The Reef (35 page)

“All right.” Her fingers were oddly light and steady as she drew the chain from around her neck. It was almost as if they weren't her own, as if she were floating somewhere beyond her own flesh. “If you want it so desperately. Get it, and pay the price.”

Braced for the bullet, she tossed it high and far over the sea.

He howled. The sound was inhuman, like a beast tasting blood. And like a beast he shambled to the rail and plunged into the dark water. Before he'd disappeared beneath, she was after him.

As she cut through the water, part of her brain registered the dangerous folly of the act. Yet she was compelled, driven to fill her lungs with air and dive blind.

Reason told her he would never find the amulet in the night sea without mask or tanks or time. Nor would she find him or the treasure she'd flung away.

Even as logic began to balance impulse, she saw the shadow of movement. Rage she hadn't even known had rooted inside her burst free. She was on him like a shark.

Here, in the airless world, his superior strength was countered by her youth and skill. His blind greed by her fury. There was no gun now, only hands and teeth. She used hers viciously.

He clawed at her, desperate to reach the surface and breathe again. With her own lungs aching, she dragged him back, until a kick sent her spinning away.

Up again through the dark water she rose, nearly despairing that she would reach the surface.

He waited for her there, lashing out wildly, and she fought to fill her empty lungs. His face was distorted by the water and salt in her eyes, obscenely feral as he struck out. They fought in a terrible silence broken only by gasping breaths and swirling water.

His eyes rolled white as he pulled her under. The sea embraced them greedily.

She swallowed water, choked. The salt stung her eyes as he held her down and gulped air for himself. Fumbling, her hands lost purchase on his slick wet suit. The buzzing in her ears became a roar. There were lights glowing, bursting in her head, in front of her eyes.

No, she thought, fighting free. A light. A single light shining against the sand. He was racing toward it, diving, diving through the glassy black water to white sand where the amulet lay like a bloody star.

She watched him lift it, saw his hand close around it greedily. The soft red glow shone luminescently through his fingers, and deepened, darkened. Bled.

He turned his head, looked at her in triumph. Their eyes met, held.

Then surely he screamed.

 

“She's coming around. That's it, Red, cough it up.”

Through the harsh sounds of her own racking heaves, she heard Matthew's voice, the tremor in it. She could feel the solid wood of the deck beneath her, his big hands cradling her head, the damp rain of water leaking onto her skin.

“Matthew.”

“Don't try to talk. Christ, where's the damn blanket?”

“Here, right here.” With calm efficiency, Marla covered her daughter. “You're all right, honey, just lie still now.”

“VanDyke—”

“It's all right.” Matthew glanced around to where the man sat huddled under LaRue's ready bangstick. He was half drowned and quietly chuckling to himself.

“The amulet.”

“Jesus, it's still around her neck.” Matthew slipped it off with an unsteady hand. “I didn't even notice.”

“You were a little busy saving her life.” Ray squeezed his eyes tight and absorbed the relief. When Matthew had dragged Tate from the water, he'd been sure his only child was dead.

“What happened?” Tate finally found the strength to open her eyes. Overhead was a circle of pale, concerned faces. “God, I hurt all over.”

“Just be quiet for a minute. Her pupils look normal. She's not shaking.”

“There could be delayed shock. I think we should get her out of those wet clothes and into bed.” Marla bit her lip, and though she knew it was foolish, checked Tate's brow for fever. “I'll make you some nice chamomile tea.”

“Okay.” A little woozy, Tate smiled. “Can I get up now?”

Muttering an oath, Matthew picked her up, blanket and all. “I'll put her in bed.” He paused briefly for a last glance at VanDyke. “LaRue, you and Buck better get what's left of him over to Nevis, give him to the cops.”

Vaguely curious, Tate stared. “Why is he laughing?”

“That's all he's done since Ray hauled him in. He laughs and mutters about witches burning in water. Let's get you in a hot bath.”

“Oh, let's.”

He was patient. Matthew drew her bath, massaged her shoulders. He even washed her hair himself. Then he dried her, tucked her into a nightshirt and robe and put her to bed.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured, letting her
still light head rest against plumped pillows while she sipped the tea her mother had brought in.

“You stay put,” Marla ordered, fussing with the blanket. She glanced up at Matthew. “Ray went along to Nevis. He didn't want to let VanDyke out of his sight until he was in a cell. Do you want me to let you know when they get back?”

“I'll come up shortly.”

Marla only lifted a brow. She had a feeling Tate had one more crisis to deal with. “I think I'll go brew a big pot of coffee. You rest, honey.” She kissed Tate's forehead and closed the door quietly behind her.

“Isn't she the best?” Tate began. “Nothing ever shakes that wonderful Southern panache.”

“You're about to find out what shakes a Yankee temperament. What the hell did you think you were doing?”

She winced at the volume. “I don't know, exactly. It all happened so fast.”

“You weren't breathing.” He caught her chin in fingers tensed and trembling like plucked wires. “You weren't breathing when I pulled you out.”

“I don't remember. Everything after I dived in after him is jumbled and kind of surreal.”

“You dived in after him,” Matthew repeated, spacing each word.

“I didn't mean to,” she said quickly. “I threw the amulet into the water. I had to take the chance that he'd go after it instead of shooting me.”

His heart, which had already suffered violently, stopped again. “He had a gun?”

“Yes.” She could feel her mind begin to float again and struggled to concentrate. “He must have lost it in the water. I was coming inside.” Gently she took his hand in hers. “He was just there. Just there behind me, Matthew, with the gun jammed into my back. He must have come over from starboard. His gear's probably still there on the ladder. I couldn't call for you, Matthew. He'd have killed all of us.”

As calmly as she could, she told him what had happened on deck.

“I took the necklace off,” she murmured and closed her eyes to try to see it all again.

The play of light, the shifting shadows. The way the stone seemed to throb like a heart in her hand.

“I didn't even have to think about it. I just threw it. He ran past me; he never even looked at me. Just went in.”

“Why the hell did you go after him? I was right here, Red.”

“I know. I can't explain it. One minute I was thinking I'll get Matthew, and the next I was in the water. Even as I was diving I was thinking it didn't make sense. But I couldn't stop myself. I caught him, and we struggled.”

To bring the picture clearer, she closed her eyes again. “I remember thrashing around with him on the surface, under it. I remember losing air, knowing he would drown me. Then there was this light.”

“Christ.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You're telling me you had a near-death experience? The white light, the tunnel, the works?”

As puzzled as he, she opened her eyes again. “No, but it was just as odd. I must have been hallucinating. I saw this glow, and the glow was the necklace. The sand was perfectly white, and I could see it as clearly as I see you. I know it's not possible, but I did. So did he.”

“I believe you,” Matthew said quietly. “Go on.”

“I watched him dive for it. I was just hovering there in the water.” Her brows drew together, forming a faint line between them. “It was as if I had to be there, had to watch. I'm not explaining this very well.”

“You're doing fine.”

“I watched, waited,” she continued. “He picked it up and held it, and I could see it bleed through his fingers, as if the stone had gone to liquid. He looked up. He looked right at me. I saw his eyes. Then . . .”

Because she trembled, he stroked her hair. He wanted to gather her close, tell her to forget all of it. But he knew she had to finish. “Then what?”

“He screamed. I heard it. It wasn't muffled by the water. It was piercing, terrified. He kept looking at me and screaming. There was fire, everywhere. The light and
color from it, but no heat. I wasn't afraid, not at all. So I took the amulet from him and let him go.”

She stopped on a nervous laugh. “I don't know—I guess I blacked out. I must have. I must have been unconscious all along because it couldn't have happened that way.”

“You were wearing the amulet, Tate. When I pulled you out, you were wearing it.”

“I must have . . .found it.”

He brushed her hair back from her face. “And that makes sense to you?”

“Yes, of course. No,” she admitted and reached for Matthew's hand. “It doesn't.”

“Let me tell you what I saw. When I heard you calling for me, I ran out on deck. VanDyke was in the water. He was flailing around, and yeah, he was screaming. I knew you must be in the water, so I went in.”

There was no point in telling her that he dived until his lungs had all but burst, had never given a thought to surfacing unless she was with him.

“When I found you you were on the bottom, lying on your back the way you do when you sleep. And you were smiling. I almost expected you to open your eyes and look at me. I realized when I was pulling you up that you weren't breathing. It couldn't have been more than three, four minutes tops from the time you yelled for me to come, but you weren't breathing.”

“So you brought me back to life.” She leaned forward, set the cup aside so that her hands were free to frame his face. “My personal white knight.”

“It wasn't like Prince Charming. Nothing romantic about mouth-to-mouth and CPR.”

“Under the circumstances, it beats a bouquet of lilies.” She kissed him gently. “Matthew, one thing. I never called out.” She shook her head before he could protest. “I didn't call out. But I did say your name in my head when I thought I was drowning.” She laid her cheek on his and sighed. “I guess you heard me.”

T
HROUGH THE BARS
of the small cell, Matthew studied Silas VanDyke. Here, he thought, was the man who had plagued his life, taken his father, plotted to murder him and who had nearly killed the woman he loved.

He'd been a man of power, of far-reaching financial, social and political strength.

Now he was caged like an animal.

They'd given him a cotton shirt and pants, both faded and baggy. He wore no belt, no shoelaces, certainly no monogrammed silk tie.

Still he sat on the narrow bunk as if he sat in a custom-made chair as if the dingy cell was his lushly decorated office. As if he were still in charge.

But it seemed to Matthew that he had shrunken somehow, that his body looked frail in the oversized prison clothes. The bones of his face had sharpened and pressed skeletally against the skin as if flesh had melted away overnight.

He was unshaven, his hair matted from seawater and sweat. Livid scratches scarred his face and hands, reminding Matthew of Tate's desperate fight for her life.

For that alone he wanted to break through the bars himself, to hear VanDyke's bones snap in his hands.

But he made himself stand, and study.

And he saw that the dignity and appearance of power VanDyke struggled to maintain were stretched over him like thin, fragile glass. The hate was still there, Matthew realized, ripe, alive and burning in his eyes. He wondered if it was enough to keep the man alive, if he could feed on it through all the years he'd be locked away.

He hoped it would be.

“How does it feel,” Matthew wondered aloud, “to lose everything?”

“Do you think this will stop me?” VanDyke's voice was barely a whisper that slithered through the bars like a snake. “Do you think I'll let you keep it?”

“I came here to tell you that you don't matter anymore.”

“Don't I?” His eyes flickered. “I should have killed her. I should have put a hole in her gut and let you watch her die.”

Matthew leapt toward the bars, nearly ripped at them when the gleam of satisfaction in VanDyke's eyes stopped him. No, not this way, Matthew told himself. Not his way. “She beat you. She's the one who finally brought you down. You saw it, didn't you? The fire in the water. You saw her watching you,” he continued, drawing on the scene Tate had described to him. “She was so beautiful, so terrifying caught in that wild light. And you screamed like a child in a nightmare.”

Color that rage had washed into his cheeks had now drained, leaving them white as paper. “I saw nothing. Nothing!” His voice rose as he jerked off the cot. In his mind a blur of terrifying images swam, took shape and threatened to tear at his sanity like eager claws.

The screams wanted to pump, wild and hot, out of his throat.

“You saw it.” Calm settled over Matthew again. “And you'll see it over and over again. Every time you close your eyes. How long can you live with the fear of that?”

“I'm afraid of nothing.” Terror was an icy ball in his belly. “They won't keep me in prison. I have position. I have money.”

“You have nothing,” Matthew murmured, “but years to think about what you did, and what in the end you couldn't do.”

“I'll get out, and I'll find you.”

“No.” This time, Matthew smiled, sharp and fast. “You won't.”

“I've already won.” He came close, wrapped his fingers around the bars until they were as white as his face. His breath came fast, and the eyes that burned into Matthew's held the bright edge of madness. “Your father's dead, your uncle's a cripple. And you're nothing but a second-rate scavenger.”

“You're the one in the cage, VanDyke. And I'm the one with the amulet.”

“I'll deal with you. I'll finish the Lassiters and take what's mine.”

“She beat you,” Matthew repeated. “A woman started it, and a woman ended it. You had it in your hands, didn't you? But you couldn't keep it.”

“I'll get it back, James.” His lips peeled back. “And I'll deal with you. You think you can outwit me?”

“I'll protect what's mine.”

“Always so sure of yourself. But I've already won, James. The amulet's mine. It was always mine.”

Matthew backed away from the bars. “Stay healthy, VanDyke. I want you to live a long, long time.”

“I won.” The shrill, furious voice followed Matthew as he walked away. “I won.”

Because he needed the sun, Matthew walked outside the station house. He scrubbed his hands over his face and hoped Tate wouldn't be much longer giving her statement.

The air was hot and still, and he had a deep craving for the sea—for something fresh and scented. For Tate.

It was nearly twenty minutes later before she came out. He thought she looked exhausted, all pale skin and haunted eyes. Saying nothing, he held out a bouquet of vivid pink and blue flowers.

“What's this?”

“They're called flowers. They sell them at the florist down the street.”

That made her smile, and when she buried her face in them, her spirits lifted. “Thanks.”

“I thought we could both use them.” He ran a hand down her braid. “Rough morning?”

“Well, I've had better. Still, the police were very sympathetic and patient. With my statement, yours, LaRue's, the tapes, they have so many charges I'm not sure what they'll do first.” She lifted a shoulder. It hardly mattered now. “I suppose he'll be extradited eventually.”

With his hand linked with hers, Matthew walked her to the rental car. “I think he's going to spend what's left of his life in a padded cell. I just saw him.”

“Oh.” She waited until he'd climbed into the driver's seat. “I wondered if you would.”

“I wanted to see him in a cage.” Thoughtfully, Matthew put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. “I guess since I couldn't pound his face in, I wanted to have the chance to gloat at least.”

“And?”

“He's right on the edge, and I might have given him a little shove to take him closer to it.” He glanced toward her. “He tried to convince me—or maybe himself, that he'd won.”

Tate lifted the flowers to rub the fragrant blooms over her cheek. “He hasn't. We know that, and it's what matters.”

“Right before I left, he called me by my father's name.”

“Matthew.” Concerned, she laid a hand over his on the gear shift. “I'm sorry.”

“No. It's all right. It seemed just somehow. Like a closure. Almost half my life, I've wanted to turn the clock back to that day, do something to change what happened. I couldn't save my father, and I couldn't be him. But today, for a few minutes, it was like standing in for him.”

“Justice instead of revenge,” she murmured. “It's easier to live with.”

As he turned the car toward the sea, she let her head fall back against the cushion. “Matthew, I remembered something when I was talking to the police. Last night,
when I was on deck with VanDyke, I had my hand on the amulet and I told him I hoped it gave him the life he'd earned.”

“Twenty or thirty years locked away from everything he wants most. Good call, Red.”

“But who called it?” She let out a long breath. “He doesn't have the amulet, Matthew, but he certainly has Angelique's Curse.”

 

It felt good to be back at sea again, back at work. Warding off all suggestions that she take the remainder of the day to rest, Tate closeted herself with Hayden and her cataloguing.

“You've done a top-notch job here, Tate.”

“I had a good teacher. There's still so much to do. I have miles of film to be developed. We already have the videos, of course, and my sketches.”

Briskly, she ran a finger down one of her lists. “We desperately need storage space,” she continued. “More holding tanks and preserving solutions. And now that we've made the announcement, we can start bringing up the cannon. We couldn't risk using inflatables and cranes before.”

She blew out a breath and sat back. “We need the equipment for handling the rest, and of course, for preserving and reconstructing what we can of the
Isabella.
”

“You've got your work cut out for you.”

“I've got a great team.” She reached for coffee, smiled at the vase of cheery flowers beside her monitor. “Even better now that you and Lorraine are signing up.”

“Neither one of us would miss it.”

“I think we're going to need a bigger boat, certainly until Matthew can build one.”

But it wasn't that which preyed on her mind while Hayden muttered over her notes. Tate braced her shoulders and screwed up her courage.

“Tell me honestly, Hayden, when the reps and other scientists get here, am I prepared for them? Are my notes and papers organized and detailed enough? Without being
able to use outside resources, I've had to guess on so many of the artifacts that I—”

“Are you looking for a grade?” he interrupted.

The amusement in his eyes had her squirming. “No. Well, maybe. I'm nervous.”

He took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then replaced them. “You spent last night fighting a madman, all morning talking to police, and giving a presentation to colleagues makes you nervous?”

“I've had more time to think about the colleagues,” she said dryly. “I'm greedy, Hayden. I want to make a huge splash with this. It will be the foundation for the Beaumont-Lassiter Museum of Marine Archeology.”

She picked up the necklace that lay on the table. She'd needed, for reasons she no longer felt required analysis, to keep it close.

It was cool in her hands now. Beautiful, priceless and, she thought, quiet at last.

“And I . . . well, I want Angelique's Curse to have the home it deserves after four hundred years of waiting.”

“Then I can honestly tell you in my professional opinion, you have a very strong foundation.”

Very gently, she laid the necklace back in its padded box. “But do you think that—” She broke off, glancing toward the window at the sound of clanging and motorized hiccoughing. “What the hell is that?”

“Whatever it is, it sounds bad.”

They went on deck together where Matthew and Lorraine were already at the rail. Ray and Marla bolted out of the galley.

“What an awful noise,” Marla began, then her eyes widened. “Oh my God, what is that thing?”

“I think it's supposed to be a boat,” Tate murmured. “But don't take my word for it.”

It was painted a virulent pink, which clashed interestingly with the heavy rust. The flying bridge shuddered each time the engine belched. As it drew alongside, Tate estimated that it was forty feet of warped wood, cracked glass and corroding metal.

Buck stood at the wheel, waving wildly. “Ain't she
something?” he shouted. He cut the engines, which showed their appreciation by vomiting a spew of smoke. “Weigh anchor.”

There was a horrible grinding sound, a shudder and screech. Buck shoved up his shaded glasses and grinned.

“Going to christen her
Diana.
LaRue says she was a hell of a hunter.”

“Buck.” Matthew coughed and waved at the smoke carried cheerfully by the breeze. “Are you telling me you bought that thing?”

“
We
bought this thing,” LaRue announced and strolled out on the slanted deck. “We are partners, me and Buck.”

“You're going to die,” Matthew decided.

“Just needs some paint, little sanding, some mechanical work.” Buck started down the steps to the deck. Fortunately, it was the second riser from the bottom that snapped under his weight. “Some carpentry,” he added, still grinning.

“You gave someone money for that?” Tate wondered.

“She was a bargain.” LaRue tapped the rail cautiously. “When she's shipshape and our work is done here, we are off to Bimini.”

“Bimini?” Matthew repeated.

“There's always another wreck, boy.” He beamed at Matthew. “Been too many years since I had a boat of my own under me.”

“How's it going to stay under him?” Tate murmured under her breath. “Buck, wouldn't it be better to—”

But Matthew put a hand over hers and squeezed. “You'll make her shine, Buck.”

“Coming aboard for inspection,” Ray called out. He stripped off his shoes and shirt and plunged into the water.

“They do love their toys,” Marla decided. “I'm making lemon tarts if anyone wants a snack.”

“Right behind you.” Lorraine grabbed Hayden's hand.

“Matthew, that boat is a mess. They'll have to replace every board and spur.”

“So?”

Tate blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Wouldn't it be
more practical to put their money into something in better condition? Into something in any kind of condition?”

“Sure. But it wouldn't be as much fun.” He kissed her, and when she started to speak, kissed her again, thoroughly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, but Buck—”

“Knows just what he's doing.” Matthew grinned over the rail where the three men were busy laughing and examining the broken step. “Charting a new course.”

Bemused, she shook her head. “I think you'd like to go with them, bailing all the way to Bimini.”

“Nope.” He scooped her into his arms, spun a circle. “I've got my own course. Straight ahead full. Want to get married?”

“Yeah. How about tomorrow?”

“Deal.” The reckless light came into his eyes. “Let's dive.”

“All right, I—” She squealed when he carried her to the rail. “Don't you dare throw me in. I'm still dressed. Matthew, I mean it. Don't—”

She gave a scream of helpless laughter as he leapt out into the water.