Night Diver: A Novel (12 page)

Yes, it would be wrong.

She dragged her attention from his body and said the first thing that came to mind. “I’ll bet that scar has a story.”

Holden glanced at his left thigh, where a piece of an exploding mine had played merry hell with it. The scar was inches long. “Job hazard. Mines do have a tendency to blow.”

She went still. “How far down were you?”

“Not far enough to die.”

“I’ll bet it was . . .”
Horrible. Terrifying.
“Painful,” she managed finally.

“Most of the time it looks worse than it feels.” Automatically he kneaded the torn flesh. “It healed improperly, leaving a cyst. Pressure changes make it flare up until things equalize out, so I’m rather good at predicting weather changes.”

Her eyes kept straying to his lap. She closed them for an instant, then focused on his face. “Flying must be hard on you.”
Hard. Could I have chosen a less loaded word? And speaking of loaded . . .

Kate prayed that her straying thoughts weren’t revealed on her face.

“Smaller aircraft can be a problem in terms of pressure changes,” he said, wishing she was as stripped down as he was. Though her blouse was loose, it clung in intriguing places. He hoped he was doing a better job of keeping his glance from wandering than she was. “Larger planes are pressurized enough that it only hurts for half an hour or so at a time.”

“I remember the weird feeling I got in my joints and lungs when I rushed too much coming up from a dive. Even when I did it right, the sensation was uncomfortable for my first few times.” She hesitated. If the lower pressures aboard an airplane hurt him, then the higher pressures of diving would be a lot worse. “You don’t dive anymore, do you?”

“The doctors tell me they can cut out the cyst any time I get tired of it. The idea of months more physio doesn’t intrigue me, however.”

“Physio?”

“Therapy of the physical variety.”

“Do you miss diving?” she asked.

“Do you?”

Echoes of terror, denial, rage; a tidal wave of emotions from the teenager she had been. She drew a careful breath. “No. I don’t miss diving.”

“Odd.”

“Why?”

“Diving for treasure with your family as a child is the stuff of dreams for land-bound children,” Holden said.

She forced herself to look away from his tempting golden brown skin. “It was all I knew.”

“Normal, in a word.”

She nodded and looked into his changeable eyes, almost gold in the low light. “When I went to college, I found it exotic and strange because everyone had an address that wasn’t just a mail drop, and classrooms didn’t float around, and I could walk all day and not end up where I started.”

“Still, getting your allowance in doubloons must have been nice,” he said.

She accepted his teasing with an ease that should have worried her, as if she had known him for years instead of hours. “Allowance? Why would I need something like that? I was fed, had a roof over my head most of the time, and only had to do the minimum amount of schoolwork to keep the State of Florida off our backs. What ten-year-old wouldn’t love that?”

“But not an eighteen-year-old?”

“You grow up,” she said with a shrug. “You realize that the thing you’ve built your life on isn’t going to last. Particularly when your competition has the resources of say, the United Kingdom.”

“We’re not competition. We’re a client.”

“Not the way Grandpa sees it. Remember, it used to be that those wrecks down there were his. He just hadn’t gotten around to pulling up the gold yet.”

“Or hadn’t found it,” Holden pointed out.

“Academic,” she said with a wave of her hand. “For him, finding was just a matter of time, work, and luck, and he has the luck of the Irish.” A shadow darkened her eyes, a reminder that luck sometimes ran out. “After he found gold, he worked hard, in case the sea changed her mind about letting him have access to the treasure.”

With a few smooth motions, Holden pulled his shirt on. He needed something to hide the erection that kept growing despite his attempts to reason with it.

Kate both regretted and approved his action. Seeing just how much the man she wanted also wanted her was eroding what little control she had over her wandering eyes. The feeling was unsettling, rather like her first deep dives—excitement, nerves, fascination, exhilaration, every bit of her
alive.

Just how alive was something she shouldn’t be thinking about right now. Her nipples were tight and tingly, hungry for touch.

Rather desperately, she looked for a distraction and spotted his computer. Though the screen was dark now, she remembered what she had seen when she first looked into the room.

“Why do you have Cartomancy on your computer?” she asked.

Holden let out a careful breath, trying to lower the sexual tension in his body—and in the bedroom.

“Not many people would recognize the program,” he said. His voice was too deep, too husky, almost a growl, but he ignored it as he was trying to ignore the swelling tightness of his body.

“Not many people had my childhood,” she pointed out, her eyes fixed on the screen because it was the safest thing in the room to look at. “Cartomancy was the standard for reading and interpreting ESRI maps back when Grandpa first had computers on the boat because Dad badgered him into it.” Her eyes softened with amused memory. “Then Dad had custom software modules written up to directly map live radar and sonar results into the software in real time, so that any readings taken on the
Golden Bough
could be marked up and added to permanent records seamlessly. Of course, Grandpa thought it was foolish, expensive bunk.”

Holden grabbed the conversation like the lifeline it was, pulling himself out of the dangerous sexual currents rushing between Kate and himself. “Cartomancy was a few versions ago. Some wags dubbed the new version Cartocracy. The older version is still the standard for marking underwater data sets.”

“So you have no problem reading and understanding
Golden Bough
’s digital logs.”

“If they were filed logically, no, I’d have no problem. Apparently there was a change in dive center operators a week or so ago. Volkert hasn’t begun to clean up the mess left by his predecessor. Or predecessors. The file on wages only lists positions, not individual names.”

“At the rates Larry is paying,” she said, “you have to expect a high turnover.”

“Inefficient.”

“But cheap. You get what you pay for. If the mess Volkert is facing is anything like the snarl I’m working on, my sympathies to one and all. Divers are terrible businessmen.”

“That’s why the smart ones hire someone to take care of all the fiddly details,” Holden said.

“Don’t look at me,” she said, shaking her head. “Hiring implies payment for work. I’m here on vacation.”

He watched her with changeable eyes, reminding her that dragons were reputed to be as intelligent as they were lethal.

Lord, what extraordinary eyes. Hypnotic.

Sexy.

Too bad that I’m not really here on vacation. He would be one wild fling, a lifetime of hot memories to curl up with on cold nights.

“Vacation?” His voice was deep—and deeply skeptical. “Why would a woman who doesn’t care for the ocean come to an island for a holiday?”

“Family.”

“A family you’ve rarely seen in the flesh since you turned eighteen.”

“You sound quite certain. Checking up on me?”

He watched her out of his disconcerting eyes. “I find it strange that you come onto this project some six months after bidding and three months after the boat has set anchor at the site. What makes the whole situation really curious is that you haven’t had a thing to do with Moon Rose Limited in an official capacity since shortly after your father died and your mother was presumed lost at sea.”

Kate froze.

“You were seventeen and alone on board this ship the night the accident occurred,” he said. “You pulled your father out, searched the storm for your mother, and found only salt water and loss.”

Silently, fiercely, Kate fought her memories in silence, shoving them down and down until her throat loosened enough to speak rather than scream.

“I see I’m not the only one who uses Google as a research assistant,” she said tightly.

He looked at her transparently pale skin, each freckle a tiny bit of gold, her eyes huge and haunted. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, warm her until her skin was flushed with heat and life. Then he would share it with her, the heat and the life.

Would that be before or after you destroyed her family business, boyo?

The sardonic question echoed in his head, reminding him that he was here on Crown business, not monkey business.

“What baffles me,” he said, “is why. Why did you come back now? There is no way you can add, subtract, multiply, or divide numbers that will keep the family business afloat.”

He waited for her to say something.

She simply watched him with shadowed turquoise eyes.

“You’re a highly intelligent woman,” he said finally. “I suspect you knew the family business was sinking within hours of getting what your brother laughably calls business files, and you certainly knew it after you read the contract Larry signed. AO gave him a right rodgering on that one.”

“Is that Brit for screwed over?”

“Close enough.” Then he waited for his answer.

And waited.

Patience,
she thought.
Dragons are noted for that, too
.

“You’re a highly intelligent man,” she said finally. “Yet you dismantled mines. Why?”

“I could plead orders from above.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“Right.” He sighed. “Bloody idiot that I was, I thought I could do some good.”

“You’ll be happy to know you aren’t the only bloody idiot in this room.”

He shook his head and said gently, “Poppet, there’s nothing you can do for Moon Rose Limited. Your brother signed the contract in front of witnesses. No coercion was involved.”

“‘Poppet.’ Is that Brit for fool?”

“Dear. Love. Darling. Honey.”

She blinked.

“Poppet is an endearment,” he said. “I apologize if I have offended you.”

“Oh.” She felt a flush climb her cheeks. “Er, no, I’m not offended. You didn’t use the word in a demeaning way. In fact, I like it.” She closed her eyes as she felt her flush heighten. “And as soon as I get my foot out of my mouth, I’ll go walk back to my numbers. They’re more my speed than dragons.”

“Dragons?” His steeply arched eyebrows climbed upward. “How did they get into this discussion?”

“It’s hard not to notice when there’s one in the room,” she shot back, eyes still closed.

Okay. Now I will get my tongue under control,
she told herself rather desperately.
And my foot out of my mouth.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Holden smile like a dragon. She put her hands on her hot cheeks.

“Being a redhead sucks,” she muttered.

He would like to suck on a particular redhead, but managed not to say it. She would dislike him enough when he told AO what a cock-up this dive was. If he seduced her along the way, she would hate him.

“Don’t put yourself through the wringer,” he said neutrally. “There is nothing you can do to save your brother’s business.”

“I can find proof that he isn’t stealing.”

“No one has said he is.”

“No one has to,” she shot back. “Stealing is the second-easiest explanation for why so little has been salvaged, and the only explanation that will get the overlords off the hook for funding a dry well. ‘Dry well’ is American for—”

“Paying good money for bad results,” he said coolly, reminding her of his mother’s origin. “Even if everything you have said is true, there is nothing you can do but hold your brother’s hand while he goes broke.”

“Going broke is one thing. Grandpa and Larry have built up from nothing more than once. Having your reputation destroyed is catastrophic. You can’t rebuild from that. No one will loan you money to try.”

Holden wanted to argue, but couldn’t. She was all too correct.

“If there are thieves aboard
Golden Bough,
” she continued, “then there is also proof that Donnellys aren’t involved. It’s up to me to find it.”

“Why you?”

“I’ve always been the sensible one in the family. I don’t go crazy at the thought of treasure. The history of a wreck is exciting. The artifacts are a fascinating time capsule. But the money value,” she said with a shrug, “is just numbers.”

Holden forced himself to look away from her nipples pushing against soft cotton.

“Sleuthing, even sensible sleuthing,” he said, “would involve your being aboard the ship in the first place. We both know that you’re frightened of the sea in general and the
Golden Bough
in particular.”