Make Her Pay

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS A damn good reason that salvage season took place during the summer, Lizzie thought as she dug through the clean pile to find thick sweats and an ancient University of Miami sweatshirt to pull over her diving suit.

It was freaking cold at sea in November, even off the coast of Florida.

The toothpaste was chilly on her tongue and she brushed furiously, working up a lather before she looked into the mirror in her head. She plucked at her wavy bang, which had gone way past needing a trim weeks ago, and let it tumble over her face. Was this how she looked last night, bare naked in a head with one of the most attractive men she’d ever met?

The thought tightened her belly again, as it had last night when he whipped off his clothes.

But it wasn’t just the way he responded to that nitric acid-so protective and calm under pressure. Sure, he was a smart-ass, cocky as hell, and determined to paint her as a thief when she wasn’t one-not technically, anyway-but there was something about him. And it wasn’t just his gorgeous face and godlike body, although they didn’t hurt the package.

She spat in the sink, rinsed her mouth, then checked the time.

Was it too early to call Brianna? Not that her twenty-six-year-old sister needed to be checked on, but worrying about that impulsive little spitfire had been Lizzie’s job since Mom died when they were little, and the feeling of being the “parent” had intensified when they lost Daddy.

She yanked open her secret drawer and pulled out all the junk that covered the piece of pressboard she’d laid in the bottom, just in case some crewmember got nosy. It wasn’t a masterful job, but-

Shit.

She moved her hand around, flipping out the cheap board to search more thoroughly. Where had she left her phone? She was sure she’d hidden it here the last time she called Bree.

Then another wave of panic hit her. Daddy’s journal! She stabbed to the back, blowing out a sigh of relief when she touched the leather. Thank God. No one had taken her phone, or he’d have helped himself to the notebook, too.

So where did she leave it? She scanned every surface, flipping some clothes, books, magazines. She couldn’t even call it, as she did at home when she lost it, because no one else had a phone.

Well, Constantine Xenakis did. But if she asked him to come to her room and call her phone, then he’d have one more thing to blackmail her with.

She’d find it later. She had the morning dive so she didn’t have much time, and the only thing she wanted more than to hear her sister’s voice was to drink some of Brady’s morning brew.

Heading out, she made it three steps down the hall when the stateroom door next to hers opened.

“Mornin’, Lizzie Lou.” Sam Gorman patted her back so hard, she almost lost her balance. It always gave her a start when he used Dad’s special nickname for her, but she didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop.

“Hey, Sam.”

“How’d ya sleep?” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze, as he had many times on many boats for many years, his gentle blue eyes crinkling from thousands of hours under the Florida sun, his face looking every one of his fifty-some years and more.

“Eh, you know.”

“I know,” he said, nudging her forward. “Every day gets easier, dear, I promise. You have to move on. That’s why you’re here, and that’s what Malcolm would want.”

At her father’s name, her heart hurt. “That and the paycheck, Sam.”

That wasn’t at all why she was here, but he’d done her a favor by getting her on this dive, and she wasn’t about to tell him her real reasons for taking it.

“And you know what I smell?” he said as they headed up to the deck.

She laughed. “Gold.”

“You got it! I smell gold in that water, Lizzie. And you know what they say?”

“The blondes find the gold.” They said it at exactly the same time, with the same dragged-out intonation.

She gave him an elbow. “You haven’t been blond for years, Sam. But I hope you’re right. Will Char be down in the lab later?”

There might still be a chance to sneak in and get a picture without the big Greek breathing down her neck. Not that having him breathe down her neck would suck-just not when she was in mission mode. And her mission of the moment was to get the lab key back in Charlotte’s room.

“Maybe,” he said. “But Flynn said he’d be leaving later this afternoon to deliver what we have in the lab to the mainland for processing. Guess who you’re scheduled to dive with this morning?”

“You. I checked last night.”

“Shoulda checked this morning.” They reached the deck. “Dave changed the schedule and you got the new guy. Constantine Xenakis. Have you met him yet?”

She was diving with him?

“Actually…” The sound of a now familiar voice made Lizzie freeze. “We haven’t had the pleasure,” he finished.

She turned slowly, and miraculously managed not to let out a “wow” at the sight of him. But, wow. The man was even better in daylight.

“Hello, Constantine.” She offered a hand, and a secret smile of thanks.

“Just Con.” He shook her hand, holding it just a little too long with a glint in his eye. “Constantine is kind of a mouthful.”

Yeah. A mouthful of man. Shirtless, with muscles on full display from broad shoulder to broad shoulder, the top half of his wet suit open and hanging over narrow hips. He added a smile that would melt a glacier and squeezed her hand like they were just going to be the best diving buddies ever.

“You must be Elizabeth Dare,” he said, not letting go until every possible nerve ending in her hand had been thoroughly… warmed. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

His voice was rich with tease, their secret hanging in the air between them. If there was any air. He seemed to soak up all the air and light and space just by being there. If this really had been the first time she’d seen this dude, she’d break her “no shipboard romances” rule in a hurry.

“You can call me Lizzie.” She managed to take her hand back, but could still feel the tingle he’d left behind. “And I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but gossip is as plentiful as fish in these waters, so don’t waste your time believing it.”

“I only believe what I see with my own two eyes,” he whispered, close enough to send a little shiver up her spine.

She turned to the deck, already alive with action, the scent of seawater mixed with that of bacon and coffee floating out from the galley in the main salon. Along the starboard side, Dave Hawn flipped open the divers’ lockers, air hoses already looped over his arms.

“Have you met our divemaster?” Sam asked Con.

“He’s already given me an orientation. And my dive schedule.” He gave Lizzie another direct look. “Looks like we go down together this morning.”

“Looks like it.” At least she’d have some control over what he did down there. But after last night, he’d probably stick with her like they were tethered to each other. If she found what she was looking for, it could get tricky. “But I need coffee first.”

“Make it fast,” Dave hollered as she headed to the salon, his shoulder-length blond hair sliding over broad shoulders. “Kenny’s already blown coquina and we want to go right back to where Alita found that chain yesterday.”

As if on cue, Alita Holloway slinked up the steps, her black hair tucked neatly into a Gold Digger baseball cap, a diving suit barely covering her voluptuous body.

“Awful early for you, Princess,” Lizzie said, narrowing her eyes to look under the bill at the beauty-pageant face. “And with mascara and everything.”

Alita shot her a withering look. “Actually, Lizzie, if you haven’t had breakfast yet, I’ll switch shifts with you.” Her gaze shifted to Con and her dimpled smile deepened. “I’m just dying to go back to that spot where I snagged that chain. I’d love to show you, Con.”

Obviously they’d met already. Which would explain the mascara.

“Fine with me,” Lizzie said. She could get the key back and her dive would definitely be easier without him distracting her. “I prefer afternoon dives in this weather, anyway.”

“Don’t screw with my schedule,” Dave called out. “No substitutions. There’s a science to this, you know.”

They all looked at each other with knowing smiles.

“The science is that Dave is a control freak,” Sam explained to Con.

In the salon, Charlotte Gorman, tucked into the corner of one of the two dining booths, looked up from the chart spread in front of her, a frown of concern forming. “You feeling okay, Lizzie? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine, Char.” As she breezed through the aisle between the tables and headed back to the breakfast buffet, Lizzie reached out and tapped Charlotte’s knuckles. Sam’s wife of less than a year was not only the conservator, making her the one person who would have her hands on every single treasure before it left the ship, she was also the closest thing Lizzie had to a girlfriend on this boat. So the temptation to trust her and even enlist her help was strong, but Lizzie had resisted so far.

For one thing, if Charlotte assisted Lizzie in getting detailed pictures of recovered salvage and in making comparisons to the drawings in Dad’s journal, then Charlotte would be an accomplice, and Lizzie didn’t want to put her in that position.

She also didn’t know her as well as she knew Sam. But, without help from someone soon, her whole plan would fall apart. That could happen any day, on any dive.

So who could she trust?

A soft breath moved the hair against her back, making her splash coffee mid-pour.

“Divemaster Dave says he’s ready for us.”

“I haven’t had my coffee,” she said, turning, bracing for the proximity of Con’s body and the sheer power of his eyes.

“I returned the lab key to its rightful owner.” His voice was little more than a baritone rumble, the very sound of it like a sexy come-on. She glanced at Charlotte, but the other woman was deep into her charts again.

“Thanks for covering for me,” she said softly, lifting her coffee mug to her lips. “Keep up the good work and I might let you have first hands on a gold coin.”

“First hands?” His brow shot up. “I like the sound of that.”

“Let’s go, crew!” Dave popped his head into the salon with a sharp look at Lizzie. “We got a schedule to maintain.”

She threw a wistful glance at the coffee and another at the man who made her miss it. “I hope you know what you’re doing down there, Con. I can’t babysit.” She zoomed out to the deck, where she checked the stern blower while she stepped into her suit. Con came right over to her, zipping up and studying the murky water churning below.

“You ever dive with a blower, Con?” Kenny Brubaker’s sun-kissed curly hair blew around his head in the breeze, but his eyes were blocked by the reflective shades he wore even on cloudy days.

“Not for a while,” Con replied.

Lizzie threw a look at Kenny. Great, a rookie.

“Lemme just give you a primer.” Kenny pointed to the two metal elbow-shaped pipes mounted onto the stern and swung over the prop. “Those are dusting about three feet of sand, and they’ll run the whole time you’re down there. You dive right under them and go to work when you hit the pan-meaning the hard coquina shell under the sand. You’ll have the metal detectors, but stay next to Lizzie while you get the lay of the land down there. We’ll be operating the air hoses and you can signal with them.”

“What’s the system of pulls?” Con asked.

“One pull on your hose means stop the blower. Two means start it up, three means you found something. Four means major find.” Kenny grinned. “We like those the best.”

Lizzie pointed to the air hoses that Dave was readying. “Just remember, we’re down fifty feet and there’s about a hundred feet of line, so feel free to take the tether room. The more we spread out, the better our chances of finding something.”

Con gave her a knowing look. “You really don’t want to dive with me, do you?”

“Just spelling out the guidelines,” she said.

“Stay within sight of each other,” Dave interjected. “Which is close, because it’s bright enough to see a few feet away, but at this time of year, distance visibility is low.” He nudged them toward the dive platform. “Use those detectors, and put your masks to the pan-especially the outer edge, where you’ll have the best luck. If it shines or sparkles or makes that thing ding, we want it.”

Kenny brought the metal detectors over to them. “First one to touch a treasure gets credit in the books, a Gold Digger baseball cap, and the biggest piece of Brady’s celebration cake.”

“That’s ‘first hands,’ I take it,” Con said.

“First hands aren’t important,” Dave replied, humorless as always. “And, just for the record, the second hands are mine or Flynn’s; from there the goods go to Charlotte. We’re not on this dive for caps or cake.”

“I know why we’re here,” Con replied, giving Lizzie a meaningful look.

She pulled her mask down and shimmied to the dive platform, resentment burning. “If you have beginner’s luck, I swear I’ll kill someone,” she murmured.

Con got closer to her. “Who says I’m a beginner?”

“Hookahs in!” Dave hollered. “Let’s get to work, troops!”

Lizzie snapped her hose, checked it, then slid into the icy cold water. A second later, a warm, strong body was next to her, as close to her face as he could be with the air hoses separating them.

She knew it. She’d be wearing him on this dive.

Behind his mask, he winked, took her free hand with his, and pulled her deep into the murky water.

Con hated to dive. He could do it, and had, many times since that bad, black mission in Quezon City. But every time he submerged, he remembered that night, that save, that choice, and what it cost him.

Everything. It cost him fucking everything. So he hated to dive, which was probably one of the many reasons Ms. Machiavelli picked this job as his Bullet Catcher test.

They dropped straight down through the sandstorm blowing under the set of pipes that directed the prop-wash to the bottom. Con kicked through it, heading toward a two-foot-high pyramid-shaped ballast pile. These black stones were proof that they had found a bona fide shipwreck, since the pile of weighted rocks used to center the vessel was probably all that remained of the actual ship. There could be cannon down there and, of course, the cargo.

Lizzie started to swim to the edge of the pan, and he stayed right next to her, still highly suspicious of her, even though there hadn’t been anything incriminating on her phone. The only person she’d been in contact with since she’d gotten on board was Brianna Dare, whom he assumed was a sister, though he hadn’t asked the Bullet Catchers investigative team to verify that yet. Still, he wasn’t about to let his little thief out of his sight underwater.

For one thing, the notebook she was hiding in her room proved she knew exactly which shipwreck they were salvaging. She was his number one target for the moment, which was why he’d subtly convinced the divemaster to let him dive with her.

If he wanted to steal treasure on a dive, he’d forget the stuff being recovered and processed. He’d take it right from the bottom of the ocean and no one would be the wiser.

Lizzie slithered in front of him, took his arm, and yanked him away from the ballast pile, using her metal detector to point forcefully at the perimeter of the coquina-shell pan.

He followed her lead, working tirelessly for almost an hour, recovering nothing but a nail, which she slipped into a zippered pouch on her weight bag. Periodically she checked the ballast pile, probably gauging a direction or specific spot where something had been found.

In one place, she mimed the line of a necklace around her neck. That must be close to where Alita found the chain. She pointed for him to go several feet away and start detecting while she worked where she stood.

In other words, go out of visibility distance.

Not a chance. He shook his head and she dropped her shoulders and glared at him in disgust. Then she tapped her dive watch, hard, and made a gesture of frustration. They were running out of time, she was trying to tell him. Meaning the discovery, if there was to be one today, might be made by the next dive team.

Reluctantly, he nodded, pointing to a place he’d go, still within visibility of her. She agreed with a half shrug, then flicked her hand as if to say, Move it! He swam there, splitting his attention between the sand on the pan and the woman who was now turned so he couldn’t see if she dropped something into her weight bag.

How long would it have taken him to hone in on Lizzie Dare if he hadn’t caught her in the lab? Not long, because he’d have honed right in on her anyway as soon as he met her. She might not have the lingerie model’s body that Alita Holloway had, but there was something much more attractive to him about Lizzie.

He glanced over to watch her glide through the water, her concentration unaffected by a school of bluefish that swam between her and her magnetometer, her attention focused so intensely it was like watching a machine work the hunt.

The soft beep of her detector sounded, and she reacted. Instantly, he swam over, reaching her in two long kicks, setting his device down to move the dirt by hand.

She worked the detector like it was an extension of her body, following the speed of the beeps, faster, louder… closer.

He brushed a chunk of coral out of his way, and as it rolled, the underside glowed bright gold, like it had just been polished and put under a light.

Their hands smashed together as they lunged for it, but he was faster, closing his fingers over the metal and gently nudging it free. He heard her loud and furious grunt of frustration.

Con held it out for her to see, carefully brushing some loose bits of sand to reveal the shape as he turned it in the water.

Frustration gone for a moment, Lizzie just floated closer, drawn to the two-inch round brooch or medallion, a purplish crust around at least a half-dozen gemstones and something that ran straight down the center.

She reached out to loosen more coral, her fingers reverent and her movement slow. Through the water, he heard her low moan of reaction. Surprise and disbelief widened her eyes. Recognition.

She knew this piece.

Con closed his other hand around his hose, but Lizzie reached out, stabbing her fingers through the water to stop him from signaling, her eyes flashing at him.

She held up her hand as if to say, Wait.

Why wait to tell the ship they’d made an amazing recovery?

She put her hands together as though to plead with him, her eyes soft and begging. Then she reached for it, tentatively, holding up one finger as if to ask for just one minute with it.

As her fingers moved toward the treasure, her eyes met his with nothing but desire, and he couldn’t deny her the moment. Obviously she couldn’t steal it right in front of him. And he couldn’t care less about having the “first hands” touch the treasure and getting credit for the find.

He let her take it, rewarded by a smile in her golden brown eyes.

She brushed the coral-encrusted piece with a gentle finger, holding it toward the sunlight that streamed through the water, examining it carefully. She turned it over, ran her fingers along the sides, counted the jewels, including the dent where one had been lost.

Her fingers trembled with awe, and her shoulders rose and fell as her breaths were obviously tight and quick.

Still holding it, she pointed at the spot where he’d found it, as if to say they should look for more.

No way. Part of his job was to protect the treasure, and this piece was a major find. With an easy snatch, Con took the medallion from her, getting a fiery look through her mask.

He tugged four times on his hose.

She twirled away and kicked hard, straight up. He unzipped the pouch on his weight belt, slid the medallion in, then bent over to pick up his detector.

She was already being pulled onto the dive platform by Kenny and Dave, and a group was gathering on the main deck, the excitement and noise palpable the minute Con popped through the surface.

“What did you get?” Alita called out.

“Hand over the goods,” Charlotte said as she climbed down to the platform, a cloth spread out like a baby’s receiving blanket.

“Gold or jewels?” Dave demanded, his voice rising with excitement.

Con hoisted himself to the platform and looked at Lizzie, who was shaking out her wet hair after pulling off her mask.

“What?” she said, a little hostility in her voice. “Just show them.”

As he unhooked his air hose and flipped up the mask, Flynn Paxton came across the deck, the first time he’d made an appearance since Con had arrived. He had the same sun-bleached hair the divemaster sported, but his looked more salon-styled than surfer dude.

“What do we have?” He lifted sunglasses as he strode to the dive platform.

Alita put her hands on her hips and gave Con a glamour-shot smile. “We have beginner’s luck, that’s what.”

“No beginner’s luck,” he said quietly, unzipping the pouch and kneeling down next to where Lizzie sat. “I just brought it up. Lizzie found it.”

He felt her bristle, but she didn’t say a word. He reached in, slid the piece out, then looked at her.

“Lizzie had first hands,” he said.

Her expression softened momentarily.

Paxton clunked clumsily onto the platform. “Nice work, Lizzie.” He seized it out of Con’s hands and waved the medallion. “You brought us good luck, Con! Welcome aboard.”

“Hey!” Lizzie choked, grabbing Paxton’s arm. “Be careful. It’s a hundred and fifty years old!”

“We don’t know that yet, Lizzie,” he said.

But Lizzie did, Con thought. She knew exactly what the piece was.

Con stood and turned to where Charlotte held out the cloth. “Let’s handle it with the appropriate care, Mr. Paxton.”

Ignoring the chastisement, Paxton put the piece in the cloth, bending close to it. “What is it?”

“A religious artifact,” Con said. “Hard to tell until that crust is gone, but it looks quite distinctive.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Kenny said, joining them with a brand-new hat, still folded from being in a box. “But I recognize greatness when I see it. That right there could pay for this whole excursion. Here you go, Ms. Dare.” He handed her the cap with a flourish. “You are officially a Gold Digger.”

For a moment, she just stared at the cap, then looked at Con.

He nodded. “Take it. You earned it.”

She did, reluctantly. “It was kind of a tie,” she said softly, still looking at him.

Paxton nodded to Charlotte. “Start the cleaning and conservation process,” he ordered. “I want to get it off the boat.”

“There’s a lot of chloride on this,” Charlotte said quickly. “I need twenty-four hours, then you can take it.”

“Fine.” Paxton glanced around as though sizing them up, and landed on Con. “You sleep in the lab tonight-we’ll get a cot. I’m not taking any chances until we get this thing off board.”

Kenny shot Paxton a disgusted look. “No one’s going to take it.”

“I’m not worried about the crew,” Paxton said. “But after what happened on my dad’s boats last summer, we’re not taking any chances. Putting a person on guard is just added security.”

Everyone on deck looked like they thought it was added bullshit, except Lizzie, who was staring at the piece as though she could memorize it, as though she would never see it again.

“And Lizzie,” Paxton added, “we need to make an excursion to the mainland with Brady to get some supplies. I want you to come with me.” Then he pointed to Con. “You don’t leave that piece, and you have my permission to kill anyone who tries to touch it.”