Helen Brenna - Treasure

She needed OEI, the most respected treasure-hunting firm in the industry, and Jake was their main man. If she told him the whole truth, he’d never take her to Andros Island. She wouldn’t be able to face her fears, squash those puny little buggers once and for all, and put the past to rest so she could go back to Chicago, back where she belonged, where everything would finally be right with her life. A real life. Not some immature, treasure-hunting, thrill-seeking, travel-the-high-seas kind of life.

Besides, Jake Rawlings would get what he wanted. He’d find his precious Concha. What was left of it.

“Like that. You’re all ready to go.” He narrowed his eyes. “A little on the anxious side, aren’t we?”

He had no idea.

“Jake, don’t you think you and the crew could use a break?” Harold cut in. “Maybe a few nights of shore leave?”

“We don’t have time. If the Concha’s at Andros, I want at it before we get too deep into hurricane season.” Jake turned back to Annie. “You’ll be allowed one bag for personal belongings. You got any kitty cats or boyfriends slinking around, you better have already made arrangements.”

Boyfriends. Yeah, right. “No problem. Anything else, Captain Ahab?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Anyone else know about your theory on the Concha?”

“No.”

“Not back in Chicago?” Harold asked. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

There was no one back in Chicago, not since Aaron had died. There was no one of significance anywhere. Even when she’d made the monumental decision to take a sabbatical from work, she’d had no one to tell except a couple of coworkers. She had no close friends. She leased anything she didn’t have to buy. She couldn’t bring herself to settle into a house and had moved to a different apartment almost every year for the past ten years. She still didn’t have a regular dentist, for Pete’s sake.

All these years she’d been able to convince herself she simply appreciated variety. Until that box of Aztec artifacts came across her desk, until Aaron had been killed, and the truth hit her square in the face. Now that she knew what she had to do, everything would be different. She’d begun to crave a sense of permanence as if her body had been long deprived of an essential nutrient. And she was going to get that stability, by golly. Come hell or high tide.

“Except for telling my sister-in-law, Claire,” Jake continued, “this information doesn’t leave this room.” He pointed to the stack of documents on Harold’s desk. “Do you need these to find the Concha?”

“No—”

“They stay here with Harold.”

That definitely wasn’t a good idea. What if Harold decided to take a more serious look at them? Although some of it was legitimate, the majority was gobbledygook. She’d had to bring something to make it appear as if she’d spent years compiling her theory. “I’d prefer leaving them in my car on the way out. I did, after all, expend a great deal of effort—”

“Look, Dr. Annie. There are modern-day pirates all over Miami. Spies. Bugs and phone taps. Sabotage. You name it, it’s out there. Last month Mitch Westburne stole the Anémona practically right out from under my nose. A loose mouth on anyone involved in this and, with stakes as high as the Concha, we’ll have every treasure hunter from here to China, including Westburne, descending on the Bahamas.”

“I’ll keep them in my office safe,” Harold offered.

“Fine,” she agreed. Arguing would only draw further attention to the papers.

Jake grabbed the aerials off Harold’s desk. “I’ll keep these with me.”

She nodded.

“Let’s transfer your stuff to my truck. I’ll take you to the pier.” Jake headed for the door. “I’m giving this two weeks, Harold. If we find it, I’ll radio in to have you send out the salvage vessel. If we don’t, I’ll be rejoining the other survey ships.”

“Deal. And Jake…” Harold stood, looking almost as though he might come out from behind his desk. “If the tropical storm intensifies, your mother and I will feel a lot better if you and Claire are back here long before it hits.”

Jake said over his shoulder, “Tell her we’ll be fine.”

“Don’t push it. The Concha’s waited four hundred years. It can wait another season.”

“OEI can’t.” Jake took off down the hall.

“Thanks for giving me a shot at this.” She beamed at Harold.

“I don’t know if you should be thanking me yet. You might want my head in another few weeks.” He laughed. “Better get a move on. I wouldn’t put it past him to leave without you.”

With that, she practically ran to keep up with Jake and his long, determined strides as he bolted down four flights of steps. That was when she noticed his slight limp and the scar running from below the hemline of his khaki shorts down the length of his calf, only to disappear beneath his socks. For a man with that kind of injury, he sure covered a lot of ground.

On leaving the air-conditioned building, the muggy Miami heat hit her like a steam wall, and she squinted against the bright sunshine. “Treasure hunting tends to be a family business,” she said after him. “How do you and Harold fit together?”

“We don’t.”

In spite of his prickly demeanor, she chuckled. “You two are rather…adversarial.”

“That what you’d call it? Well, Annie Hall, while I’m in such an adversarial mood—”

“Miller. It’s Annie Miller.” She frowned. That was twice he’d called her that. “What are you implying, anyway?”

“We need to get something straight.” He stopped in the middle of the parking lot, totally ignoring her question. Heat rose in waves off the black surface, warming the bare skin on her sandaled feet. “You’ll be on my boat. You follow my orders. In my book—the only one happening to matter on board the Mañana—you’ve already got three strikes against you.”

“Let me guess. The first one being I’m a woman,” she said, feeling rather flippant.

“You’re also an archaeologist.” He continued through the parking lot. “And you’re inexperienced.”

Though facing off with Jake Rawlings drained her more than she’d expected, she could deal with his animosity. It took her mind off the challenge to come. “Is that all?” She stopped and picked up a duffel bag from the backseat of her Honda. Another one of those things she leased in life.

“Amateur treasure hunters are dangerous.” Jake’s stern voice brought her back to the matter at hand. “You cause any accidents, whether someone’s hurt or not, you’re on your way home. You got it?”

“Yes, sir.” She mock-saluted him with one hand and clutched the bag to her chest with the other. No one could see what she carried inside. No one.

“I hate smart alecks. Stay out of my way.”

“No problem.”

“While you’re at it, stay away from the other male crew members. I don’t want any distractions on my boat.”

He’d nothing to worry about on that count. An attachment to a sea-faring man was the very last thing she wanted. “I’ll be invisible.”

A satisfied look on his face, he climbed behind the wheel of a white OEI pickup. Annie scrambled into the passenger side, and they traveled to the pier in silence.

She kept herself occupied studying the cab’s meager contents. No fast-food wrappers littered the floor. No coffee cups or pop containers in the holders. Maps, papers and CDs were filed neatly in the console. Surreptitiously, she studied the musician names and recognized only a few. He listened to everything from hard rock to jazz.

Before she had the chance to ask him if this was indeed his vehicle, he drove into the harbor lot and hopped out. “I need to stop in the harbormaster’s office,” he said. “Meet you at the boat.”