Admiralty law, a salvor’s best friend, stated it was finders keepers when it came to recovered goods within state or federal waters. Unfortunately, Captain Bartolome Vargas had removed the treasure from the wreck of theSanta Cristinaand hidden it beneath the reef that protected Wayfarer Island’s lagoon from the ravages of the open ocean.
A reef was considered “waters” so long as it was submerged. But if a speck of it peeked above the waves? It was considered land.
Admiralty law didn’t apply to land.
“Instead of busting my balls over how tough the last day has been, you should be thanking me for finding the loophole that allows you to keep all of this to yourself as opposed to having to share it with Uncle Sam or the state of Florida,” she continued, throwing out an arm to indicate the treasure piled atop the tables in the ship’s computer room.
One tabletop held a collection of conglomerates. They were what happened to silver coins when they came in contact with seawater. Corrosion and other maritime accretions fused the currency together into rocky-looking wads that perfumed the stale air inside the room with the briny smell of the sea. But Doc knew as soon as they were electronically cleaned, the pieces of eight—coins like the one that hung on a chain around his neck—would be revealed.
Another table was mounded with doubloons. Unlike silver, gold wasn’t affected by its time in the ocean. The doubloons winked under the artificial light as if they’d been minted the day before.
Then there was a small tabletop displaying swords and daggers, each ceremonial and encrusted with gems. A larger table held religious artifacts, all ornamental and heavily bejeweled. And still another was heaped with uncut emeralds that’d been mined from Colombia nearly four hundred years earlier.
Truly, the immensity of theSanta Cristina’s treasure was a mindboggling sight to behold. And that wasn’t counting the gold bullion and silver ingots the Deep Six crew had already cataloged, packed away in straw-lined boxes, and stacked against the walls of the ship’s engine room.
For the first few hours, when Doc and his former SEAL Team members and current Deep Six Salvage partners had hauled up the gems and coins and artifacts from where Captain Vargas had hidden them, he’d marveled at each new piece of wealth. But as the treasure trove had grown, he’d begun to feel an overwhelming sense of surreality.
How could he, Dalton Simmons, a poor kid from Nowhere, Montana, bea one-sixth owner of a lost treasure estimated to be worth nearly half a billion dollars?
And yet…here I am. A millionaire. Amultimillionaire.
Thanks to Cami and her legal wrangling.
It rankled, but he dutifully told her, “Thank you for finding the loophole that allows us to keep all this.” One corner of her mouth hitched up, but it fell into another straight line when he added, “I just would’ve liked the loophole better if it hadn’t meant we had to wait for a king tide smack-dab in the middle of hurricane season.”
She shook her head. “All you had to do was wait for a king tide. That the next one happened to occur in the middle of hurricane season didn’t have anything to do with me. It was bad luck and worse timing.”
“Not true.” He lifted a contradictory finger. “There was a king tide earlier in the year, but we missed it while you were poring over precedent.”
“Wildly obscure precedent that I wouldagainstress is the reason you’re able to keep all this. Now”—she pointed toward the hallway—“you see that door? For the love of god, do me a favor and go find out what’s on the other side of it.”
He felt a chuckle rumbling around in his chest and suppressed it. “For the love of god? I thought you told me you weren’t religious.”
“I wasn’t before I met you. But I’ve taken to getting down on my knees at night and praying for you to go mute.”
One corner of his mouth lifted into a languid, flirtatious smile.
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s that look for?”
“I’m imagining you down on your knees.”
She gasped and left her mouth hanging open long after the sound escaped.
Camilla D’ Angelo gave as good as she got when it came to oral arguments—thanks to all the practice her career provided, no doubt. But he’d learned he could beat her at her own game when he tossed in a little sexual innuendo.
It was fascinating how she blinked and sputtered and blushed to the roots of her sleek, black hair when he hinted at anything carnal.
“Oh!” She stomped her foot. “You are the mostaggravating—”
“Children!” Romeo yelled in exasperation. “I’m trying to count my riches like Scrooge McDuck, and your arguing is ruining the experience for me!”
“Here, here,” Uncle John seconded from his seat at the emerald table. He had a jeweler’s loupe plugged into one eye, making him look like a Borg offStar Trek. Although, his Earnest Hemingway hair and salty seadog beard went a long way toward ruining the sci-fi effect.
Before Doc could respond, the sound of bare feet slapping against the metal decking had him turning toward the computer room’s open door. The remaining four members of the Deep Six crew, all still wearing their wetsuits and leaving damp footprints behind, shuffled into the room.
“Water’s startin’ to kick up out there,” Leo “The Lion” Anderson, their former lieutenant and the current head of their salvage operation, said as he folded a fresh stick of Big Red gum into his mouth. Glancing around the room, he asked in his slow, Southern drawl, “Where’s my wife?”
“In the galley making cupcakes for dessert,” Cami told him before turning her attention to Brando “Bran” Pallidino. “By the way, I took your lasagnas out of the oven fifteen minutes ago like you asked.”
