Severed Threads (3 page)

Time to get this over with.
With four more stops to make and a dozen phone calls to return before noon, she had barely ten minutes to spare.

"You know," he said, "I’ve been meaning to ask you about that old house you’re living in. Have you made up your mind about selling it?"

His question threw her off balance. She rested the file on her lap, debating how to answer. "I haven’t decided yet."

"Mmm…" Dr. Ying nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if you do, I’m sure it will go quickly. Your dad used to say the sea captain who built that place put his heart and soul into it."

A close friend of her late father’s, it was no surprise he would welcome the opportunity to reminisce. But the subject threatened to unearth a trove of guilt she’d prefer to keep buried.

"Shall we get down to business?" She extracted his application – the first and only of his that had given her pause. Hall expansions and artifact acquisitions were one thing, this project was quite another. Raising her head, she found Dr. Ying studying her over the rim of his blue, oriental teacup. "I’m afraid, professor, we...have a bit of a problem."

He sighed. "Don’t tell me I missed a line or two. I asked Eleanor to double-check it for me. But then, these days neither of us is – "

"Actually," she broke in, "your grant application was in perfect order."

"Oh. Good."

"But," she quickened her rehearsed words, "as you know, the board of trustees can’t be responsible for the majority of your funding. And they typically don’t get involved in speculative proposals. There’s no doubt in my mind they’re going to
deny
your request this time."

Tea spilled from the professor’s cup. The brown puddle seeped toward a stack of files on his desk. He mopped it away with a piece of scrunched notebook paper as he glanced in her direction. "I’m sorry. What did you say?" His strained voice shot out an octave higher.

She swallowed. "The Warren Nash Foundation provides funds to museums to bid on collections
after
they’re evaluated by official committees. Although it’s common knowledge Mr. Nash encouraged exploration projects, he would’ve never financed acquisitions based solely on assumptions and unsubstantiated claims."

Dr. Ying froze, bewilderment in his dark eyes. "But this…this isn’t a
tugboat
we’re referring to. This is history in the making."

"I understand your disappointment, especially since the board has always been such a strong supporter of your work." An attempt to soften the blow. "Our office would be more than happy to look at other – "

"Rachel," he ran over her words, "maybe I didn’t make myself clear. What we have here is an incredible discovery that’s going to bring international recognition to our museum...to our city and community.” He took a breath, gathering himself. “Please understand…an opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day. I know Sam would’ve
loved
to have been part of this."

Rachel’s stomach churned as she realized her father’s name had just been tossed for leverage. And for what, a few gold coins and some ceramic knickknacks she could find on eBay?

She shoved the paperwork back into her file. "I don’t know what else I can say, Dr. Ying. Perhaps the American Maritime Association can be of assistance."

In an instant, the man was on his feet. "If you could just give me a minute…" He pulled a worn textbook from his desk and was flipping through pages while moving toward her chair. "This isn’t a Spanish galleon, mind you. It’s an ancient Chinese vessel, similar to the
Nanhai No. 1
– an eight-hundred year old merchant ship that was involved in arms smuggling before it sank fifty-eight meters under the Java Sea. Copper guns and cannons were discovered near the wreck site, which wasn't uncommon on ocean-faring vessels at the time. Ah...here’s a sketch." He placed the book on her lap, anchoring her. "Besides a cargo of valuable tea, our ship was carrying more than 10,000 pieces of kraak porcelain in the lower decks as ballast. According to the historical data I have here somewhere…" He turned and briskly leafed through a hefty stack of paperwork.

"Oh, now I remember," she said. "I read about the recovery of that ship years ago. The survey and lifting costs of the artifacts alone cost over ten million dollars." She set the book aside and rose. "Doctor, this sounds fascinating, truly, but like I said..."

Abruptly, he straightened. The intensity in his gaze stilled her. "The point is, Rachel, it’s a phenomenal find. I've acquired an ancient manifest and trade records. They indicate the
Wanli II
had miraculously reached the Sea of Cortez before a storm took her down. What’s more, there’s gold and treasure on board worth more than anything you could ever…" He pressed his glasses up a notch. "It’s priceless."

Rachel released a closely held breath. She felt like the executioner of the man’s lifelong dream. The same damn dream her father had held onto for most of her life. She wouldn’t have accepted her exasperating job or been placed in this awkward position if not for her family’s tragedy. If not for the promise Dr. Ying had made to her father years earlier.

But what
if
she was proven wrong? If the professor’s project was more than wishful thinking? It certainly wasn’t the first time wreckage washed up along the California shore. The discovery of such magnitude as the professor claimed could make all the difference to San Palo’s disintegrating township. "And you have proof, I assume, of everything you’re telling me?" The question slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.

He nodded with enthusiasm. "I’ve been meeting with the lead diver from Trident Ventures on a regular basis. The artifacts he’s in the process of collecting should help validate the ship’s identity."

Trident Ventures
. There was something vaguely familiar about the name. "So this is a reputable firm? A company that would give credence to your proposal?"

"Absolutely. But unfortunately, the owner has run into a few glitches. The cost for additional supplies and recovery equipment has slightly exceeded his expectations."

Exceeded
–
by how much?
She was afraid to ask.

"I know this seems a bit unorthodox, but he’s actually due here any moment. I’m sure all your questions will be answered if you could just – "

"Wait!" Eleanor’s shrill voice echoed in the hallway. "One moment, sir."

"It’s all right, ma’am. I’ll let myself in." The man’s deep, captivating voice pulled Rachel’s face toward the opening door. "Sorry I’m late, Doc, I was – " His words broke off when his gaze found Rachel’s.

Her shoulders coiled.
Oh my God
. It couldn’t be.

Trepidation flowed hot into her cheeks as her gaze traveled over his face. Years had passed, yet he appeared as irritatingly handsome as ever. His sun-bleached hair still fell into a natural part above his lucid blue eyes. An ever-present five o’clock shadow rimmed his contemptuous jaw.

"Rachel," he finally said. "It’s been a while." A satisfied glow replaced his look of surprise.

She shot a pained look at Dr. Ying before facing him again. "You’re Trident Ventures?"

A confident nod of his head was his only reply. Word had it, Chase Cohen, the renowned treasure hunter, was more determined than ever to leave his mark. He’d rifled ocean plots stretching from Spain to Key West, selling off remnants of other people’s lives. She had hoped their paths would never cross again.

So much for that wishful thought.

The professor’s worrisome voice broke the thorny silence. “Well, now that we’re all here, maybe we could get down to the matter at hand."

"My thoughts exactly." Her intense stare carved lines into the professor’s chin. Clearly he was now wishing he hadn’t finagled this meeting. Knowing full well the history Chase and Rachel shared his manipulation only further demonstrated the extent of his desperation.

Chase threw on a crooked grin and sauntered across the room. He braced himself against the desk. "Did Doc show you the piece of china I found last week? Got real worked up over that one, didn’t you, pal?” he tossed over his shoulder.

Her eyes raked over Chase’s snug t-shirt, tattered jeans and weathered cowboy boots, crossed at the ankles. His golden tan served as testament to the time he’d spent frolicking outdoors.
Some things never change.

"Found it only ten miles off the coast. Even though it wasn’t marked like we hoped, after the storm we had last week, no telling what’s going to turn up.”

This was California, not Micronesia. Every sunken ship, half-buried skeleton and carefully mapped wreck site had been fully played out. She wasn’t about to be fooled or charmed into backing a hopeless cause. She stared daggers at his face, hoping he’d be forced to look away. But nothing seemed to faze him.

“
Came real close to going over a sheer drop off. Then we figured it out…where the
Wanli’s
been holed up all this time. Man, I can’t wait to show you – ”

“ –
how you’re still exploiting what my father taught you," she finished.

"Exploiting?" Chase cleared his throat. "That’s not exactly true, Miss Lyons." He dropped his chin, the tension around his eyes softening. "It’s still
Miss
, isn’t it?" Before she could respond, he continued. "My crew might move a little sand around, but whatever we find ends up benefiting everyone, I assure you."

Oh, really?

Rachel pulled the scarf from her neck. The arrogance in the room was suffocating. "Not everyone benefits from your actions, Mr. Cohen. All your shifting around does a ton of damage too."

"We
are
talking about diving here, right?"

She reared back. "What did you say?"

Chase coughed. He shot the professor a wary glance before returning his attention to Rachel. "I just meant that this expedition…it’s important." A plea settled in his eyes.

"In that case, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding someone else to help you. For future reference, gentlemen, our foundation won’t be supporting
any
projects involving Trident Ventures. Good luck to you both." Snatching her briefcase, she spun on one heel and stormed out of Professor Ying’s office.

* * *

As she strode into the parking lot, Rachel was agitated to see Chase following closely behind. Nearing her vehicle, she blew out a heated breath and fumbled for the keys in her bag. Right as she located them, Chase inserted himself between her and the car. She reached around him, trying to grasp the exterior door handle. But with a flick of his arm, he deflected her hand.

She felt her entire body flush. "Get out of my way," she ordered.

"Two minutes. Just give me two minutes to explain," he implored.

"I don’t have time for this." She meant it in more ways than one. His nearness
rekindled the pain – unearthed the argument she'd had with her father only hours before he died. Her thoughtless outburst had clouded his judgment and driven him to take an unnecessary risk. In her mind, there was no other explanation for his death.

"Rachel, I’m not going to lie to you. I heard you’d given up diving. That you were working for the Warren Nash Foundation. But I honestly had no idea you'd be here."

Her spine stiffened.

"And as for your dad," he continued, “not a day goes by that I don’t feel responsible for what happened. Sam was a good man. Like a father to me.”

She bristled. Her gaze burned with emotion. "Oh, really? Then why didn’t you have the decency to show up at his funeral?"

Chase’s gaze slid from her face. His brows met when he looked up again. "Look, I really wanted to come. It’s just that after the investigation and everything – ”

Her anger ripened. “Yea, right.” His scrawled note had left her brooding for weeks.
Something urgent came up…have to leave town
. After professing her love, he turned out to be the scoundrel her brother Devon had painted him out to be. Her teeth clenched at the memory. “You were a complete asshole. Now, get out of my way."