Jaci Burton: The Darkest Touch

Angry was better than worried. Anger kept her going. If she thought about the alternative, she’d drown in a sea of despair. She couldn’t lose her sister. Isabelle was all the family she had left.

Ryder leaned forward. “Don’t worry. The Realm of Light has hunters spread throughout the country looking for her, too. It’s only a matter of time before she’s found.”

Angelique didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing. She wanted to find Isabelle, wanted to assess her condition, both physical and mental. Angelique had questions, concerns. Major concerns, after what she’d seen and learned in Australia.

If the Realm of Light found Isabelle first, what then?

Once again, the situation was out of her hands, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Isabelle Deveraux needed a boat. Like right now.

Unfortunately, funds were short and she didn’t think she could rent one on her looks alone, though if the situation became desperate, she wasn’t above putting on a short skirt, doing her hair, slapping on some lipstick, and vamping it up for one of the many wealthy yacht owners in the harbor.

Provided she didn’t end up shot, stabbed, or strangled by some rich guy’s wife or-even worse-mistress. No, there had to be another way.

How would Angelique handle a situation like this?

The right way, of course.

Her sweet sister. Even now, she could feel her, that sense of goodness, like the beacon in a lighthouse, showing her the way. Thinking of Angelique was always like feeling a warm blanket pulled over her, protecting her, sheltering her from everything bad.

Everything dark.

She shook it off.

Angelique couldn’t help her.

Not in this, and not anymore. She was on her own.

What she needed was to be out in the water, and by God she was going to get there one way or the other. There was treasure out there just waiting for her. Her entire body tingled in anticipation. If she could, she’d walk off the sandy beach nearby and straight into the sea in order to get to it. It was out there-the find of the century. And it was hers for the taking, if only she could get to it.

Walking into the ocean wasn’t very practical, though.

She turned and faced the little village, scrunching her nose as she tried to think. It was early, the sun barely rising over the top of the hill. Soon it would shine down over the sleepy rows of houses packed tightly together in jagged rows.

Coffee. That’s what she needed. She walked the few steps from the harbor to the café and ordered a cappuccino, then sat at one of the outside tables and pondered her dilemma, hoping for a miracle.

Ha. Miracle. Divine intervention. Fat chance of that happening, considering what she knew about herself. She’d have better luck making a deal with the devil.

“I hear you’re looking for a boat.”

She looked up into the face of a shadowy figure looming over her. Satan himself, perhaps?

Great leaps in logic there, Izzy . “Excuse me?”

The man took a seat across from her and placed his cup of coffee on the table. “You’re looking for a boat.”

American accent. Damn fine-looking, too. Dark hair, smoldering, sexy eyes, chiseled features that looked as though Michelangelo himself had sculpted him. He was perfection, a god in human form. Tanned, muscular, and quite possibly her savior if she could believe what he was saying.

“You have a boat?”

“I do.”

“You want to rent it to me.”

“No, I’m offering you a ride out on it. I hear you’re an archaeologist.”

“Where did you hear that?”

He smiled, showing brilliant white, even teeth which were also perfect. Didn’t this guy have any flaws? “From the twenty or so other boat owners in the harbor who warned me about you.”

She frowned, thinking of all the time she’d wasted going from boat to boat, only to be shooed away as an annoyance, as if she was some beggar asking for a handout. She would have paid for their services. Eventually. “I see. So why did you come looking for me?”

“Because I could use your expertise.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” He couldn’t. She wasn’t using her real name, trying to fly under the radar on this one. She was hoping to avoid Angelique for as long as possible. There were things she couldn’t face yet, her sister being one of them.

“I know you’ve told everyone you’re an archaeologist with an interest in doing a dive out in the sea. That can only mean one thing.”

Curious, she couldn’t help but ask, “And what’s that?”

“You’re looking for Atlantis. More specifically, for the underwater temples.”

“That theory has been scoffed at and disproved a hundred times over.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Which doesn’t mean a damn thing. They’re out there.” He inclined his head to the sea.

“You believe that.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

“Who are you?”

“I suppose that might help.” He held out his hand. “Dalton Gabriel.”

She slipped her hand in his. “Isabelle Smith.”

Dalton arched a brow. “Smith? You couldn’t get more inventive than that?”

“I have a passport and all the appropriate papers to back up the name, Mr. Gabriel. All I need from you is a boat. I’ll pay for your time.”

“It’s Dalton. And I’m looking for more than just payment for gasoline and boat rental, Isabelle.”

Wariness mixed with curiosity. “What are you looking for?”

“A partner. I’m interested in finding the temples, too, but I’m no archaeologist.”

“What are you, then?”

“An investor. I have the money. I lack the skills.”

“I see.” Excitement hit her with a sharp punch, fueling her more than the espresso-laden drink in front of her. This could be beneficial to her cause, if she played her cards right and finessed this job. Providing this guy was on the up-and-up. She tried to keep her voice calm and even as she asked, “And what terms are we talking?”

“I’m putting up the money. I’ll front everything you need to do the dig. If we find anything, I’ll arrange for the permits, deal with any hassles the government may place on retrieving the treasure-should you find it-and I’ll ensure that you-and I, of course-get all the credit.”

“Go on.” She tapped her sandal on the cobblestone ground, resisting the urge to leap across the table and kiss him.

“Which means I have the most to risk. I want seventy-five percent of the take.”

Ouch. Then again, right now she had zero. Still, she sensed Dalton had set that percentage as a starting point to bargain. “Fifty-fifty.”

He laughed, the sound dark and rich, like her favorite chocolate. It rolled deeply within her nerve endings. She shook it off. This was business, not playtime.

“I don’t think so, Isabelle. Like I said, I stand to lose much more than you do.”

He had much to learn. She had played this game a very long time, and usually won. “And without me, you will gain nothing. Unless you have other archaeologists at the ready to indulge your fantastic whim that Atlantis truly existed. That there are treasures to be found within the ocean’s depths that for some reason no one else has found before?”

She waited for him to show her his anger, because she knew damn well he had been searching with no luck just like she had. But all he did was lift his gorgeous full lips in a devastating smile.

“Touché, Ms. Smith. Sixty-forty. And believe me, I’ll walk away and find someone else to play with before I take less.”

Something in his voice-a hard edge, perhaps-told her he meant what he said. She knew when to stop and say good enough. “I’ll take it. You have yourself an archaeologist, Dalton.”