Hurricane Read online

  “Ours for the taking.” Though Samuel had lived in Britain most of his life, the German accent of his youth overlaid the British when he was excited. “We can all retire.”

  “Never happen,” Kev said. “Doesn’t matter how much loot we have, we’ll all be doing this until we’re old and gray, right?”

  They all smiled, nodded, and agreed.

  For the first time in months Ry allowed himself to hope. Allowed himself to let out the indrawn breath of fear he’d been holding since receiving that fucking letter from the Baillargeon heirs.

  Seven days. Seven days to bring to the surface treasure valued in today’s market at close to two billion dollars and get it to his buyers. Hell, he even had a buyer for the ship’s bell—if they found it—for a cool half a million. Any condition.

  The blood racing through his veins felt as effervescent as the bottle of celebratory Moët & Chandon Bi Centenary Cuvée Dry Imperial Champagne in his cabin, and just as intoxicating. He glanced back to see what was taking so long.

  Twenty

  “I’m not getting any younger here, people. Four in, two out. Who’s it gonna be?”

  “Samuel and Georgeo were the last to dive on our last trip. I vote they keep watch,” Kev said, sliding Georgeo a glare out of the corner of her eye.

  “Good enough for me,” Ry said. “You two keep the home fires burning.” He looked to the others. “Let’s do it.”

  “Race you,” Kevin yelled, diving into the water with a monstrous splash. Her bikini-clad butt made a nice curve as she flipped over and went under.

  Georgeo chuckled. “I love that arse, or as you Americans say, ass, which is what she’s as stubborn as.”

  “Never give up, never surrender.” Ry figured he should have that tattooed somewhere on himself.

  “Words to live by, my friend. Hope you’re taking your own advice?” Georgeo smiled and clasped him on the shoulder. “Is that a movie quote or a song?”

  “Probably both. Ready?” Ry tuned to MoMo and Lenka. “Kev’s probably filling a basket with silver while we stand here with our dicks in our hands.” The two men looked at each other and bolted for the edge of the dive platform in a race. Kicking out over the side, they made a double splash as they hit the water.

  The only other time in his life he’d been filled with this level of excited eagerness was that first night he’d had sex with Addison. The anticipation of discovering how to please her had kept him in a heightened state of awareness he’d been scared might lead to disappointment. He was afraid nothing could possibly be as incredible as his imagination.

  Rocked to his core, he’d discovered making love to Addy far surpassed even his most fevered imagination. Nothing had changed. Making love to her for the first time, or the hundredth time, gave him the same intense wave of love and lust. He doubted that would ever change.

  They’d be drinking that celebratory champagne in bed tonight.

  But first things first.

  MoMo climbed down the ladder. Ry dropped over the edge, just clearing his tanks from the edge of the platform. The water, crystal-clear and warm, slid over his body like silk. Adjusting his mask, he sank beneath the surface.

  “I don’t see anything. Am I going the wrong way?” Kev’s voice came through his mask’s comm unit, loud and clear.

  The blue surrounded him, alive with colorful, curious fish. Just the fish and pristine sand lay directly below the shadow of Tesoro Mio. “It’s three hundred feet that way, near the edge of that drop-off.” Ry pointed to a dark smudge in the distance. The others joined him, swimming in tandem toward what looked like a hill with outcroppings of coral.

  “Holy shit,” MoMo breathed. “When you’re right, you are right, Rydell, my man!”

  In May 1498 Nicolau Coelho, taking her maiden voyage, was blown off the maritime trade route—between the West Indian Ocean, the Spice Islands, and China—by several hundred miles. It had sunk not three hundred miles north of their current location as reported in one hearsay version, but right here.

  The last time he was here, he’d been alone. No team, no prospects, and no equipment to haul up tons of silver. With his own team, and everything Tesoro Mio had to offer, he had a good shot of pulling a Hail Mary and saving his company and his ship. And hopefully his marriage at the same time.

  Now that things were in motion, Ry felt more optimistic. Not that he was ready to relax fully. Not just yet. But he felt lighter today than he’d felt in months. And he always felt better when he was in the encompassing womb of the water.

  Georgeo swam past him, eager to get a look. “I don’t see anything. You sure this is where you last saw her? Maybe one of the other outcroppings?”

  He joined Georgeo, accompanied by Kev and MoMo. The hump of coral was alive with darting fish. “It’s right—uck.”

  Right not here, goddamn it!

  * * *

  “Thank you, Mrs.—Addison, yes,” The senior officer smiled when she gave him a raised brow at his formality. “You have been most hospitable. The Coast Guard helicopter will be arriving soon. We’ve alerted Interpol, and they will be there to meet us. You haven’t let on to the prince…?”

  “No. I’ll let you have the pleasure of witnessing his arrest. I’m just sorry I won’t be there to see it for myself.”

  “You are most welcome to accompany us.”

  “No. I’ll have to take satisfaction in knowing he’s captured.”

  Sharma and one of his men were on deck with her, meeting up after they’d had breakfast and she’d done her three miles around the deck. It was barely eight, and already promised to be a hot day, the heat intensified by the reflection on the calm water.

  She heard the powerful whop-whop-whop of the helicopter arriving and shaded her eyes to watch its approach.

  “It’s a beautiful day to be out on the water. Good grief, Zikiri.” Addison raced over, hands outstretched to help Naveen’s bodyguard. “Let me help you with—”

  “No, thank you, Miss D’Marco.” Zikiri Bhat, dressed head-to-toe in black, staggered on deck lugging five heavy suitcases of varying sizes. The bespoke Louis Vuitton monogrammed leather pieces were precisely lined up before Bhat stepped away, hands behind his back as though awaiting a military inspection.

  Addison mentally shook her head at Naveen’s formality, and his excesses. One suitcase would’ve done him for the week trip to Sydney. He’d once been a dear friend, and she’d just accepted that his eccentricities went along with his great wealth and title. Now she knew he was a thief and a liar. And possibly a murderer as well. Just because the Coast Guard had a man under arrest—a man who’d confessed with amazingly little sense of self-preservation—didn’t mean Naveen hadn’t had something, if not everything, to do with it. At this point Addison wouldn’t be surprised by anything Naveen did.

  Even without his criminal activities, seeing the two men side by side these last few days had been an eye-opener. Naveen’s polish seemed superficial and cheap besides Rydell’s natural ease and charm. It was like comparing a cubic zirconia to a true diamond. While zirconia would sparkle and held no flaws, it also held no warmth, no depth as a natural diamond did.

  The helicopter landed loudly overhead on the helipad, the motion of the rotors swirling her hair around her head. Addison held it back in a fist as she waited for the men to come up on deck for departure.

  Rydell was still underwater. He should be returning to Tesoro Mio soon. She couldn’t wait to hear what they discovered down there. And hopefully see some of the first treasure brought to the surface. So much rode on this salvage.

  The prince came through the door several moments later, carrying nothing but a pair of sunglasses. He looked very urban and dashing, if not overdressed, in white linen pants and a light-blue shirt, his black hair perfectly styled, his gold Rolex glinting on his wrist. “Addison, a word?” His words were almost drowned out by the slowly spinning helicopter blades on the deck above them

  “Sure.” Addison walked around the corner to the
side rail, away from the others, Naveen right behind her.

  When she turned to face her, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll respect your wishes, darling,” he said, clasping her hand over his heart. “But I think it would be better if I stay. If nothing else, Case will be less likely to take advantage of you if I’m here. Will you reconsider?”

  Addison noticed sweat beading his upper lip, and the slight tremor in his hand. She scanned his face. “Are you ill, Nav?” I’ll be more than happy to hand your lying, avaricious ass over to Interpol and prison doctors.

  “I am quite well, Addison.” He dropped her hand to reach into his pocket for his black hankie and wiped his face. “Just concerned for your happiness and well-being.”

  Bullshit, you son of a bitch. You brought stolen property into my own, and a killer onto my ship. “I told you Rydell and I are talking,” she told him with fake compassion. “Honestly? I’m not sure where we go from here, but either way. There’s no hope for you and I, Naveen. We just don’t have that … spark. I don’t think we ever did. I hope that we’ll always remain friends.”

  “You know you’re breaking my heart.” His black eyes looked—hmm, no, not sad. Annoyed? “Again,” he said with a little bite in his voice, “I’ll go. But I intend to remain in Malé as long as you and Tesoro Mio are here, and when you finally head to Sydney next week, I’ll be there waiting for you. I hope you’ll take the time to have a meal with me while you’re here. One of Case’s people will bring you, I’m sure.”

  I’m pretty damn positive one of Case’s “people” will do no such thing. All Addison said was, “That sounds lovely.”

  The four Indian officers were nothing if not efficient. They got Naveen and his mountain of luggage secured in the helicopter, then brought out a handcuffed, and silent, Van Engen and loaded him on board as well. Having accompanied the men from the lower deck, Jax and Oscar stood on the top deck and waited for the chopper to lift off. Addison suspected it was to ensure that Naveen and Van Engen left.

  “Goodbye to bad rubbish,” Oscar said, shading his eyes.

  “Amen,” Jax grinned, tucking his pistol into the back of his pants. “Won’t need this anymore.”

  “Thank God,” Addison said with a smile. “Thanks for taking such good care of me, guys. It’s humiliating to realize I didn’t know Naveen at all. These last few days have been an eye-opener to say the least.”

  “He was the opposite of Ry,” Oscar pointed out gently. “You needed different.”

  “Yes. I suppose I did. Would you like to go down and see what Ry and the others are up to? Get a first look at our wreck?”

  Jax backed away with a laugh. “Not me, thanks. I’m not fond of deep water. I’m happy to grab a beer and wait for them to come and show me what they’ve found.”

  “Oscar?”

  “Not under for me, but a swim sounds good.”

  They parted ways and Addison went down to her cabin. She felt almost euphoric. If not quite happy, for the first time in a year she felt contentment, a lift to her step as she anticipated light at the end of the tunnel.

  Learning to overcome her fears would be a start.

  * * *

  Where the fuck is my damn wreck?

  Fish, small and large, in a rainbow of colors, swam and darted around them in the clear, warm water. The atolls making up the Maldives were home to over a thousand types of fish, and apparently they’d all swum over to check out the humans today. A six-foot-long humphead wrasse moseyed by, turning its huge, fleshy-lipped ugly face to meet Ry eye-to-eye. Predator, but not likely to take a chunk out of him, as they were too evenly matched in size. It kept going. So did Ry.

  He checked his underwater GPS.

  Hell.

  Sand, coral, and more fucking fish than he ever wanted to see in his life.

  Where’s my ship?

  Rippled white sand on the seafloor stretched to the coral drop-off where Kev swam, far ahead. No sign of debris. No sign of the silver. No sign that this venture was going to get done in enough time to save his ass. Maybe he’d misjudged the depth or the location when he’d been here last.

  Unlikely. He was always meticulous in his measurements. He wouldn’t make a bloody mistake now, when everything depended on him getting it right. He was too careful for that.

  Damn it. Longitude and latitude didn’t change, and they didn’t lie.

  Maybe the fucking Cutters had trumped him. Moved in, shifted the wreck, and were lying in wait somewhere, laughing their asses off. Jesus. “Paranoid at all?”

  “Say what?” Lenka asked, shooting him a puzzled look through his mask. His bright-red buzz-cut hair wafted in the current like stubby orange sea grass.

  “Talking to myself.”

  For the first time since he’d received the lawyer’s letter, Ry felt a shiver of stark fear about his financial future. The no-fucking-hope-left kind of fear. He’d been freaked out before, but he’d believed the Nicolau Coelho with her tons of silver was his ace in the hole.

  If the wreck had been swept over the eighty-foot cliff and now lay two-hundred-plus feet below the surface, that was a whole other kind of retrieval. Doable, but not in the time he had left. It would take months—probably years—to salvage. Time he didn’t have.

  The paintings that Naveen had stashed aboard the Tesoro Mio might produce something—but not in enough time. The value would have to be ascertained if there was a reward. For all Ry knew, the paintings could be high-quality fakes. Best not to count on the art producing significant financial assets.

  “Storm?” MoMo suggested, staying relatively motionless beside him. His black hair, usually a cap of tight curls, was in the water dead straight and freakishly long. MoMo put out a hand as a shoal of powder-blue tang swam close enough for him to touch. They darted around him, a parting curtain of shimmering blue and yellow.

  Addy would love this, Ry thought, keeping an eye on Kev as she swam way ahead. The fish were plentiful, the water warm, and visibility was great. She’d forget claustrophobia with this stunning beauty around them. He’d enjoy it a hell of a lot more if they were hauling tons of silver to the surface. Or at least fucking looking at it.

  “Probably,” he answered MoMo’s question. The storm had been a bitch; it was logical to assume she’d swept the caravel over the cliff in the underwater surges.

  When last Ry was here, the ship had been hovering near the edge of the drop-off; she was broken, but pretty much all the pieces seemed present within a circumference of several hundred yards. Murphy’s Law, the law that seemed to rule his universe, said this was the one storm in fucking five hundred years that had pushed her over the edge. What a bloody kick in the head.

  No. A killing blow to the gut.

  Apparently a man couldn’t have it all. He and Addy were—well, whatever they were it was a crapload better than it had been a week ago. There was hope there. A feeling of joyful anticipation. But this—

  This would be starting over. From the bottom. Hell, lower than the bottom. He’d lose the company and Tesoro Mio, and the Cutters would likely sweep in snapping up all of it just to deliver the knockout punch. Bloody fucking brilliant.

  “Can’t see her,” Kev reported in his headset as she hovered over the vast dark depths at the edge of the coral and rock cliff some thirty yards ahead. She’d always been fearless—except when it came to Georgeo. With a double flick of her fins, she went butt-up to swim down, out of sight.

  The three men caught up. Ry could see the jagged, stair-step clumps of coral going down about another thirty feet; then everything became darker blue and obscured. Impossible to miss the skid marks where something heavy had bumped down the reef.

  Fuck. “Not impossible,” he told the others as they dropped down and passed through the thermocline, that invisible line separating the warmer surface water from the progressively cooler water below. “We’ll have to use the ROV after all.”

  The Remote Operated Vehicle was, thank God, on board Tesoro Mio, and had n
ever been used. It was one of the many upgrades Ry had ordered when he’d designed the ship, and as of a year ago had been state-of-the-art. Having it on board could very well save his ass. But possibly not in this decade.

  “—et su—” Kevin rubbed her arms to indicate she was cold.

  Yeah. They’d need full wet suits for deeper diving, along with high-compression helium-mix tanks. They wouldn’t be able to go down more than 130 feet, and they’d need to surface more often to replenish their tanks, and stay under for shorter periods. They’d have the ROV do all the deeper work, and watch its progress on the monitors in the conference/dining room. Which sucked. They all liked to be hands-on as much as possible.

  Crap. Not optimal, but still doable. Just not doable in a week’s time to make any difference.

  Just when things were looking too bleak and impossible to save his company, it got worse. Ry‘s heart sank like the vessel he was after. “There.” He pointed in a straight line about twenty feet down and to the left. A ten-foot-long chunk of one of the three masts, angled down. No sign of the other two. When he’d been here last, all the masts were near the hull, broken and with large chunks missing, but within a hundred feet. Now everything was broken up and scattered across the seabed below. Far below. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t risk it,” Kevin cautioned.

  Ry ignored her, and swam down to check it out.

  It was too deep for the time left on his tank, and almost too deep to venture in without an extra compression stop. Ry went anyway. Could be a rock formation—unlikely with the straight length of it, but you never knew.

  He swam alongside the brightly colored corals and rocks, dislodging a spotted moray eel and its housekeeping staff of six cleaner shrimp on the way down.

  As he got closer, he heard the throb-throb-throb of his uneven heartbeat in his ears over the normal hiss-and-burble sound of his regulator. A mast, for sure. He breathed out a sigh as he swam the length of it. Broken in three—one section missing, but otherwise in pretty good condition.