Anne Marie Duquette - Castillo's Bride

Jordan searched his memory. “No one I know, especially out here. I usually work Atlantic waters.”

“That’s not much help, which is why we can’t afford to wait. You’d be safer at sea than on land. And we have to start salvaging soon. My sister is losing her health, and your three friends from the beach—”

“Tom, Dick and Harry are no friends of mine.”

Aurora flushed. “Sorry. Wrong choice of words. I haven’t filed a claim yet—I want us to do it jointly. Once the medallion’s assessed, we can get to work before winter sets in.”

Jordan shook his head just once. “Skip the assessment. That medallion is real.”

I know it in my bones. Dammit, if she’s found the ship’s location, I’ll have to share half our family’s heritage with a stranger—or I might lose it all.

Salvage law was very specific. Possession was nine-tenths of the law in international waters, even though he could prove he was a blood descendant of the original owners.

“I’ll contact a local lawyer and have a draft drawn up while I talk to this Ms. Diamond.”

“I already have. Donna has the paperwork.” Aurora’s lawyers and Donna shared the same office building. Donna, at Aurora’s request, had also discovered where Jordan’s own salvage ship was located and had done background checks on his crew.

“Then I’ll look the papers over. But I want it specified in writing that we use my ship and my crew. They’re off Florida right now.”

Her polite smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We can’t use your ship. Or your crew. Because—”

“I know my ship and my men,” he interrupted.

“It’ll take too long to get your ship out here. Besides, I know these waters, and I’m the only person who knows the ship’s location. That makes me the dive master. And I prefer to use my own divers.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Since I’m funding the operation, I prefer to hire crew I’m familiar with.” He saw her flush again at his mention of money, but she didn’t back off.

“How about this? You use your deckhands and I’ll use my divers, since these are my waters. That’s a safe division of labor, Mr. Castillo, and since your boat isn’t here, we use my boat, and I’m the captain. That’s fair enough.”

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “Have your lawyers draw up the papers.”

“Like I said, I already have—specifying the terms we’ve just discussed.”

Jordan frowned. “A bit overconfident, aren’t we?”

“You forget. I’ve seen the galleon. You haven’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my purse. Donna’s expecting us.” Aurora rose gracefully and headed for the “ladder,” the term for ship’s stairs leading belowdecks.

“In the future, Ms. Collins, I’d appreciate it if we could discuss our business matters before you put them down on paper.”

“Agreed. But one thing you need to know about me, Mr. Castillo. There’s no barnacles growing on my hull,” she said over her shoulder.

As her “hull” disappeared belowdecks, Jordan pursed his lips in a silent whistle. Then, before his mouth grew any more parched—strictly from the heat, he assured himself—he lifted the bottle of unwanted citrus and drained it dry.

JORDAN RODE beside her as Aurora drove Jordan’s rental car south to Donna’s San Diego office. They’d left her car at Oceanside Harbor.

“You aren’t allowed to park here at the harbor if you don’t have a slip-holder sticker,” Aurora explained. “You’re from out of town. Want me to drive?”

“Please. I thought Boston traffic was a headache, but this…” He gestured outside. “Is it always this crowded?” The cars were bumper to bumper, yet moving along easily at speeds over seventy miles an hour.

She grinned. “This is regular traffic. It’s worse at rush hour. That’s when everyone moves at five miles an hour—if you’re lucky. Some days I’m actually tempted to motor down to San Diego in my boat rather than drive.”

“You have docking privileges there, too?” Jordan asked, looking out his window at the vast expanse of ocean.

Aurora nodded.

“What about the other harbors?”

“No. San Diego Harbor south and Oceanside Harbor are good enough. I could go north to Dana Point and then to L.A. Harbor, but there’s too much auto traffic and not enough parking, even for slip-holders. San Diego and L.A. are full of commercial boating traffic. Mission Bay in San Diego gets all the teenage Jet Skiers and weekend boaters.”

“Lord spare us both,” Jordan groaned. Weekend boaters tended to be inexperienced recreationalists.

“Tell me about it. Ninety-nine percent of boating fatalities are caused by weekend boaters, and they’re usually alcohol-related.”

“What about Dana Point?”

“We’re talking small again, like Oceanside Harbor, but smart. It caters mostly to private padded wallets—strictly the fiberglass-hull set. They get a lot of the San Clemente crowd. Politicians and movie stars,” she explained. “Oceanside is more blue-collar. Plus a cup of chowder in Oceanside is under three dollars. At Dana Point you’ll easily pay more than five and have to wear a shirt and shoes to eat. They charge more for boat fuel, too.”

“Not your style?” Jordan asked.

“The day I have to put on makeup and nylons to eat a cup of chowder is the day I retire.” Aurora shrugged. “Oceanside’s my preference. For a lot of reasons.”

“And it’s your home port?”

“Mostly. I go where the work is. That includes Mexican ports.”

“Which harbor will we operate out of when we’re salvaging the San Rafael?”

“Sorry.” She threw him a quick glance. “You don’t get that information until I’m officially signed up as your partner. Nice try, though.” Aurora deliberately changed the subject. “Where are you staying now?”

“At a hotel. I hadn’t even been there a day before I ended up in the hospital,” he said wryly. “I’m back at the same one.” He mentioned a well-known San Diego hotel near the airport.

“You hate it,” Aurora guessed.

Jordan didn’t reply.

“Stay with me, then,” she offered. “I have plenty of room.”

“If those guys are still after me, that’s not a good idea,” he argued. “I don’t want you involved.”

“But I am involved,” she said. “Anyway, Donna’s got her people watching your back. I suspect she’s doing the same for me. And, Jordan, I wouldn’t have offered my hospitality if I didn’t mean it. Trust me, this will make things easier on Donna, too. Everyone at my slip knows everyone else, and if a stranger shows up—we’ll hear about it.”

“Since you put it that way…thanks. I don’t sleep well on land,” he admitted. “And I could use some help navigating your freeways. I’d planned to do some research on the Castillos and the San Rafael’s payload.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“San Diego de Alcala.”

“Oh, the Old Mission.”

“You know where it is?”

“Everyone does. It’s the first mission ever built in Southern California—and a mandatory field trip for every schoolchild. Beautiful place. If you want, we’ll go together. How about day after tomorrow?”

“Only if you let me buy lunch—partner.”

Aurora grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

AT DONNA’S SUGGESTION, the three of them sat outside in the bright California sun at one of the local eateries in Seaport Village. While waiting for their seafood and salad to arrive, they nursed their drinks. Donna had a wine spritzer, Aurora more limeade, and Jordan enjoyed his unsugared iced coffee while observing the two women.

He believed in the old adage, You can judge a person by the company he keeps. Or in this case, she. Jordan quickly decided that Donna—outwardly Aurora’s opposite, with her crisp appearance and military manner—also had a keen intelligence.