Deep Blue (5 page)

“Thank you, Professor. You’ve been extremely helpful.”

“My pleasure. I only hope what you write won’t wind up causing Conner trouble. Where treasure is concerned, people don’t always think clearly.”

She looked back down at the photo. “It’s easy to understand why.”

They said their good-byes. Conner returned her tape recorder and the two of them left the campus. Though Hope would have liked to have seen a bit of the harbor town, they each had a job to do and instead drove straight to the airport.

Unfortunately when they got there, the plane was already gone.

“What are you talking about?” Hope said to the guard at the gate to the private airplane terminal. “They were supposed to wait for us. We have to get back to Pleasure Island!”

He was short and bald, dark-skinned and pudgy. “Sorry,” he said in a heavy Jamaican accent. “Somet’ing come up and dey have to leave. Dey say dey be bock noon tomorrow. Dey pick you up den.”

Hope sighed. “I don’t believe this.” She didn’t say more, just started walking toward the car, trying to think what to do. Conner Reese fell in beside her. When she glanced in his direction, she saw that his mouth was faintly curved, his expression amused, and an unpleasant thought suddenly struck.

Hope stopped in her tracks, forcing him to stop, too. She pinned him with a look of accusation. “Did you know about this? Did you have something to do with that plane leaving early? If you have any intention of…of…If you think this means that you and I are…are…”

“Look, lady, I’m not any happier about this than you are. I’ve got work to do, too. But out here sometimes these things happen. We’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon. This is the Caribbean. Time here is not that big a deal.”

She glanced away from him, off toward the water, feeling like a fool. So far the man had kept his distance, just as she had kept hers from him. He didn’t approve of her being there, and he had made it fairly clear he had no real interest in her.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I have a tendency to expect the worst from people.”

“By
people,
you mean men.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. I’m not the most trusting guy, either.”

She wanted to ask him why. And if, like her, his paranoia ran mainly to the opposite sex.

Instead she got back in the car and sat there while he climbed in and started the engine. “I guess we’ll need to find a place to stay,” she said.

“Not a problem. One of Talbot’s companies owns a string of motels in the islands. Bayside Inns. There’s one in Port Antonio—nothing fancy, but it’s clean and we won’t have to pay.”

“Well, I like that part. But I sure wish I had a change of clothes.”

Reese made no reply, just kept driving along Route A till they spotted the red-painted sign for the motel. As he had said, the rooms were small but clean, with pressboard furniture and aging green shag carpeting. Instead of a queen-sized bed, each room had only a full.

“The afternoon’s almost gone,” Reese said. “I’ve got a couple of errands to run, then I’ll be back. I’ll pick you up at five. I know a place we can have a drink and watch the sunset. Then we’ll get something to eat.”

Her wariness returned. “I don’t think—”

“Listen, Hope. I didn’t have anything to do with that plane going back without us. The fact is we’re stuck here until tomorrow, so we might as well make the best of it. And we both have to eat.”

She tried to look away from those blue, blue eyes, but it was impossible to do. The breeze ruffled his wavy dark hair, and for once the harshness was gone from his features, making him look even more handsome than he usually did.

“You’re right,” she agreed, knowing deep down she shouldn’t. “We have to eat. I’ll see you at five.”

He nodded and turned away, heading back to the car. She watched him as he climbed in, admiring his lean, hard-muscled frame, the way the sinews in his long legs lengthened and tightened as he moved. She probably should have skipped supper and stayed in her room. Conn Reese was, after all, a virile, extremely attractive man, and she was a woman who hadn’t had sex in more than two years.

Then again, she wasn’t going to ravish the man and she really did need to eat.

With a sigh, she crossed the room to the telephone on the nightstand. Using her international credit card calling number, she dialed Gordy Weitzman at the newspaper.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said with a smile in his voice. “You get my e-mail?”

“I’m not on the boat, Gordy. I’m stuck for the night in Jamaica. What did it say?”

“That the cops came up empty-handed. They haven’t got a clue who hit your place—or why.”

“Artie thinks it was a message. If it was, I guess whoever did it must be happy, since I’m no longer working the story.”

“I’ll tell you who isn’t happy—poor old Buddy Newton. I think he feels like you abandoned him. Maybe you ought to give him a call.”

Hope suffered a shot of guilt, though it was hardly her idea to come to Jamaica. “I will, but there’s not a lot I can do for him from a couple of thousand miles away.” At least she had helped him find an attorney, a friend of hers who did a lot of pro bono work. Matt Westland had agreed to look into the case, and the injunction he had filed had at least bought the tenants some time.

“Everything else okay?” Gordy asked.

“I suppose. No one here’s too keen on my doing this story. They don’t want a bunch of amateur treasure hunters getting in their way and I can’t say I blame them, considering all the work they’ve done to put this project together.”

“I guess since Talbot’s running the show, at least financially, they’ve got to dance to his tune, and you know how he likes to bask in the limelight.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Listen, I gotta run. I’ll let you know if anything turns up in regard to your apartment.”

“Or on Hartley House.”

“That, too.” Gordy signed off and Hope hung up and redialed the phone. First, she made a brief call to her dad and stepmom in Boston, letting them know she was all right. She was thirty-one years old, but in her family, age didn’t matter. She was single and on her own and they worried about her. It was actually rather nice.

As soon as she hung up, she phoned Buddy Newton. Buddy was usually a pretty reasonable guy, but even over the phone she could hear the tension in his voice.

“They were here again today. Damned fools.”

“You’re talking about the guys from Americal Corp—the men who made you the offer before.”

“Damned fools,” he grumbled again. “I told ’em the last time I wasn’t about to sell. I said there ain’t enough money in the world to make me give up my home.”

“The city can force you out of the building, Buddy. You know that. You have to consider the alternatives. If Americal offers you enough, maybe you should accept their deal. You could use the money to rebuild somewhere else.”

“Bull-puckey! I ain’t gonna leave and that’s the end of it. Your attorney friend says we can hold things up for quite a spell, keep filin’ petitions and such. And that’s just what I’m gonna do.”

“I wish there was a way I could help.”

He seemed to relax a little at that. “Just callin’s a help. All of us here, we appreciate everything you did for us.”

Which wasn’t all that much. “You’ve got my e-mail address. Keep me informed, will you?”

“Will do. Take care of yourself, darlin’ girl.”

Hope smiled. Then she thought of the vandals who had destroyed her apartment and worried that Buddy Newton might be in far more serious danger. “You, too.”

She rang off the phone and forty minutes later, Conn Reese returned, walking up to her room and knocking on the door. She was reading the romantic suspense novel she had brought to keep herself occupied on the plane. She set the book on the bedside table, went over and opened the door.

Reese caught her hand and wrapped her fingers around what appeared to be a purple, tie-dyed sundress.

“You said you wanted a change of clothes. They sell these on the street. I thought for tonight you might like to go native.”

She couldn’t help feeling pleased, especially when she held the dress up and realized it might actually fit.

“They only come in three sizes. I figured you’d be a small.”

“That was very thoughtful.” Amazingly so. She went over to retrieve her purse. “How much was it? I want to repay you—”

She broke off at the look on his face. Even the vague hint of friendliness was gone.

“It was a gift, Hope. I don’t want your money.”

The cheaply made garments didn’t cost much, she knew. Still, she didn’t like being indebted. She started to argue, but the set of his jaw warned her not to.

“Thank you,” she said, trying for gracious acceptance. “Give me a minute to change and I’ll be right with you.”

That seemed to please him and he actually smiled. “I’ll wait right here.”

Hope closed the door and realized her stomach was quivering. Her heart was beating too fast and her palms felt damp.
Damn.
Conner Reese was an unbelievably handsome man, but she knew a dozen guys who looked almost that good and none of them affected her like he did. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, only that the man stirred up some major chemistry in her body.

And tonight she was going out with him.

Not that this was any sort of an actual date. Just a drink and dinner, then back to the room.

She thought of Richard and wondered if, in the days before she had met her ex-fiancé, she might have considered going to bed with Conn Reese. She was an independent woman. She believed in equality of the sexes, though she had never been the sort for one-night stands. She believed in building a relationship with a man before you hopped into bed with him—not that it had done her any good with Richard.

Not that it would be important to a man like Conner Reese. Still, Conn made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a very long while. She probably owed him for that.

But just like the dress, she wasn’t going to pay for it by going to bed with him. Not tonight or any night in the future.

Hope changed into the purple sundress Conner Reese had bought her, tying the ends of the halter top behind her neck. It was made of a soft, gauzy cotton, high-waisted, then flowing in a straight line to the ground. She had full breasts and the dress showed some cleavage—just enough to be pretty, she thought.

When she heard Conn’s knock at the door, she was glad she had worn her sandals that morning instead of her white canvas deck shoes. Smiling at the frosted pink polish on her toes, she walked over to answer the knock.

Conn stood in front of the door, one hand jammed into the pocket of his pants. He looked more remote than he had when he left and she thought that perhaps he was having second thoughts about the evening ahead. He took in her appearance, his bright blue eyes going over her from head to foot.

“You look good,” he said, as if he had to force out the words. “But then, I figured you would.”

“Did you?”

He shrugged those powerful shoulders, making her heart start pounding again.

“Considering you look pretty damned good in a tee shirt and shorts, it didn’t require any brilliant deduction.” He was wearing the same khaki pants he’d had on earlier, but had changed into a blue flowered shirt, apparently another street purchase.

“You ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” As she stepped out the door, her nerves kicked up another notch.
You’re just getting something to eat,
she told herself.
It’s no big deal.

She closed the door and started walking toward the car and Conn fell in beside her. She didn’t expect to feel his hand at her waist, but she was only mildly surprised, since she had noticed his gentlemanly streak before. He guided her down the path to the parking lot and opened the car door and waited while she slid into the seat.

They drove along the winding road that paralleled the ocean to a restaurant called the Panorama in the Fern Hill Hotel. The place sat on the mountainside on the outskirts of the city and the views were spectacular. The dining area was covered but sat out in the open air. There were white linen cloths on the tables and a candle sat in the middle of each one next to a small glass vase holding a single red hibiscus. Conn pulled out her chair, waited till she was seated, then sat down across from her.

“So what would you like to drink?”

Hope glanced around, checking out some of the other patrons. “I think I’ll have one of those fancy island drinks that come with an umbrella in it…a piña colada or something.”

“Try the Island Punch. That’s their specialty here.”

She gave her order to the waiter, while Conn ordered a Scotch and water on the rocks. She had started to think of him that way, as Conn instead of Conner or Reese. In a way she wished she could retain the formality, but after he had bought her the dress, it just didn’t seem possible anymore.

The waiter brought their drinks and for several long moments they sipped them in silence, looking out at the magnificent view of the harbor and the beach and the vast stretch of blue-green ocean beyond. Tiny sailboats leaned into the wind and a few stray clouds floated by overhead.

The sun didn’t set over the water on this side of the island, but still it was fun to watch the colors change as it slipped behind the lush green hills to the west.

Hope toyed with the swizzle stick in her Island Punch, a mixture of fruit juices and dark Jamaican rum that tasted utterly delicious.

“So…how did a guy like you manage to hook up with a guy like Brad Talbot?”

“A guy like me?”

“A man with the kind of skills to know about salvage boats and underwater search equipment and how to use it to find sunken treasure. Not a social climber with an extra fifty million in his pocket—or at least that’s my guess.”

“Actually, Eddie Markham knew Talbot.”

She swizzled her drink. “So how did you hook up with Emperor Eddie?”

Conn reached into the pocket of his khaki pants and pulled out a big gold coin. “It all started with this.” He turned the coin over in his palm, then handed it to her to examine. “I began carrying it for luck when we started this project.”

It was one of the Spanish coins she had seen on the Internet, a fantastically beautiful piece of treasure. Hope handed back the coin and listened for the next half-hour as he filled her in on how the venture had slowly come together. How Joe Ramirez had been with him the day he’d found the coin and insisted he show it to his old college professor.

In time, Conn and Dr. Marlin had become good friends. Together they had found out who owned the island, then went to see Eddie Markham in person. Markham had loved the idea of treasure hunting off the island. So much so, he had introduced them to Talbot, who agreed to back the venture.

“It took us three years to put the expedition together,” Conn said. “But unlike Mel Fisher, we haven’t got seventeen years to find the treasure.”

“How long do you have?”

“Talbot’s not the kind to hang in there very long. He wants the glory—and the money. I’d say we’ve got till the beginning of hurricane season to come up with something solid that will prove the ship is there.”

“And the season starts when?”

“Late May, first of June. The seas get rough after that. The sands start shifting. We’ll have to start again after the season ends in November, and without something concrete, we’ll probably have to do it with another backer.”

“If you can find one.”

“Yeah.”

But they both knew it wouldn’t be easy. Treasure hunting was very expensive, and very high-risk. And she knew he was right about Brad. He was a spoiled playboy, easily bored. The
Conquest
had already been searching for more than two months. They needed to find some evidence of the
Rosa,
and soon.

Even then, unless that evidence glittered, Brad might pull his support.

Darkness continued to fall, and a waitress came around and lit the candle in the red glass jar in the middle of the table. Conn hadn’t planned to eat at the hotel. He knew a couple of local joints where the food was particularly good, and he had meant to take Hope there. But that was before they got settled and the view and the sunset had begun to weave their spell.

For the first time since he’d met her, Hope seemed to relax, and he didn’t want to spoil the mood. He shouldn’t have brought her with him tonight, he knew. He was completely opposed to the article she was writing. He still didn’t trust her, and on top of that, he didn’t like the hot jolts of lust he felt whenever he looked in her direction.

Still, he could hardly leave her in the room with nothing to eat.

The waitress reappeared and they ordered their dinners, Jamaican oxtail for him, curried chicken for her. They ate at a leisurely pace, then ordered a fruit mélange that included mangoes, sweetsop, bananas, and coconut for dessert, and a cup of Blue Mountain coffee.

As she sat across from him in the flickering candlelight, he could feel the heavy pull of his growing attraction. Tonight her smile seemed less strained, softer, more open. She had even laughed at something he said, the sound deep for a woman and richly erotic.

She had beautiful sea-green eyes and long, slightly burnished lashes. Her red hair gleamed whenever she moved, slipping softly along her jaw, and he wanted to run his fingers through it. The long purple sundress revealed the fullness of her breasts, the soft mounds and deep cleavage.

He thought what it might be like to take the heavy weight into his mouth, wondered if it would melt the coolness that surrounded her, and his body stirred to life. His pulse began to hammer and he went hard beneath the table. Inwardly, he cursed.

He didn’t want to get involved with Hope Sinclair. He had just recovered from his last disastrous relationship with a woman.

And yet he wanted her. Damn, he wished he didn’t.

He worked to manage a smile, to pull his thoughts back to safer territory.

“So what about you?” He reached out and caught her left hand, turned it over to note the lack of a ring. “Doesn’t look like you’re married.”

“No.” She looked down at his own ringless left hand. “I don’t imagine you are, either.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m marriage material?”

“I don’t think the kind of work you do would be conducive to a happy home life.”

“Actually, I was married once.”

“What happened?”

“It didn’t work out.” He picked up his cup of coffee and took a drink, anxious to avoid the unpleasant subject. “So you’re a writer. No apparent plans for marriage. Are you planning a serious career in journalism?”

Hope looked away and he wondered what that look meant.

“I love what I do and I’m pretty good at it. Mostly, I write human interest stories. Articles that revolve around families, communities, or children. The story I was working before I came down here dealt with the condemnation of a retirement home in Manhattan.”

She told him that the owner of the building thought the condemnation was false, an excuse to force him to sell, and during the time she had been working on the story, she had started to believe it might be true. She said her apartment had been vandalized, perhaps as a warning to let the matter rest, and that was one of the reasons she had been pulled off the story.

“I was hoping I might be able to help them. I hate to see those nice old people lose their homes.”

Conn looked at her and saw that the coolness was gone. Her eyes were flashing, her breath coming faster, her cheeks pink and glowing. She was passionate about helping those people and it occurred to him that passion might surface in far more interesting ways.

His groin tightened until his erection grew almost painful. A heavy ache built beneath the fly of his pants and he shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Several seconds passed before he noticed that Hope had stopped speaking, that she was looking him directly in the face. He wondered if she could read the desire for her that was humming through his blood.

Her gaze met his across the table and there was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Heat, he realized. And need. Desire, perhaps as strong as his own.

Apparently Hope Sinclair wasn’t as immune to him as he had believed.

“It’s still early,” he found himself saying. “If you’re finished, I know this little place down on the water. We can have an after-dinner drink before we go back to our rooms.” He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t ready for the evening to end. Or perhaps he was thinking that if she continued to let her guard down, maybe they would wind up in bed.

He liked sex. He wasn’t a monk. And he had a feeling Hope wasn’t looking for any more involvement than he was.

They spoke little in the car on the way to the bar, a place called the Palms, a small, open-air locals’ joint that faced out onto the sea. Conn knew the owner. He waved to the thin black man as they walked in, then guided Hope over to a table in the corner.

Willie came to take their drink order, smiling at Hope with obvious approval, then giving him a wink and a grin. He returned a few minutes later with two snifters of Courvoisier but had enough sense not to stay.

The jukebox was playing. There was a couple on the tiny wooden dance floor.

Conn turned to Hope. “Why don’t we dance?”

She only shook her head. “No, I…I don’t think that’s a particularly good idea.”

“Why not?” He stood up, sliding back his chair, reaching for her hand. Her fingers felt slim and warm as he engulfed them in his. “We’ll dance, we’ll finish our drink, then we’ll go back to the motel.”

He didn’t let her hesitate again, just drew her to her feet and out onto the dance floor. The juke was playing a slow jazz number. Trying to convince himself he wouldn’t regret it, Conn eased Hope into his arms.

The music soothed her. Hope closed her eyes and let the soft, slow beat wash through her. She knew she was making a mistake. She shouldn’t have left her room in the first place. She certainly shouldn’t have come to a place like the Palms with Conner Reese.

A place where the lights were low and couples snuggled in corners, where the jukebox played soft, slow jazz songs. All evening she had admired Conn’s tall, athletically muscular body, the confident way he moved; even the smell of him turned her on. Now she was snuggled against him, her head nestled into his shoulder. He was a whole lot taller, yet they seemed to fit comfortably together.

She inhaled his scent: salt spray, a faint trace of lime, and man. His chest felt like a wall pressing into her breasts, his arms as hard as steel bands. Her heart was thrumming, her nipples tingling. It was lust, pure and simple, and it was the last thing Hope wanted to feel.

She knew where that disastrous road led.

She broke away before the song came to an end, stepped a safer distance away from him. “I think it’s time we went back, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a lot of work to do once we get back to the boat.”

His gaze held hers, seemed to know that she was running, that her body was pulsing, whispering wicked thoughts.

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

She didn’t say more, just walked over and picked up her purse, turned, and started for the door. Conn fell in step behind her, his long strides easily matching her rapid pace. In the car, they barely spoke, but sexual tension seemed to crackle in the air between them. When he turned off the car in the parking lot of the motel, came around to the passenger side, and reached for her hand to help her climb out, she hoped he couldn’t tell she was trembling.

Somewhere down the block, a makeshift reggae band played Bob Marley,
One heart, one love. Let’s get together and feel all right.
Hope kept walking, making her way along the leafy path to her room.

They arrived at the door and she stiffened, praying he wouldn’t press her to come in, praying if he did, she would be strong enough to refuse him. It was only lust, she reminded herself again. It shouldn’t be that hard to handle.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said. “I had a very nice time.”

The edge of his mouth barely curved. “Did you?”

She moistened lips that suddenly felt like paper. “Yes…”