Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (17 page)

Everyone gawked at the old lady because, hello, it was still daylight.

“You can sleep in the same bunk room with Ronnie and Brenda, I suppose,” Frank offered. “Ronnie, would you be willing to give up your bunk to Louise, I mean, Tante Lulu? You could put a sleeping bag on the floor.”

Jake raised a forefinger in the air. “I have a suggestion.”

Ronnie, Famosa, and Peachey all exclaimed, “No!” at the same time.

Methinks she doth protest too much.

On the other hand, methinks I better work on those moves, real quick.

“Hope I doan wake you when I get up.” Tante Lulu was addressing Ronnie and Brenda. “I likes to get up afore dawn to do my jumpin’ jacks. Kin I use yer music player, Frank? I allus exercise to ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies.’”

Frank looked horrified at the prospect of anything other than polka blasting from his CD player.

The rest of them were horrified at the prospect of a woman as old as Tante Lulu doing jumping jacks.

“Tante Lulu has a thing for Richard Simmons,” John explained. He pulled her to his side for a quick squeeze, then kissed the top of her head, which only reached his chest. But then, LeDeux turned to Frank and added, “Hey, if we’re gonna change the music on occasion, I vote for Cajun. We need a little zydeco to liven things up here.” He shimmied his shoulders to demonstrate. “I just happen to have a CD in my bag.”

“Hah! Sting all the way.”

Ronnie ignored him while everyone yelled out their choice of music.

“Nobody’s touching my CD player,” Frank said. “You folks can exercise to polkas or whistling for all I care.”

“Speaking of exercise,” Brenda interjected. “Some of us have been working out on deck right after dawn. Peach has been showing us SEAL exercises. You could join us, Tante Lulu.”

“I ain’t doin’ any jumpin’ jacks without Richard.” She glared at Frank.

Jake shook his head to clear it. This whole scene had taken on the aura of a slapstick comedy. The Three Stooges and then some.

But then he realized that Peachey was addressing him. “What?”

“I asked what kind of program you’re on. You’re reasonably fit.” He said
reasonably,
but he said it condescendingly.

Well, news flash, bozo, anyone would look pitiful next to Your Royal Rambo.
“I run.”
Sometimes.

“Oh, great! I run, too. Maybe we can do a morning run together sometime.”

“Sure.”
When hell freezes over.

“I like to do twenty miles to loosen up, but I can shorten it to ten for you.”

WHAT?
“Oh, don’t do me any favors. I can do anything you can do.”
Did I really just say that? Shit! I’m acting like a teenager facing off with the school bully.
He noticed the grin on Ronnie’s face. She knew exactly what Peachey was doing . . . goading him. And she liked it. “Maybe you could join us on the twenty-mile run, honey.”

She nodded her head at him in a touché manner.

“Anyone like to play a game of poker before bedtime?”
Come on, big shot. Welcome to my arena.

Not surprisingly, Peachey and Famosa begged off. In the end, no one played. By the time he and Frank and Ronnie went over the computer data and new programs, it was eleven. They all turned in.

Because of everything that had happened that day, he was wide awake as he lay on his sleeping bag on deck, under the stars, arms folded under his neck. Good thing the weather was holding. If it rained, he’d be forced to sleep on the galley floor.

What am I doing here?
he asked himself.

Taking back my life,
he answered himself.

Ronnie asked me how it is different this time.

I’m older, wiser.

That’s debatable.

Sometimes a man needs to reassess his life. Mine has been life with Ronnie and life with poker. There’s no question which one is more important. Somehow I lost the reality of that.

I’m not buyin’ it. And neither will Ronnie. Gotta do better.

But what?

I need some grand gesture. Something so spectacular Ronnie will know I mean it this time.

He thought for a long while. Staring up at the stars, he wondered if there really was a God up there, or St. Jude. He wondered how he could have screwed up his life so badly. And he prayed. He honest-to-God prayed for the first time since he was a boy back in Omaha.

Then a grand idea came to him—a true-blue ace in the hole he’d forgotten he had—and he did a mental high five.

In the pink . . .

The next morning, they hit pay dirt—or, you could say, pink dirt.

Adam was the first diver splashing down to a site Jake had suggested last night after studying all the data they had collected before. He really was a statistical computer genius, she had to give him that. The new site was north and a quarter mile west of where they had been diving.

About twenty minutes after Adam’s splash down, two Styrofoam cups came floating to the surface, the signal that a wreck had been located. “Shiver me timbers! We got it, me maties! We got it!” her grandfather shouted, so ecstatic that his cigar flew from his mouth and went overboard. One less cigar was a good thing, in Veronica’s opinion. Frank gave Flossie a big, loud buss on the lips, then swooped her up in his arms and polkaed her around the deck, despite her feeble protests that he was behaving like “an old fool.”

Veronica surmised that all treasure hunts resulted in this kind of exhilaration, but Frank must be feeling particularly ecstatic because this would solve his financial woes.

Tante Lulu was jumping up and down, too, as she held on to her straw sun hat. “I tol’ you so. I knew I was gonna be good luck. I jus’ knew it. I prayed to St. Jude las’ night.”

John reached down and lifted her into a warm hug. “That’s right, Auntie, you always were good luck.” Then John turned to Brenda and gave her a quick kiss and a pat on the rear of her tight jeans, which caught her by surprise; otherwise, she probably would have belted him one.

Tony and Steve were already on their satellite phones, presumably calling their mother to inform her of the news.

Jake looked at her speculatively.

She raised a halting hand. She knew that look.

He ignored her, wrapping his arms around her and yanking her against his body. Even though she tried to push him away, he held on tight, burying his face in her neck. “Congratulations, honey, you are now a full-fledged treasure hunter.”

“No. I’m. Not.” She wanted to tell him that her contribution to this project was minimal, but she barely got those few words out over the overwhelming pleasure of being in Jake’s arms. He smelled like Jake. He felt like Jake. She stopped struggling and put her arms around his shoulders.

Jake inhaled sharply.

She knew exactly how he felt.

He drew back, but only a little. He wasn’t letting her go; that was evident. As he stared at her through ocean-blue eyes, only one thing stuck out to Ronnie: He had tears in his eyes.

She moaned.
I am lost.

He didn’t kiss her. That was a line neither of them was ready to cross. Well, she wasn’t ready. He probably wasn’t, either, despite his claims to the contrary. But his face was so close their lips almost touched. She could feel his breath. He could feel hers. She felt his arousal brush her belly, even through his jeans and her shorts. Her arousal must have been evident in her eyes; Jake always said her eyes were a giveaway. Right now, she didn’t care.

The people and activity around them dwindled to nothing. They were aware only of each other. That’s the way it always was.

“Hey, you two. Get a room,” someone yelled with a laugh.

Slowly, she and Jake parted. Her brain was fuzzy. His eyes were glazed over with passion. He licked his lips, as if to savor her flavor, even though he hadn’t actually kissed her. Then they turned slowly to see everyone staring at them. Most were smiling, except Caleb, who was frowning. And Steve and Tony; they weren’t frowning, but they weren’t smiling, either.

Ever so slowly, he released her with a whisper. “I’m sorry.” For what, she wasn’t sure. The near kiss, his presence here on the boat, or the past ten or so years? Then he turned without a word, and walked away.

Everyone resumed their assigned jobs then, but now with a sense of excitement. Flossie and Tante Lulu went down to the galley to prepare a special celebratory lunch. Jake was up in the wheelhouse working the computers and preparing for the videotape of the wreck that Adam would bring with him; she would join Jake shortly, once her still-raging hormones were under control. Caleb and John were putting on dry suits for the next dive. Brenda was checking the anchor line that Adam would use to guide him back up. Frank was supervising it all with a professionalism and expertise that shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Most of the time he came across as an ignorant oaf, crude and offensive. But she was beginning to suspect it was an act. For what purpose, she wasn’t sure, but she promised herself to find out.

“Is this the most exciting moment in treasure hunting, locating the site?” she asked her grandfather when he came over to stand at the rail beside her.

“The second best thing.” He talked around the new cigar in his mouth. “Best thing overall is when they first bring up the treasure. Even in the best-planned salvage operations, you never know for sure what you’ll find.”

“Are you expecting any surprises with this project?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I don’t trust the Menottis any further than I can throw ’em.”

“I thought Rosa was your friend.”

“More like a close acquaintance. Don’t think for one minute that Anthony and Stefano are here to guard their mother’s interest—at least not totally for that reason.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are diamonds down there, I’m sure, but my instincts tell me there’s something more, and my instincts are rarely wrong.” She must have looked skeptical because he continued, “Jake thinks so, too. You know that Jake has a talent for reading people, has to when he’s playing poker. He’s been suspicious from the get-go, I expect.”

Nice of Jake to let me know. The jerk!
“Good gravy, Frank! Why are you involving yourself with such dangerous people? And Flossie and the rest of us, too?”

He blinked at her, surprised at her attack.

“And is that the real reason Jake is here? He thinks I am in some danger?”

“Girl, surely you know why your husband is here.” Frank refused to acknowledge that Jake was her ex-husband. “None of you are in any more danger than you would be at home. And we’re prepared for any violence.”

“Would you please explain how?” She pretended to be looking around the boat for something. “Nope. Not a cannon in sight.”

Frank didn’t laugh at her lame attempt at humor, which should have alerted her to his next words. “Most everyone’s armed on this boat, except for you and Flossie.”

Oh. My. God!
“Do you mean guns?”

“No, slingshots. Shiiit! Of course, guns.”

“I did not sign on for any
Indiana Jones/Romancing the Stone
kind of half-baked adventure.” She put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot with irritation. “Actually, I didn’t sign on for anything, when you get right down to it.”

“Now, now—”

She stamped her foot again. “Dammit, I’m not a kid. Stop treating me like one.”

“Okay, you’re right. We’re on a treasure hunt. There is always some danger on these projects, whether they’re at sea or on land, whether they’re here in the U.S. of A. or off in frickin’ Casablanca. It’s the nature of the beast—money. Anytime things of value are involved—translated, money—there’s always gonna be someone who’s greedy and wants it all, or someone who wants the treasure without the work.”

“Translated?”

“On Project Pink, we’ve got to watch our backs in two directions—the Menottis and the pirates.”

Pirates again!

“But I don’t want you to be concerned. Everything is going according to plan.”

Aaarrgh!
She had lots more to say, but she clamped her mouth shut for now, especially since Caleb, in full diving gear, came up to stand beside them, and her grandfather scurried off. Resting her arms on the rail, she stared over at the anchor line. “How long before Adam will be back up?”

“At this depth, he can stay down only twenty minutes, but he needs to take an hour to decompress on the longer journey back up.” At her questioning expression, he explained, “At intervals, as he ascends, he stops and waits a certain number of minutes before moving up again. It’s painstakingly slow, but necessary to avoid narcosis. Believe me, the bends are not a pretty sight. And a horrible way to die.”

“Why are you and John gearing up so soon?”

“Famosa’s job was to attach an anchor line to the wreck so
Sweet Jinx
won’t drift away and to videotape the wreck from all angles. No excavations at this point. Everything slow and cautious. Famosa won’t be able to dive again for a couple hours, more decompressing on board. So, LeDeux and I will go down next and begin examining the wreck hands-on and continue videotaping. We might not actually bring up artifacts, or diamonds, for two or three more dives.”