“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

He laughed. “Do I look like it?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What—that no woman would have me?”

“I’m sure plenty of women would have you—and probably regret it later,” Sienna replied.

Brodie grinned down at her, not insulted. “You could be right. I’m probably not great husband material. Have you ever been married?”

“No.” Why had she started this conversation? It was becoming too personal for her. Reaching the hotel, Sienna said hastily, “Thank you for seeing me back.” She swung away, stepping into the road as headlights suddenly swept over her. A car engine roared, and the vehicle she hadn’t seen or heard leapt out of the darkness.

Just in time, a hard hand grabbed her arm, hauling her back onto the grass and clamping her against an equally hard male body.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of excitement and romance. Start your reading by letting Ruth Langan be your guide to DEVIL’S COVE in Cover-Up, the first title in her new miniseries set in a small town where secrets, scandal and seduction go hand in hand. The next three books will be coming out back to back, so be sure to catch every one of them.

Virginia Kantra tells a tale of Guilty Secrets as opposites Joe Reilly, a cynical reporter, and Nell Dolan, a softhearted do-gooder, can’t help but attract each other—with wonderfully romantic results. Jenna Mills will send Shock Waves through you as psychic Brenna Scott tries to convince federal prosecutor Ethan Carrington that he’s in danger. If she can’t get him to listen to her, his life—and her heart—will be lost.

Finish the month with a trip to the lands down under, Australia and New Zealand, as three of your favorite writers mix romance and suspense in equal—and irresistible—portions. Melissa James features another of her tough (and wonderful!) Nighthawk heroes in Dangerous Illusion, while Frances Housden's heroine has to face down the Shadows of the Past in order to find her happily-ever-after. Finally, get set for high-seas adventure as Sienna Rivers meets Her Passionate Protector in Laurey Bright’s latest.

Don’t miss a single one—and be sure to come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Her Passionate Protector
Laurey Bright

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAUREY BRIGHT

has held a number of different jobs but has never wanted to be anything but a writer. She lives in New Zealand, where she creates the stories of contemporary people in love that have won her a following all over the world. Visit her at her Web site, www.laureybright.com.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Prologue

A skeleton isn’t an unexpected thing to find under the sea near a sunken ship, and this wasn’t the first one Brodie Stanner had come upon. But when he saw the whitened rib cage rising from the sand and a small, gleaming fish shooting out of one of the shadowy eyeholes of the skull, he felt a chill of instant gooseflesh inside his wet suit. The sound of his breath, amplified by the air valve of his scuba tank, was suddenly louder.

Twenty minutes ago, with his diving buddy Rogan Broderick, he’d stepped from the deck of the Sea-Rogue into the warm embrace of the Pacific Ocean, emptied air from his buoyancy compensator, and began to glide down in the tropical water, the tank on his back becoming weightless. Some distance away the uneven wall of the reef shimmered with color—purple, blue, orange, green, red—corals and sponges and layered sea fans crowded together in fantastic shapes; seaweeds and giant anemones weaving gently in the current while iridescent jewel-like fish darted in and out among them. Rogan was at his side, a stream of tiny glittering air bubbles from his breathing apparatus expanding as they floated upward.

The water became almost opaque, then cleared. The divers swam up an incline toward the reef, skimming above white sand littered with dead pieces of coral, shells and less recognizable objects encrusted with marine growths. Huge crabs danced daintily over the seafloor, and a bright orange starfish stirred its arms, raising a small puff of sand.

A low curve arched from the seabed, and even before Rogan pointed, Brodie recognized part of a ship’s side, studded with barnacles and festooned with seaweed, the rest of the wreck covered in a blanket of soft sand.

They tried with gloved hands to sweep away some of the sand, perhaps identify the bow where there was a slim chance the ship’s name might still be visible, but in the time they could safely stay underwater they hadn’t made much progress before Rogan indicated they should surface.

The current was stronger than Brodie had realized, carrying them to the reef and some way along it. Then he’d seen the unmistakably human bones huddled by the coral wall.

The lower part of the skeleton was either buried in sand or missing, but the rib cage seemed intact, as was the skull with its huge, empty eye and nose-holes and macabre death-grin. When he paused and waved a hand over the pathetic remains, disturbing the sand, a gleam of white arm bone showed before the cloud of grains started settling again.

One last look, then he finned upward to join Rogan at the first decompression level on their buoy line. They made the remainder of the ascent, taking a couple more decompression stops on the way to clear nitrogen from their systems and prevent the dreaded bends—which could cripple or kill a diver—from attacking them when they surfaced.

Back on board, Brodie took his mouthpiece out and said, “Did you see the skeleton down there?”

Rogan lowered his air tank to the deck and fastened it into a storage clip. “The Maiden’s Prayer went down with all hands. We might find a few more skeletons, even after a hundred and fifty years.”

“It doesn’t look right.”

“Someone died.” Unzipping his wet suit, Rogan gave him a quizzical look. “That never looks right. Of course your skeleton might not be from our particular wreck. This reef would have caught quite a few ships over the centuries, specially before it was properly charted.”

The clippers carrying nineteenth-century miners and their newly acquired wealth from the Australian gold fields home to America hadn’t had modern navigation instruments and satellite systems to guide them. The Maiden’s Prayer wasn’t the only one reported sunk without a trace, taking a fortune in gold and goods to the bottom of the sea.

Brodie and Rogan finished mapping the site of the wreck as far as they could define it with their sonar and magnometer supplemented by visual inspection, and noted the exact locations of the few artifacts they’d recovered. Rogan’s initial survey had been interrupted when he’d discovered the sunken ship some months ago, and they hoped on this trip to find conclusive evidence that it was, as Rogan believed, the Maiden’s Prayer.

Eating fresh-caught crab on the deck of the Sea-Rogue, Rogan said, “I didn’t have time for a thorough inspection when I was here before, but we picked up coins and ship fittings and pieces of jewelry. There just doesn’t seem to be as much here now as I would have expected.” He stared at the three palm trees on a strip of white sand that marked the edge of the reef.

“Maybe you found all there was on the surface. And things shift and get reburied in storms—you know that.”

“Yeah,” Rogan agreed halfheartedly. “I hope we haven’t had poachers on the site while we’ve been busy confirming our legal claim to the wreck and organizing a proper recovery operation.”

“We haven’t seen any other boats around since we got here. And if some fisherman or recreational diver did get lucky enough to find a few bits and pieces scattered about, they haven’t broached the wreck. They’d need proper equipment and a professional team of divers, and you know how long it’s taking to set that up yourself.”

Rogan cracked open a crab leg and removed a morsel of white flesh. “Right. Even if the location of the site has leaked out somehow, probably the worst that can happen before we get to the real treasure is a bit of pilfering.” He popped the bit of crabmeat into his mouth. “Well, our last dive is tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Brodie grinned. Rogan had to be back in port for his wedding. “Better get you to the church on time.”

They dived early, found a couple of coins and some glass bottles that might help date the wreck, and then Brodie spotted a few inches of something curved. Something metal and manmade—green, and almost invisible under the sand. Maybe Rogan’s porthole, he thought, digging his fingers into the seabed to clear the object.

He signaled Rogan and they excavated it and took it to the surface, hauling it on board. It was a ship’s bell, tarnished and half covered in corals and sponges. But after scraping those away, faintly the two men could discern some letters just above the rim.

“Eureka!” Rogan exclaimed softly, turning the bell to read the inscription. “Maiden’s Prayer. My dad was right. He found his gold-ship. Let’s go home. But we don’t mention this to anyone.”

Brodie looked up from his awed contemplation of their find. Abruptly he said, “I want to have another look at that skeleton.”

Rogan gave him a curious look but said, “Sure, okay.”

He stowed the bell in the master’s cabin, and when they’d been out of the water long enough for a second safe dive, they donned their gear again and swam to the reef wall.

It took a while to find again the place where the skeleton lay, apparently undisturbed, and by then their time was nearly up. Brodie looked down at the empty eye sockets—almost accusing with their blank, black stare—and peered inside the skull.

There was sand in there, not unexpectedly. But…dimly he discerned a faint raised lump. A brief hesitation, then he stripped off one glove, gingerly poked two fingers into an eyehole, and withdrew a small, dully gleaming object.

A bullet.

Chapter 1

Sunlight slanted through a small high window in the seamen’s chapel at Mokohina. The insistent sound of the sea washing onto the beach backgrounded the bride and groom’s voices as they recited their vows.

In the second row of the pews, Brodie watched the golden light burnish the bridesmaid’s piled curls, inside a coronet of flowers, and turn a wayward strand lying on her graceful neck to an almost ruby red. Something about that slim, pale neck, contrasting with the rich auburn glow of her hair, hinted at vulnerability. A stirring of curiosity kept his gaze focused lazily on her.

He hadn’t seen her face when she’d preceded Camille down the aisle—he’d been riveted by the sudden blaze in Rogan’s eyes as the other man turned to watch his bride approach. The raw emotion of that look had shaken Brodie, waking complicated feelings of awe coupled with a surprising shaft of something remarkably like envy.

Marriage wasn’t something he’d ever thought seriously about, himself. He was pretty sure Rogue hadn’t either until he met Camille, who was gorgeous enough to weaken any man’s resolve, with her green eyes and thick, glossy brown hair, a face that turned men’s heads in the street, and a figure any model might envy.

When the bridal party turned toward the door and the best man—Rogan’s brother, Granger—offered his arm to the bridesmaid, Brodie got his first real look at her.

An almost translucent complexion that reminded him of pearl-shell, delicately arched eyebrows, eyes that were more gold than brown framed by dark, gold-tipped lashes. Which meant their color must be natural, surely. And a mouth made for kissing, with a decided bow on the upper lip, a delicious fullness in the lower one, firmly set together. For a moment he thought he caught a hint of sadness in the golden eyes, and extra sheen. But then, women always cried at weddings, didn’t they? By all accounts they quite enjoyed a good weep.

Even as he watched, the luscious mouth trembled into a smile. Not quite as radiant as the bride’s, but bewitching. He let his gaze slide over her figure—on the thin side, he thought critically. But subtly curved in the right places, her breasts surprisingly well-rounded. Maybe Mother Nature was getting some help there. A man could never tell for sure.

Because her bronze silk dress was quite short, worn with matching high-heeled shoes, he could see she had great legs, the ankles so slim they looked breakable. He reckoned he could easily put a hand around one of them. Picturing it, something more than simple curiosity stirred his blood—something much more carnal. And unsuitable for a church.

Then she swept past with the bridal party and he followed the rest of the congregation outside.

The reception was held in the private lounge of the nearby Imperial Hotel, a two-story white wooden leftover of New Zealand’s colonial past. After the meal and toasts were completed, the cake was cut and the bridesmaid offered pieces to the fifty or so guests now mingling around the room. He followed her progress, having covertly watched her ever since she’d sat down at the bridal table with Camille and Rogan.

Apart from the bride, she was, he’d decided after a quick check, the most watchable woman in sight, intriguing and somewhat perplexing. Most of the time she wore a pleasant but slightly cool expression that only kindled into warmth when she spoke to Camille and now, when she bent to offer a piece of cake to a small, shy boy, giving him an encouraging, full-on smile as he took his time over choosing.

Her position also gave Brodie a chance to check that the temptingly rounded breasts encased in a low-cut cream lace bra were nature’s work alone.

As she straightened, he hastily shifted his gaze to her face. Her smile abruptly faded when she met his eyes, and she blinked before turning to allow a couple of people to take their share of cake.

Finally reaching Brodie, she gave him a quick smile but her eyes seemed to look through him before she lowered her gaze to the platter she offered.

He took a piece of cake with a thick layer of white icing and said, “We haven’t met. I’m Brodie—Brodie Stanner. And you’re Sienna Rivers, the archaeologist who assessed some of the pieces Rogan salvaged.”

She seemed surprised that he knew that, the dark pupils of her eyes almost obscuring the amber glow when she looked up at him. “I did look at some stuff for Camille,” she acknowledged rather warily.

Brodie nodded. “You work with her at the university.”

“Camille’s in the history department at Rusden, but at the end of the semester she’s joining Rogan’s treasure-hunting company.” Her voice sounded disapproving, or perhaps disappointed. Turning away from him, she murmured, “Excuse me.”

She went on wending through the crowd, giving the same nice but impersonal smile to everyone as she dispensed her slices of cake.

Ruefully, Brodie stared after her.

Most women found something at least superficially attractive in his tanned, fit body, his clear blue eyes, the squared-off jaw with its hint of a cleft, and even his thick, naturally sun-streaked hair.

Sienna’s patent disinterest, and the fact that it annoyed him more than was reasonable, made him wonder if he was guilty of having an overinflated ego.

Across the room she tilted her head to the best man as Granger relieved her of the empty platter and handed her a glass of wine, his perfectly groomed dark head bent and aqua-marine eyes fixed on her as they talked, the expression on his undeniably good-looking face attentive.

For the second time that day Brodie envied one of the Broderick brothers.

Tearing his gaze away, he found it caught by a sweet-faced little blonde. She gave him a come-hither smile and did that bashful, fluttering thing with her eyelashes that women sometimes used to signal interest. After a peculiar instant of something that couldn’t possibly have been boredom, he smiled back and began to make his way toward her.

Granger Broderick offered to take away Sienna’s empty cake platter, and as he left her side, she turned and surveyed the room.

The glass in her hand was something to hold and an excuse to stop smiling for a while, giving her aching facial muscles a rest. She took a sip of the wine Granger had poured for her.

Rogan’s brother was carrying out his duties with impeccable courtesy and a certain aloofness that was infinitely reassuring. Quite unlike the unabashed interest of the man with the brazen summer-sky eyes.

She’d thought, before he gave his surname, that “Brodie” might be short for Broderick. But according to Camille, Rogan had only one brother.

Besides, he looked nothing like the Brodericks, who both met the classic definition of tall, dark and handsome—where he scored two out of three. Not that his blond-streaked brown hair was any handicap. She wondered if the streaks were artificial. Although he didn’t give an impression of vanity, his confident manner and assumption that she’d be pleased to stand talking with him argued that he was well aware of his own male appeal.

Men with such obvious sexual self-possession made her uncomfortable, sending out signals that she found too overt, taking for granted that she—or any woman—would be only too happy to return them.

Which most women would, she supposed, being fair. She’d learned the hard way that she wanted—needed—more from a man than good looks and sexual prowess, real or imagined.

Her glance idly passed over the guests. Camille and Rogan were circulating among them, and Brodie had moved to another part of the room, his head interestedly cocked to an animated blonde who was surely delighted to have his attention.

Sienna drank some more wine and reminded herself not to overdo it, especially as she’d only picked at the food laid out on the table. Her appetite hadn’t yet recovered after a virulent bout of food poisoning that had landed her in hospital only weeks ago, followed by an attack of some nasty superbug that had taken advantage of her weakened state and prolonged her stay. It had been doubtful whether she would make it to the wedding at all.

The big room seemed suddenly stuffy. Perhaps the wine wasn’t a wise idea after all, and she’d been on her feet too long.

There were no unoccupied chairs nearby. Cursing the continuing weakness that she’d hoped had passed for good, she turned to put down the glass on the nearest table and experienced a wave of dizzy nausea.

A quick visual search for an escape route revealed a pair of closed French doors leading to the hotel garden and an umbrella-shaded table with canvas chairs set on the grass. She started toward the doors.

They wouldn’t open, and wrestling with the catch she experienced a moment’s panic. Black spots were beginning to float before her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to cause a sensation by passing out at her friend’s wedding.

Then a suit-sleeved arm reached around her and pulled down a recalcitrant bolt, a masculine hand pushed the door open and a blessed wave of fresh, salty air stirred her hair and cooled her face. The hand circled her arm as she stumbled onto the grass, and a rough-timbred, urgent voice said in her ear, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she lied, but her voice was almost inaudible, and she was infinitely grateful for the chair the man thrust her into. She rested her elbows on the table and let her head fall onto her raised hands until the dancing spots disappeared and the breeze cleared her swimming head.

Looking up, she saw Brodie Stanner had seated himself and was watching her, his eyes darkened to cobalt with concern. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” She would be in a minute or two. “Thank you.”

“Fine, huh?” Concern changed to patent disbelief. “You look like death.”

“It was hot inside. I’ll be all right now.”

Ignoring the hint, he ran a disparaging glance over her. “Are you dieting or something?”

“I don’t diet!”

“You didn’t eat much in there.”

“I’m not very hungry.” He’d taken note of how much she ate?

“Why not?”

The look on his handsome face didn’t encourage her to think he’d let the subject go until he was satisfied. She finally said, “I’ve been sick recently, but it wasn’t life-threatening and I’m perfectly all right now, only I haven’t got much appetite yet.”

“I thought you were going to faint.”

So had she, but fortunately that hadn’t happened, mainly thanks to him. Recognizing a fatal tendency to gratitude, she said distantly, “It was kind of you to open the door for me, but don’t you want to go back to your…companion?”

For a moment he looked blank. Then he said, “I only just met her—she’s not likely to miss me.”

Sienna might have disputed that. No woman could be immune to so much blatant masculinity, and the blonde had been quite clearly smitten.

She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly on the table, and deliberately loosened them. “I’m all right now,” she reiterated. “Really.”

He reached out and touched the back of his fingers to her cheek, bringing a quick, unexpected heat flaring under the skin, a tiny shock of pleasure setting warning bells off in her mind. “You’ve got a bit more color,” he said, “but you’re still pale.”

“I’m naturally pale,” Sienna argued. “It comes with my hair.”

“It’s fantastic,” Brodie said. “The color, I mean.”

“Thank you.” The words came out clipped, and she pretended not to see the curious look he cast her. “Excuse me, Camille might need me.” He was altogether too attractive. Sienna knew to her cost how easily she could fall victim to compliments and concern. Especially when allied with such a good-looking face and a calendar-hunk body that even a formal suit couldn’t hide. She began to rise from her chair.

Brodie’s hand immediately pinned hers to the table, his palm warm, slightly roughened and very firm. He glanced past her to the hotel. “Camille doesn’t need anyone but Rogue right now. They’re still talking to people. You should rest a while. You don’t want to go all woozy again.”

He was actually right. Even her sudden movement had made her head spin a little.

Despising the alarming melting sensation in her midriff evoked by his clasp on her hand, she tried to pull away, but he retained his grip and held her gaze until she stopped resisting, though her eyes showed her resentment.

Brodie slid his hand from hers and said calmly, “Just relax, and tell me if there’s anything you want. A glass of water or something?”

“Nothing, really.” Unsettled by his steady regard, she carefully turned her head to admire the blue-green water across the road and the boats riding at anchor in the harbor. Making conversation, she said, “Mokohina’s a pretty little town.”

“I like it.”

“You live here?”

“I’ve knocked about the world a bit, but this is where I’m based. I own the local dive shop.”

She might have known he was a diver. Not quite as tall as his friend, he shared Rogan’s broad-shouldered physique, and had the look of someone who spent a lot of time near the sea. She’d have guessed a surfer if it hadn’t been for his connection with the Brodericks.

“Are you related to Rogan and Granger?” She supposed he could be a cousin or something.

He shook his head. “Nope, but Rogue and I have been hanging out together off and on since primary school. He’ll look after Camille, don’t worry about that.”

Her gaze flew back to him. How had he known she was concerned for her friend, who had fallen in love with a man Sienna couldn’t help thinking was all wrong for her? A man Camille herself had admitted was the very antithesis of what she’d thought was her ideal.

He said, “There’s no news about the stolen shipwreck items?”

She supposed if they were such old friends it was natural for him to be in Rogan’s confidence. She’d been asked to keep very quiet about the antique coins, jewelry and watches she’d been entrusted with. She’d explained when Camille enlisted her expertise that she’d have to take the head of the archaeology department partially into her confidence so she could use the university facilities, but she’d told no one else. “The police don’t seem to have any ideas.”

She felt unreasonably guilty about the theft, although Camille and Rogan had been very understanding. It wasn’t her fault that the laboratory where she’d been painstakingly removing a century and a half of verdigris and various accretions from the artifacts recovered from a wreck site somewhere out in the Pacific had been burgled while she was in hospital. Fortunately not before she’d taken full sets of photographs.

Other things had been stolen. Sienna’s students had been excavating a recently discovered pa site. The palisaded Maori village from which tattooed warriors had once defended their families against attack had long gone, leaving only a grassy terraced hillside. The dig had yielded priceless jade and bone ornaments and weapons to be studied before finding suitable homes with tribal descendants of the original owners or in museums. But these precious artifacts had now disappeared.

“Nothing’s been recovered,” she told Brodie.

“Well, I guess there’s more treasure under the sea, where Rogue found that lot,” Brodie said. “And Pacific Treasure Salvors will be back there as soon as the divers and equipment are ready, hopefully before anyone else gets to it.”

Although the Brodericks had done their best to keep quiet about their discovery and refused to talk to the media, it was an open secret that the Sea-Rogue had found a treasure ship, and rumor was rife about the new company’s plans. Even the name they’d given it was a dead giveaway. She supposed they’d seen no point in trying to disguise its purpose, since the secret was out anyway.

Sienna bit at her thumbnail, a frown creasing her forehead. Despite Camille’s assurance that the salvage would be carried out with due regard to the wreck’s historical importance, she wasn’t at all sure her friend hadn’t been dazzled by her dashing new husband into a false sense of security. Apparently the Broderick brothers’ father had been obsessed with finding a treasure ship, and Rogan looked to be following in the old man’s footsteps.

“What’s the matter?” Brodie asked curiously.

She dropped her hand. “I’m not sure about this company—disturbing a historic wreck.”

Brodie folded his arms, his eyes assessing her. “You want the ship to remain on the bottom of the ocean, untouched, until it rots away?”

“I’d just like to know that nothing of archaeological significance is lost because of ignorance or greed.”

Brodie’s eyebrows lifted. He said in a deceptively mild tone, “Don’t you trust Camille to make sure that doesn’t happen? She’s the official researcher and a qualified historian.”

“She’s in love!” Sienna shot back at him. “It tends to skew people’s thinking.” As Brodie cast her an inquiring look, she said hastily, “I’m sure she’ll do her best, but archaeology isn’t her specialty, and…”

“And you’re afraid that Rogan will influence her.” Brodie appeared slightly amused. “Don’t you realize the guy is crazy about her? He’d do anything for Camille. She only has to lift her little finger.”

“That may not last.” A shadow touched her heart, but she tried to keep it from reaching her face.

His expression was quizzical. “Cynic,” he accused. “A bit young for that, aren’t you? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-seven.” She was well aware that he was fishing. He’d be about Rogan’s age, presumably—thirtyish. “Age has nothing to do with it. I’m being realistic.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Something inside her quivered. “Of course. Haven’t you?”

Brodie looked past her, and his eyes glazed. He said slowly, “Not…like that.”

Involuntarily she turned to see what had taken his attention. Camille and Rogan were framed in the open doorway, holding each other’s hands and for the moment alone. And it wasn’t the sun that lent that almost blinding glow to Camille’s face, or kindled the fierce light in her new husband’s eyes.

The picture held Sienna spellbound for a second, and an unaccountable lump rose in her throat. Rogan said something to his bride, and she gave him a smile that positively dazzled. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. It looked like an act of homage, and Sienna recalled the words from the traditional marriage service he’d spoken in the chapel earlier, “With my body I thee worship….”

She experienced a return of the poignant sense of desolation that had unexpectedly pierced her when a radiant Camille and blazingly proud Rogan had turned from the altar to begin their married life.

Brodie said softly, “You don’t think that will last?”

Wrenching her gaze away, Sienna lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? All I’m saying is I wouldn’t count on it.” For Camille’s sake she fervently hoped it would, but experience made her cautious of such predictions.

Brodie’s blue gaze was suddenly penetrating. “Want to bet on it?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t gamble.”

“That figures.”

It sounded like a derogatory comment, but she didn’t reply, instead shifting her attention again to the moored boats. “Is one of those the Sea-Rogue?” Camille and Rogan planned a short honeymoon on the boat they owned, before its refitting was completed and they put it to work as a dive tender for Pacific Treasure Salvors.

“She’s farther round the bay,” Brodie told her. “At the old fishing wharves.”

Sienna nodded. She looked away from the boats and started to get up. This time Brodie didn’t stop her.

“Well, nice talking to you,” she said distantly as he too rose to his feet.

He cocked his head, his questioning eyes openly doubting her sincerity, but he didn’t follow when she made her way to the now empty doorway.

Sienna found Camille who said, “I might go up and change soon. Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

“I’m fine,” Sienna insisted. “I’ve been sitting out in the sun.” Although Brodie had made sure she was under the shade of the umbrella.

“Oh, yes. Granger was hunting for you but he said Brodie seemed to be looking after you.”

“I don’t need looking after!”

Camille smiled at her vehemence. “You do look a bit fragile, and I suppose it brings out the protective instinct in the male of the species.”

“They can keep their instincts to themselves as far as I’m concerned.” A long time ago Sienna had learned there was no sanctuary in a man’s arms. That the only person she could rely on to look after her was herself.

Regarding her thoughtfully, Camille evidently decided not to comment. “It’s only about two weeks since you came out of hospital. You would have said, wouldn’t you, if you weren’t up to being my bridesmaid?”

“I told you,” Sienna replied, “it’s a pleasure. I didn’t want to miss it.” In truth, the pleasure was mixed with concern on her friend’s behalf. Impressed despite herself by Camille’s steadfast certainty, she hadn’t dared voice her own reservations.

A little later they went upstairs and Camille shed her wedding gown in favor of more practical cotton pants and a shirt. Most of the wedding party then decamped along the foreshore to see the newlyweds aboard the Sea-Rogue for their short honeymoon cruise, and as the boat slipped out of its berth some of the onlookers threw streamers across the widening gap and Camille tossed her bouquet to the wharf.

Sienna stepped back, her hands resolutely at her sides, but Granger deftly caught it, and when he presented it to her with one of his grave smiles and a faintly lifted eyebrow, she could hardly refuse to take the flowers.

Back at the hotel Granger told Sienna, “I’ve booked us a table for dinner here at seven-thirty. Camille’s mother and some other people will be joining us.”

Supposing that entertaining Mona Hartley was part of her bridal-attendant duties, Sienna said, “I’ll get changed and meet you in the dining room later.”

In her bathroom she freed her hair from its knot of curls and brushed it out, hoping it wouldn’t spring back into its usual wild corkscrews too quickly. The floor creaked as she crossed the old kauri boards to her suitcase and pulled out a plain sand-colored skirt and a sleeveless cream top embroidered with amber beads. The mirror in which she checked her appearance before going downstairs had a heavy carved wooden frame on which stylized Maori patterns were mixed with depictions of roses and lilies.

At the foot of the stairs she saw Brodie, one hand thrust into a pocket of his dark trousers, his collar open and his jacket slung across one shoulder. He watched her descend, his gaze swiftly encompassing her from head to toe and returning to her face with a gleam of masculine appreciation lurking in the vivid depths, and she wished she’d thought to take the old elevator instead, but for only one floor it hadn’t seemed worth it.

“Ready for your dinner?” he asked her.

“I’m having it with Granger,” she said coolly, fighting a ridiculous sense of pleasure at the way his hair gleamed in the light from a chandelier overhead, the blond streaks turning to gold.

“I know. Me too,” he replied, walking at her side as she made for the dining room. “I offered to wait for you.”

She wasn’t late, but when they entered, two women already sat with Granger at the round table—Camille’s mother and another middle-aged woman.

Mona looked pinched and put upon—not unusual in Sienna’s experience. The other woman, whom Granger smoothly introduced as Mollie Edwards, a good friend of his and Rogan’s late father, was cozily rounded with brass-colored curls framing her rather overpainted face, and a wide smile.

Sienna took to her immediately, but to help Granger out—and also to avoid having to talk too much to Brodie, whose presence she was all too conscious of at her side—she devoted a good deal of her attention during the meal to Mona. The woman had just seen her only child marry a man Sienna had a strong hunch she didn’t approve of. Though it seemed that Mollie’s presence had more to do with Mona’s offended air than did the loss of her daughter.

Granger occasionally caught Sienna’s eye with a hint of grateful appreciation in the turquoise depths of his, and attempted to keep the conversation general around the table.

Brodie had discarded his suit and wore casual gray pants and a T-shirt. When his bare arm brushed against hers as he reached for salt, Sienna felt as though the tiny hairs on her skin had been charged with a current of electricity. It must be the dry seaside air, she thought, confused. The same phenomenon that caused her clothes to crackle sometimes when she shed them.

Mollie was excited that Rogan and his brother, along with Camille who had inherited half of the Sea-Rogue, were planning to raise the treasure their late father had discovered. “Barney always knew he’d find it someday.” She wiped a small tear from her eye with her table napkin.

Mona gave a scornful little laugh. “I have my doubts about this whole thing.” She speared a piece of fish on her plate. “Camille won’t even tell me what all the excitement is about. After all,” she complained, “my husband was Barney’s partner, I think I’m entitled.”

Granger studied her for a moment, then said quietly, “I’m sure you can keep a secret, Mona. Rogan’s already recovered coins and a few pieces of jewelry from the wreck Barney found. The cargo, if we can recover it, could be worth a great deal.”

Brodie swallowed a mouthful of his rare steak. “Even passengers’ effects might bring in quite a lot of money, coming from a historic wreck.”

Mona sniffed. “What difference can that make?”

Granger explained, “Sunken treasure accrues value from its history. A romantic shipwreck story and a certificate of authenticity make for a better price at auction.”

Sienna commented, “It’s an artificial inflation. Part of this whole business of commercial treasure hunting.”

Brodie turned to her. “Can you give an expert opinion,” he asked her, “on the possible worth of the pieces Rogan had?”

She had to meet his eyes, finding them blindingly blue and disconcertingly close. She could see her own face reflected in them, giving her an odd feeling of unwanted intimacy. For a moment she couldn’t recall what the conversation was about. Pulling herself together, she said, “The brief I was given was to try to find out where and when they were made, to help identify the wreck. I’m sure Rogan and Granger will get the highest prices possible.”

Mollie’s look at Sienna was disappointed. “You sound as though you disapprove.”

Brodie said, sounding amused, “Sienna’s suspicious of treasure hunters.” His eyes teased her, still holding her gaze until she wrenched it away as Mollie spoke to her.

“Why?” Mollie asked. “You’re too young to be bitter and twisted about it.” She directed a meaningful look at Mona, who almost choked on another morsel of fish.

Granger’s gaze went to Sienna. “I’m sure you have good reasons. Would you like to tell us what they are?”

Sienna suspected he knew very well, or could at least make an educated guess. But the men obviously hoped, by throwing Sienna into the arena, to avoid open female warfare.

Ignoring the over-respectful look that Brodie turned on her, she said, “Old shipwrecks contain a lot of information about life in former times. Ships might remain preserved in mud or sand for centuries, until someone disturbs that protection and leaves them open to decay.”

Beside her Brodie moved slightly, and she heard him take in a breath as though about to say something, but without giving him the chance, she continued defiantly, “Nothing should be removed from a wreck before an archaeological survey is conducted and the site properly mapped.”

Mollie looked dubious. Brodie tipped his chair and hooked one arm over the back of it to lazily study Sienna. He said, “It costs a hell of a lot to salvage a wreck properly. Even archaeologists aren’t keen on going ahead without hard evidence that it’s going to be worthwhile. And most of them don’t have the money or expertise to do it.”

Mona gave a genteel snort, perhaps of corroboration.

“It seems to be a constant dilemma,” Granger agreed, confirming Sienna’s suspicion that he hadn’t needed to be informed of the problem. “It’s only by bringing in investors that anyone can exploit a remote, difficult wreck—and investors expect a profit.”

Sienna acknowledged that reluctantly, glad to concentrate on him instead of Brodie. “Only, irresponsible divers can ruin a heritage that belongs to us all. Priceless objects have been melted down for their metal. It’s criminal!”

Brodie was still regarding her, his gaze turning curious. “Not all treasure hunters are looters and vandals,” he told her. “And your colleagues can be so pigheaded that in the end no one benefits.”

“Pigheaded?” She flashed him a hostile look.

“What’s the point of barring salvors from exploring wrecks that are breaking up and being scattered all over the seabed? Or due to go under earthworks in harbors and be buried for all time?”

“I hope that wouldn’t happen.”

“It has happened. And that’s criminal, surely? Salvage is damned hard work.” Brodie let his chair drop back to the floor and leaned toward her, one strong forearm on the table. “Dangerous too, with far more disappointments than successes. Most of what divers recover goes to museums or private collections, where they’re cared for and available for people like you to study.”

“But treasure hunters’ primary concern is money,” Sienna objected. She gave him a challenging stare, her passion for the subject making her bold. The prickling sensations running up her arms must signal antipathy for his argument, she thought.

He looked at her almost pityingly. “It’s not a sin to be paid for what you do. And guys who dive for treasure aren’t in it just for the money. There’s a thrill in finding something precious that’s been under the sea for a hundred or even a thousand years. You’d know that.”

“Of course!” She knew how it felt to unearth a Victorian china cup or a pre-European carved Maori implement, and speculate who had owned it, who had crafted it, how they had lived so long ago, how and when they had died.

Granger regarded her thoughtfully across the table. “I know you have a secure position at the university, Sienna,” he said, “but I wonder if you would consider joining Pacific Treasure Salvors as our official archaeologist?”

Chapter 2

Sienna stared back at Granger. “Me?”

He didn’t smile. “Camille mentioned before you got ill that she’d like to have you on board. I was going to broach this to you tomorrow, but as the subject’s come up…”

Brodie glanced Granger’s way, and some kind of wordless exchange briefly passed between them. Sienna wondered if there was a reason Camille hadn’t done the asking earlier. Maybe the men had wanted to check her out.

Mollie’s eyes sparkled. “It sounds exciting. If I were you, dear, I’d jump at the chance. I’ve got a little investment in the company myself. For Barney’s sake.”

Mona looked as though she was about to roll her eyes.

Sienna was bemused. Of course she didn’t want to be any part of a treasure hunt. Did she? “I don’t think—”

Brodie interrupted. “You’d get to make sure things are done the way you think they should be.”

Granger added, “Camille said you’re experienced at scuba work.”

“I’ve done some,” Sienna admitted. She’d learned to dive as a teenager, so in her student days when an ancient Maori canoe was discovered buried in the silt of a tidal estuary, she’d been seconded by the professor in charge of the underwater excavation and had taken advanced courses to improve her skills. “But most of my wreck diving has been recreational.”

Granger said, “I hope you’ll give our offer some thought. I’ll be happy to supply details anytime.”

Even as she shook her head, starting to say thanks but no thanks, Brodie argued, sitting back in his chair again to fix her with a direct look. “If you’re really worried about the site being ruined this is your chance to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Sienna hesitated, and Granger flicked Brodie a slightly amused glance. “He’s right. But your university job isn’t something to be treated lightly. Nor, I understand, is possibly risking your reputation among your peers. I know a lot of archaeologists regard working with treasure salvors as incompatible with their profession.”

Granger’s understanding and Brodie’s challenge made her seem stuffy and overcautious—and more interested in preserving her position and salary than in her avowed mission of saving precious remnants of the past. She directed a suspicious look at Granger, but his expression was perfectly serious, his eyes blandly meeting hers.

“There’s no immediate hurry to make a decision,” he told her. “The Sea-Rogue won’t be sailing again until the hurricane season’s over, and we have a top-notch salvage team and the necessary equipment in place. Camille intends to finish the semester. Maybe if you decide not to take the job you could recommend someone.”

Then he turned to Mona, offering to refill her wineglass, and the subject was dropped.

After she’d gone to bed, Sienna lay listening to the breakers gently washing the sand, the occasional sound of a car passing by, voices carrying on the clear night air.

She shouldn’t even be thinking about Granger’s surprising proposition, but her mind wouldn’t let it go.

What he was offering could be an escape from a niggling worry that she’d put to the back of her mind.

She’d scarcely thought about Aidan Rutherford, her head of department, since coming to Mokohina.

Aidan had visited almost daily when she was in hospital, bringing flowers, books and exotic foodstuffs that he hoped would tempt her appetite. He’d even volunteered to keep an eye on her home and water her plants and feed the little cat that had adopted her.

One afternoon, he’d caught her hand in his and leaned toward her, saying her name in an urgent undertone. But when her startled gaze flew to his earnest brown eyes he’d suddenly dropped her hand, sat back and pinched the skin on the bridge of his long nose, his expression hidden as he muttered, “I hope you’ll be better soon. I…we miss you in the staff room.”

On her first day back at work his rather melancholy face lit up with relief when she walked into his office. He’d come round his desk and taken both her hands, then brushed a light kiss across her cheek, and after stepping back there was color in his normally sallow cheeks. He’d passed a hand over his thinning hair before retreating behind his desk and assuming a businesslike manner, to her considerable relief.

If Aidan ever showed signs of more than friendly interest they were both in trouble. He was married.

Not only married, but with a delightful brown-eyed daughter of six years.

Apart from an aversion to messy extramarital affairs between colleagues that led to gossip and tensions and sometimes wrecked careers and lives, and Sienna’s own moral and very personal objections to breaking up a marriage, no way could she be responsible for hurting a child.

He was the kind of man she’d hoped one day to meet, but he was definitely off limits.

Maybe she was mistaking concern at her illness for something else. But even though she tried to believe that, she couldn’t shake the uneasy knowledge that lately Aidan had been looking at her in a way she found disquieting, hurriedly shifting his gaze when he saw she’d noticed.

There were soft footsteps in the passageway, and someone quietly opened and closed a door. A light flickered against the window for a few minutes, then went out, leaving the room seemingly darker than before.

Resolutely Sienna closed her eyes. Images of the day imprinted themselves on her lids like a moving slide show. Camille’s radiant face, the sunlight that had flashed briefly on the gold band Rogan placed firmly on his bride’s finger, Granger reaching to catch the bouquet that now sat in a vase on the low table by the window. She had no idea what she was going to do with it. Probably leave it for the hotel staff to take care of.

The last clear picture she saw before drifting off was of Brodie Stanner looking at her with studied concentration when she threw back at him his question about ever having been in love. And she heard again the strange intensity in his voice as he lifted his gaze to watch Rogan and Camille and said, “Not like that.”

Rogan had arranged for Granger to drive Sienna to Auckland where he had his home and legal practice, and she was booked on a flight to take her from there farther south to Palmerston North, where she’d pick up her own car and drive to her house near the Rusden campus.

On the way he told her what terms the company could offer an archaeologist, and at the airport insisted on carrying her bag to the counter. He bought a newspaper, and while she checked in, he glanced over a couple of pages.

As Sienna turned back to him with her boarding pass in her hand he gave a soft exclamation and frowned down at something he was reading.

“What is it?” she asked.

Granger looked up, his mouth hardening. “James Drummond’s broken his bail conditions. Apparently he hasn’t been seen for two months.”

It was a moment before she connected. Then a cold shiver attacked her spine. James Drummond had been indirectly responsible for the death of Granger and Rogan’s father.

“Damn.” Granger’s voice held unusual force. “And damn the judge who let him stay out of jail until the trial. Now there may not be one.”

“He threatened to kill Camille and Rogan!” He’d been prepared to stop at nothing to get at the Maiden’s Prayer and her treasure before the Brodericks. Even murder.

“Yes,” Granger agreed grimly. “Though I don’t suppose they’re in any danger now that there’s nothing he can get from them. He’s probably only concerned with saving his own skin. He’ll be lying low somewhere. Maybe out of the country.”

In a way Sienna hoped so. “Didn’t he have to hand over his passport?”

“As the police said when they opposed bail, he has contacts in the shipping industry from illegally exporting prohibited heritage items out of New Zealand. Let’s hope Rogue and Camille don’t find out about this until their honeymoon’s over. It could put a damper on it.”

He refolded the paper and handed her a card, saying, “Call me if you need any more information about the job, and I do hope you’re going to join us. Camille would be pleased.”

A few days after Sienna’s return to the dig with her students, the team unearthed a cache of carved Maori weapons that might date back as far as pre-European times, and she invited Aidan to visit and give his advice.

After agreeing with her assessment and helping secure the site, Aidan offered to treat the team to a drink in celebration, and at the conclusion of a couple of hours in a pub she found that her car wouldn’t start. “My own fault,” she admitted ruefully to the young men who fruitlessly opened up the engine and peered at the interior, jiggling wires. “It’s been iffy lately but I was just too busy to get it checked.”

Rain began to fall, it was dark and she didn’t fancy sitting around waiting for help. “I’ll get a taxi,” she said, “and call the AA in the morning.”

“I’ll run you home,” Aidan offered, having already piled several students into his car. One of them got out and insisted on her having the front seat.

Aidan dropped off the students first at their hostel, and then in silence drove her to the small house she rented in the center of the city.

Drawing up outside, he sat frowning through the wind-screen as she unfastened her seat belt. “I’m sorry,” he said, “if I’ve not been good company tonight.”

“You’re always good company, Aidan,” she assured him, pausing as she fumbled for the door handle.

He gave a strained laugh. “Tell that to my wife,” he muttered. “She thinks I’m a bore—I don’t know what kind of life she expected with an archaeology lecturer, but it’s not lively enough for her. And my salary won’t stretch to the sort of lifestyle she’d like.”

Sharon Rutherford always gave an impression of being restless and bored at any university function she attended, and it was fairly obvious she didn’t want to be there.

“I’m sorry,” Sienna murmured uncomfortably. Her fingers closed about the handle.

“Don’t go yet.” He turned to her with a pleading expression.

“Won’t your wife be wondering where you are?”

“I phoned her, said good night to Pixie and promised to give her a kiss if she’s still awake when I get home.” His daughter’s name was Priscilla, but he called her Pixie.

“Give Pixie a hug for me,” Sienna said, beginning to open the door.

“That’s very sweet of you.” As she turned away he said her name in a desperate undertone. “Sienna, I—” He grabbed at her free hand, holding tightly, then pulled the other one into an equally fierce grip and lunged toward her.

Sienna sharply turned her head to the side. Dragging herself away, she said firmly, “Good night, Aidan. Thanks for the lift.”

As she hurried to her front door, he restarted the engine and roared away with an uncharacteristic screech of tires.

Her heart was pounding, and she felt a shivery dismay.

Aidan was close to the ideal man she had quite consciously set up in her mind, a man she could respect and admire. Who seemed to respect and like her. But although they worked closely together, at times she’d almost forgotten that he was male.

It crossed her mind that Brodie Stanner would never have allowed her to forget that important fact. When she was with him she hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind for a minute. He’d simply exuded masculinity and hadn’t bothered to hide his interest in her. Not that she supposed it was exclusive. There’d been that blonde at the wedding reception, and no doubt if nothing had come of that he’d found another woman to take his fancy by now. Perhaps more than one…

Impatiently she dragged herself back to the immediate problem.

She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow Aidan to endanger his marriage and embroil her in the resultant mess. The thought of following in her father’s footsteps made her feel sick.

She’d been fifteen when her parents’ marriage had been torn apart by his affair with a woman he’d worked with. Two families had been shattered by the inability of two people to stand by their vows.

No way was she going to be the cause of another man making the same mistake. Why couldn’t he have maintained the comfortable working partnership of the past two years?

She went to bed torn between pity for Aidan and a muted anger that he’d clumsily tipped the neutral balance of their relationship. Once that balance had shifted, they could never regain their previous equilibrium. And the tension would spill into her work.

Next morning she phoned Granger Broderick and said, “I’m interested in that job with your company.”

Sienna allowed the university authorities to believe that her health was the main reason for her requesting indefinite leave of absence from the end of the semester. Her normal appetite hadn’t returned and she was aware that her colleagues worried about her. The professor emeritus who had filled in while she was hospitalized was happy to return for the next semester. But when she confessed to Aidan that she was going to work on a marine archaeology project he was taken aback, even shocked. Sitting opposite her at his desk, he dropped the pencil he’d been idly playing with and stared as though he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “This is connected to those artifacts your friend from the history department brought to you that were stolen?” Surprising her with his vehemence, he said, “Sienna, I’d advise you to have nothing more to do with that!”

“I know some archaeologists feel that working with treasure hunters compromises their integrity, but—”

“You don’t realize what you’re getting into!” He leaned across the desk, his expression full of tension, his pale skin seeming even more so. “The field is full of thugs and thieves. Haven’t you had enough trouble already?”

“What do you mean?”

“The burglary, and…well, isn’t that enough? Suppose you’d been here when they broke in? Heaven knows what they might have done to you.”

He could have a point. Needing to keep her private assignment separate and secret, she had worked on the pieces in her own time, at all kinds of odd hours, so she might well have been in the lab alone when the burglars made their move. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned,” she said, touched despite herself, “but you said yourself that the break-in probably had no connection to those particular pieces, and more likely someone heard the students talking about the Maori jade ornaments and carvings we’d recovered from the dig. They were just lucky that the treasure hoard was here too.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Aidan conceded. “Unscrupulous collectors will pay handsomely for ancient Pacific art, and of course the export restrictions only make it more desirable and raise the prices. But I still don’t like this idea of yours. Won’t you reconsider? I hate to lose you, Sienna.” He looked bothered, his brown eyes pleading.

Hardening her heart and sternly reminding herself why she’d decided to leave, Sienna shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve made up my mind.”

By the time she arrived in the north and drove along the winding coast road to the little port at Mokohina, then checked in at the Imperial, dusk was sneaking down from the hillside that half circled the town and lights were going on in the venerable villas and newer homes that populated its slopes.

She freshened up and ate early, while the dining room was less than half filled. Through the windows she could see the lights of anchored yachts and powerboats reflecting jaggedly in the water. After eating she was drawn across the road to admire the starry night and the moving gleam and glitter of the sea, and enjoy the cool, salty night air.

She began to stroll along the waterfront, in a surprisingly short time drawing near the old wharves.

Camille had joined her husband on the Sea-Rogue several days previously, and there had been a note at the hotel inviting Sienna to call when she arrived if she wasn’t too tired.

She had no trouble identifying the old wooden ketch with its distinctive cabin structure, featuring a door instead of a lift-up hatch, even before checking the lettering freshly painted on the bow.

A light glowed in the main cabin, and the deck was an easy step across. She noticed a sticker on the bulkhead advising that the boat was burglar-alarmed, but although a sturdy padlock hung on the catch, the narrow door was open and her tentative call brought Camille up the short, steep companionway to greet her with a hug.

“Come on down,” Camille said. “We’re just finishing dinner. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, and I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” Sienna protested.

But Camille urged her down the companionway. “You can have some dessert with us. I bet you didn’t have one at the hotel.” And when they reached the saloon, “You remember Brodie?”

He was seated at the built-in table, his alert blue gaze giving Sienna a minor jolt when he turned to give her a nod of recognition, taking in the brand-new scoop-necked, fitted scarlet top and hip-hugging jeans she wore.

Camille said, “Move over, Brodie, and make room for Sienna.”

“I didn’t know you had a guest,” Sienna said when Rogan waved her onto the seat next to Brodie. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing,” Camille scolded, and Rogan added lazily, “Brodie’s not a guest anyway. He’s a worker.”

Camille said, “And if it wasn’t for him I guess I’d be the one having to climb the masts with a paintbrush or screwdriver and get down into the bilge to fix cables.”

Rogan grinned at her. “Of course,” he said. “What do you think I married you for?”

Camille laughed. “I’m dishing up apricot mousse, Sienna. Do you want cream or ice cream with it?”

Even as Sienna said, “Just the mousse,” Brodie cut in with, “Give her both.”

Camille planted a scoop of ice cream and a dollop of whipped cream into the dish before handing it to Sienna with a slight, apologetic smile. “You don’t have to eat it all if it’s too much.”

Evidently marriage had turned Camille into the kind of woman who automatically obeyed male commands. Sienna dug her spoon into the mousse.

The dessert was melt-in-the-mouth delicious, and the short walk must have woken her appetite, because she finished the mousse and even ate some ice cream before pushing aside her dish.

She declined more, but Brodie enthusiastically accepted another helping before Rogan suggested coffee on deck.

They sat on cushioned seats in the cockpit at the stern, Rogan with his arm about Camille’s shoulders and Brodie and Sienna side by side opposite their hosts.

Brodie lounged back in the seat they shared, a foot away with his arm resting along the coaming behind her, and although he didn’t touch her, she found his proximity unsettling, her nerves sending tiny electrical pulsations up both her arms.

Camille asked, “Did you find someone to look after your cat?”

“One of my students is house-sitting. She’ll spoil him.” Sienna paused. “Granger mentioned you thought you could find somewhere for me to store my car?”

“Brodie’s offered half of his garage to you while we’re at sea.”

Sienna turned to Brodie. “Thank you. I’ll pay you a rental—”

“You won’t. No problem.” His look dared her to argue.

“Well, thank you,” she repeated.

Camille said, “How’s your brother, Sienna? You stayed with him on the way up?”

“He’s fine. But my car was broken into in the night while it was parked outside his place, and my luggage got stolen. Including my scuba gear.”

Camille looked shocked, and both men stiffened, scowling. Brodie’s eyes searched Sienna’s face, his mouth going hard.

Rogan asked, “You reported it to the police?”

“Yes, but I had the impression they have more important things to worry about. They said if it was any consolation the thief was good at his job—he picked the lock without damaging the car. I filled in an insurance claim though I doubt they’ll pay out the full amount of the stuff that was taken.”

Brodie said, “I’ll fix you up with scuba gear, on credit if you like. Come and see me at the dive shop.”

“What a horrible thing to happen,” Camille sympathized. “Are you okay for clothes and stuff?”

“I bought some in Hamilton. Basics, and I won’t need much more on the boat. Fortunately I’d taken my laptop out of the car. I left it with my brother, since you said I can use the on-board computers.”

Rogan asked, “It doesn’t have information on it about our artifacts?”

“No, I’ve never kept that on the hard disk. I carry a password-protected disk in my bag that’s always with me.” Laptop computers were a prime target for theft, and Camille had impressed upon her how important it was to keep her notes confidential.

Even Aidan had no idea what was in them. When asking his permission to use the laboratory facilities, she’d told him she couldn’t talk about the work and had kept the artifacts in her own padlocked steel locker, only taking them out when she was alone after hours. But the burglar had made short work of the lock.

“I think,” she said, “after breaking into my car the thief tried to get into the house, but my brother heard something and scared him off. We didn’t realize the car had been tampered with until the morning.”

She’d been upset, of course, but thankful nothing irreplaceable had been taken. “I’ve sent Granger copies of my notes. I presume he’s keeping them in a safe place?”

Rogan said, “My big brother’s office is in an old bank building and he’s got a strong room with a steel door a foot thick where he stores sensitive records.” Perhaps to make some kind of amends for even vaguely querying her discretion, he asked, “You have an older brother too?”

“Younger. It’s thanks to him I learned to scuba dive. We were on holiday in the Bay of Islands when he was twelve and I was fifteen, and he was mad keen to learn, but my parents would only let him if I agreed to keep an eye on him.” Their last holiday with both parents—perhaps that was why she remembered it so vividly, every moment seemingly clear in her mind.

“You didn’t want to dive?” Brodie queried, disconcertingly closer to her than she’d expected as she turned to him.

“I wasn’t against the idea, just not crazy for it the way he was.” She’d been more interested in collecting shells and occasional bits of flotsam, wondering if some of the pieces of wood she picked up that had obviously been shaped by tools had come from shipwrecks or drifted from the shores of other lands. And how long they’d been floating on the wide Pacific.

There had been no hint that dreamy, untroubled summer of the cataclysm that was about to descend on their lives. Yet only a few weeks after their return, her father had announced that he was leaving to live with another woman who was expecting his child. Her mother too had seemed stunned, apparently having had no more clue than Sienna or her brother about their father’s secret life.

“If you’re planning to dive on this expedition,” Brodie said, “you’ll need a certificate of fitness.”

A little nettled—as if that were any of his business—she said, “I sent Granger a letter from my own GP, but he told me Rogan wants me to see a dive doctor here. I’ll do it tomorrow,” she assured the other man. It seemed Rogan preferred all the crew members to go to a doctor he knew and trusted. “I won’t need to buy an air tank, will I? Granger said they’d be supplied.”

“Yep—on the salvage barge there’ll be air and gases for scuba, as well as a surface-supply system for the helmet divers on the bottom and a decompression chamber.”

It sounded like a well-equipped expedition. Obviously some thought had gone into preparations to ensure efficiency and safety.

Not much later Sienna got up to leave, pleading tiredness.

Brodie said, “I’ll walk you back to the hotel.”

“I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

He said flatly, “Rogue’s dad got jumped not far from here.”

Surely that was different—she’d gathered that Barney Broderick had been carrying some clue to the treasure ship he’d found, so it had been no random mugging. But obviously Brodie wasn’t going to be put off by her protest, and Rogan and even Camille were looking approving. It seemed politic to give in rather than start a pointless argument.

Brodie leaped onto the wharf, now slightly above the deck level, and extended a hand that she couldn’t refuse without an obvious snub.

His fingers were warm and hard, closing firmly about hers before he hauled her effortlessly onto the old, cracked boards, steadying her with a hand on her arm.

“Thank you,” she said politely.

“It’s a pleasure.”

Sienna thought she detected ironic amusement in his voice, but it was dark now and she couldn’t see his expression. She began to walk and Brodie fell in beside her, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, his ambling stride tempered to her pace. Yet he seemed oddly alert, peering down a darkened alleyway as they passed and occasionally glancing behind them.

“Are you looking for someone?” she asked.

His gaze returned to her. “No.”

Moments later he said, “You don’t think it’s a bit odd that your lab was burgled and then your car?”

Jolted, she stared at him. “Theft isn’t that uncommon, especially from unattended cars left on the road, according to the police. And it was miles away from the burglary.”

“Hmm.” They walked around a curve and into an area that was better lit, where cafés were still open, a few hardy souls sitting outside although it was autumn. Brodie appeared to relax a bit. “Why did you take the job after all?” he asked.

“Well, because I…” She floundered, not about to tell him the real reason. “Because it sounds interesting. And as you said,” she added, “if I want to be sure the site is properly surveyed and not damaged, the best way is to be on the spot myself.”

“Rogan won’t go roaring in like a bull in a china shop. And with you and Camille both on board I’m sure you’ll make your views clear.”

Sienna muttered, “Camille seems to have sold out.”

“How do you mean? She’s the one who insisted on asking you to join the team.”

“I’m not insulting her,” Sienna assured him. “I just mean that…well, marriage has changed her.”

“It’s made her happier,” Brodie said bluntly. “Is that a crime?”

“Of course not. I’m happy for her. I suppose it’s inevitable.”

“What is?”

Sienna struggled to explain. “Her first loyalty now is to her husband. Before…well, it was different.” Both she and Camille had nursed their own reasons for being wary of the male worldview. Now Camille was happy and loved, and Sienna felt an irrational desolation. She hadn’t lost her friend, but things would never be quite the same.

“You think she’s gone over to the enemy?” Brodie asked.

“I’m not anti-man.” She knew all men weren’t like her father. Her own fatal weakness prevented her from establishing a relationship with one of them.

“You relieve my mind,” Brodie said. “Rogue’s changed too. I guess marriage does that to people. Alters their perception of life or something.” Thoughtfully he added, “I never thought he was the marrying kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy would that be?” she asked, and he laughed, not bothering to reply.

Not Brodie’s kind, she presumed. Camille had mentioned that Brodie owned his own house in Mokohina as well as the local dive shop and dive school. She’d gathered that Rogan’s friend had settled down, but he didn’t look at all the settled-down type to her. “Have you ever been married?” she asked. There had been no sign of a wife at the wedding.

He laughed again. “Do I look like it? No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What—that no woman would have me?”

“I’m sure plenty of women would have you,” she replied, “and probably regret it later.” As her mother must now. Her father too had been a man who naturally attracted female interest. Even as a teenager she’d known that other women envied her mother. Quite possibly the woman he lived with now hadn’t been the first to deflect his attention away from his wife. Perhaps the others had the good luck—or forethought—not to get pregnant.

Brodie grinned down at her, not noticeably insulted. “You could be right. I’m probably not great husband material. Have you ever been married?”

“No.” How had they gotten into this conversation? It was becoming too personal. Reaching the grass verge opposite the hotel, Sienna said hastily, “Thank you for seeing me back.”

She swung away, stepping onto the road as headlights suddenly swept over her, an engine roared and the car she hadn’t seen or heard leaped out of the darkness.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.