Bartolome couldn’t see the bastard, but he knew the instant Death sat next to him.
“‘Tis where I wish to face my end,” he told the Reaper, his voice a harsh rasp of sound. “Here, on this beach overlooking the watery grave of theSanta Cristina. The tide will carry my body out to sea where the fishes will pick my tired bones clean. A fitting end for a sailor, me thinks.”
Death did not answer him, of course. But Bartolome thought for sure he could feel a cold, bony hand land upon his shoulder.
“I am ready,” he declared staunchly. He had lived his life fearlessly. It was only fitting he greet his end with the same courage. “Take me.”
With that, Bartolome Vargas, Spain’s most celebrated sea captain, breathed his last.
Chapter 1
Present Day
6:35 PM...
“You ever have the urge to tell someone to shut up even when they aren’t talking?”
Dalton “Doc” Simmons frowned at Cami. The toothpick caught between his teeth pointed at the floor. “What the hell? I’m just standing here.”
“And silently calling me dirty names. I canfeelyou doing it even if I can’thearyou.” Her lips pursed. Lips that were plush, full, and painted a rich, velvety red. “Which is so much worse. Because then when I call you out for silently calling me dirty names, it makes me sound crazy.” She narrowed her eyes. Eyes that were dark, heavily lashed, and tilted up at the corners.
Hands down, Camilla D’ Angelo was the most beautiful woman Doc had ever met.
Not that he put a whole heck of a lot of stock in beauty. The Hope Diamond was said to be one of the most dazzling gems ever cut, but everyone who’d ever owned it had died a mysterious death.
Beauty had a way of hiding what was sinister.
Okay. Back up. He wasn’t going so far as to sayCami’s loveliness came with a curse. But she was alawyer,so…
“But maybe that’s your goal. To make me sound crazy.” She tapped a ruby-red fingertip on her chin. “You’d love to see me wrapped in a straitjacket. Admit it.”
“I’ll admit no such thing.” He noted how his blood bubbled with pleasure.
Trading barbs with Cami was…stimulating. Maybe because she was the only woman whose mouth he’d ever been tempted to simultaneously kiss and tape shut.
Although, having done that first thing, he wasn’t stupid enough to attempt it again. Not because it hadn’t been good, but because it’d beentoogood. A kiss that’d gone past his lips to sink into a space that, for years, he’d purposefully kept empty.
It’d been an alarming kiss. A dangerous kiss.
A kiss that will not be repeated.
“I wouldn’t wish the indignity of a straitjacket on anyone,” he assured her. “I’m a firm believer in bodily autonomy. So if it’s looking like you’re heading toward some sort of unwilling confinement, please know I’ll put you out of your misery and smother you with a pillow first.”
Her mouth flattened into a straight line. “What a gentleman.”
“I like to think so.”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her mouth flattened further, until her red lips disappeared completely. “Apparently, when it comes to sarcasm, you’re tone deaf.”
“Oh, no. I picked up what you were laying down. I’m simply being magnanimous and choosing to ignore it.” She opened her mouth to come back at him with something scathing, no doubt, but he cut her off by adding, “But since you brought it up, let’s address it.” He checked his watch. “By my count, that was two hours of stonewalling silence followed up with sarcasm. It’s like we’ve been married for ten years.”
“You could only dream of being so lucky. And those two hours of stonewalling silence were a direct result of you accusing me of purposefully making your job harder than it has to be.” A fascinating wash of pink stained her high cheekbones. She enjoyed their linguistic tussles as much as he did. “You’ve called me a witch before, but surely you don’t think I’m capable of conjuring up a storm.” Her hands were fisted on her hips as she stood with her legs slightly apart to counter the movement of the decking beneath her feet.
TheWayfarer IIwas a large vessel, with a J-frame crane attached to the aft section and a HIAB hydraulic loader on the bow that kept the ship equally weighted in the water. But the approaching hurricane had begun to rile the seas, making theWayfarerbob like a cork.
“I never called you a witch.” His tongue worked the fraying end of the toothpick in his mouth. A psych major would probably accuse him of having an oral fixation. But Doc would argue his affinity for the wooden sticks was simply habit. One he’d picked up from his old man because, as a boy, he’d done everything he could to become his father’s Mini-Me. “I said you werewitchy. There’s a difference. And Iknowyou’re not responsible for the storm. But youareresponsible for having us wait until the reef was submerged before retrieving the treasure.”
Her smooth brow lined with frustration. “Thelawis responsible for that. Not me.”
