don’t need this score like the rest of us do.”
“That’s not fair.” Bran frowned. “Just because Maddy’s family’s got money doesn’t mean I—”
“Gentlemen,” LT cut in with his languid Louisiana drawl. “This is no time to turn on each other. If Alex is right, we’ll need to work together to get this entire island searched.”
“At least if we’re stuck on land, we won’t be burning fuel on Wayfarer II.” Doc referred to their salvage vessel. It guzzled MDO quicker than the tourists on Key West could down boat drinks.
“Look at you,” Bran winked at Doc. “Suddenly silver-lining this situation.”
Doc acted like the itch beside his nose could only be scratched with his middle finger.
“Is that an invitation?” Bran wiggled his eyebrows.
“You wish,” Doc snorted. “Just count your blessings and keep on stepping.”
The men of Deep Six Salvage were brothers in every way except blood. Which meant they were quick to take swipes at each other, but just as quick to forgive those swipes.
“So…” LT ran a hand through his hair. “We need metal detectors. More than the three underwater ones we keep on Wayfarer II. Who’s up for a trip to Key West?”
