Laurey Bright - Her Passionate Protector

“I know some archaeologists feel that working with treasure hunters compromises their integrity, but—”

“You don’t realize what you’re getting into!” He leaned across the desk, his expression full of tension, his pale skin seeming even more so. “The field is full of thugs and thieves. Haven’t you had enough trouble already?”

“What do you mean?”

“The burglary, and…well, isn’t that enough? Suppose you’d been here when they broke in? Heaven knows what they might have done to you.”

He could have a point. Needing to keep her private assignment separate and secret, she had worked on the pieces in her own time, at all kinds of odd hours, so she might well have been in the lab alone when the burglars made their move. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned,” she said, touched despite herself, “but you said yourself that the break-in probably had no connection to those particular pieces, and more likely someone heard the students talking about the Maori jade ornaments and carvings we’d recovered from the dig. They were just lucky that the treasure hoard was here too.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Aidan conceded. “Unscrupulous collectors will pay handsomely for ancient Pacific art, and of course the export restrictions only make it more desirable and raise the prices. But I still don’t like this idea of yours. Won’t you reconsider? I hate to lose you, Sienna.” He looked bothered, his brown eyes pleading.

Hardening her heart and sternly reminding herself why she’d decided to leave, Sienna shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve made up my mind.”

By the time she arrived in the north and drove along the winding coast road to the little port at Mokohina, then checked in at the Imperial, dusk was sneaking down from the hillside that half circled the town and lights were going on in the venerable villas and newer homes that populated its slopes.

She freshened up and ate early, while the dining room was less than half filled. Through the windows she could see the lights of anchored yachts and powerboats reflecting jaggedly in the water. After eating she was drawn across the road to admire the starry night and the moving gleam and glitter of the sea, and enjoy the cool, salty night air.

She began to stroll along the waterfront, in a surprisingly short time drawing near the old wharves.

Camille had joined her husband on the Sea-Rogue several days previously, and there had been a note at the hotel inviting Sienna to call when she arrived if she wasn’t too tired.

She had no trouble identifying the old wooden ketch with its distinctive cabin structure, featuring a door instead of a lift-up hatch, even before checking the lettering freshly painted on the bow.

A light glowed in the main cabin, and the deck was an easy step across. She noticed a sticker on the bulkhead advising that the boat was burglar-alarmed, but although a sturdy padlock hung on the catch, the narrow door was open and her tentative call brought Camille up the short, steep companionway to greet her with a hug.

“Come on down,” Camille said. “We’re just finishing dinner. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, and I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” Sienna protested.

But Camille urged her down the companionway. “You can have some dessert with us. I bet you didn’t have one at the hotel.” And when they reached the saloon, “You remember Brodie?”

He was seated at the built-in table, his alert blue gaze giving Sienna a minor jolt when he turned to give her a nod of recognition, taking in the brand-new scoop-necked, fitted scarlet top and hip-hugging jeans she wore.

Camille said, “Move over, Brodie, and make room for Sienna.”

“I didn’t know you had a guest,” Sienna said when Rogan waved her onto the seat next to Brodie. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing,” Camille scolded, and Rogan added lazily, “Brodie’s not a guest anyway. He’s a worker.”

Camille said, “And if it wasn’t for him I guess I’d be the one having to climb the masts with a paintbrush or screwdriver and get down into the bilge to fix cables.”

Rogan grinned at her. “Of course,” he said. “What do you think I married you for?”

Camille laughed. “I’m dishing up apricot mousse, Sienna. Do you want cream or ice cream with it?”

Even as Sienna said, “Just the mousse,” Brodie cut in with, “Give her both.”

Camille planted a scoop of ice cream and a dollop of whipped cream into the dish before handing it to Sienna with a slight, apologetic smile. “You don’t have to eat it all if it’s too much.”

Evidently marriage had turned Camille into the kind of woman who automatically obeyed male commands. Sienna dug her spoon into the mousse.

The dessert was melt-in-the-mouth delicious, and the short walk must have woken her appetite, because she finished the mousse and even ate some ice cream before pushing aside her dish.

She declined more, but Brodie enthusiastically accepted another helping before Rogan suggested coffee on deck.

They sat on cushioned seats in the cockpit at the stern, Rogan with his arm about Camille’s shoulders and Brodie and Sienna side by side opposite their hosts.

Brodie lounged back in the seat they shared, a foot away with his arm resting along the coaming behind her, and although he didn’t touch her, she found his proximity unsettling, her nerves sending tiny electrical pulsations up both her arms.

Camille asked, “Did you find someone to look after your cat?”

“One of my students is house-sitting. She’ll spoil him.” Sienna paused. “Granger mentioned you thought you could find somewhere for me to store my car?”

“Brodie’s offered half of his garage to you while we’re at sea.”

Sienna turned to Brodie. “Thank you. I’ll pay you a rental—”

“You won’t. No problem.” His look dared her to argue.

“Well, thank you,” she repeated.

Camille said, “How’s your brother, Sienna? You stayed with him on the way up?”

“He’s fine. But my car was broken into in the night while it was parked outside his place, and my luggage got stolen. Including my scuba gear.”

Camille looked shocked, and both men stiffened, scowling. Brodie’s eyes searched Sienna’s face, his mouth going hard.

Rogan asked, “You reported it to the police?”

“Yes, but I had the impression they have more important things to worry about. They said if it was any consolation the thief was good at his job—he picked the lock without damaging the car. I filled in an insurance claim though I doubt they’ll pay out the full amount of the stuff that was taken.”

Brodie said, “I’ll fix you up with scuba gear, on credit if you like. Come and see me at the dive shop.”

“What a horrible thing to happen,” Camille sympathized. “Are you okay for clothes and stuff?”

“I bought some in Hamilton. Basics, and I won’t need much more on the boat. Fortunately I’d taken my laptop out of the car. I left it with my brother, since you said I can use the on-board computers.”

Rogan asked, “It doesn’t have information on it about our artifacts?”

“No, I’ve never kept that on the hard disk. I carry a password-protected disk in my bag that’s always with me.” Laptop computers were a prime target for theft, and Camille had impressed upon her how important it was to keep her notes confidential.

Even Aidan had no idea what was in them. When asking his permission to use the laboratory facilities, she’d told him she couldn’t talk about the work and had kept the artifacts in her own padlocked steel locker, only taking them out when she was alone after hours. But the burglar had made short work of the lock.

“I think,” she said, “after breaking into my car the thief tried to get into the house, but my brother heard something and scared him off. We didn’t realize the car had been tampered with until the morning.”