farther north. Closer to here.”
“And you’ve got investors willing to stake that hunch?” Cora pressed.
“I’ve got enough of a reputation that I can raise the money I need.”
“Then why help me?” she probed. “With that kind of cash at your disposal, I’m sure you could persuade Jerry and the rest of the college to just hand you total control of the diaries.”
He heard the bitterness in her voice. He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right on that account. He had enough clout to wrest the project from her completely, if that was what he wanted. But he didn’t merely want access to Cora Prescott’s house—he wanted all the privileges that came with having her on his team. “That’s not what I want. I’m no more interested in sacrificing Abigail Conrad to the fortune hunters than you are. I just want the truth.”
“And the ship?”
“I’ve spent my career looking for the Isabela.” He hesitated. He rarely discussed this. He’d been informed by some very knowledgeable people that he sounded far too intense. Frighteningly intense. “This is one more piece of the puzzle.”
Cora frowned. “And that will bring every fortune hunter and relic seeker in the world to Cape Marr, hoping to beat you to the treasure.”
Her tone was pure censure, condemning and condescending. He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. “The fact that my research is more accessible to the general public doesn’t make it any less valid than yours.”
She gasped. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m not interested in the treasure,” he said harshly. “It’s not about that.”
“But you can’t deny that its allure would bring chaos. This is a small town. The kind of people who hunt sunken treasure for a living aren’t known for their high moral code, you know. I don’t think downtown Cape AMR is ready to host the international cutthroat convention.”
“It won’t happen. I can stop it from happening.”
“Are you kidding?” she shot back. “You draw reporters and attention like honey draws flies.”
“With me,” he insisted, “and with my involvement in the project, you not only get access to my fund-raising team, you get my PR firm, as well. They’re very good at keeping reporters out of my hair.”
Becky tucked her feet beneath her legs and looked at Cora. “It’s true, Cora. Don’t you remember reading how annoyed the press was because they didn’t have access to the Argo project until after the ship was raised?”
“Because the Greek military protected the site as a matter of national interest,” Cora said, then looked at Rafael. “What are you going to do? Make a phone call to the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”
She wasn’t going to back down, he realized, and found himself unaccountably pleased by her candor and resistance. He’d been too long without a challenge. “Not quite, but I can assure you that my PR people will take the headache out of this.”
Cora shook her head. “Not if Henry Willers has anything to do with it. The man never saw a camera he didn’t like.”
Becky agreed. “He turns everything into a circus.”
“The secret,” Rafael said, “is to make sure you control the press, instead of the other way around. There will be attention. There’s no way to avoid it.”
“Lovely,” Cora muttered.
“But we’ll direct it, instead of letting it direct us.” He paused. “I already told Willers that after tomorrow he’d better stay the hell out of my business, or I’d make sure he regretted it.”
Cora pulled off her glasses to rub her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “God, this is giving me a headache.”
But she wasn’t arguing, he noted, and decided to press his advantage. “I’ve been looking for the truth about del Flores since I was seventeen years old.” At her skeptical look, he nodded. “It’s true. I left home because my brother, Zack, and I weren’t getting along. I came down here to work my way through college and discovered the del Flores story. I’ve been hooked ever since.” He leveled his gaze at her. “And if you think about it, I can actually help make all this easier on you. Because of my connections, I can raise the money you need, but because of my family, I can help you with something else.”
“What now? You know the cure for the common cold?”
He laughed. Lord, the woman fascinated him. He found himself increasingly preoccupied with the idea of how all that mental acuity would affect him during sex. Would she approach lovemaking with the same intellectual intensity, or could he coax her to flagrant passion? Or both, he thought, the idea definitely tantalizing. “Nothing that dramatic,” he finally assured her. “But I did some checking today—” he held up a hand to forestall her interruption “—and your nieces are running you into the ground.”
“They are not.” She looked indignant. “They’re just a little…active.”
“Cora, they’re hellions,” Becky said.
Cora gave her a reproving look. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You’ve gone through three baby-sitters this week alone,” Becky countered.
Cora squirmed. “They’re having…It’s been a difficult adjustment.” She looked at Rafael. “My sister is notoriously self-absorbed. They felt as if they got dumped here when she went…when she left. I’d be expecting too much if I thought they wouldn’t act out some of that frustration.”
He nodded. “And it doesn’t help any that you’ve got your course load to handle, the pressure of a major research project looming over your head and the responsibility for the entertainment, care and feeding of three kids. I’m not criticizing you—just sympathizing.”
“If you think harassing me about my nieces is going to win you any points—”
“I’m not harassing you. I’m here to offer you a solution.”
Becky raised an eyebrow. “Boarding school?” she quipped.
Cora frowned at her. Rafael shook his head. “I’m just going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
“I doubt it,” Cora retorted.
He ignored her. “You give me access to the house for the next two months, and I’ll solve your child-care problem. Two adults and three kids are much better odds than the ones you’re playing now.”
“You’re going to baby-sit? Are you insane?”
“I wouldn’t call it baby-sitting,” he said. “More like riot control.”
“It would never work.”
“Sure it would. I’d move in with you and—”
Cora gasped. “Move in?”
“You want to live
