swallowed. As far as she was concerned, once a ship sank, whatever cargo sank with it became the property of the merfolk. What good was all that treasure sitting at the bottom of the ocean? The sea belonged to the merfolk, not humans, and they could keep it or sell it to dirt dwellers as they chose. But she could hardly tell him that, either. “Of course, I have paperwork,” she said coolly. “I also have an excellent accountant who filed my taxes. Perhaps I should have brought either him or my attorney with me. However, your letter phrased this meeting as discussing an irregularity and not a full-blown audit.”
“You’re always welcome to bring an attorney or accountant. That’s perfectly within your rights as a citizen.” He studied her, no emotion showing in those frozen eyes. His face was stern, his manner stiff and formal. “Moving on to your stock portfolio,” he said, as if she hadn’t voiced a concern. “Over twenty percent of your stock is invested in one company, Gulf Coast Treasures and Salvage, LLC.”
Damn. She and Perry had sold, without papers, plenty of shipwrecked, illegal items to that very company. In return, they were given cash, which they used, in part, to purchase stock in the salvage company. Jet kept her mouth shut and merely raised an eyebrow.
The silence between them stretched, but she refused to be the one to break it this time.
“These types of ocean recovery companies are very risky,” Fields continued. “Even if they do find treasure, they must have a profitable way to recover items and bring them up to land using approved archaeological methods. And if all that is accomplished, there’s the thorny issue of who gets a share of the profits—the state, foreign governments, the originating ship’s company, distant heirs of the original property—”
So maybe all this wasn’t about her, she decided with an internal whoosh of relief. It was about the government clamping down on these industries, making sure they got their own profit cuts. A treasure-salvage company in Tampa had been in the news recently when it recovered over five hundred million dollars worth of silver and gold coins from a colonial-era wreck near Portugal. Naturally, the Spanish government filed an immediate claim of ownership and refused to pay the company any salvage fee.
Jet hated worrying about pesky ownership issues. The mermaid philosophy of finders keepers seemed fairer. She was relieved to be out of business with Perry and leave that aspect of her life in the past where it belonged.
“So call me a risk-taker,” she replied with a shrug. “I think it’s a good investment. There are over three million known shipwrecks. It’s a potential billion-dollar industry.” She couldn’t resist showing off a little and letting him know why she suspected the IRS had a sudden interest in the maritime salvage industry. “Especially since an American salvage company found three billion dollars worth of platinum on a World War II merchant vessel.”
He ignored her mention of the platinum discovery. “But of those millions of shipwrecks, only thirty thousand of them are believed to have valuable lost cargo.”
Jet shrugged again. “Your point?”
“We’re taking a closer look at these companies. You have a huge amount of money invested in Gulf Coast Salvage, a disproportional amount of your assets.”
She surmised it must be difficult for a stodgy man like him to understand people willing to take risky ventures, and suspected the auditor was about to go down a path she didn’t want to follow. Jet stood. “Thanks so much for your concern about my portfolio. Warning taken.”
He rose also and frowned. “Sit down, Miss Bosarge.” This time his voice had an edge as sharp as a stingray’s barbed stinger. “Only a couple more questions.”
She reluctantly planted her butt back in the cheap chair.
“Are you acquainted with any of the officers of this company?”
“No.”
Perry had handled all aspects of their treasure sales to Gulf Coast Salvage. She’d checked the company out on the internet and they’d seemed legit. Her accountant had warned her not to put so many eggs in one basket, but he’d also found the company aboveboard. But if it was being investigated and about to go under, she’d better pull out quick.
“How did you hear of them to start with?”
Jet again stood. “They’re large and well-known. I live on the coast and have always been fascinated by treasure. Why wouldn’t I pursue my interest? I haven’t done anything wrong. I may be an incompetent judge in picking stocks—” damn you, Perry “—but that’s it. If you have any more questions, I’d prefer to exercise my right to have an attorney or my accountant present.”
He nodded and rose. “No need to be on the defensive. If I need more information, I’ll get in touch.”
Easy for him not to be upset—he wasn’t the one being drilled. Why did they always have to go after the little guy anyway? Plenty of hedge fund investors and private equity firms, with tons more money than she’d ever see, had been flocking to invest in increasingly specialized treasure ventures.
Fields walked with her toward the door. “Much success on reopening your antiques store. You already have employees hired?” he asked. His previously intense manner, combined with his sharp, wintry eyes, mellowed to a casualness that she suspected was false.
“No. Not yet,” she admitted.
“I see. Well, I wish you much success.”
His body was close to hers. Too close. The soapy, clean smell was strong. Jet swallowed and licked her dry lips. “Thanks.”
She swept around him and into the hallway, inhaling the stale air deeply, ridding her lungs of the auditor’s masculine, clean scent.
“Miss Bosarge?”
Jet whipped around.
“I’ll need to take a look at the manifests for all the items you and your business partner sold to Gulf Coast Savage.”
“All of them?”
His mouth curved upward, but those arctic eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement. “Every last one.”
She frowned. The gleaming teeth made her think of a shark. Perhaps Landry Fields was as lethal on land as a shark was at sea. Only the faintest curling at the ends of his light brown hair ruined the predatory image. “I’ll have my accountant call you and make arrangements to send the paperwork.”
“No need for all that. I’ll drop by your store to collect them, or your home if you prefer.” His smile widened, but she wasn’t fooled by the offhand manner with which he requested the paperwork or by the way he casually leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Jet scowled back. She most certainly didn’t prefer Landry Fields inside her house. The whole thing reeked of unprofessionalism and an interest that went beyond the norm of an IRS audit. What was his real game? “Give me a couple days and come by the store. I’ll have them.”
“Thank you so much for your coop—”
Jet turned and scrambled away before he could finish the insincere thank-you. As if she had a damned choice, as if he wasn’t issuing an order.
The rain outside felt wonderfully fresh and she didn’t bother with an umbrella, unlike the few humans venturing
