Kitabı oku: «Her Passionate Protector», sayfa 2
“She’s farther round the bay,” Brodie told her. “At the old fishing wharves.”
Sienna nodded. She looked away from the boats and started to get up. This time Brodie didn’t stop her.
“Well, nice talking to you,” she said distantly as he too rose to his feet.
He cocked his head, his questioning eyes openly doubting her sincerity, but he didn’t follow when she made her way to the now empty doorway.
Sienna found Camille who said, “I might go up and change soon. Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”
“I’m fine,” Sienna insisted. “I’ve been sitting out in the sun.” Although Brodie had made sure she was under the shade of the umbrella.
“Oh, yes. Granger was hunting for you but he said Brodie seemed to be looking after you.”
“I don’t need looking after!”
Camille smiled at her vehemence. “You do look a bit fragile, and I suppose it brings out the protective instinct in the male of the species.”
“They can keep their instincts to themselves as far as I’m concerned.” A long time ago Sienna had learned there was no sanctuary in a man’s arms. That the only person she could rely on to look after her was herself.
Regarding her thoughtfully, Camille evidently decided not to comment. “It’s only about two weeks since you came out of hospital. You would have said, wouldn’t you, if you weren’t up to being my bridesmaid?”
“I told you,” Sienna replied, “it’s a pleasure. I didn’t want to miss it.” In truth, the pleasure was mixed with concern on her friend’s behalf. Impressed despite herself by Camille’s steadfast certainty, she hadn’t dared voice her own reservations.
A little later they went upstairs and Camille shed her wedding gown in favor of more practical cotton pants and a shirt. Most of the wedding party then decamped along the foreshore to see the newlyweds aboard the Sea-Rogue for their short honeymoon cruise, and as the boat slipped out of its berth some of the onlookers threw streamers across the widening gap and Camille tossed her bouquet to the wharf.
Sienna stepped back, her hands resolutely at her sides, but Granger deftly caught it, and when he presented it to her with one of his grave smiles and a faintly lifted eyebrow, she could hardly refuse to take the flowers.
Back at the hotel Granger told Sienna, “I’ve booked us a table for dinner here at seven-thirty. Camille’s mother and some other people will be joining us.”
Supposing that entertaining Mona Hartley was part of her bridal-attendant duties, Sienna said, “I’ll get changed and meet you in the dining room later.”
In her bathroom she freed her hair from its knot of curls and brushed it out, hoping it wouldn’t spring back into its usual wild corkscrews too quickly. The floor creaked as she crossed the old kauri boards to her suitcase and pulled out a plain sand-colored skirt and a sleeveless cream top embroidered with amber beads. The mirror in which she checked her appearance before going downstairs had a heavy carved wooden frame on which stylized Maori patterns were mixed with depictions of roses and lilies.
At the foot of the stairs she saw Brodie, one hand thrust into a pocket of his dark trousers, his collar open and his jacket slung across one shoulder. He watched her descend, his gaze swiftly encompassing her from head to toe and returning to her face with a gleam of masculine appreciation lurking in the vivid depths, and she wished she’d thought to take the old elevator instead, but for only one floor it hadn’t seemed worth it.
“Ready for your dinner?” he asked her.
“I’m having it with Granger,” she said coolly, fighting a ridiculous sense of pleasure at the way his hair gleamed in the light from a chandelier overhead, the blond streaks turning to gold.
“I know. Me too,” he replied, walking at her side as she made for the dining room. “I offered to wait for you.”
She wasn’t late, but when they entered, two women already sat with Granger at the round table—Camille’s mother and another middle-aged woman.
Mona looked pinched and put upon—not unusual in Sienna’s experience. The other woman, whom Granger smoothly introduced as Mollie Edwards, a good friend of his and Rogan’s late father, was cozily rounded with brass-colored curls framing her rather overpainted face, and a wide smile.
Sienna took to her immediately, but to help Granger out—and also to avoid having to talk too much to Brodie, whose presence she was all too conscious of at her side—she devoted a good deal of her attention during the meal to Mona. The woman had just seen her only child marry a man Sienna had a strong hunch she didn’t approve of. Though it seemed that Mollie’s presence had more to do with Mona’s offended air than did the loss of her daughter.
Granger occasionally caught Sienna’s eye with a hint of grateful appreciation in the turquoise depths of his, and attempted to keep the conversation general around the table.
Brodie had discarded his suit and wore casual gray pants and a T-shirt. When his bare arm brushed against hers as he reached for salt, Sienna felt as though the tiny hairs on her skin had been charged with a current of electricity. It must be the dry seaside air, she thought, confused. The same phenomenon that caused her clothes to crackle sometimes when she shed them.
Mollie was excited that Rogan and his brother, along with Camille who had inherited half of the Sea-Rogue, were planning to raise the treasure their late father had discovered. “Barney always knew he’d find it someday.” She wiped a small tear from her eye with her table napkin.
Mona gave a scornful little laugh. “I have my doubts about this whole thing.” She speared a piece of fish on her plate. “Camille won’t even tell me what all the excitement is about. After all,” she complained, “my husband was Barney’s partner, I think I’m entitled.”
Granger studied her for a moment, then said quietly, “I’m sure you can keep a secret, Mona. Rogan’s already recovered coins and a few pieces of jewelry from the wreck Barney found. The cargo, if we can recover it, could be worth a great deal.”
Brodie swallowed a mouthful of his rare steak. “Even passengers’ effects might bring in quite a lot of money, coming from a historic wreck.”
Mona sniffed. “What difference can that make?”
Granger explained, “Sunken treasure accrues value from its history. A romantic shipwreck story and a certificate of authenticity make for a better price at auction.”
Sienna commented, “It’s an artificial inflation. Part of this whole business of commercial treasure hunting.”
Brodie turned to her. “Can you give an expert opinion,” he asked her, “on the possible worth of the pieces Rogan had?”
She had to meet his eyes, finding them blindingly blue and disconcertingly close. She could see her own face reflected in them, giving her an odd feeling of unwanted intimacy. For a moment she couldn’t recall what the conversation was about. Pulling herself together, she said, “The brief I was given was to try to find out where and when they were made, to help identify the wreck. I’m sure Rogan and Granger will get the highest prices possible.”
Mollie’s look at Sienna was disappointed. “You sound as though you disapprove.”
Brodie said, sounding amused, “Sienna’s suspicious of treasure hunters.” His eyes teased her, still holding her gaze until she wrenched it away as Mollie spoke to her.
“Why?” Mollie asked. “You’re too young to be bitter and twisted about it.” She directed a meaningful look at Mona, who almost choked on another morsel of fish.
Granger’s gaze went to Sienna. “I’m sure you have good reasons. Would you like to tell us what they are?”
Sienna suspected he knew very well, or could at least make an educated guess. But the men obviously hoped, by throwing Sienna into the arena, to avoid open female warfare.
Ignoring the over-respectful look that Brodie turned on her, she said, “Old shipwrecks contain a lot of information about life in former times. Ships might remain preserved in mud or sand for centuries, until someone disturbs that protection and leaves them open to decay.”
Beside her Brodie moved slightly, and she heard him take in a breath as though about to say something, but without giving him the chance, she continued defiantly, “Nothing should be removed from a wreck before an archaeological survey is conducted and the site properly mapped.”
Mollie looked dubious. Brodie tipped his chair and hooked one arm over the back of it to lazily study Sienna. He said, “It costs a hell of a lot to salvage a wreck properly. Even archaeologists aren’t keen on going ahead without hard evidence that it’s going to be worthwhile. And most of them don’t have the money or expertise to do it.”
Mona gave a genteel snort, perhaps of corroboration.
“It seems to be a constant dilemma,” Granger agreed, confirming Sienna’s suspicion that he hadn’t needed to be informed of the problem. “It’s only by bringing in investors that anyone can exploit a remote, difficult wreck—and investors expect a profit.”
Sienna acknowledged that reluctantly, glad to concentrate on him instead of Brodie. “Only, irresponsible divers can ruin a heritage that belongs to us all. Priceless objects have been melted down for their metal. It’s criminal!”
Brodie was still regarding her, his gaze turning curious. “Not all treasure hunters are looters and vandals,” he told her. “And your colleagues can be so pigheaded that in the end no one benefits.”
“Pigheaded?” She flashed him a hostile look.
“What’s the point of barring salvors from exploring wrecks that are breaking up and being scattered all over the seabed? Or due to go under earthworks in harbors and be buried for all time?”
“I hope that wouldn’t happen.”
“It has happened. And that’s criminal, surely? Salvage is damned hard work.” Brodie let his chair drop back to the floor and leaned toward her, one strong forearm on the table. “Dangerous too, with far more disappointments than successes. Most of what divers recover goes to museums or private collections, where they’re cared for and available for people like you to study.”
“But treasure hunters’ primary concern is money,” Sienna objected. She gave him a challenging stare, her passion for the subject making her bold. The prickling sensations running up her arms must signal antipathy for his argument, she thought.
He looked at her almost pityingly. “It’s not a sin to be paid for what you do. And guys who dive for treasure aren’t in it just for the money. There’s a thrill in finding something precious that’s been under the sea for a hundred or even a thousand years. You’d know that.”
“Of course!” She knew how it felt to unearth a Victorian china cup or a pre-European carved Maori implement, and speculate who had owned it, who had crafted it, how they had lived so long ago, how and when they had died.
Granger regarded her thoughtfully across the table. “I know you have a secure position at the university, Sienna,” he said, “but I wonder if you would consider joining Pacific Treasure Salvors as our official archaeologist?”
Chapter 2
Sienna stared back at Granger. “Me?”
He didn’t smile. “Camille mentioned before you got ill that she’d like to have you on board. I was going to broach this to you tomorrow, but as the subject’s come up…”
Brodie glanced Granger’s way, and some kind of wordless exchange briefly passed between them. Sienna wondered if there was a reason Camille hadn’t done the asking earlier. Maybe the men had wanted to check her out.
Mollie’s eyes sparkled. “It sounds exciting. If I were you, dear, I’d jump at the chance. I’ve got a little investment in the company myself. For Barney’s sake.”
Mona looked as though she was about to roll her eyes.
Sienna was bemused. Of course she didn’t want to be any part of a treasure hunt. Did she? “I don’t think—”
Brodie interrupted. “You’d get to make sure things are done the way you think they should be.”
Granger added, “Camille said you’re experienced at scuba work.”
“I’ve done some,” Sienna admitted. She’d learned to dive as a teenager, so in her student days when an ancient Maori canoe was discovered buried in the silt of a tidal estuary, she’d been seconded by the professor in charge of the underwater excavation and had taken advanced courses to improve her skills. “But most of my wreck diving has been recreational.”
Granger said, “I hope you’ll give our offer some thought. I’ll be happy to supply details anytime.”
Even as she shook her head, starting to say thanks but no thanks, Brodie argued, sitting back in his chair again to fix her with a direct look. “If you’re really worried about the site being ruined this is your chance to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Sienna hesitated, and Granger flicked Brodie a slightly amused glance. “He’s right. But your university job isn’t something to be treated lightly. Nor, I understand, is possibly risking your reputation among your peers. I know a lot of archaeologists regard working with treasure salvors as incompatible with their profession.”
Granger’s understanding and Brodie’s challenge made her seem stuffy and overcautious—and more interested in preserving her position and salary than in her avowed mission of saving precious remnants of the past. She directed a suspicious look at Granger, but his expression was perfectly serious, his eyes blandly meeting hers.
“There’s no immediate hurry to make a decision,” he told her. “The Sea-Rogue won’t be sailing again until the hurricane season’s over, and we have a top-notch salvage team and the necessary equipment in place. Camille intends to finish the semester. Maybe if you decide not to take the job you could recommend someone.”
Then he turned to Mona, offering to refill her wineglass, and the subject was dropped.
After she’d gone to bed, Sienna lay listening to the breakers gently washing the sand, the occasional sound of a car passing by, voices carrying on the clear night air.
She shouldn’t even be thinking about Granger’s surprising proposition, but her mind wouldn’t let it go.
What he was offering could be an escape from a niggling worry that she’d put to the back of her mind.
She’d scarcely thought about Aidan Rutherford, her head of department, since coming to Mokohina.
Aidan had visited almost daily when she was in hospital, bringing flowers, books and exotic foodstuffs that he hoped would tempt her appetite. He’d even volunteered to keep an eye on her home and water her plants and feed the little cat that had adopted her.
One afternoon, he’d caught her hand in his and leaned toward her, saying her name in an urgent undertone. But when her startled gaze flew to his earnest brown eyes he’d suddenly dropped her hand, sat back and pinched the skin on the bridge of his long nose, his expression hidden as he muttered, “I hope you’ll be better soon. I…we miss you in the staff room.”
On her first day back at work his rather melancholy face lit up with relief when she walked into his office. He’d come round his desk and taken both her hands, then brushed a light kiss across her cheek, and after stepping back there was color in his normally sallow cheeks. He’d passed a hand over his thinning hair before retreating behind his desk and assuming a businesslike manner, to her considerable relief.
If Aidan ever showed signs of more than friendly interest they were both in trouble. He was married.
Not only married, but with a delightful brown-eyed daughter of six years.
Apart from an aversion to messy extramarital affairs between colleagues that led to gossip and tensions and sometimes wrecked careers and lives, and Sienna’s own moral and very personal objections to breaking up a marriage, no way could she be responsible for hurting a child.
He was the kind of man she’d hoped one day to meet, but he was definitely off limits.
Maybe she was mistaking concern at her illness for something else. But even though she tried to believe that, she couldn’t shake the uneasy knowledge that lately Aidan had been looking at her in a way she found disquieting, hurriedly shifting his gaze when he saw she’d noticed.
There were soft footsteps in the passageway, and someone quietly opened and closed a door. A light flickered against the window for a few minutes, then went out, leaving the room seemingly darker than before.
Resolutely Sienna closed her eyes. Images of the day imprinted themselves on her lids like a moving slide show. Camille’s radiant face, the sunlight that had flashed briefly on the gold band Rogan placed firmly on his bride’s finger, Granger reaching to catch the bouquet that now sat in a vase on the low table by the window. She had no idea what she was going to do with it. Probably leave it for the hotel staff to take care of.
The last clear picture she saw before drifting off was of Brodie Stanner looking at her with studied concentration when she threw back at him his question about ever having been in love. And she heard again the strange intensity in his voice as he lifted his gaze to watch Rogan and Camille and said, “Not like that.”
Rogan had arranged for Granger to drive Sienna to Auckland where he had his home and legal practice, and she was booked on a flight to take her from there farther south to Palmerston North, where she’d pick up her own car and drive to her house near the Rusden campus.
On the way he told her what terms the company could offer an archaeologist, and at the airport insisted on carrying her bag to the counter. He bought a newspaper, and while she checked in, he glanced over a couple of pages.
As Sienna turned back to him with her boarding pass in her hand he gave a soft exclamation and frowned down at something he was reading.
“What is it?” she asked.
Granger looked up, his mouth hardening. “James Drummond’s broken his bail conditions. Apparently he hasn’t been seen for two months.”
It was a moment before she connected. Then a cold shiver attacked her spine. James Drummond had been indirectly responsible for the death of Granger and Rogan’s father.
“Damn.” Granger’s voice held unusual force. “And damn the judge who let him stay out of jail until the trial. Now there may not be one.”
“He threatened to kill Camille and Rogan!” He’d been prepared to stop at nothing to get at the Maiden’s Prayer and her treasure before the Brodericks. Even murder.
“Yes,” Granger agreed grimly. “Though I don’t suppose they’re in any danger now that there’s nothing he can get from them. He’s probably only concerned with saving his own skin. He’ll be lying low somewhere. Maybe out of the country.”
In a way Sienna hoped so. “Didn’t he have to hand over his passport?”
“As the police said when they opposed bail, he has contacts in the shipping industry from illegally exporting prohibited heritage items out of New Zealand. Let’s hope Rogue and Camille don’t find out about this until their honeymoon’s over. It could put a damper on it.”
He refolded the paper and handed her a card, saying, “Call me if you need any more information about the job, and I do hope you’re going to join us. Camille would be pleased.”
A few days after Sienna’s return to the dig with her students, the team unearthed a cache of carved Maori weapons that might date back as far as pre-European times, and she invited Aidan to visit and give his advice.
After agreeing with her assessment and helping secure the site, Aidan offered to treat the team to a drink in celebration, and at the conclusion of a couple of hours in a pub she found that her car wouldn’t start. “My own fault,” she admitted ruefully to the young men who fruitlessly opened up the engine and peered at the interior, jiggling wires. “It’s been iffy lately but I was just too busy to get it checked.”
Rain began to fall, it was dark and she didn’t fancy sitting around waiting for help. “I’ll get a taxi,” she said, “and call the AA in the morning.”
“I’ll run you home,” Aidan offered, having already piled several students into his car. One of them got out and insisted on her having the front seat.
Aidan dropped off the students first at their hostel, and then in silence drove her to the small house she rented in the center of the city.
Drawing up outside, he sat frowning through the wind-screen as she unfastened her seat belt. “I’m sorry,” he said, “if I’ve not been good company tonight.”
“You’re always good company, Aidan,” she assured him, pausing as she fumbled for the door handle.
He gave a strained laugh. “Tell that to my wife,” he muttered. “She thinks I’m a bore—I don’t know what kind of life she expected with an archaeology lecturer, but it’s not lively enough for her. And my salary won’t stretch to the sort of lifestyle she’d like.”
Sharon Rutherford always gave an impression of being restless and bored at any university function she attended, and it was fairly obvious she didn’t want to be there.
“I’m sorry,” Sienna murmured uncomfortably. Her fingers closed about the handle.
“Don’t go yet.” He turned to her with a pleading expression.
“Won’t your wife be wondering where you are?”
“I phoned her, said good night to Pixie and promised to give her a kiss if she’s still awake when I get home.” His daughter’s name was Priscilla, but he called her Pixie.
“Give Pixie a hug for me,” Sienna said, beginning to open the door.
“That’s very sweet of you.” As she turned away he said her name in a desperate undertone. “Sienna, I—” He grabbed at her free hand, holding tightly, then pulled the other one into an equally fierce grip and lunged toward her.
Sienna sharply turned her head to the side. Dragging herself away, she said firmly, “Good night, Aidan. Thanks for the lift.”
As she hurried to her front door, he restarted the engine and roared away with an uncharacteristic screech of tires.
Her heart was pounding, and she felt a shivery dismay.
Aidan was close to the ideal man she had quite consciously set up in her mind, a man she could respect and admire. Who seemed to respect and like her. But although they worked closely together, at times she’d almost forgotten that he was male.
It crossed her mind that Brodie Stanner would never have allowed her to forget that important fact. When she was with him she hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind for a minute. He’d simply exuded masculinity and hadn’t bothered to hide his interest in her. Not that she supposed it was exclusive. There’d been that blonde at the wedding reception, and no doubt if nothing had come of that he’d found another woman to take his fancy by now. Perhaps more than one…
Impatiently she dragged herself back to the immediate problem.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow Aidan to endanger his marriage and embroil her in the resultant mess. The thought of following in her father’s footsteps made her feel sick.
She’d been fifteen when her parents’ marriage had been torn apart by his affair with a woman he’d worked with. Two families had been shattered by the inability of two people to stand by their vows.
No way was she going to be the cause of another man making the same mistake. Why couldn’t he have maintained the comfortable working partnership of the past two years?
She went to bed torn between pity for Aidan and a muted anger that he’d clumsily tipped the neutral balance of their relationship. Once that balance had shifted, they could never regain their previous equilibrium. And the tension would spill into her work.
Next morning she phoned Granger Broderick and said, “I’m interested in that job with your company.”
Sienna allowed the university authorities to believe that her health was the main reason for her requesting indefinite leave of absence from the end of the semester. Her normal appetite hadn’t returned and she was aware that her colleagues worried about her. The professor emeritus who had filled in while she was hospitalized was happy to return for the next semester. But when she confessed to Aidan that she was going to work on a marine archaeology project he was taken aback, even shocked. Sitting opposite her at his desk, he dropped the pencil he’d been idly playing with and stared as though he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “This is connected to those artifacts your friend from the history department brought to you that were stolen?” Surprising her with his vehemence, he said, “Sienna, I’d advise you to have nothing more to do with that!”
“I know some archaeologists feel that working with treasure hunters compromises their integrity, but—”
“You don’t realize what you’re getting into!” He leaned across the desk, his expression full of tension, his pale skin seeming even more so. “The field is full of thugs and thieves. Haven’t you had enough trouble already?”
“What do you mean?”
“The burglary, and…well, isn’t that enough? Suppose you’d been here when they broke in? Heaven knows what they might have done to you.”
He could have a point. Needing to keep her private assignment separate and secret, she had worked on the pieces in her own time, at all kinds of odd hours, so she might well have been in the lab alone when the burglars made their move. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned,” she said, touched despite herself, “but you said yourself that the break-in probably had no connection to those particular pieces, and more likely someone heard the students talking about the Maori jade ornaments and carvings we’d recovered from the dig. They were just lucky that the treasure hoard was here too.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Aidan conceded. “Unscrupulous collectors will pay handsomely for ancient Pacific art, and of course the export restrictions only make it more desirable and raise the prices. But I still don’t like this idea of yours. Won’t you reconsider? I hate to lose you, Sienna.” He looked bothered, his brown eyes pleading.
Hardening her heart and sternly reminding herself why she’d decided to leave, Sienna shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve made up my mind.”
By the time she arrived in the north and drove along the winding coast road to the little port at Mokohina, then checked in at the Imperial, dusk was sneaking down from the hillside that half circled the town and lights were going on in the venerable villas and newer homes that populated its slopes.
She freshened up and ate early, while the dining room was less than half filled. Through the windows she could see the lights of anchored yachts and powerboats reflecting jaggedly in the water. After eating she was drawn across the road to admire the starry night and the moving gleam and glitter of the sea, and enjoy the cool, salty night air.
She began to stroll along the waterfront, in a surprisingly short time drawing near the old wharves.
Camille had joined her husband on the Sea-Rogue several days previously, and there had been a note at the hotel inviting Sienna to call when she arrived if she wasn’t too tired.
She had no trouble identifying the old wooden ketch with its distinctive cabin structure, featuring a door instead of a lift-up hatch, even before checking the lettering freshly painted on the bow.
A light glowed in the main cabin, and the deck was an easy step across. She noticed a sticker on the bulkhead advising that the boat was burglar-alarmed, but although a sturdy padlock hung on the catch, the narrow door was open and her tentative call brought Camille up the short, steep companionway to greet her with a hug.
“Come on down,” Camille said. “We’re just finishing dinner. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, and I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” Sienna protested.
But Camille urged her down the companionway. “You can have some dessert with us. I bet you didn’t have one at the hotel.” And when they reached the saloon, “You remember Brodie?”
He was seated at the built-in table, his alert blue gaze giving Sienna a minor jolt when he turned to give her a nod of recognition, taking in the brand-new scoop-necked, fitted scarlet top and hip-hugging jeans she wore.
Camille said, “Move over, Brodie, and make room for Sienna.”
“I didn’t know you had a guest,” Sienna said when Rogan waved her onto the seat next to Brodie. “I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing,” Camille scolded, and Rogan added lazily, “Brodie’s not a guest anyway. He’s a worker.”
Camille said, “And if it wasn’t for him I guess I’d be the one having to climb the masts with a paintbrush or screwdriver and get down into the bilge to fix cables.”
Rogan grinned at her. “Of course,” he said. “What do you think I married you for?”
Camille laughed. “I’m dishing up apricot mousse, Sienna. Do you want cream or ice cream with it?”
Even as Sienna said, “Just the mousse,” Brodie cut in with, “Give her both.”
Camille planted a scoop of ice cream and a dollop of whipped cream into the dish before handing it to Sienna with a slight, apologetic smile. “You don’t have to eat it all if it’s too much.”
Evidently marriage had turned Camille into the kind of woman who automatically obeyed male commands. Sienna dug her spoon into the mousse.
The dessert was melt-in-the-mouth delicious, and the short walk must have woken her appetite, because she finished the mousse and even ate some ice cream before pushing aside her dish.
She declined more, but Brodie enthusiastically accepted another helping before Rogan suggested coffee on deck.
They sat on cushioned seats in the cockpit at the stern, Rogan with his arm about Camille’s shoulders and Brodie and Sienna side by side opposite their hosts.
Brodie lounged back in the seat they shared, a foot away with his arm resting along the coaming behind her, and although he didn’t touch her, she found his proximity unsettling, her nerves sending tiny electrical pulsations up both her arms.
