and Charlie and Brent should work together,” Adam said. “Continue marking the grid on the east side of the debris field.”
“What are you going to be doing?” Roger asked.
“I’m going to get a better look at the far side of the canyon,” he said. “We haven’t done much exploring there yet. There may be artifacts spread out in that area, as well.”
When he was satisfied the interns had everything they needed to do their job, Adam headed for the far side of the underwater canyon where the bulk of the wreck rested. The ocean floor sloped down, and as he swam deeper the water grew cooler and darker. He switched on the spotlight he carried and played it along the ocean floor, searching for anything out of place. An odd-shaped rock could be a sediment-covered bottle, a glint of metal might reveal a coin and a bump on the ocean floor might turn out to be a cannonball. He had discovered early on that he had a good eye for these oddities, and a sixth sense for what was treasure and what was trash.
As the spotlight cut through the dimness, revealing brightly colored fish and the undulations of the underwater terrain, Adam felt a deep peace settle over him. This was the part of his work he loved most, losing himself in new discoveries, seeing things as few others saw them.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint of something and quickly focused the light in that direction. At first he saw nothing, but as he swam closer, he noticed an irregularity in the ocean floor. He reached down and carefully fanned away the top layer of sediment, revealing a jeweled dagger. It lay in the gravel as if only recently dropped there by some passing sailor, its blade darkened, the red stone in its hilt glowing dully.
His heart raced as he fumbled with his free hand for his camera. He snapped a few pictures, then took out his GPS to read the coordinates. These noted, he finally allowed himself to pick up the dagger, scarcely breathing as he cradled it in his hand.
It was heavy, yet perfectly balanced, the blade long and tapered. Cleaned and sharpened, it would be a deadly weapon, as well as a work of art. Through layers of grime, he thought he detected engraving, and filigreed metal surrounded the stone.
It was exactly the sort of thing Sandra would love to show her viewers.
That he would think of her in such a moment startled him so much he almost dropped the dagger. He gripped it more firmly, and tried to get a grip on his emotions, as well. This was a testament to the degree the sexy reporter had insinuated herself into his life in such a short time.
So far he’d been successful in keeping thoughts of last night away, but now the memories flooded back. The way she’d looked at him after he’d carried her to bed, as if her very life depended on him making love to her, had unnerved him. The Sandra he knew was not the type to humble herself to anyone, yet in those moments he had sensed she would have done anything he asked. And he couldn’t deny that he’d wanted to ask. His desire for her had been overpowering, conquered only by his knowledge that he’d be taking advantage of a woman who clearly wasn’t right in the head.
Walking away from her last night was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, and chances were she wouldn’t even remember his act of chivalry. Worse, he had no confidence he’d be as strong the next time she came on to him. His reluctance to get involved with Sandra while he had so much work to do was no match for the fierce physical pull he felt for her, whether she was out of her mind or not.
SANDRA BEACHED the Zodiac and made her way along the shore, searching for the path that led into the jungle. The wind had come up, and she had to hold on to her hat with one hand to keep it from being snatched away. Sand sifted into her shoes, so she took them off, sinking her toes into the hot, powdery beach. Maybe instead of exploring, she should take Adam’s other suggestion, and work on her tan.
But the idea of sunning on the beach held little appeal with no beach chair or umbrella, no one to fetch her drinks and no one to lie with. She glanced toward Adam’s yacht, anchored in the harbor. There was no sign of movement on the tarp-shaded deck. She thought of going aboard and waiting for him. What would he think if he returned from a day of diving and found her there? What if she were naked in his bed? Would he dare turn her away then?
She clenched her thighs against the rush of desire this fantasy produced. And she thought again of her dream last night. Had the skillful lover she’d imagined been Adam?
She shook her head. No matter what games her subconscious played, when she and Adam had made love before, it had been as equals. She would never play the shivering virgin for any man, and certainly not for a sloppy—though sexy—professor.
She spotted the path and stopped to put on her shoes. Despite her disdain for all the scary stories Adam and his friends had once told her about the dangerous wildlife on the island, she had no desire to step on one of the ever-present land crabs or, worse, a spider.
Once she started down the path, the dense undergrowth muffled the sound of the wind and blotted out all but the weakest rays of the sun, which filtered through the canopy overhead, bathing her in a watery green light. The air was heavy and humid, redolent with the scent of growth and decay. Though last summer the jungle had been hacked away to allow space for the passage of two people walking side by side, new growth crowded in on both sides, so that Sandra could barely squeeze through in places.
As she neared the center of the island, the noise of the birds increased, a cacophony of screams and whistles and honks louder than any freeway gridlock or rock concert riot. Along with the noise came the stench of the thousands of birds that nested and fed on the rocky heart of the island. Sandra covered her mouth and nose with one hand and held on to her hat with the other, the video camera swinging from the strap at her wrist, hitting her shoulder with every step.
Passionata’s Tower rose from the center of the clearing, a squat, crenelated fortress three stories tall, built of the same gray volcanic rock as its surroundings, the surface pocked with white bird droppings. On an elevated platform beside it sat a large tank to collect rainwater, the only source of fresh water on the island. Last summer, some visitors had constructed a gravity-fed shower beneath the tank. It had provided a nice alternative to the cramped bathing quarters on board ship, and helped to conserve the fresh water they’d brought with them.
Sandra paused at the edge of the clearing and focused the camera, pleased with the shot of the tower rising up against a dramatic bank of threatening clouds. One of the afternoon squalls common during the summer months was blowing in. Exactly what was needed to add interest to her video.
Satisfied she’d captured some good exterior footage, she darted across the clearing to the shelter of the tower entrance. Birds whirled and screamed around her, and she resisted the urge to run away from them.
Once in the tower things were better, though the stench was worse than ever. She pulled her shirt up over her nose and mouth and turned to investigate the three-hundred-year-old structure.
Interest soon displaced distaste as she surveyed the space in which she was standing. A short passage from the doorway opened into a spacious round room or hall. Weather-worn rock provided both flooring and walls, but Sandra could imagine a time when the rock had been covered with tapestries or velvet drapes, the floor strewn with rugs woven in India and Turkey.
A stone stairway hugged the far wall. After filming the first floor, Sandra started up the narrow risers, following them around the outer wall to a second room that was almost as large as the first. Empty except for a few pieces of driftwood and a pile of shells some previous visitor had left behind, this would have been the public rooms that served as an office/living/dining area for the pirate queen. A single rectangular window six feet tall and three feet wide provided a spectacular view of the
