A Whisper of Danger (28 page)

“Provenance?”

“To an archaeologist, provenance is more important than a chest full of gold bars. Provenance is what we call any artifact that helps us authenticate a find and identify its origin. If I can use something to help me accurately date a site, it’s invaluable.”

“Like that vase I found?”

He smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, you hit the real mother lode that day. And you’re the one who noticed the date on the padlock. Anytime you get a hankering to go back down to the wreck, I’ll dive with you. See, I have a tendency to sift through tons of sand so carefully it takes forever. Hunky, on the other hand, uses his airlift to plunge into troves of valuable artifacts, and sometimes he blasts them to smithereens. But you’re trained to look. You really study the world around you. I bet you’d find things the rest of us would miss.”

“Maybe. All the same, I think I’ll leave the undersea adventures to you guys. I like sketching up here where it’s dry, and I don’t have to wonder if I’m going to come face-to-face with an octopus.”

“Or a coelacanth.”

She laughed, and Rick’s heart did a double flip. The woman was beautiful. Enchanting. Magnetizing. When she spoke, her voice ran through him like a warm waterfall. When she gazed at him from beneath those thick dark eyelashes, his skin tingled, and he felt his pulse rate step up to a quick military march. All she had to do was lean close enough to give him a sniff of the entrancing scent of tropical flowers that lingered on her skin, and his mouth went as dry as a washed-up seashell.

“Speaking of sea creatures,” she said, “do you think Splinter’s okay down there with Andrew?”

“Andrew Mbuti’s like my own brother. I’d trust the man with my life. I do, in fact. He won’t let anything happen to Splint.”

“You were always close to your real brother, Daniel. Do you see him very often?”

“When I’m in Dar es Salaam, I do. I go to his church on Sundays. I’ll see him tomorrow, in fact, and I’ll tell him you asked about him.”

“What does he think about all this?” she asked. “About us? That we ran into each other again, I mean. Doesn’t he think it’s strange?”

Rick searched Jessie’s eyes, trying to read the significance of her questions.
Us,
she had said. Did she think of them as somehow together again?
Lord, that would be an answer to my prayers. Give me the words to say. Teach my mouth.

“Daniel’s a strong Christian,” he said. “He thinks the lives of believers are in God’s hands. He knew I was searching for you, Jessie. He prayed with me about it . . . that I’d find you . . . that you’d be able to forgive me.”

“Mama Hannah’s been praying about it, too.”

“That’s three of us, then. Ought to do the job. Remember what Jesus taught his followers? ‘If two of you agree down here on earth concerning anything you ask, my Father in heaven will do it for you. For where two or three gather together because they are mine, I am there among them.’”

He sat in silence for a moment, waiting for Jessie’s reaction. She had hurled her anger and bitterness at him so often he was steeled to accept it. And he knew the last thing she probably wanted to hear him say was that God had his hand in their relationship.

Jessie had made one thing abundantly clear: She wanted to hold on to the reins of her own life. They had been ripped away from her once, and she didn’t trust anyone to hold them for her—not even God. Rick understood that, and it tore at his gut that he’d been the one to cause such pain in her life.

“I’ve been praying about it, too,” she said.

He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d poured a bucket of ice water over his head. “You have? You mean, you’ve been praying about . . .” He gestured at himself and Jessie. “Praying about . . . about me finding you? That we . . . you and I . . .”

“Us,” she said. “I’ve been praying about us. What to do. Where to turn. Mostly I’ve been trying to let go of the past.”

He raked his fingers through his damp hair. Jessie
was
different. Something had happened to her. He’d never seen her so calm. So open. Even though he welcomed the change— even though he’d been praying for it from the moment he’d seen Jessie again—it was disconcerting.

Does this mean what I think it does, Lord? Can it be . . . ?
Fearful of reading too much into her behavior, he shook off the thought.
I’ll wait, Father. I’ll wait and see what you’re doing.

“Hunky brought me a bunch of mail this morning,” she said, placing the glass wine bottle back into the saltwater tank. She lifted out the corroded brass handle that once had been attached to a wooden trunk and set it near her sketch pad. “James Perrott wrote to me. He’s the author I work with.”

“Oh, yeah?” Fear sliced through Rick like a knife. James Perrott. Was she in love with the man? Could he be Splinter’s father?

“James is working on our next book. It’s going to be about a jealous jackal. James is great—so funny. I just love him.” She sketched for a moment, a gentle smile playing around her lips.

Rick watched the play of emotions cross her face with increasing irritation. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe it wasn’t God who had softened Jessie’s heart but James Perrott and his letter. Maybe
he
was why she seemed so at ease. Rick fought a sudden urge to make disparaging remarks about a man who penned children’s poems for a living. The green-eyed monster of jealousy reared its ugly head and assured Rick that the best fate for James Perrott would be a swift punch in his versifying visage.

“Anyway,” Jessie was saying, “I also got a letter from my sister Tillie. She’s living in Mali, you know? She married a writer.”

Great,
Rick thought. One Thornton sister had taken a writer for a husband. Maybe Jessie wanted to do the same. Could she be leading up to asking Rick for a formal divorce? They’d never gotten around to it, but he knew it would be a simple matter. After all, he had abandoned her ten years ago. What court would deny her petition?

“Tillie wrote me this long chatty letter,” Jessie went on, sketching the outline of the chest handle. “She’s so happy with Graeme. He sounds like a wonderful man.”

“And he’s a
writer
?”

“That’s how they met. He was researching a book about a Scotsman who explored the Niger River two hundred years ago. Apparently, Tillie was kidnapped briefly by some local tribesmen, and Graeme rescued her.” She paused for a moment. “I’m not sure I have the story exactly right. It’s pretty exciting—escaping from hippos and crocodiles, exploring old gold mines, stealing rare manuscripts, all kinds of crazy things. You’ll have to read it for yourself.”

“Okay.”

“But the point is, Tillie told me that when she first met Graeme, he was really angry about some things that had happened to him in his past. Through the course of their relationship, Graeme decided to surrender his anger. Tillie said he asked God to take control of his life, and all that bitterness vanished. You know what she told me?”

“What?”

“She and Graeme have been praying for me. So that’s two more. Isn’t that weird? They’ve been praying that I could find a way to let go of my own bitterness. That I could come to some sort of resolution about what happened between you and me ten years ago.”

“Are you planning to write back to Tillie soon?”

“Maybe this evening after supper.”

“What will you tell her?”

She let out a breath. “I don’t know, Rick. I think I’ll tell her . . . yes. Yes, God is answering prayers.”

Trapped in his turmoil—jealousy, fear, confusion—Rick couldn’t formulate an appropriate response.
What do you mean?
he wanted to ask.
Who is James Perrott, and how is God answering prayers, and what’s happening here? What’s going on, Jessie?

“You know, I think I’ll dive down to the wreck after all,” she said, standing and setting aside her sketch pad. “I want
227
to check on Splint. Would you rig up an air hose for me, Rick?”

I’d kiss the ground you walk on, Jessie! Just tell me why those eyes are drinking up my heart. Tell me how you feel. Tell me what’s going to happen between us.

“And if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, slipping out of her tunic, “I’d like to visit Daniel’s church in Dar es Salaam tomorrow. Do you think you could send a cab to meet the hydrofoil in the morning and take Splint and me into town? Mama Hannah will probably come with us, too.”

“I’ll pick you up myself. Dan’s got a car.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

His brain felt like it had been stung by a Portuguese man-of-war. Numb. Dumb. Paralyzed. He watched Jessie sort through the air hoses herself, select one that fit her mouth, pull on a face mask and weight belt, and climb out onto the diving platform at the back of the boat.

“I’ll let you know if I find the treasure you’ve been looking for, Rick,” she said.

With a single backward step, she sank from view and vanished under the teal water of the Indian Ocean.

Rick stared at the concentric circles spreading out on the calm water. “I’ve already found the treasure I’ve been looking for, Jessie,” he murmured. And the words of King Solomon came to him:
“You have ravished my heart, my treasure, my bride. I am overcome by one glance of your eyes, by a single bead of your necklace. How sweet is your love, my treasure, my bride! How much better it is than wine! Your perfume is more fragrant than the richest of spices.”

Jess drifted in the half-light on the ocean floor, enjoying the total freedom of hanging suspended in salt water. Although at this depth the pressure made her ears hurt a little, she felt fairly comfortable with the breathing device. In the distance, Splinter worked alongside Andrew Mbuti. One by one they carried newly uncovered artifacts from their resting places to the hoisting basket. Rapt, the boy had hardly even noticed his mother’s presence. He was as at ease in the water as a fish.

Since the discovery of the captain’s quarters, the texture of the excavation had changed. All of Hunky’s crew were gathered around the pit they had dug with the huge vacuum hose Rick called an airlift. The work progressed with great care as the men searched for any signs of hidden treasure.

Based on his knowledge of this sort of ship, Rick had predicted that the crew would be bringing up china, wine bottles, guns and knives, buttons, and clay pipes. If they were lucky, they’d find some jewelry. And if the wreck hadn’t been plundered in the past, there was probably a chest down there somewhere. It ought to contain silver bars, uncut gemstones, maybe even gold.

Jess felt oddly pleased that Rick had asked for her help. Sketching the artifacts was proving to be interesting, even fun. And it gave her a reason to come out to the boat now and then. She told herself she wanted to be there to keep an eye on Splint. But she also enjoyed Rick’s presence. She liked talking with him. Liked hearing his ideas. He was smart, funny, and good at what he did. What intrigued her most, though, was his obvious interest in her.

How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a man’s attentions? Sure, her well-meaning friends in London had tried to fix her up with dates. She always made certain she was too busy to go. And when she met a man through some unexpected encounter, she felt dismayed when she recognized anything more than a casual interest in her company.

But Rick was different, Jess realized as she swam over to the plastic map of the shipwreck. She enjoyed the way his blue gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again. When he touched her—a nudge on the elbow, a gentle guiding hand, a tentative finger on her hair or cheek—she reveled in the sensations that soared through her. The woman inside her felt awake again . . . a wife stirred by the powerful beckoning of desire for her husband. Was it wrong? How could it be?

Uncomfortable, even though she knew that she and Rick were married, Jess ran her fingertips over the evolving diagram of the wreck. Passion had once played such an important part in their relationship. Too important, perhaps. It had clouded her reason. She had built her marriage to Rick on romantic dreams and an unbridled drive for intimacy with him. Now, the fear of making a similar mistake riddled her with doubt. She couldn’t deny how physically attracted to him she was. But she wasn’t about to build anything on
that
.

Jess’s newly affirmed resolve nearly evaporated when a current of water stirred her, and she turned to find Rick gliding down to join her at the map. Even underwater, his tanned skin and dark hair gave him an aura of masculine confidence. When he draped an arm around her shoulders, a shiver ran through her. He stretched his other hand toward the map, and she found herself noticing the shape of the muscle and the dark hair that covered his forearm.