Deep Blue (32 page)

Hope threw her arms around his neck. “Tomorrow is perfect.”

Six Months Later

Life is nothing if not bizarre, Hope thought as she nestled in her husband’s arms in their big king-size bed. Still pleasantly sated from their recent bout of lovemaking, her mind sifted through the amazing events of the past six months.

In the end, she and Conn hadn’t been married that Sunday, but decided to wait until some sort of wedding plans could be made. Hope quit her job at the newspaper, and two weeks later they said their vows in a small ceremony in the lush tropical gardens of the Sans Souci Resort in Ocho Rios.

The wedding was a lovely affair, attended by both of Hope’s sisters and their husbands; her father and stepmother; Jackie Aimes and her fiancé the crew of the
Conquest;
and a handful of Conn’s Navy SEAL friends, including Joe and, of course, his wife, Glory.

Hope had worn a gauzy white wedding dress and orchids in her hair, while Conn had looked incredible in his dark blue suit and white shirt. They had honeymooned in a suite at the resort on the cliff overlooking the sea, and Hope had never felt more certain that she had married exactly the right man.

A week later, they had returned to the boat in Port Antonio so Conn could get back to his job, and Hope had received an unexpected wedding gift.

They had been standing in the chart room next to Andy Glass when Captain Bob walked up. He handed Hope a manila envelope covered with cancelled postage stamps. It was addressed to Hope Sinclair, c/o the
Conquest,
General Delivery, Port Antonio, Jamaica. But it had apparently taken a circuitous route, being forwarded through both Montego Bay and Kingston.

“Mail’s not the greatest around here,” the captain explained. “One of the guys at the post office said it had been sitting there for a while and decided to bring it over.”

Hope studied the envelope, turning it over in her hands. “There’s no return address.” She tore the envelope open, reached in, and pulled out the three-and-a-half-inch floppy disk she found inside. “Look at this.” She checked both sides, but there was no label on it.

“Is there a note or anything?” Conn asked.

She turned the envelope upside down and shook it, and a single slip of paper fell out.

You were right about everything. This is the best I could do. Maybe it will help.

“It isn’t signed,” she said. “I wonder who it’s from.”

“Why don’t we see what you got?” Walking over to the computer, Conn shoved the disk into the slot and clicked on the A-drive. There was only one file listed on the disk menu.

“
Phillip Jersey Personal Citibank Account Records,
” Conn read. “Who’s Phillip Jersey?”

Hope stared down at the screen. “Oh, my God! Phil Jersey is the building inspector who condemned Hartley House. Hurry, open the file.”

Conn clicked the mouse, and a list of Phillip Jersey’s checking account deposits and debits flashed up on the monitor.

“This looks like something off his personal computer,” Hope said. “The record goes from December tenth through January sixth—the week before and the weeks right after the condemnation. Look at this. Over that period, there are five ten-thousand-dollar deposits put into the account.”

“Let’s see if the account shows who the checks came from.” Conn clicked on the deposit line, and the name Martin Reyes popped up. “Ever heard of him?”

Hope’s pulse started pounding. “Oh, my God, I actually know who he is. Martin Reyes works for Wells, Powell, and McGuiness. Richard and I attended a couple of benefits the firm sponsored. At one of them, there was a mixup with the seating, and Martin Reyes and his wife wound up sitting at our table. He was kind of an underling. I think he worked in the controller’s office.”

Conn checked the other four deposits, and Reyes’s name came up each time.

“Interesting. If I recall, Jimmy Deitz said Wells, Powell, and McGuiness is the law firm involved with both properties abutting Hartley House and also Americal Corporation, the guys who want to buy it.”

Conn looked at her and smiled. “Baby, I think you may have found exactly what you’ve been looking for. I think you’ve just been given the ammunition you need to save those folks at Hartley House. Who sent it, do you think?”

Hope looked down at the note. “Someone who didn’t want to get involved.” Hope tapped the paper. “Someone who was very close to retirement and didn’t want to jeopardize his pension.” She looked at Conn. “I think this came from the guy who took over my story.
Midday News
figured he would just sit back and do nothing, that he wouldn’t give them any trouble.” She grinned. “But once a reporter, always a reporter. I think this came from Randy Hicks.”

Conn reached down and popped out the disk. “We’ll send a copy of this to the district attorney’s office. Combined with the way Buddy died, Jimmy Deitz’s ‘accident,’ and all the other stuff that’s happened in the last few months, I don’t think they’ll be able to sweep this under the carpet any longer.”

He pulled Hope into his arms. “But that disk’ll have to go in the mail. You’ve made your last trip to New York for a while.”

Hope just smiled. “Too cold for me in New York.” She looked down at the envelope that had circulated over half of Jamaica. “But I think we’d better send it Federal Express.”

That had been six months ago. After the D.A. had received the disk, an investigation had quietly begun. The paper trail was easy to follow, and the wheels of justice began to turn. To save himself, the building inspector sang like a bird. Martin Reyes, the accountant who had signed the checks, incriminated everyone from his immediate boss to the senior partners in Wells, Powell, and McGuinness. They, of course, were also happy to make a deal.

It included the name of their client—a senior senator from New York State named Arthur Kingsley, who stood to make millions. Kingsley rolled over on Brad Talbot, saying Talbot and his henchman, Jack Feldman, had been behind the fire at Hartley House and the attack on Buddy Newton.

The politician went down beneath a hail of verbal gunfire that called for his resignation and looked as if it might wind up putting him in jail, at least for the next several years.

Jack Feldman made his own deal, giving up the names of the thugs who had beaten Buddy Newton to death.

Unfortunately, after hiring the best attorneys in the country, who made a series of brilliant legal moves, Talbot managed to extricate himself, since he had no financial gain in the deal, just expectations of a long list of paybacks.

Still, for the most part, Hope felt that justice had been served.

It was Sunday morning. As the two of them lay in bed, Hope thought how happy she was. They had rented a beautiful apartment in Jamaica until they could find exactly the place they wanted to purchase for Conn’s diving resort, still not quite certain where they wanted to live. Glory and Joe had overcome the problems they faced with Glory’s parents and seemed even happier than they had been when they first got married.

Unconsciously, Hope’s hand came to rest on her stomach. For the past few weeks, Conn had been trying to convince her to stop her birth control pills. He wanted a child as badly as she did, and, of course, her biological clock was ticking. Last night, she had discarded her monthly pack.

She trailed a finger along Conn’s chest and his muscles tightened. “Charity is having a baby. I wonder when Patience and Dallas will decide it’s time to start a family.”

Conn chuckled. “Dallas runs a ranch. He’ll need sons to help him. I imagine they won’t wait too long.”

Hope trailed her finger a little lower. “I stopped taking the pill last night. With a husband like you, I don’t imagine I’ll have long to wait for that baby you promised.”

She could feel the smile that broke over his lips. Conn came up on an elbow, bent his head, and very softly kissed her.

“Not long at all,” he said. She didn’t miss the love in his eyes or the hot look that followed.

She and her sisters had always done everything together. Why should having babies be any different?

They were all three married now, and each of them had had her own adventure. Hope slid her arms around Conn’s neck as he kissed her, certain the future would be the greatest adventure of all.

Though this book is purely fiction, the vast amounts of treasure carried by the galleons is true. The treasure aboard the
Atocha
, found off the Florida coast, was valued at over four-hundred-million dollars. In the two hundred years Spanish galleons sailed to Spain laden with gold and silver, over two thousand ships went down. Only ten percent of those ships have been found. Eighteen hundred treasure-laden vessels remain lost at sea.

I hope you enjoyed Hope and Conn’s adventure. If you haven’t read Charity and Patience’s stories, MIDNIGHT SUN and DESERT HEAT, I hope you’ll look for them.

Wish you love, luck, and adventure.

Kat