Helen Brenna - Treasure

She straightened her shoulders. “Absolutely not.”

“’Course we are surrounded by water.”

“I…it’s…” she sputtered.

“As defense mechanisms go, it’s a fairly harmless one.”

Her brow furrowed, and she pinched her mouth shut.

Chuckling to himself, he ducked under the overhead drawers, kneeled on the bunk and wrapped one fitted corner under the mattress. She scooped up the rest of her clothing as he moved to the other corner. The boat slowed and she landed against him, all softness and warmth. He reached out and grabbed her arms, steadying her.

“Thank you,” she said, their faces only inches apart.

“No problem.”

“I…suppose I should thank you, as well, for saving my life earlier.” They stood close enough for her breath to fan his cheek. “I imagine…I might have otherwise drowned.”

“And I imagine D.W. wouldn’t have minded getting wet. Especially if it involved mouth…to mouth.” He glanced at her lips and wondered how a real kiss would feel.

He felt himself move ever so minutely toward her. Her lips parted, pink and tempting. He stopped. Man, oh, man. Maybe Harold had been right, and they should have held off leaving for Andros. A few nights of shore leave would have done him some good.

Suddenly aware of how tightly he held her arms, he cleared his throat and set her back away from him. He pointed at the rails above her head. “Until you get your sea legs, hold on to those when you’re moving around in here.”

“Excellent advice.” She dropped the clothing back on top of the bunk and reached for the rails. The boat motors stopped altogether, and she wobbled. Again, he reached out to steady her, and his hands connected with her waist. An uneasy sound escaped her lips. “What…what is Simon attempting to accomplish?”

“He must need a break and can’t find anyone to take over.” He found himself rooted to the spot, studying her face, her lips, holding his hands around her waist, a little longer than necessary, reluctant to let her go.

The sound of steps pounding down the ladder snapped him back. Something was wrong. He headed into the hall and found Simon on his way down. “What’s going on?”

“Transmission’s overheating.” Simon took off for the engine room at the stern.

“What do you think it is?” Jake followed Simon with Annie close behind. Though he noticed she’d zipped her sweatshirt, she hadn’t covered those long, bare legs. Why couldn’t she stay in her cabin for the duration of this excursion? That would solve at least one of his problems.

“Could be a ruptured cooling line.” Simon messed with the engine.

Jake looked around the other man’s shoulder. “Can you fix that?”

“Don’t have the parts.”

He turned, took a deep breath and calmed himself. “I wanted to be diving this afternoon. We could have covered a big chunk of the dive site.”

No comment from Simon.

“Now what happens?” Annie asked.

“If we have to shut one engine down, we move at a snail’s pace. Won’t be able to go faster than twenty, maybe thirty knots.”

Given that Simon was meticulous with maintenance and Jake couldn’t remember when they’d last had engine trouble, this seemed an awfully untimely coincidence, especially with the Concha in their sights. He moved closer to Simon and whispered, “While you’re in there, look for signs of tampering on that line.”

Simon silently glanced at him and nodded.

“You think someone did this on purpose?” Annie’s eyes widened.

“Just covering all our bases.” Considering the situation, Jake waited impatiently while Simon examined the engine. After a few minutes, Claire, D.W. and Ronny appeared outside the engine room. D.W. sidled right alongside Annie and said, “Hey there, sweet lips. Come here often?”

Ronny grinned, about to claim her other side.

“Knock it off.” The words slipped out of Jake’s mouth before he could stop them. Normally, he didn’t mess with employee relations. Letting his crew find their own level of interaction generally worked best.

“What’s with the engines?” Claire asked.

Jake recited the quick version on the transmission trouble.

“We could turn around, go back to Miami,” she offered. “Get another boat.”

Jake shook his head. “They headed south to finish the surveys.”

“Where are we off to anyway?” D.W. asked.

“Yeah,” Ronny added. “How much farther we have to go will affect what we do about the engine.”

Jake hesitated. One good look at the Global Positioning System and any one of his crew could discern exactly where they were heading. “We’re going to Andros Island, and since we’re more than halfway there it doesn’t make sense to head back.”

“What’s at Andros?” D.W. asked.

“When you need to know, I’ll tell you.”

Ronny raised his bushy gray eyebrows. “Must be bigger than the Concha for you to break from those surveys.”

Simon moved away from the engine, wiping the grime from his hands, and Jake turned abruptly to avoid Ronny and D.W.’s inquiries. “Well?” he prompted.

“Ruptured cooling line.” Simon began putting the engine back together.

The only thing worse than a stalled treasure hunt was no treasure hunt at all. “I’ll have Harold send someone out with a new cooling line. In the meantime, we’ll putt along with one engine. We should be there sometime in the middle of the night. I want everybody except Annie ready to dive bright and early in the morning.”

“You got it, Jake,” Claire said. “Why don’t you all get some lunch?”

“About time. I’m starving,” said D.W. “Come on, Annie. I’ll escort you to the galley.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “I’ll join you guys in a minute.”

Annie, D.W. and Ronny filed out of the room. Jake held Simon back. “What do you think?” he whispered.

With his head down, Simon swiped at the grease on his hands. “The line broke, Jake.”

“Did someone help it along?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “Maybe not. Too hard to tell with a break near the compression fitting. That’s where they usually happen.”

Simon shuffled out the door, leaving Claire and Jake alone in the small room. “You’re thinking sabotage?” she asked.

“It’s possible. I’ve heard rumors about Westburne getting in deep with a loan shark. And he was on the dock when I came back from meeting with Harold.”

“That could explain the Anémona,” she said.

“Keep your eyes and ears open, okay?”

“Always.” She nodded. But one look at the thoughtful furrow creasing her brow and Jake knew there was something else on her mind. Most likely, it didn’t have anything to do with business. If he didn’t move fast he’d be getting an earful of—

“There’s something else I need to talk about,” she said.

Damn. Too slow.

“When’re you going to accept Harold as part of this family?”

“Claire, I don’t have time for this.”

“Make time.” She planted herself in front of the door. Though she’d married Sam, Claire had never felt like an in-law to the Rawlings family. She’d been the daughter Jake’s mother had never had, more sister to Jake than sister-in-law, mothering, and sometimes bullying, him all the same. “You’ve disapproved of Harold since Milly’s first date. Are you jealous of him, having a hard time with someone replacing your dad, or what?”

“I’m not thirteen. Give me more credit than that.”

“Is it Harold?”

Jake thought about it. “Now that you mention it, she could do better.”

“You don’t get to choose for her. It’s your mom’s life. Vic’s dead, remember?”

He remembered, all right. “Eight months,” he stated the fact with all the grief and anger of every hour of each and every day piled up inside. “You’d think she could have waited a little longer before running off and marrying someone else.”