The Reef
Authors: Nora Roberts
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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THE REEF
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A
Jove
Book / published by arrangement with the author
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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©
1998
by
Nora Roberts
This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.
For information address:
The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
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ISBN:
1-101-14608-7
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A
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Books first published by The Jove Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,
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Electronic edition: May, 2002
Titles by Nora Roberts
HOT ICE
SACRED SINS
BRAZEN VIRTUE
SWEET REVENGE
PUBLIC SECRETS
GENUINE LIES
CARNAL INNOCENCE
DIVINE EVIL
HONEST ILLUSIONS
PRIVATE SCANDALS
BORN IN FIRE
BORN IN ICE
BORN IN SHAME
HIDDEN RICHES
TRUE BETRAYALS
DARING TO DREAM
HOLDING THE DREAM
FINDING THE DREAM
MONTANA SKY
SEA SWEPT
RISING TIDES
INNER HARBOR
SANCTUARY
HOMEPORT
THE REEF
FROM THE HEART (
anthology
)
ONCE UPON A CASTLE
(
anthology with Jill Gregory, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Marianne Willman
)
SILENT NIGHT
(
anthology with Susan Plunkett, Dee Holmes, and Claire Cross
)
Titles written as J. D. Robb
NAKED IN DEATH
GLORY IN DEATH
IMMORTAL IN DEATH
RAPTURE IN DEATH
CEREMONY IN DEATH
VENGEANCE IN DEATH
HOLIDAY IN DEATH
CONSPIRACY IN DEATH
To Ruth Langan and Marianne Willman,
for the past, the present, and the future
PAST
The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.
â
Henri Bergson
ROLOGUE
J
AMES
L
ASSITER WAS
forty years old, a well-built, ruggedly handsome man in the prime of his life, in the best of health.
In an hour, he'd be dead.
From the deck of the boat, he could see nothing but the clear silky ripple of blue, the luminous greens and deeper browns of the great reef shimmering like islands below the surface of the Coral Sea. Far to the west, the foamy froth and surge of sea surf rose up and crashed against the false shore of coral.
From his stance at the port side, he could watch the shapes and shadows of fish, darting like living arrows through the world he'd been born to share with them.
The coast of Australia was lost in the distance, and there was only the vastness.
The day was perfect, the jewel-clear shimmer of the water, dashed by white facets of light tossed down by the gold flash of sun. The teasing hint of a breeze carried no taste of rain.
Beneath his feet, the deck swayed gently, a cradle on the quiet sea. Wavelets lapped musically against the hull. Below, far below, was treasure waiting to be discovered.
They were mining the wreck of the
Sea Star,
a British
merchant ship that had met its doom on the Great Barrier Reef two centuries before. For more than a year, breaking for bad weather, equipment failure and other inconveniences, they had worked, often like dogs, to reap the riches the
Star
had left behind.
There were riches yet, James knew. But his thoughts traveled beyond the
Sea Star,
north of that spectacular and dangerous reef to the balmy waters of the West Indies. To another wreck, to another treasure.
To Angelique's Curse.
He wondered now if it was the richly jeweled amulet that was cursed, or the woman, the witch Angelique, whose powerâit was reputedâremained strong in the rubies and diamonds and gold. Legend was that she had worn it, a gift from the husband it was said she murdered, on the day she was burned at the stake.
The idea fascinated him, the woman, the necklace, the legend. The search for it, which he would begin shortly, was taking on a personal twist. James didn't simply want the riches, the glory. He wanted Angelique's Curse, and the legend it carried.
He had been weaned on the hunt, on tales of wrecked ships and the bounty the sea hoarded from them. All of his life, he had dived, and he had dreamed. The dreams had cost him a wife, and given him a son.
James turned from the rail to study the boy. Matthew was nearly sixteen now. He had grown tall, but had yet to fill out. There was potential there, James mused, in the thin frame and ropey muscle. They shared the same dark, unmanageable hair, though the boy refused to have his cut short so that even now as Matthew checked the diving gear, it fell forward to curtain his face.
The face was rawboned, James thought. It had fined down in the last year or two and had lost the childish roundness. An angel face, a waitress had called it once, and had embarrassed the boy into hot cheeks and grimaces.
It had more of the devil in it now, and those blue eyes he'd passed to Matthew were more often hot than cool. The Lassiter temper, the Lassiter luck, James thought with a shake of his head. Tough legacies for a half-grown boy.
One day, he thought, one day soon, he would be able to give his son all the things a father hoped for. The key to it all lay quietly waiting in the tropical seas of the West Indies.
A necklace of rubies and diamonds beyond price, heavy with history, dark with legend, tainted with blood.
Angelique's Curse.
James's mouth twisted into a thin smile. When he had it, the bad luck that had dogged the Lassiters would change. He only had to be patient.
“Hurry up with those tanks, Matthew. The day's wasting.”
Matthew looked up, tossed his hair out of his eyes. The sun was rising behind his father's back, sending light shimmering around him. He looked, Matthew thought, like a king preparing for battle. As always, love and admiration welled up and startled him with its intensity.
“I replaced your pressure gauge. I want to take a look at the old one.”
“You look out for your old man.” James hooked his arm around Matthew's neck for a playful tussle. “Going to bring you up a fortune today.”
“Let me go down with you. Let me take the morning shift instead of him.”
James suppressed a sigh. Matthew hadn't learned the wisdom of controlling his emotions. Particularly his dislikes. “You know how the teams work. You and Buck'll dive this afternoon. VanDyke and I take the morning.”
“I don't want you to dive with him.” Matthew shook off his father's friendly arm. “I heard the two of you arguing last night. He hates you. I could hear it in his voice.”
A mutual feeling, James thought, but winked. “Partners often disagree. The bottom line here is that VanDyke's putting up most of the money. Let him have his fun, Matthew. For him treasure-hunting's just a hobby for a bored, rich businessman.”
“He can't dive worth shit.” And that, in Matthew's opinion, was the measure of a man.
“He's good enough. Just doesn't have much style at
forty feet down.” Tired of the argument, James began to don his wet suit. “Buck take a look at the compressor?”
“Yeah, he got the kinks out. Dadâ”
“Leave it, Matthew.”
“Just this one day,” Matthew said stubbornly. “I don't trust that prissy-faced bastard.”
“Your language continues to deteriorate.” Silas VanDyke, elegant and pale despite the hard sun, smiled as he exited the cabin at Matthew's back. It amused him nearly as much as it annoyed him to see the boy sneer. “Your uncle requires your assistance below, young Matthew.”
“I want to dive with my father today.”
“I'm afraid that would inconvenience me. As you see, I'm already wearing my wet suit.”
“Matthew.” There was an impatient command in James's voice. “Go see what Buck needs.”
“Yes, sir.” Eyes defiant, he went belowdecks.
“The boy has a poor attitude and worse manners, Lassiter.”
“The boy hates your guts,” James said cheerfully. “I'd say he has good instincts.”
“This expedition is coming to an end,” VanDyke shot back. “And so is my patience and my largesse. Without me, you'll run out of money in a week.”
“Maybe.” James zipped his suit. “Maybe not.”
“I want the amulet, Lassiter. You know it's down there, and I believe you know where. I want it. I've bought it. I've bought you.”
“You've bought my time, and you've bought my skill. You haven't bought me. Rules of salvage, VanDyke. The man who finds Angelique's Curse owns Angelique's Curse.” And it wouldn't be found, he was sure, on the
Sea Star.
He lifted a hand to VanDyke's chest. “Now keep out of my face.”
Control, the kind he wielded in boardrooms, kept VanDyke from lashing out. He had always won his rounds with patience, with money, and with power. Success in business, he knew, was a simple matter of who maintained control.
“You'll regret trying to double-cross me.” He spoke
mildly now, with the faintest hint of a smile curving his lips. “I promise you.”
“Hell, Silas, I'm enjoying it.” With a quiet chuckle, James stepped inside the cabin. “You guys reading girlie magazines, or what? Let's get going here.”
Moving quickly, VanDyke dealt with the tanks. It was, very simply, business. When the Lassiters came back on deck, he was hitching on his own gear.
The three of them, VanDyke thought, were pathetically beneath him. Obviously they had forgotten who he was, what he was. He was a VanDyke, a man who had been given or earned or taken whatever he wanted. One who intended to continue to do so, as long as there was profit. Did they think he cared that they tightened their little triangle and excluded him? It was past time he dismissed them and brought in a fresh team.
Buck, he mused, pudgy, already balding, a foolish foil to his handsome brother. Loyal as a mongrel puppy and just as intelligent.
Matthew, young and eager, brash, defiant. A hateful little worm VanDyke would be pleased to squash.
And James, of course, he mused as the three Lassiters stood together, sharing idle conversation. Tough and more canny than VanDyke had supposed. More than the simple tool he had expected. The man thought he had outwitted Silas VanDyke.
James Lassiter thought he would find and own Angelique's Curse, the amulet of power, of legend. Worn by a witch, coveted by many. And that made him a fool. VanDyke had invested in it, time, money, and effort, and Silas VanDyke never made poor investments.
“There's going to be good hunting today.” James strapped on his tanks. “I can smell it. Silas?”
“Right with you.”
James secured his weight belt, adjusted his mask and rolled into the water.
“Dad, waitâ”
But James just saluted and disappeared under the surface.
The world was silent and stunning. The drenching blue
was broken by fingers of sunlight that stabbed through the surface and shimmered clear white. Caves and castles of coral spread out to form secret worlds.
A reef shark, eyes bored and black, gave a twist of its body and slid through the water and away.
More at home here than in the air, James dived deep with VanDyke at his heels. The wreck was already well exposed, trenches dug around it and mined of treasure. Coral claimed the shattered bow and turned the wood into a fantasy of color and shape that seemed studded with amethyst, emerald, ruby.
This was the living treasure, the miracle of art created by seawater and sun.
It was, as always, a pleasure to see it.
When they began to work, James's sense of well-being increased. The Lassiter luck was behind him, he thought dreamily. He would soon be rich, famous. He smiled to himself. After all, he'd stumbled onto the clue, he'd spent days and hours researching and piecing the trail of the amulet together.
He could even feel a little sorry for that asshole VanDyke, since it would be the Lassiters who brought her up, from other waters, on their own expedition.
He caught himself reaching out to stroke a spine of coral as though it were a cat.
He shook his head, but couldn't clear it. The alarm bell sounded in one part of his brain, far off and dim. But he was an experienced diver and recognized the signs. He'd had a brush or two with nitrogen narcosis before. Never at such a shallow depth, he thought dimly. They were well shy of a hundred feet.
Regardless, he tapped his tanks. VanDyke was already watching him, eyes cool and assessing behind his mask. James signaled to surface. When VanDyke pulled him back, signaled toward the wreck, he was only mildly confused. Up, he signaled again, and again VanDyke restrained him.
He didn't panic. James wasn't a man to panic easily. He knew he'd been sabotaged, though his mind was too muddled to calculate how. VanDyke was an amateur in
this world, he reminded himself, didn't realize the extent of the danger. So he would have to show him. His eyes narrowed with purpose. He swung out, barely missing a grip on VanDyke's air hose.
The underwater struggle was slow, determined, eerily silent. Fish scattered like colorful silks, then gathered again to watch the drama of predator and prey. James could feel himself slipping, the dizziness, disorientation as the nitrogen pumped into him. He fought it, managed to kick another ten feet toward the surface.
Then wondered why he'd ever wanted to leave. He began to laugh, the bubbles bursting out and speeding high as the rapture claimed him. He embraced VanDyke in a kind of slow whirling dance, to share his delight. It was so beautiful here in the gilded blue light with gems and jewels of a thousand impossible colors waiting, just waiting to be plucked.
He'd been born to dive the depths.
Soon, James Lassiter's merriment would slide toward unconsciousness. And a quiet, comforting death.
VanDyke reached out as James began to flounder. The lack of coordination was only one more symptom. One of the last. VanDyke's sweeping grab pulled the air hose free. James blinked in bemusement as he drowned.