Gayle Wilson
The Vision

In memory of

Victoria Jane Graham Davant, my sister.

She has gone on before me

but there isn’t a day that goes by

when she doesn’t speak

to me in my heart

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

About the Author

Coming Next Month

Prologue

The form drifted eerily.

From a distance, it almost appeared to be a woman.

At first Genevieve Wallace didn’t know what she was seeing. There it was at the bottom, drifting ever so lightly with the current, looking almost like…a woman.

She looked to her left and saw that Vic Damon was just feet away, concentrating on a jutting coral ridge that created a cavelike effect in the pristine waters. With what they had recently learned about the La Doña, they were trying to see what might be hiding more or less in plain sight.

The easy, rhythmic sound of her own breathing filled her ears, and she looked at her air gauge. She still had twenty thousand psi, and her depth monitor showed she was hovering between forty-five and fifty-five feet beneath the surface. She could check out the strange form without compromising her own safety.

The water was like crystal, a shimmering color between blue and green. The temperature, too, was absolutely perfect. It was a wonderful afternoon in which to take the time to explore the smallest detail that drew her curiosity.

Last week, when they had started working the area, it had been different. Their first day out, three members of their five-person crew had been violently ill, including Marshall Miro, the owner of Deep Down Salvage. Gen didn’t get seasick, but with everyone around her heaving…it hadn’t been pleasant. But now the winds had died down completely. The surface was nearly as smooth as glass. The sand had settled.

Visibility was good.

It was almost as if the shape in the water was beckoning to her. Still hearing the rhythmic sound of her own breath, she gave a kick of her fins and started toward whatever it might be.

As she drew closer, she thought that someone had dropped a mannequin in the ocean. From a distance, it had looked like a woman. The closer she got, the more that impression became set in her mind. Yes, it was some kind of mannequin. She wasn’t easily frightened, but she could feel a frown of curiosity creasing her brow as she moved closer.

Blond hair floated freely in the water, creating a halo effect around the mannequin’s head. There was something soft and beautiful—eerily lifelike—about it. Kicking to propel herself directly in front of it, she saw that it was dressed in a white gown, which billowed with the movement of the water.

The serenely molded face stirred a feeling of deepest sadness in her.

She almost reached out in sympathy.

Almost…

With a shock, she realized that it was down here on the ocean floor because it was weighted. There was rope around the ankles, connected to a canvas bag full of what seemed to be bricks.

The sound of her breathing stopped abruptly.

She had to force herself to breathe again.

It wasn’t a mannequin. The body was real.

The blood in her veins turned to ice. Sickened, she did reach out, knowing she had to touch the face. There was no hope the woman was alive. There were no escaping air bubbles; there had been no other boat for her to have come from…and yet she knew she had to touch her, find out if there were some way she might be saved.

Just as her fingers were about to make contact with the woman’s lifeless skin, her head rose. Her huge blue eyes opened and rested on Genevieve’s. They were filled with sadness.

Her flesh was grayish-tinged white. Her lips were blue.

She stared at Genevieve, her mouth forming a silent O, and she lifted her hand, reaching out to Genevieve, as if seeking a touch of consolation.

She started to smile, as if heartbroken.

It was a terrible smile, a knowing smile. A lifeless smile.

Then she formed a single word with those blue, dead lips.

Beware.

1

“Hey, no one ever said the sun made people sane,” Jack Payne, an old-time and expert diver, said, staring at Thor Thompson with an amused cant to his head.

Thor, in turn, was staring at the woman.

He’d first seen her earlier that day, when his boat, The Seeker, had met up with the group the state had hired. They were both involved in the same exploratory mission, and there had never been any reason, as far as Thor was concerned, not to co-exist with other companies and other divers. Especially on this project. The state of Florida, along with the environmentalists and the historians, was solidly against some of the methods treasure seekers had used in the past. Coral reefs were fragile. It was one thing to disturb a little nature when there was a verified find; it was quite another to rip the sea floor to shreds in the pursuit of a find. Though the historians were the ones who had set this project into motion, they were going on a theory, and there had to be proof of that theory before the state allowed in any of the big machinery that might tear up the beauty of the reefs—the state’s real treasure, as far as tourism went.

Thor was working for the federal government, not himself, and since the Deep Down Salvage group was working for the state, it wasn’t as if one of them was going to seize the treasure from the other. If it turned out to be true that the Marie Josephine was hidden beneath sand and coral and the continuous reef life, and they did discover a pirate cache, they would both make out well, but it wasn’t as if the proceeds wouldn’t be divided, or as if the state and U.S. governments—and maybe others—weren’t going to be taking the majority of the haul. As a diver who’d spent his career working on old wrecks and salvage, he had done well, and it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his creature comforts. But he had never been in it for the riches that some salvage divers continually sought. He liked the work, the history and the thrill of discovery.

With the recent discovery of the wrecked La Niña just off Calliope Key, all sorts of people had once again become excited about the fact there were thousands of undiscovered wrecks off the Florida coast. It was more than plausible that at least some of those wrecks had been hiding pretty much in plain sight. Too often, people simply didn’t know or wouldn’t recognize what they were looking for. The sea could totally camouflage the remains of a ship after centuries, something researchers had learned much more about in the recent past when vessels of various kinds, having outlived their usefulness, had been purposely sunk to help create artificial reefs. Along with the passion, however, had come the cautionary voices of the historians and environmentalists. A number of the search areas where archives suggested the Marie Josephine might be found were marine sanctuaries. Solid proof of a find—more than a few pieces of eight, some ship’s silver, or even cannons—would have to turn up to allow for any dredging, hauling or sifting equipment to come out.

Thor’s group, known as the Seekers, along with their lead research boat, wasn’t on call for just fantastic finds. There were times when the work was far more painful than exciting, when they went looking for survivors or the remains of a crash, times when they didn’t dive into the extreme beauty of the Caribbean, the Florida Straits or the Gulf of Mexico. There were dives into swamps, as well, and those were excruciating. The work here, though, was something he enjoyed—at which he hoped he excelled. They were on the trail of pirates. The initial work, done by the state historians, had sent them straight into some of the most beautiful water he had dived anywhere in the world. He liked what he was doing right now. It was the intimate kind of work that was the most exciting. Because they were going on speculation, this was real underwater exploration. Sure, they had sonar and radar, but because storms and time could play such havoc with the remnants of the past, they were also going back to basics, using their own eyes, their own instincts.

Big money—despite the possibility of a big payoff—was hard to get in the speculation stage. Still, people were more important than equipment right now. That was why he was there, and that was also why she was there.

The woman he was watching was an expert diver, so he’d been told. But he and his crew had been about half a mile from the Deep Down Salvage boat when he’d seen her bob frantically to the surface. He would have rushed in for a rescue, but her own people had been quick to recover her. When they had come broadside just to make sure everything was okay, she’d sounded like a lunatic, going on and on about a body in the water. He’d gone down.

And found a lot of parrot fish and tangs.

Since they were all staying at the resort, she was there now, with her buddies, and from the look on her face, they were still ribbing her. The whole thing felt strange to him, because she looked like the last woman in the world who would ever lose her cool. Frankly, she had a look that instantly aroused whatever was sexual and carnal in the male psyche. She was very tall—five eleven, at least—and everything about her was elegant. Even now, she appeared both calm and confident. She had long auburn hair, striking green eyes, dark, well-formed brows, a heart-shaped face and features that exemplified the phrase “perfect symmetry.” He’d seldom seen anyone look better in a bathing suit. She would have made a hell of a model, then again, she also would have made a hell of a stripper.

Her mere presence in any room was enough to draw the eyes of any red-blooded male within range.

It was a pity she seemed to be certifiably crazy.

“Conchs are the worst of the lot,” Jack said, breaking into Thor’s thoughts.

“What?” Thor looked back at the older man.

“I said,” Jack told him, lighting his cigar, “that Conchs are known for being crazy. You know, Conchs. Like me. Native Key West folks.”

“Well, I’m glad you added a subcategory there,” Thor told him.

Jack shrugged. “That’s right. You’re a Jacksonville boy. North of the state—might as well be a different breed.”

“The sane breed?” Thor said, offering a dry smile.

Jack puffed on his cigar and watched the flame. He was somewhere between fifty and sixty years old, hair still long and iron-gray. He wore a huge skull-and-crossbones earring in one lobe and a chain with a Spanish doubloon around his neck. He was built like a man half his age who spent hours at the gym. In his own words, he’d been diving since the rest of them had been in knee britches. He was a man who knew what he was doing.

“Ever hear of Count Von Cosel?” Jack asked.

Thor stared at him.

Jack smiled. “He was a German immigrant—not a real count—working down here in the hospital. He fell in love with a Cuban girl named Elena. He knew she had tuberculosis. He made up some weird kind of cure, but despite his efforts, the girl died. Family had her buried. A few years later, he decides she should be buried in a great mausoleum, so he builds it, and supposedly that’s where the girl’s body is interred. But as time goes by, folks start to notice odd things about his place. Like it looks as if he’s dancing with this huge doll. Turns out the poor bastard dug up Elena and tried to put her back together again so that he could try some whacked-out thing to bring her back to life. Bastard slept with the corpse for years, repairing her constantly. Finally the family got wind of it, and the sister goes to see him. There was an uproar, but there’s a statute of limitations on whatever crime they figured it to be, so he gets off. This is Key West, after all. He not only gets away without being charged, he winds up with people sending him money to survive.”

“You’re a lying sack of shit, Jack,” Thor told him.

“I swear to you, it’s a true story. Ask anyone. Look it up. Newspapers all over the country carried the story.” He paused and took a puff of his cigar. “The point is, comparatively speaking, the young lady you’re staring at is as sane as they come. And damned better looking than any other I’ve ever seen with these old eyes.”

Thor shook his head and lifted his beer. “I saw her out there today, and when you’re diving, the last thing you need is someone going off the deep end, no pun intended. Ask her out on a date, Jack, but don’t bring her on my boat. There’s too much at stake.”

“I’ve gone diving with that girl many a time, Thor. She knows what she’s doing. As far as hooking up with her, hell, I could be her father. And I’ve known her forever, since she was a kid.”

Thor shook his head again and turned his focus to the water. Late summer. Hot days, gorgeous nights. There was always a breeze coming off the ocean. And the sun, when it set, was glorious. It was eight at night, and the sky was getting ready to change. Now it was light. Soon it would be pink, purple, gold, yellow, blue…streaks of color that would slowly deepen. Then, around eight-thirty, it would suddenly go dark.

He was staring at the water…and then he was staring at her again. It was hard not to stare at her, he thought, realizing what it was about her that drew him so powerfully. She emanated a natural, easy sensuality. It was evident in her every movement. Nothing forced, nothing overt. Something she herself wouldn’t even know she possessed.

“Sun’s going down now,” Jack commented. “You could take off the shades.”

Thor smiled again. Hell, no. He liked the ink-dark Ray-Bans. No one could tell when his eyes kept turning toward the other table.

“Can’t take your eyes off her, huh?” Jack asked.

“What’s not to appreciate about eye candy? I just don’t think any rational man—especially a diver—should get too close to a loose cannon.”

“Want to hear about the guy who thought his doll was alive and all the folks who think it’s cursed?”

Thor groaned. “Jack, give it a rest.”

“Hey, it’s all real stuff. Know where the name Key West came from? When the Spaniards first arrived, it was one big boneyard. An Indian tribe that died out? Killed in a massacre? No one knows. But there were bones everywhere, so they called it Cayo Hueso, Island of Bones. The English didn’t bother to translate the Spanish, just turned it into words they knew. I’m telling you, Thor, Key West is a unique place.”

Thor smiled slowly. “Jack, if you’re trying to convince me that she’s totally right in the head, you’re not getting anywhere. The woman claims she saw a body in the water. And that it talked to her.”

“Hey…for every tale out there, you’ll find a grain of truth.”

“Have you heard about a missing person in the area? Anybody looking for a murder victim? I had the news on—far as I can tell, everyone’s accounted for.”

“You’re sounding like a callous son of a bitch, and I know better,” Jack told him. “What you are is so focused on diving that you don’t mind going through women like Kleenex.”

Thor arched a brow. “Yeah? Haven’t seen you settle down.”

“Never knew a woman could keep up—in my generation. They probably existed somewhere. We just didn’t cross paths.”

“I don’t play where I work,” he said softly.

Jack let out a guffaw. “That’s ’cause the one woman on our team is married and an Amazon to boot.”

“Now, who’s being a son of a bitch?”

“Me? I think Lizzie’s great, but she’s all business. Tough as nails, and I think she could take me if we were arm wrestling. And if she couldn’t, well, who the hell would want to mess with Zach?”

Thor shrugged, amused. Lizzie—Elizabeth Green—was not a woman to be taken lightly. She wasn’t an inch shorter than his own six-three. Her husband, Zach, had been a professional basketball player, and between them, they were a daunting pair. Lizzie waged a lot of the company’s battles when they were seeking permits for projects. She could best almost any man. “Lizzie’s tough. And down to earth. She isn’t going to fly off the handle, seeing corpses that aren’t really there.”

“Come on. Everyone’s been spooked by something once or twice.”

“Maybe.”

“And you’re a pile of crap yourself, Thor.”

“You think?”

“You’d have your tongue on the pavement if she crooked her little finger.”

“Yeah? Bull.” He spoke coolly, but he knew he was lying. The nutcase was almost explosively hot. But he hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t fool around where he worked. Even on a long haul, they put into port somewhere, and that’s where he did his playing. Complications on a job were something nobody needed.

“I call ’em like I see ’em,” Jack said flatly. “No one’s ever accused me of lying.”

“Hell, I’m accusing you right now,” Thor said.

Jack laughed, noticing that Thor was watching the other table again. “Remember, Thor, the mighty can fall,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been hearing that ‘mighty Thor’ shit all my life,” Thor told him, then waved to the bartender, the owner’s son, ordering another round.

“We all looked, Genevieve,” Victor said. “There was nothing there.”

“I’m telling you, I saw a woman’s body,” Genevieve repeated stubbornly, her jaw set. “Look, I don’t know if it was some kind of a joke, or if there’s a real murder victim down there. But I didn’t hallucinate. I saw it.”

Bethany Clark touched Genevieve’s knee. “Hey, honey, all of us see things down there sometimes. It’s the mind playing tricks. The water playing tricks, causing visual distortion.”

“Have another beer,” Victor said dryly. “It will make everything better.”

Genevieve groaned, gritting her teeth. She couldn’t say they hadn’t tried. She had kicked her way to the surface with the speed of lightning. Thankfully, she hadn’t been deep. The moment the woman had opened her eyes and smiled, she had felt such a sense of sheer panic that she had rocketed to the surface, which could have been deadly if she had been down deep. When she’d reached the surface, she had nearly choked on salt water, spitting out her regulator and waving her arms madly.

Marshall Miro, head of their unit, had been on board, and she knew she’d been babbling as he’d helped her out. Victor had surfaced right after her, having seen her ascent. Then Bethany and Alex, not too far distant, had come up, and Bethany had stayed aboard while the others had gone down, searching for the woman’s body. The Seeker, one of their fellow ships, had been in the vicinity, as well. Her crew had gone down, too.

And none of them had seen anything.

Maybe she had imagined the eyes opening, the woman reaching out, but she had seen a body. She just didn’t know what had happened to it.

Unfortunately, she had babbled something about the eyes and the fact that the dead woman had moved, even tried to speak, and now even Bethany, her best friend, thought she was crazy.

She glanced around the small resort in the old-town area of Key West where they were staying. She actually owned a house not even half a mile away that her great-great-however-many-greats-grandfather had built on the island years before the Civil War.

But this place was a local hangout. Jack kept his beat-up old fishing boat here, and there was one slip where three of the area cops kept their boats berthed. They liked to come here just to have coffee, or drinks in the evening.

She’d stayed here on purpose to be able to work this project at the blink of an eye with the others. Their dive boat was right there, where they needed it, along with The Seeker. There was no spa or twenty-four-hour room service, but what it did have was true old Conch charm. The main house had been built in the 1800s. Bungalows had been added right around World War II and were spread out over a sandy beach, and each offered an outside table and chairs on a little individual patio. There was also the tiki bar and “munch house,” as they called it, which opened at seven in the morning and stayed open until midnight or so. The night bartender was the owner’s son, so he kept it open as long as he was having fun. The menu wasn’t gourmet, but it was fresh and delicious.

Despite the fact the divers following her garbled directions hadn’t found a body, Genevieve had insisted on reporting what she had seen to the police—by then calm enough to report the body but not the fact it had seemed to move of its own volition. It had been late when they had actually returned to shower and change and meet here at the bar to dine on fresh fish sandwiches, and the resort’s own coleslaw and potato salad.

“Okay, guys, laugh at me all you want. I saw a body,” she said firmly.

Bethany lowered her sandy head. Victor, Alex and Marshall all stared at one another, trying not to smile.

“Hey, Gen,” Victor teased her. “There’s a lady at the bar who wants to buy you a drink…look—Whoops, no, sorry, you didn’t act fast enough. She’s disappeared.”

Genevieve glared at him through narrowed eyes. She wanted to wring his neck. Of all people to be so taunting…They’d gone through school together. He was a year older, but she’d matured faster, and having a shape in high school had been tantamount to being cool back then. She’d taken him with her to every social event in their adolescent past.

In college he’d finally filled out and grown a few hairs on his chest. He’d grown into his features, as well, and now he was tall, dark and good-looking. They’d never ruined a good friendship by dating, but he could irritate her as thoroughly as if they were a married couple.

“Victor…” she began.

Grinning, he waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know what I can go do with myself.”

“Hey, kid, it will be all right,” Marshall said, but he, too, was still secretly smiling. At least someone was amused, she thought. Marshall was the owner and founder of Deep Down Salvage as well as a local. As a kid, he’d been fascinated by the history of Key West, which was inextricably entwined with tales of wreckers and salvage divers. It was a mixed history. Sometimes they had saved the lives of the poor souls on a ship that came to ruin on the dangerous reefs.

Sometimes, however, they waited like vultures—hoping ships carrying rich cargos would flounder and sink. Such a system had created many a rich man throughout the centuries.

Marshall was at least ten years older than most of their group. He had made his name by working in the northern waters off Massachusetts, doing heavy-duty, cold-water salvage. But Key West was his home, the place he loved. He had used his earnings to come back and open his own company, buy his own boat and equipment, and set up shop. He made a good income, but he was always pleased to work on any historical effort, and he had a tremendous respect for the reefs, the water and the past. Deeply tanned and buff, and dead even with her own height, he kept his head shaven, a look that went oddly well with his almost ebony eyes and dark brows.

Sitting with his feet up, shades on despite the setting sun, he grimaced. “We’ll find out that there was something down there. You know…flotsam and jetsam of some kind.”

Alex hummed a version of The Twilight Zone theme song. “Yeah, flotsam and jetsam with a face and hair,” he teased.

She glared at him, hiking a brow. Alex was from Key Largo, a different world from Key West, since the city of Miami was barely an hour north. He was blond, bronzed and a child of the sea and sun, a graduate in history and a master diver, but she’d shown him secrets of the reefs here that only the natives knew.

“Oh, you—” she said, then broke off in aggravation and rose, taking her beer with her to the little fence that looked out over a deep channel where the resort’s pleasure crafts and fishing boats were berthed.

“Don’t go away mad!” Alex called.

She spun around, shaking her head and forcing a smile as well. “Just wait, my dear, devoted friends! Somewhere along the line, you will get yours. I’m not going away mad, I’m just going away.”

“Hey, don’t be mad at me,” Bethany said.

“I’m not mad,” Genevieve insisted.

She walked on down to the dock, nursing her beer, looking out at the sunset. It was beautiful and tranquil, but she was roiling inside. Why had she been so panicked? She’d twice worked rescue situations that had become retrieval situations, and they had found bodies both times, once after a plane crash in the southern Glades, and once after a boating accident off Key West.

But the dead hadn’t looked at her then.

Digging a flower bed at her house, she’d dug up bones once—but that hadn’t been as shocking as it might have been elsewhere, not in Key West, the Island of Bones.

But those bones hadn’t disappeared.

She felt a presence next to her, tensed and turned, certain that one of her friends had joined her to continue the torture.

“You all right?”

She turned at the soft masculine query to see Jay Gonzalez. He was still in uniform, hat low over his forehead, sunglasses dark and concealing his eyes.

She smiled. She liked Jay a lot. He was in his late thirties now, and had been young himself when she had first met him. He’d pulled her and a few friends over when they’d been in high school, and, admittedly, there had been a few beer cans in the car. He hadn’t brought them down to the station, though. Instead, he’d taken every one of them home.

He was one of the cops who kept his boat here. He didn’t go out on it often anymore. He’d been out on it when his wife had fallen overboard and died. But he still kept it up. Maybe he even visited it now and then because he somehow felt closer to his wife when he was on it.

But he wasn’t there now for the boat, she knew. He was there for her.

“I’m fine—if you think having all your friends convinced you’re crazy makes you fine.” She hesitated. “Thanks for listening to me today.”

He nodded, leaning against the little wooden rail next to her. “I know you’re not a ditz,” he told her, grinning.

“Bless you.”

He stared out over the water. “I just wish I could help you. I don’t have anything that would correspond with what you told me. Then again, someone might be missing and it hasn’t been reported yet. I sent some men out after I talked to you. They couldn’t find anything, either.” He hesitated. “Bizarre as it may seem, given the amount of drinking that goes on down here, Key West itself doesn’t have much of a murder rate. I deal with boozed-out kids and car accidents more than anything else.”

“Jay, I saw a woman down there.” She hesitated before going on, hoping he wouldn’t take what she was about to say as a slap on his professional knowledge. “It’s not like no one ever gets killed here. There was the husband who went nuts and shot his wife a few years back. And there was that almost-super-model who disappeared when I was in high school. No one believed she would ever be found alive. Oh! And just last year, in the middle Keys somewhere…another young woman disappeared.”

“I didn’t say we never have murders, but in comparison to Miami, our numbers are low—single digits. And, Gen—”

“I know. There’s no missing blonde on the radar right now.”

“We could find out later there is,” he said gently. “But let’s hope it was a prank of some kind, huh?”

“I am definitely hoping that’s the case.”

He nodded. “There could be a bunch of frat boys laughing their asses off somewhere. We may never know. But I believe you saw something. In fact, it’s you, so I know it.”

She smiled her thanks. “Can I buy you a beer?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I’m still on duty. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” He made a face. “There’s some trouble up on Mile Marker 6. You take care, all right? And call me—whatever comes up. I don’t think you’re crazy.”

He brushed her chin affectionately with his knuckles, then walked away toward the sand-and-gravel parking lot.

She thanked God for him. At least he believed her. He was an interesting guy, she mused. He was a perfect sheriff’s deputy. Tall, dark, quiet. He exuded an air of competence and assurance. She always felt a sense of sympathy for him; his wife had died about five years ago, when they’d been on vacation. He’d kept pretty much to himself after that.

But he was a good guy. And it was comforting to know he had taken her seriously.

Upsetting, though, to know that no one had found any sign of anything.

Staring back at the horizon, she took a long swallow of the Miller Lite she’d been holding so long that it was growing warm. When she felt someone beside her again, she thought that Jay had returned.

Wrong.

“Hey, cutie. Long day, huh?”

It was Jack Payne, one of her favorite people in the world, though he was working on The Seekers this go-round. Crusty as a crab, Jack was weathered and leathered by the sun. He wore one of the coins he had found around his neck, a Spanish gold piece hung from a chain, and in one ear a gold earring in the form of a skull and crossbones. He worked out of the area a lot, but they’d shared several assignments, and he was a great diver with whom to work.

She flushed, seeing the semi-smile on his face.

“I know, I know, Jack. Give it a good laugh, okay? But thanks for calling me cutie. At my height, I don’t hear that word too often,” she said wearily.

“Hey, I believe you saw something. And maybe ‘cutie’ isn’t the right word. How about, hey there, gorgeous? And, as to the other, there’s nothing else anyone can do right now, huh?”

She nodded.

He slipped a fatherly arm around her shoulders. “Maybe we’ll hear something soon about someone going missing.”

“I hope not. I’d much rather it have been my imagination,” Genevieve said.

“Right…well, this is a pretty kooky place. We’ll probably discover that some prankster did sink a mannequin in the water.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got to get past it right now,” she murmured.

“You will. It will be fine.”

“Really?” She swung around, leaning on the wooden railing as she surveyed him. “I’d swear you’ve been sitting there with your hotshot friend, trying not to agree I should be taken off the project.”

“Me? Never. I’d dive with you any day, Genny.”

She risked a quick glance at the man remaining at Jack’s table. Thor. Who the hell had a name like Thor? Yeah, yeah, he had a reputation. And in another place and time, he might have fit the name well, having the height and build and rugged features of some ancient thunder god. But this was Key West, and they were living in the real world, and down here they didn’t care how many times someone had managed to make it into the newspapers. She didn’t know why—maybe it was because he had been so ready to rescue her that afternoon—she felt an instant dislike for the man. Pretentious. Arrogant. Those adjectives definitely applied. And it wasn’t because she had a thing about working with other groups. She just didn’t like him.

“Come meet him. He’s really not such a bad guy.”

“Could have fooled me,” she murmured.

“Hey,” Jack said lightly. “Your buddies are doing a pretty good job of ribbing you right now, too, aren’t they?”

Genevieve shrugged. Yes, this one was going to take a very long time to live down. No—they’d never let her live it down.

“Come on, come meet Thor.”

She rolled her eyes but followed Jack back to the table.

To his credit, the man stood. She could see little of his face because he wore a pair of Ray-Bans, but he had the kind of high-set cheekbones and strong jaw that certainly defined his personality. No-nonsense, rugged, probably fearless. Totally confident and determined. She decided that even without what had happened today, she probably wouldn’t have cared much for him. He didn’t appear to be the kind of man who worked and played well with others.

“Thor, meet Genevieve Wallace. Gen, Thor Thompson.”

He offered her a hand. He didn’t smile, however. He wasn’t treating her experience with the same amusement as the others. Apparently he found it dangerously annoying.

“Thor,” she murmured, shaking his hand but extracting her own quickly. “Interesting name.” She couldn’t help the bit of disdain in her tone.

The hint of a smile curved his lips at that. “Sorry—my grandparents were Norwegian. They started out in Minnesota. It’s common enough in those circles. Genevieve, huh?”

“Family name, as well. St. Genevieve. My antecedents were old-school Catholics, I suppose,” she murmured.

“Gen. It’s easier,” Jack said cheerfully. “Sit. I’ll get you a beer. Ah, you already have one. Well…sit.”

“Um…” She hesitated. She should have been quicker with an excuse. Anything. Actually, I’m already sitting with friends over there. Excuse me, but I think I’m wiped out, I’m going to my room. There’s a cat in a tree I have to rescue…Anything!

But she hadn’t thought fast enough. Jack already had a chair pulled out for her.

“Strange you two haven’t met yet,” Jack said.

Genevieve saw a tawny brow shoot up over the Ray-Bans. “Jack, it’s a big world.”

“Yeah, but you’ve worked the Keys before,” Jack said.

Thor nodded. “I haven’t been down this far south that often, though.”

“Well,” Jack said cheerfully, “it’s a great project to be working.”

“Right. Working,” Thor murmured.

Genevieve stiffened instantly. Despite the Ray-Bans hiding his eyes, it was more than apparent that he thought of her as a liability. “I am working, and I take my work seriously, Mr. Thompson,” she informed him coolly.

“Mr. Thompson?” Jack said. “Gen, we’re all working together. He’s just Thor.”

“Interesting work method,” Thor said, as if Jack had never spoken.

His voice let her know he was staring at her as if she were a total flake.

“I would be willing to bet, Mr. Thompson, that I know these reefs far better than you ever will.”

“Really?” he replied, leaning forward. “Just what is it that you think you know about these reefs, Miss Wallace? That you mysteriously see the past? People floating down there? Strange, if that were the case, one would think you’d know exactly where to look for all the sunken ships. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Come on, guys,” Jack demanded. “What’s with this Mr. and Miss stuff?”

It was her turn to ignore Jack.

“My reputation as a diver is absolutely spotless, Mr. Thompson.”

“Hey, why don’t I go over and say hello to your buddies, Gen?” Jack murmured.

His chair scraped back. He was definitely in a hurry to quit their company and the wave of tension that had seemed to materialize around them.

Thor Thompson was still staring at her. Then he leaned forward suddenly and removed the sunglasses so he could stare into her eyes. “Spotless?” he asked softly. “Maybe until today. We might as well get this right out into the open. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your reputation. Even though we’re not working at great depth, every man has to pull his weight. I’ve seen too many ‘experienced’ divers pop up dead. If you see dead bodies that open their eyes and try to communicate with you, Miss Wallace, we’ve got serious problems ahead. You might want to get some help before you go down again.”

For several long moments Genevieve stared at him, so shocked by the hardball vehemence of the attack that she didn’t even blink.

The man had blue eyes sharper than jagged ice and a jaw that seemed set in concrete. Her heart pounded. He didn’t know her; didn’t know anything about her.

He’d simply judged her.

She sat forward, as well, met him eye to eye, and smiled.

“I’m a better diver than you could ever hope to work with again. And I’m known to find what I’m looking for, so if you don’t like me, well, then excuse me for being crude, but I really have nothing to say other than ‘Fuck you, asshole.’” Still smiling pleasantly, she stood and walked away.

Jay Gonzalez drove down Roosevelt, wondering why the situation had left him so perplexed.

Nothing. There had been nothing down there.

Hell, he’d been in and around the water long enough. Vision was distorted beneath the waves.

The crime rate was low, just as he’d told Gen. Most of it had to do with petty theft. Some grand larceny, and of course there were the drugs. But murder didn’t happen often.

There couldn’t be anything to it. Genevieve thought she’d seen a body. The body had been gone. A prank, perhaps? According to Marshall, there hadn’t been any other boats in the immediate area. But, hell, he knew kids, and they were willing to go to great lengths to play a trick.

Still, it disturbed him. He liked Genevieve, really liked her, and always had. He hated to see her upset like that.

Ghosts were big business in Key West, as they were in many places. Hemingway was said to walk around town, and sometimes it seemed as if every house on Duval Street claimed to have a ghost, thanks to the Indian bones and the wreckers and plain old human frailty. But Genevieve wasn’t the type to make up a story for the fun of it.

What the hell had she seen?

Murder wasn’t common in Key West.

But it did happen. Had happened.

Hell, yes, it had happened. He knew damned well it had happened.

He gritted his teeth; he was already reaching US1. His siren blaring, he wove through the stopped cars. There was an accident just ahead. He looked at the cars as he approached and prayed he wouldn’t be seeing any bodies himself. Not that night.

2

The following day, Thor was one of the first divers up and about. The plan was to meet early every morning at the tiki bar to grab coffee and a light meal. Just fifty feet from the little hut, the resort offered a small dive shop, where their tanks were filled and any damaged piece of equipment repaired. He stood on the dock for a few moments, enjoying the sunrise. It promised to be a beautiful day, or at least a beautiful morning. They planned to spend the next couple of weeks taking the boats out early and calling it quits by about three, when the late summer rains traditionally rolled in. Those afternoon storms often came on with ferocity, but generally they raged for half an hour or so, then were gone.

He sipped his coffee, aware that others were beginning to emerge from their cottages. Marshall Miro’s crew was impressive. They were all in excellent shape, and comfortable in the water no matter what the circumstances. They had the proper respect for the ocean’s power. Which was good—he didn’t intend to lose any divers. Even Genevieve Wallace had sounded sane enough when she’d snapped back at him. He liked her air of determination, in fact.

He saw her walking from her cottage, meeting up with Bethany, the second woman on Marshall’s crew. She was the opposite of Genevieve, probably a respectable five-five or five-six, but next to her friend, she appeared short. She was attractive, compact but nicely muscled. She also seemed to be far more cheerful and easygoing than her long-legged counterpart and was waving to Lizzie and Zach even as she met up with Genevieve. Lizzie made even Genevieve look short, and when Zach moved up, he dwarfed them all. Jack was already over by the tiki hut, and Clint—long and lanky at twenty-two, bronzed, his hair flopping in his face—was setting out platters of doughnuts and fruit. Rounding out the group, Vic and Alex came running up along the beach, heavy packs of equipment over their shoulders. They were of an age, and, like the others, physically fit and mentally sharp.

“Hey! Thought you were lolling around in bed. Didn’t see you down here,” Marshall called to Thor, walking down the dock.

“We’re in search of the find of the century,” Thor said dryly. “I wouldn’t want to oversleep and miss all the excitement.”

“You don’t think we’re going to find anything?” Marshall asked, rubbing a hand over his bald head and squinting against the sun.

“I didn’t say that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe there was something to find. I’m just curious what the state guys have planned if nothing shows up here. People have been diving this area for years. Admittedly, we’ve been finding signs of metal down there, but hell, that could mean just about anything.”

“All we need is proof that she’s there, and then it’s up to the ecologists and historians to start arguing about the next steps,” Marshall said with a shrug. He stared at Thor. “To be honest, I’d just like to go down in the books as having been in on a real find. If determination means anything, we’ll find something for sure.”

“Determination is always an asset,” Thor murmured. He was looking back at the others. Victor Damon gave Genevieve a teasing bump as they walked along the path. She turned and pointed a finger at him, saying something. They were probably still ribbing her. He said something else, and she stole his baseball cap, then slammed it back on his head. Still, they were all laughing. That cop, Jay Gonzalez, seemed to hold her in regard. If she’d been a fruitcake, it was doubtful the man would have listened to her so attentively or sent divers out in search of a body.

“You’ve got a tight-knit crew,” Thor commented.

“Those two,” Marshall said with a nod toward Genevieve and Victor, “and Bethany all went to school together. Best friends. Poor Alex is the new guy. He’s only been around for about three years. All the way from Key Largo,” he added dryly. “What about your people?”

“The best,” Thor assured him. “Lizzie and Jack have worked it all—rescue, recovery, salvage. They’re a great team. And you must know Jack. Probably better than I do. The invitation to join this search came kind of suddenly, and several of my people were already committed to other projects. I’m missing some of my regulars, but I’ve known Jack forever and I’m glad to have him on my team.”

“Jack has more experience than all of us put together,” Marshall said.

“We should get going,” Thor said, checking his watch.

“I’d like to be down before nine to take advantage of the visibility before the storms roil up the sand.” He let out a whistle, drawing the attention of his crew, who hurried for their coffee.

Genevieve Wallace walked by, her eyes like sharp crystals as she assessed him without a word.

“Nice morning, wouldn’t you say, Miss Wallace.”

“Yes, a perfect morning,” she replied politely, and hurried on by.

It was a perfect morning, and the day passed uneventfully. Three different dives, hours under water. Just before three, with the regularity of a factory whistle, the storms started rolling in.

Thor had seen the sky change on the horizon, seen the rain when it had begun farther out at sea. When the divers came up for the third time, he motioned to Marshall that it was time to call it quits. With the boats lashed together, he could hear Marshall’s people talking as he waited for his own crew to stow their gear.

“I think we were closer yesterday,” Genevieve said.

“Why? Because of that woman you saw?” Alex teased her.

She slapped him on the arm. “Because I have a hunch. I think we need to back it up a bit, Marshall. We didn’t give yesterday’s location a thorough search. I mean, a relic isn’t going to just jump out of the sand into our hands.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Marshall assured her.

By then the motors were purring, they had cast off their ropes and weighed anchor, and were moving away.

“Think Genevieve might be right? Should we move back?” Lizzie asked.

He shrugged, though privately he admitted that they should retrace the area. There had been too much excitement yesterday—too much time spent looking for a woman’s body are not enough for signs of a wreck.

“We’ll see,” he said. “I’ll talk to Marshall about it tonight.”

He was startled when his cell phone started to ring. “Excuse me, guys,” he told them. When he moved forward and answered, he shook his head when he recognized Sheridan’s voice. “Yep, that will be fine.” He hung up and swore. The preliminaries had been done. But now…well, hell. It wasn’t his nickel. If Sheridan wanted to come down and talk again, so be it. “Meeting at the tiki bar tomorrow morning—seven-thirty sharp!” he called to the others.

Thor felt suddenly irritated. He didn’t know why exactly, but Sheridan bugged him. The man had even hinted that perhaps Thor should find another diver for his team. He didn’t like bringing in someone he didn’t know well. Maybe he’d have to hire someone else, he decided. They were looking for needles in a really giant haystack, and he wanted to do more of the actual diving himself. Well, tomorrow, at least, he would have an extra body around, if needed, with Sheridan there. That would work, for now, although he wasn’t sure how long he wanted Sheridan on his boat. Maybe it would all work out without bringing in untested strangers.

The day had yielded nothing, but Genevieve still felt on top of the world.

She had slept with every light in the bungalow on, dreading the darkness. But she had drifted off at some point and actually slept reasonably well.

She had tried to appear completely calm, competent and rational throughout the morning, even allowing the others to joke at her expense. She simply wasn’t going to live this down for a while. And yet, despite her apparent calm, she had been terrified all morning, praying silently not to have any visions this time, not to see a dead woman telling her to beware.

All day, she had stayed closer to Victor than usual, all the while trying not to let him know what she was doing. But if she saw something, she was determined he was going to see it, too.

There had been no finds. But there had been no corpses in the water, either. That made the day a great success, as far as she was concerned.

By five she had washed down her own equipment, helped with the boat, showered and changed. She wasn’t fond of hanging around by herself, so she hurried out to the tiki bar.

She was the first arrival from either of the crews. Clint saw her, and brought over a Miller Lite. “You do want a beer, right?”

“I do. Thank you.”

He grinned. “It’s the only appropriate libation for kick-ass women.”

“Bethany likes piña coladas,” she reminded him.

“Well…some chicks can get away with it,” he assured her. “Ah, the big guy himself.”

Genevieve thought he had to mean Zach—she hadn’t met many people in her life quite as tall as Zach. But then she turned and realized Clint wasn’t referring to Zach. He was talking about the man she had personally dubbed asshole.

To her displeasure, he headed right for her. Then again, the only other guests enjoying the thatched shade of the tiki bar right now were an elderly couple who had told her earlier they hailed from Ohio. A nice couple, but not exactly people any of them knew.

Not that he exactly knew her, Genevieve thought as he approached.

He didn’t ask if he could join her, just nodded—eyes shaded behind dark glasses again—and slid into one of the chairs. By the time he was seated, Clint had returned with a beer.

“One of these days, do you think I can head out with you guys?” Clint asked him.

Thor shrugged, accepting the beer with a quick “Thanks.” He looked up at Clint. “What kind of a diver are you?”

“A good one. I have a master’s certification.”

Thor gave Clint a long assessment, not a muscle in his face so much as ticking. “Sure. Take time off next week. But out on the boat, I’m not just captain, I’m God Almighty. If you can live with that…?”

“Shit, yes,” Clint said, then caught himself. “Sorry, Genevieve.”

“I think she’s all right with the word,” Thor said, smiling. Evidently he hadn’t forgotten a single one of her words to him.

“No problem, Clint,” she replied. “And if you want, I’m sure you can go out with us, too, one of these days.” She hoped her sunglasses were every bit as opaque as Thor’s and her smile every bit as pleasant.

“Cool.” Clint was still looking at Thor, as if for approval. After a moment, he moved away awkwardly, giving them a thumbs-up sign.

“So, how was your day?” Thor asked her once Clint had moved on.

“Fine, just fine.”

“Nothing down there, huh?”

“If there had been, I would have reported it.”

“Nothing strange, I meant.”

She forced another smile. “You know, I really don’t know who you think you are. I’ve been out on these reefs all my life. I know every landmark. And I’ll bet I make a discovery before you do.”

He sat back, a small smile curving his lips. “You think you can outdo me, Miss Wallace?”

“I know I can.”

He shook his head, amused. For a brief moment, she wondered what the hell she was doing. He had a sixth sense when it came to finding what was lost beneath the sea.

“Interesting,” he said. “You’re really throwing down the gauntlet.”

Yes, she was. And that, she realized, seemed to take him from believing she was nuts in one way to believing she was nuts in another, saner, way.

“Well?” she demanded icily.

He shrugged. “Is this a dare? For real?”

“You bet.”

“You’re on.”

“Good.”

“We’re talking about a real relic—not imagined,” he said.

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

“All right. What’s the bet?” he asked.

She shrugged. The stakes hadn’t entered her mind.

“A round of beers?” she suggested.

He shook his head. “Far too cheap.”

She arched a brow. “I planned on a friendly wager.”

“A friendly wager?”

“Okay. So we’re far from being friends.”

“Do you have so little faith in yourself?”

“Should I be betting my house?” she inquired lightly, feeling ever-so-slightly ill in the pit of her stomach.

He shook his head, his smile deepening. “I wouldn’t dream of taking your house.”

“What makes you think you’d take it? And what would I be getting—when I win?”

He laughed out loud then, truly enjoying himself. “I have a nice place in Jacksonville.”

“But I have no desire to leave the Keys.”

“As I said, I have no intention of taking your home, either.”

He was intent on winning, she knew—despite the fact she couldn’t see his eyes. There was a tightening, barely visible, in his muscles. His male ego was taking over. Testosterone was racing. It was pathetically immature, she thought.

She had started it.

“You won’t get a chance to take my home,” she assured him coolly.

“Well, a round of beers is too paltry, claiming your house too serious. I guess we could give this thing some thought overnight, hmm?” he suggested.

“Whatever you wish, Mr. Thompson,” she said stiffly.

“No, whatever you wish, Miss Wallace,” he replied mockingly.

“Tomorrow morning, then, we decide the bet,” she said.

“I’ve got an idea,” he murmured, looking amused. “But you won’t like it.”

She was suddenly certain she knew the nature of his wager. It should have infuriated her. Instead, it just made the challenge greater.

“Really?” she murmured, suddenly aware of her own muscles tightening with the same tension, the same sense of challenge and ruthless determination, as his. Worse, his air of sexual innuendo only increased her fighting spirit.

“You really don’t want to know. It’s a pretty wacko thought.”

“I think I do know, Mr. Thompson. The question is…what do I get when you lose? Sorry, a night in the sack with you isn’t my idea of a prize.”

He laughed softly. “You made quite an assumption there, didn’t you?”

She fought the wave of crimson that threatened to splash her cheeks and tried to bluff her way out of it. “What kind of prize would be wacko to you?” she asked sweetly.

He smiled, for once a simple, deep and, she had to admit, very nice smile. “Wacko doesn’t necessarily mean…The Seeker,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“The Seeker. You’d get The Seeker.”

She frowned. “The boat is yours?”

“From bow to stern, yes.”

“But…she’s your livelihood.”

“I won’t lose.”

Genevieve sat back, totally confused. “You’d wager your dive boat? Against…?”

He smiled again, and this time it was far too sexy and seductive. “Well, it was your suggestion.”

“Never!”

“My mind wasn’t moving in that direction until you said something.”

“It sure as hell was.”

“I never would have voiced it if you hadn’t.”

She wasn’t sure what she felt at that moment

“You are joking, right?” she asked softly.

He leaned forward; she found herself doing the same. The bet was between them; no one else would be in on it. “I’m not joking. If I lose, I’ll pay up. Will you?”

“You’d risk your boat for a woman you think is crazy?” she asked. “You have to be crazier than you think I am.”

He laughed. “Not really. I won’t lose.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” she murmured.

“So it’s a bet?”

She noticed that Jack had made an appearance and was dragging another table over. She realized that in a few minutes the tiki bar would be crowded, as the crews from both boats all began to put in an appearance. In fact, she could see Lizzie and Zach approaching. Bethany, Alex, Victor and Marshall would no doubt be over in another few minutes.

“People are coming,” she murmured.

He gripped her wrist where it lay on the table. “Is it a bet?”

“Yes,” she hissed quickly.

“One of us will have to lose,” he said, stating the obvious.

“It won’t be me,” she assured him. “But don’t worry. I’ll take excellent care of my boat.”

A touch of dry amusement entered his eyes, and he leaned close.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll take excellent care of you.”

The others were there before she had a chance to reply, and she rose to greet Elizabeth and Zach.

Maybe she was just being paranoid, but it seemed as if Elizabeth and Zach were looking at her oddly. Then again, it might not be paranoia. She hadn’t been in great shape when she had surfaced yesterday. But Elizabeth had sympathy in her eyes as well as the same speculative look that Thor Thompson usually wore. “You doing all right? Everything okay today?” Elizabeth asked, taking the chair her husband offered her and drawing it up beside Genevieve’s.

“Fine. I’m really sorry I caused such a commotion yesterday.”

“Hey,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve had a few weird experiences in the water, too.”

“Lizzie ran into a head once,” Zach said.

“We were diving a small plane crash in the Everglades. It was pretty grisly.”

Genevieve nodded, staring across the table at Thor, who was smiling at Bethany. Asshole.

“I’ve done some recovery in the Everglades, and it is brutal,” Genevieve said.

“The muck…you can’t see anything until it’s in your face—then, suddenly, you’ve found a body part,” Elizabeth agreed. “But…well, you must have seen something. Maybe we’ll find whatever it was in the next few days.”

“I hope so,” Genevieve said. She looked at Thor again, clenching her teeth. “I haven’t worked rescue and recovery all that often, but we’ve gone up to the Glades a few times. I don’t know what this was.” She waved a hand in the air. “It had to be someone’s idea of a joke. A mannequin or something.” She didn’t believe it for an instant, but she was sick to death of the topic.

“Hey, anybody want to head out for dinner?” Bethany asked as she and the others came walking over.

“I was thinking about eating here,” Alex said. “We were planning a pretty early morning, at least three dives. I’m going straight to soda water after this beer.”

“You?” Genevieve inquired skeptically.

“We should call it an early night,” Thor said. “We’re supposed to meet back out here on the patio tomorrow at seven-thirty.”

“Seven-thirty?” Genevieve said. “I thought it was eight-thirty? All we have to do is get up and walk out to the boats.”

“Our advisers are going to be here in the morning,” Marshall said. “Preston from the Coast Guard and Professor Sheridan, from the university.”

“Oh?” Genevieve said.

“Thor got the call when we were out today. Sorry, I missed telling you,” Marshall said.

Had her own boss decided she was too far gone to receive information like everyone else? she wondered. Didn’t he want her in contact with the higher-ups?

“Great,” she said. “I guess we should call it an early night.” She started to rise, but Marshall smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“I say we let the crew of The Seeker buy us dinner tonight.”

“Sure,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “The hamburgers here are cheap enough. We’ll let you guys buy us steaks after our first discovery.”

“I’ll go give Clint our order,” Thor said, rising. “Though what Marshall isn’t telling you is that all our meals go on an expense account. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers? Any vegetarians in the group?” He looked at Genevieve.

Of course, she thought. He already considered her a bit strange, so no doubt she must be a vegetarian in his red-blooded, rough-and-ready, American-male world. She suddenly wished she were a vegetarian, just so she could see the look on his face when she told him.

She decided not to answer him. Instead, she rose determinedly. “I think I’ll skip dinner. I’ll see you all at seven-thirty in the morning. Good night.”

Elizabeth looked at her in concern. “You really should have some dinner.”

“Yeah,” Bethany said, frowning.

Easier for you all to talk about me, if I just disappear, she thought, forcing a convivial smile.

“I’ve got snacks in the bungalow,” she said. “Thanks.”

She left then. Thor, ordering the food from Clint, didn’t even glance her way.

The bungalows were set no more than twenty feet apart, but they managed to feel private. They were nestled against a thin forest of sea grapes, pines and spindly oaks that shielded them from the rush of Duval Street and beyond. A stretch of beach lay in front of some, while the deeper water and the docks flanked others. The property wasn’t big; there were only three piers, one with local boats and two for guests. She could see Jack’s ramshackle fishing boat and Jay’s pleasure craft rocking gently at one pier, their work boats at another, awaiting the morning.

She entered her bungalow and looked around, admiring the casual plan. Each unit offered a refrigerator, microwave and wet bar, with a screen between the parlor/kitchenette/sitting area and the bedroom.

She turned on the television, feeling restless and eager for the sound of a human voice. Luckily, the television wouldn’t rib her the way her so-called friends had.

She had a package of breakfast bars by the sink and decided they would have to do for a meal. She would be seen if she tried to leave their small resort, and she didn’t want anyone to know she had just been seeking her own company—or company other than theirs, anyway.

Munching an oat-and-honey granola bar, she stared at the television, then started flicking the channel changer. Nothing drew her attention. The sound of laughter filtered to her from the bar area, and she found herself annoyed that they all seemed to be getting along so well. She’d been disturbed enough that her own friends were making fun of her. The Thor Thompson thing was more than she could stomach. The man was arrogant beyond belief.

She threw herself on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had to make the first discovery now.

The bet was ridiculous. Totally immature. She should just tell him in the morning that it was off. Except that she was the one who had started it.

Eventually the exertion of the day began to take its toll. She left the television on for company but changed into an oversize T, turned off the lights and tried to get some sleep. At first she could still hear the sounds of conversation and laughter, just as annoying as before.

But she needed rest. Last night she had slept at last but not long enough. At least today, she hadn’t seen a thing in the water except fish and coral.

The world was well, she told herself.

A little voice crept in. Bull!

At last she drifted to sleep.

In her dreams, she was diving again. The sound of her breath through the regulator was soothing. The water was clear. Tangs and clown fish darted by. A very large grouper, a good six feet, hovered by the reef. The sun struck the water, the rays arrowing down. Anemones wafted with the current.

And then…

She saw the woman. Hair drifting in golden streams. Head bowed, arms lifted in the easy current. White fabric drifting against the length of her body Feet tied to the weight that held her down.

Her head lifted. Her eyes opened. Her mouth worked. No sound came, but her eyes pleaded, filled with an infinite sadness.

Then, from behind her, they rose….

Skeletal forms with decaying flesh cloaking their bones. Skeletal forms brandishing knives and swords, bodies rotting, clothing streaming from them in oddly colorful tatters.

They marched. Marched across the seabed, sightless eye sockets staring at Genevieve, bony jaws locked with determination.

She was frozen at first, unable to move.

She had discovered something, she realized. Something she wasn’t meant to know.

And now…

The sound of her breathing stopped.

The army of skeletons was almost upon her. She turned to swim away, only to discover that she was surrounded. There was no escape.

A rotted arm in a tattered jacket reached out for her. Suddenly skeletal arms were rising all around her, bony fingers nearly touching her flesh.

She sensed the girl’s soundless warning. Beware…

She could almost smell the overwhelming scent of decay.

Rotting flesh. A breath away…

It was impossible, she told herself. Impossible to be smelling death and decay beneath the surface, breathing through a regulator.

She awoke, jerking bolt upright in the bed, filled with dread and panic. She forced herself to breathe deeply. It was a dream, only a dream. Inhale, exhale.

She gritted her teeth. Ridiculous. She wasn’t like this!

She felt thirsty, anxious for a glass of water, for something tangible. Tea. She could make tea. Maybe it was close enough to morning that she could just stay awake.

The television was still on. Paid programming. Some buff guy talking about his new cardio machine. She could see him past the screen dividing the room.

She let him keep talking. She liked the voice, and the light cast by the television. Actually, she needed more light. She turned on the bedside lamp.

It was only when she stood that she realized she was wet. And salty. As if she’d really been in the sea. Swallowing hard, she rushed into the bathroom, turning on the main lights on her way. She started to splash her face with cold water, then looked into the mirror of the medicine cabinet above the sink.

Her heart thudded; her breathing ceased.

There was seaweed in her hair.

3

The strangest clattering noise was going on, as if someone was throwing pots and pans—or as if chains were being furiously shaken.

Marshall Miro was aware of the sound, deep in the fog of sleep. He twisted and turned. He almost awoke. The sound was unsettling. It reminded him of…

What?

Something…unpleasant.

He fought the sensation and the noise. His body clock informed him it was too early to wake up.

So he didn’t.

Jack Payne was vaguely aware of a noise. It fit right in with the video game he was playing in his dreams. The game was called Kick-Ass Karena, and kick-ass it was. Gorgeous animated women battled one another and the player for supremacy. And when a guy won, it was all his: the booze, the women and the victory, hot or ruthless.

The sound just seemed to be part of the game.

Victor heard a noise and woke up with a start. For several seconds, he just sat up in bed wondering what the hell had woken him up.

He heard nothing. Nothing at all.

Groaning, he lay back down and prayed for a little more shut-eye.

Jay Gonzalez never quite made it up. The noise seemed to be coming from a distance. He wanted to get up. Wanted to stop it. But there were times when he fell asleep with the lights or the television on, then wanted them off but couldn’t quite rouse himself enough to do it.

He didn’t even open his eyes, despite the fact that the sound disturbed him deeply. It brought to mind things that were…uncomfortable. Painful. It touched memories that….

That he wished would remain lost.

Ignore it, he told himself. Sleep.

The sound would be gone by morning.

Thor bolted up. What in God’s name was going on?

He slid his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t turn on a light, having learned it was better to cloak oneself in darkness to check whatever might be going on in the light. Barefoot, he walked softly to the door of his bungalow and looked out.

A benign moon fell over the sand, water and nearby cottages. It was a serene picture. A semitropical night in paradise, all as it should be.

So where the hell had the noise come from?

Looking at the next bungalow, he saw that it was alive with light. It was Genevieve’s bungalow, he was certain. Okay, so she liked things bright. Couldn’t hang her for that.

Not that he wanted to hang her. Just…

Why the hell couldn’t the woman be normal?

He started, suddenly certain he had heard a scream.

Or not.

It almost seemed as if the sound had come from inside his own head. He studied the cottage next to his own. If anything was wrong…

Swearing, he strode toward her lighted window.

Genevieve stared at her reflection in the mirror, all but paralyzed.

Okay, this was frightening. A dream was one thing. Hopping out of bed to plunge into the water in the middle of the night was another. What the hell was happening to her?

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a hurried knocking at her door. She glanced at her watch. Five-thirty-five. Not as late as she had wanted to sleep, but early enough to get up for the day. Early enough for someone to be knocking at her door?

Then she heard her name called, softly but urgently. “Genevieve?”

She froze, recognizing the voice.

“Are you all right in there?”

She strode to the door, opening it to see Thor Thompson, as expected.

But for once he wasn’t laughing at her; he actually looked concerned.

“Uh, good morning,” she murmured, holding tightly to the door. “Of course I’m all right. Why are you asking?”

He stared at her as if she were suffering from something contagious. She realized she still had seaweed in her hair. Self-consciously, she reached for it.

“You didn’t hear a…racket?” he asked her.

“What?”

He sighed, pointing to the neighboring cottage. “That’s me, next door. It sounded as if something was…clanking over here, and then it sounded like a scream.”

“Clanking?” she repeated blankly.

He shrugged, looking ill at ease. With her—or himself? “Yeah, clanking, clanging…like chains. You can’t mean to tell me you didn’t hear anything?”

“I’m sorry. I must have been sleeping,” she murmured.

“Or swimming.”

“Pardon?”

“Swimming. You’re all wet, and you’re wearing…seaweed.”

“Oh. Well, I like a morning dip now and then.”

“Right,” he murmured, staring at her flatly. “You just wake up, feel the urge and plunge right in? In the dark?”

“Now and then,” she said lightly. I am losing my mind, she thought. But he was the last person in the world with whom she would ever share that information.

“Interesting,” he said. “Well, if you’re sure you’re all right, I’m going back to bed.”

She wasn’t all right at all. But there was no way in hell she was going to tell him so. “I’m fine.” She smiled. “Are you all right? It sounds as if you’re hearing things. You know. I see them, you hear them.”

“Something was making a racket,” he told her flatly.

She shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

“Couldn’t have been. You were swimming.”

“I was about to make coffee. If you’d like some…?” she added, praying her words were perfectly casual. Indifferent.

Hands on his hips, he looked at her as if she’d just made another entirely insane suggestion, but then he shrugged. “Hell, I guess I’m up for the day.”

He followed her in. She went straight for the coffeemaker and then the sink, filling the pot with water, then setting the premeasured bag into place to brew. He’d taken a seat on the futon that served as the sofa—or guest bed. She realized he was studying her, and she was pretty sure she made an absurd picture, dressed in the long, soaked T-shirt, seaweed still in her hair.

Act like it’s perfectly normal, she warned herself.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Black.”

“Macho, huh?” she murmured.

“Nope. Best way to learn to drink it when you might be out for a while with milk that goes sour and a crew member who forgot to buy sugar or creamer.”

“Right. Perfectly sensible.”

She sensed his shrug.

“We crazy people like it light,” she murmured.

“Hey, it’s a new day,” he said politely.

The coffeemaker chimed. She poured two cups, handed him one, fixed hers the way she liked it and sat across from him on one of the two wicker chairs that faced the futon.

“I saw something down there,” she said flatly. “Today I’ll figure out for myself what it was—while discovering the first relic.”

“You’re not just going to find it, you’re going to find it today?”

She shrugged nonchalantly.

“And you think I’m arrogant,” he murmured.

She lifted a hand. “When the shoe fits…”

He looked as if he was going to rise. To her deep annoyance, she realized she didn’t want to be alone. “What are they going to talk to us about this morning?” she demanded quickly.

“The usual, I imagine. Stuff we’ve already heard about preserving the reef while we excavate.”

“We’re working as carefully as we can,” she said.

He grinned. “They just want to keep putting in their two cents, that’s all. And I have to hand it to Preston—his research was top-notch, and his logic appears to be the same.”

“I know. I read the letters written by Antoine D’Mas, the pirate who watched the Marie Josephine go down. It all makes sense to me, too.”

“There you go. We agree on something,” he murmured.

They both heard the sound of footsteps pounding on the sand and the knock at the door. “Hey, you up in there?” Bethany called.

Genevieve stood and opened the door. Bethany was ready for the day, it appeared. She was wearing cutoffs over her one-piece Speedo. Her hair was tied back, out of the way.

“Good, you’re up early!” she announced. “I didn’t want to sit around alone any longer. There’s nothing on the TV—hey!” she said suddenly, seeing Thor on the futon.

“Hey yourself,” he greeted her, standing politely.

Bethany suddenly stared at Genevieve, as if really seeing her for the first time. “You’re soaked. And there’s seaweed in your hair. What the hell…?”

Genevieve looked meaningfully at her friend, her back to Thor Thompson. “You know me. I woke up early and just couldn’t resist the lure of the water.”

“By the dock?” Bethany said incredulously.

Genevieve made her stare fiercer. “On the beach side,” she snapped. “I can’t resist the water sometimes, and you know it.”

“Oh. Um. Right,” Bethany murmured.

“Do you want coffee?” Genevieve asked quickly, changing the subject.

“Sure, thanks.”

Bethany plopped down on the futon, where Thor joined her. “You still on for tonight?” she asked.

Genevieve nearly spilled the coffee.

“Yeah, why not?” he asked.

“Barhopping,” Bethany told Genevieve. “We’re all going.”

“Should we be barhopping?” Genevieve asked.

“We don’t have to drink at every bar. But Thor, Lizzie and Zach haven’t spent much time here. We’re going to show them the must-do tourist places and then our own favorites. Hey, we’re always in by four o’clock. We can shower, eat somewhere cool, show them a few spots and be back by eleven-thirty. Marshall’s coming, and Thor’s the boss of his team, so…” She shrugged. “It’ll be great.”

“I’m not so sure,” Genevieve murmured.

“When did you suddenly turn into such a stick?” Bethany demanded.

“Here. Take your coffee. Entertain yourselves. I’m going to shower,” Genevieve said.

“You’re going to shower—to go diving?” Bethany asked.

“Yeah. I want fresh seaweed in my hair,” she said, and left the two of them together on her futon. She walked into the bathroom and closed and locked the door. She stared at her reflection in the mirror again. She realized she was deeply irritated and didn’t know why.

She also didn’t want them to leave.

Determined not to dwell on the situation, she hopped into the shower, washed her hair, then hopped out. Her suit from the day before was on the rack, and she slipped back into it, then found shorts and a denim shirt, and slipped them on over the suit. When she emerged, the two were still talking.

“It was weird. I thought it was coming from here, too,” Bethany was saying.

“What are you talking about?” Genevieve asked sharply.

“Weird noises.” Bethany laughed. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d have said you were cooking!”

“You heard noises, too?” Genevieve demanded.

“Yeah, a real racket. I don’t usually get up way before I need to—especially when I’m hoping to have some energy left at night,” Bethany told her. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing. I was swimming, remember?” Genevieve said curtly. It was enough to make her nuts. She saw a body, no one else did. Thor heard noises, so did everyone else.

She felt a disturbing, creeping sensation along her spine. How much did that matter when she had awakened wet with seawater? And she didn’t remember a thing about leaving her cottage.

“They’ve probably got the tiki bar open by now. I’m hungry,” she said.

Thor and Bethany rose at her obvious suggestion that they all leave. He headed off to the cottage next door, waving a hand behind him. “See you in a few minutes.”

Bethany stared after him. “Cool,” she murmured.

“Yeah, he’s just great.”

Bethany looked at her in surprise. “What’s the matter? He’s got a great reputation.” She giggled. “And damned good buns, too. And pecs. And biceps. And those eyes…”

“Bethany…”

“What?”

“Go for it.”

“Oh, no. I’m not flirting with him or anything. He never fools around on a job.”

“Who the hell told you that?”

“I read it. There was a magazine article on him not long ago. He’s the kind who’s married to his work. He grew up on the wrong side of town. Father walked out on his mother, she wound up dying of a heart attack at forty, trying to raise the kids on her own. He just doesn’t want a family, I guess.”

“How noble,” Genevieve muttered.

“What is the matter with you? I’d think you’d want to work with someone who wasn’t hitting on you all the time. Everything with him is all business. Though I guess he’s been a little hard on you over the…what you thought you saw in the water.”

“A little hard? He thinks I’m certifiable.”

Bethany giggled, sobered quickly and apologized. “Genevieve…we’ve all seen what we haven’t really seen in the water at some time.”

Yes, but have we all awoken soaked in seawater, with seaweed in our beds? she nearly asked aloud.

“Let’s get something to eat. We have to make the first discovery. And we have to make it today,” she said, catching her friend’s arm and urging her toward the tiki bar.

Thor knew the history; he never went into anything without studying every shred of information about the project. Still, for some reason—perhaps to enforce the part about avoiding destruction of the reef in any way—they were seated on and around the picnic tables and benches by the docks, listening to what they knew already.

If ever a man had looked like he should be a professor of history, it was Henry Sheridan. He wore the kind of glasses that had Coke-bottle lenses, black frames, and, sure enough, he must have broken them, because they were held together between the eyes by a Band-Aid. His hair—a combination of mousy-brown and gray—stuck up in tufts from his head, without benefit of mousse. His face was very thin, ascetic, and his form was equally meager. Thor had the feeling the man seldom thought about eating, so lost was he on some intellectual plane.

Coast Guard Lieutenant Larry Preston was the antithesis of Sheridan. He was big, tall and hardy. He could swim and dive with the best of them, and though his job was to see that they followed the dictates of the state, Thor was pretty sure that history itself bored him. Preston liked action. He was wearing sunglasses and a uniform hat, along with his white shorts and shirt, and beneath those glasses, Thor had a feeling the man was keeping his eyes closed.

To the credit of the divers from both boats, they were at least putting on the pretense of rapt attention.

“As you all know, I’m certain, we estimate that there are at least two thousand undiscovered wrecks in the waters around the state. But the sea is harsh. Ships don’t usually sink intact. Winds and rains crack masts, and timbers split. On the way down, ships are at the mercy of tides and currents and their own weight and construction. Sometimes small vessels fare better, but huge ships—even broken up—can be an easier find. A ship such as the Marie Josephine might have left a field of discovery a mile long. She was brutalized by pirates in the midst of a storm. It’s more than likely her remains are in far more than two or three pieces. Despite that, and as you’re aware, we’re not going in with any vacuuming devices. Especially since we’re working on nothing more than speculation right now. It’s likely that, should you succeed in finding the ship’s resting place, you’ll begin to find small relics. Coins, of course. Pottery, porcelain. Last year, as Thor can tell you, we unearthed a Civil War barge in the St. Johns river because an 1860s razor was found. By Thor.” Sheridan nodded his way in acknowledgment. Lizzie applauded, and Alex Mathews let out an appreciative whistle.

“Cool,” Bethany murmured, offering him her generous smile.

Thor felt restless, anxious to be out on the water. He found himself studying Genevieve Wallace, who was staring straight ahead at Sheridan, her face betraying not so much as a flicker of emotion. The woman was fucking weird. She walked out in a nightshirt and jumped into the water?

While all kinds of noises were coming from her cottage?

“Raccoons,” he heard someone whisper.

Victor Damon was leaning casually against the edge of the next table over. He wasn’t listening at the moment; he was grinning as he looked at Bethany.

“Excuse me?” Lieutenant Preston snapped.

“Sorry, sir,” Victor said. “Bethany heard some kind of commotion last night. She forgets just how many cats and raccoons we have around here.”

“Well, they won’t be under the water!” Preston reminded him.

“Right, sir, absolutely not,” Victor agreed.

Sheridan cleared his throat. “I think it’s important that you all understand the full history of this wreck. The Spanish settled Florida in the early 1500s—St. Augustine is the oldest continually inhabited European settlement in the United States. The English got nervous about the Spanish being so close, and the French were trying to get a piece of the action, too. In 1763, Britain gained control of Florida in exchange for Cuba. Then came the Revolutionary War, and Florida remained loyal to the mother country. In 1784, the Spanish gained control again as part of the peace treaty that ended the American Revolution, but in 1821 they ceded Florida to the United States.”

Alex yawned. He caught the others staring at him and sat up straight.

“Hey, sorry, but I grew up here. I learned all this stuff in school,” he said.

“Yeah, but were you listening then?” Victor asked.

“This is important,” Sheridan said impatiently. “It explains why our ship is where it is. During the American Revolution, the French helped the U.S. Unofficially, the Spanish helped the French give us help. Before he was a pirate, José Gasparilla was in the Royal Spanish Navy. He knew these waters from his military experience, and he continued his career as a pirate until he died in 1821. Rumor has it that before his ship could be taken, he cast himself overboard with weights tied to his feet—one of his favorite ways to do away with prisoners. But shortly before his death, he heard of the Marie Josephine.” He paused dramatically.

“An English ship, despite her name,” Genevieve said into his silence.

“Yes, and Gasparilla was loyal to Spain. Unless, of course, there was a good Spanish ship to be attacked.” He laughed, then continued. “At any rate, he heard that the Marie Josephine was nearby, having taken a late exchange of prisoners to Cuba, and heading back to jolly old England laden with the ransom that had been paid,” Sheridan said.

“He probably felt he had a right to steal it,” Marshall said with a shrug.

“Exactly!” Sheridan agreed.

Thor was startled when Genevieve disagreed. “I don’t think that was it at all. Gasparilla had fallen in love with the captain’s daughter, Anne, who had managed to travel with her father and the prisoners to Cuba, because she wanted to be with a young Spanish nobleman they were exchanging. He and Anne had both been Gasparilla’s prisoners previously—that’s how they’d met—and had been ransomed together by the English, who then made the young Spaniard, Aldo Verdugo, their own prisoner. Rumor has it that Anne tricked her father and managed to become a passenger on the ship once again to remain with Aldo. And Aldo, who should have been safely in Cuba, had stowed away on the ship so he could remain with his beloved Anne. Gasparilla, however, had also fallen in love with Anne when she was his prisoner. He had returned her to the English because of the ransom, and his fellow pirates wanted the money. He, however, wanted her back. That’s why he went after the Marie Josephine.”

Alex snorted. “Gen, that’s nuts. Let’s see…all that ransom money—in gold—or a woman. Come on! Women would have been a dime a dozen to a pirate.”

Genevieve waved a hand in the air dismissively. “He wrote letters about his love for her,” she claimed.

“Where are these letters?” Sheridan demanded, frowning.

“Your university,” Genevieve said. Everyone was staring at her. “Hey, I made a trip up and studied everything in the library about the Marie Josephine, Gasparilla, the storm, everything. I was cross-referencing, and that’s when I found the letters.”

“Come on, you can’t put a romantic spin on pirates,” Victor teased her. “They were dirty, nasty thieves.”

“You should have read the letters,” Genevieve said. “Even a nasty, dirty pirate can fall in love.”

“He could have had tons of women,” Victor insisted.

“Yes, but she was the one he wanted. Who knows why someone falls in love. Or maybe it was only an infatuation. The one he couldn’t have. Anyway, he wrote about her in those letters, and he said he was in love.”

“Leave it to a girl,” Victor countered, rolling his eyes and sighing.

Genevieve laughed. “Leave it to a girl to beat the pants off you,” she countered lightly.

Thor sensed camaraderie in their teasing. It was apparent this group knew one another well, that there was a deep underlying friendship between them. He realized that he envied it. He had a damned good crew, but they didn’t always work together. Zach and Lizzie were totally reliable, but they were too close as a married couple to bond with anyone the way Marshall’s people were bonded, even when they were teasing and testing one another. He’d thought he liked it when business was business, but there was something approachiing an actual family relationship between Marshall’s divers, and it not only appeared to be fun, it clearly worked.

“Hey, baby, please don’t beat me up,” Victor said in mock fear. “Hey, Alex, watch out. Our Gen is tough.” He paused, grinning and sliding closer to her on the bench to set an arm around her shoulders. “Except, of course, when she’s seeing things in the water.”

Genevieve shook off his arm and smiled sweetly in return. “Eat shit and die, Victor.”

“Hey, hey! Knock it off, all of you. This is serious business,” Marshall said.

“Hey, I meant it,” Victor protested innocently. “She’s the best. Ouch, Gen! That wasn’t nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, staring at him sharply with those mercurial eyes that could so easily light with laughter, then narrow on a dare. “I did my homework.”

“Of course. Obviously…I haven’t read everything in our archives,” Sheridan said. Thor had the feeling the man would be finding the letters immediately on his return to the university.

“If Gen says they’re there, they’re there,” Victor said, suddenly dead serious.

“Come on,” Marshall said wearily. “It doesn’t matter why Gasparilla attacked the ship, only that he did. And right as he was savaging her, a storm came through. Gasparilla got away, but the Marie Josephine went down. He purportedly came back to find the treasure, but the storm had shifted the sands and he couldn’t find her, so the ship remains at the bottom of the sea with her complete treasure, or so we imagine.”

“Yes, well, that’s about it,” Sheridan said, sounding somewhat huffy. He’d always been a nice-enough guy, if a little geeky, but it was obvious he hadn’t liked being shown up by a diver. “The letters I do know about were left by one of his men, and from his descriptions of their position while awaiting the Marie Josephine, and calculating the currents, the effects of the storm and the natural shifting due to time, I firmly believe I have you exactly in the right area. But you need to find proof positive of the ship’s final resting ground before we allow any disturbance of the reef.”

“How many times do you think we’ll have to listen to this speech?” someone murmured softly. Thor looked around. Jack Payne was shaking his head.

“As many times as Professor Sheridan wants to give it,” Marshall said, staring at them. “We’re being paid by the state,” he reminded them. “Money raised mainly by the efforts of Professor Sheridan.”

Thor leaned forward to speak at last. “We took more than simple pirate history into account while plotting our coordinates. When the ship sank, remember, half of what is land today wasn’t then. The area has been dredged, filled in, blown away and literally remade by the army, the navy—and Henry Flagler. When he was building his railroad, they didn’t have a place for a depot, so he told them to make one. All that has been taken into account, along with weather charts and the tidal phenomena over the years. One of the main points we need to remember is that our ship’s probably broken into many pieces, most of them entirely unrecognizable without careful scrutiny. And she’s probably spread out over a wide expanse of ocean floor.”

He was pleased to see that he’d captured their full attention. And they remained riveted when Sheridan spoke again.

“And the state will take full possession of the find, with each of you receiving a percentage,” he reminded them.

Marshall rose suddenly, arching a brow to Thor. He nodded, knowing what Marshall was about to say. Sheridan had advised them both of the plan. For some reason the man seemed very wary of the divers he had chosen. He wanted the two crews mixed up, so there wouldn’t be any chance of one group hiding anything from the other. Sheridan was not a trusting soul. The names had been mixed in an old bait bucket last night, to be drawn at random this morning, before the meeting.

“We’re mixing up the crews today. We’ve done it by lot, so there’s no complaining—there shouldn’t be complaining, anyway. We’re all in this together. So forget your old buddy system, because you’re getting new buddies. Here’s the roster for today. Bethany, you’re with Zach. Vic, you’re with Lizzie, and I’ll be the man on deck. Alex, you’re teaming up with Jack Payne, and, Gen, you’re with Thor. Preston will be staying topside.”

He was going to be working with Genevieve?

That was something Thor hadn’t known. Great. Just great.

Well, at least he could quickly dispel the notion that she was seeing dead people smiling at her in the water.

“We’re retracing ground we’ve been over where the sonar has indicated there is metal somewhere beneath the water. We may find a lost diving watch from last weekend, but hey, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack, so…everyone ready?” Marshall asked.

If he was unhappy, it certainly didn’t seem Genevieve Wallace was thrilled with the arrangements for the day, either, Thor noticed.

But as they walked, heading out for the boats, Jack Payne slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Should I grab that equipment bag for you?” he offered.

“Jack, I’ve been hauling my own gear forever, you know that,” she said, but she smiled at him as she picked up her own bag and they all made their way down to the docks.

So he was partnered up with her, Thor thought.

He still felt the uneasy sensation of waking to the strange noises, then seeing her, soaked, salty and wearing seaweed in her hair.

She was a wild card, no doubt about it.

So why the hell was he so damned fascinated with her?

On shore, fine.

In the water?

He shook his head.

It was going to be one hell of a day.

4

Neither Genevieve nor Alex had been on The Seeker before, and Thor couldn’t help a moment’s pride when he watched them survey his boat. She was nice, with a great cabin, powerful motors and a large dive platform, allowing for easy exits and access.

He took the helm himself as they headed out. Lieutenant Preston was at his side. “Sheridan’s a jerk,” he said above the roar of the motor.

Thor shrugged. “He’s all right. He’s just really passionate about history, I guess.”

Preston snorted. “Yeah, but did you see his face when Genevieve knew something he didn’t? Thought he was about to have a stroke. I guarantee you he’s on the phone right now to some grad student, reaming them out for missing a cross-reference.”

Thor shrugged. “Hey, finding the ship is the important thing, right?”

“Man, she’s nice,” Preston murmured then, studying the console. “There a second helm in the cabin?”

“Yep.”

“Radar, sonar, GPS…she all but drives herself, huh?”

Thor turned, aware they were no longer alone. Genevieve was standing behind him, wearing her wet suit. Beyond her, the other divers had already attached their buoyancy control vests to their tanks, and tested their regulators and air, ready for the water when they reached the reef.

Gen had a touch of challenge in her manner. “Great boat,” she told him seriously. “I’m really going to enjoy it.”

He had to smile, then glanced down at his instruments to hide his pride. Marshall was leading at the moment, and in fifteen minutes, they would be dropping anchor and tossing out their dive flags.

“You’re point man,” Thor said to Preston, who nodded. Thor headed back to don his own gear. One of his fellow divers had already taken care of his BCV and his tank. Nevertheless, he checked out his regulator and air, along with the security of his tank.

“Don’t trust me, eh?” she said softly, next to him, sliding down on the seat to secure her vest.

“Never trust anyone when you’re getting into the water,” he said.

“Don’t worry. I don’t. But if you’re with any of us, that’s all you have to do. Final checks. We take care of each other.”

He felt his teeth grate. Was she suggesting that he’d never dived with anyone trustworthy before?

She stood, balancing perfectly with the weight of her tank. Preston hurried up behind her, but she was already moving. “Hey, we’re partners!” Thor called after her.

She waved. “I’ll be hanging at the surface. Waiting. Take your time,” she added sweetly.

Sweet? Like hell.

He was quickly ready, stepping off the dive platform to land beside her in the water before sinking slowly.

Ten feet away, Jack and Alex gestured, indicating their parallel paths.

Thor believed strongly in the methods they’d used to determine the location for this search, but down here now, their depth a little over fifty feet, he wasn’t at all certain they would make a discovery. They were a little west and south of the customary beaten dive areas, but they might as well have been pleasure divers off any tour boat. The reefs were majestic here, dangerous for anyone who didn’t know the path to navigate through them—or forced onto them in the midst of a roaring storm. There were areas where the coral outcrop—with its rich abundance of life—gave way suddenly to greater depths, and then fan coral would suddenly shoot sharply toward the surface. The colors seemed brilliant today. Purple fans, then a riot of fire coral. Blue-and-yellow tangs. Clown fish. A huge grouper…a lone barracuda. Something seemed to glisten in the sand deep below, and he propelled himself past the coral and downward.

The object was covered in sand. He dug, adrenaline racing through him. His fingers curled around the object, and disappointment washed through him. There was nowhere near enough sea growth on the object for it to have been in the water any length of time.

He had found someone’s lost dive knife. A nice one, actually. But definitely new.

He looked back, ready to let his dive buddy know it was nothing. She was right behind him, as ever, perfectly still and buoyant. She nodded her understanding.

He swam on.

No! Good God, no.

She was there. Thor was just ahead, but she was there. The woman with the long blond hair.

I don’t see you! Genevieve raged inwardly.

The woman’s head rose. The woman smiled with poignant, aching sweetness.

She was a ghost, Gen told herself. She wasn’t there. But she was. She reached out…but didn’t touch Genevieve. Then it seemed that a ghost of a ghost, an image of the woman but even paler still, rose from the creature weighted to the bottom. Rose…and pointed.

Thor looked back. Genevieve tried to stare back with perfect calm. She pointed.

Apparently he saw nothing. He frowned and looked in the direction of the woman, then swam toward the area bordering the coral where Gen indicated. He stopped just to the side of the ghost and gently began to sift through the sand.

So she was insane.

But the ghost’s specter or aura or whatever was pointing, as well. Genevieve forced herself to breathe, listening to the lulling sound of her regulator. Okay, she was crazy. But the ghost wanted her to go in a certain direction.

She went.

Nothing. Nothing at all. Sand, without a hint that something might be lying beneath it. He looked back again. His partner was moving. She looked back at him and indicated that he should follow her.

She had the strangest expression on her face.

Shit! The woman was seeing things again. He was sure of it.

He waved, determined to get her attention, to snap her out of whatever strange hallucination had seized her. He had no idea where she was going, or why.

She nodded to acknowledge him but ignored his signal, indicating that they should circle around the coral outcrop rather than move on.

She didn’t appear to be distressed; maybe he was jumping to conclusions. But neither did she seem willing to allow him to take the lead. With a controlled motion of her fins, she went shooting on farther to the southwest.

He followed her. She had stopped again, as if following some unseen guidance.

She dove deeper, past a strip of high fan coral, down to the seabed, another fifteen feet or so. He followed. It was as if she knew exactly where she was going. There was no hesitation in her movements.

At the bottom, she stopped and stared at the sand, then began searching.

She had lost it, he decided. Completely.

It was just sand. No different from the sand she had pointed to moments ago.

All right. He would give it a go. They were searching for a pack of needles in a pile of very large haystacks, so what the hell.

He began to search, as well, carefully, trying not to roil the sand. He unearthed a small ray. Disgruntled, the creature shot away.

She was sifting the sand, as well. She dug calmly, at first, but then she began to search frantically.

He watched her, ready to haul her up and, once they reached the surface, explode. Hell. He wasn’t diving with her anymore, and that was that.

He reached out for her. She was strong; he hadn’t planned on that. She wrenched her arm away from him. When she did, her hand hit the sand, hard. The granules danced up into the water, darkening it. He was about to go for her with a more powerful grip when he noticed something that didn’t quite belong. Something that looked like a black, crusty blob.

He reached for it instead of for her.

When the object was in his hand, he felt the familiar—and pleasurable—adrenalin rush. He wasn’t sure, but…

He reached for the dive knife in the sheath at his ankle, snapped it out and scraped carefully at the piece. He looked up as the black coat of time, oxidation and sea growth slowly gave way.

She was staring at him, waiting. Dead calm, perfectly buoyant, as if she were floating in air. Those eyes of hers, behind the mask….

She knew.

He looked at her and nodded slowly.

Gold.

“I don’t understand,” Bethany said, seriously confused. She untangled a length of her freshly washed hair with her fingers. “You should be on cloud nine. That was a Spanish gold piece you found. Minted in Cuba, Marshall thinks, though he admits he isn’t sure yet. But if so…then it has to have come from the Marie Josephine.

Genevieve nodded, brushing her own hair out before the mirror. “I am delighted.” Delighted? Did she dare tell the truth, even to Bethany?

“Well, Thor picked it up, right?”

“What?”

“He’s the one who actually found the piece.”

“Like hell!”

“Don’t bite my head off. You two were together. The first discovery goes to you as a team. That will teach them to rib you! As if you could possibly be crazy in any way. They’ll be sorry.” She giggled. “I’ll bet you Victor is sorry right now. I mean, you are his diving partner, really. I’ll bet he’s kicking himself right now for what he said.”

Genevieve’s brush paused halfway through the length of her hair. She turned and studied Bethany. “What if I told you I saw her again?”

Bethany laughed, flinging herself back on the bed. Then she realized Genevieve wasn’t laughing and sat up soberly. “You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“If you repeat this, I will call you the worst liar in the world,” Genevieve said forcefully, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. Bethany was staring at her with worry in her eyes.

“Oh, Genevieve…you are teasing me, right?”

“No.”

Bethany closed her eyes. “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

“Then…then I won’t say any more.”

“No! You have to talk to me…. I just don’t think I want to hear it.” She hesitated. “Please, Gen, go ahead.”

Genevieve sighed. “I was down there with Thor. He was moving a little ahead. I felt as if I were being called, so I looked back, and…there she was. Exactly where I saw her before.”

Bethany frowned. “I…wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Here’s the thing. Have you ever seen one of those movies with…astral projection, except that it wouldn’t be exactly that…or heard about people who died on the operating table and were floating above themselves, looking down at their own bodies?”

“Now you’re seriously scaring me. What are you talking about?”

“It seemed as if her…her ghost left her where she was weighted down. And led me—pointing exactly to the place where I should look.”

Bethany just stared at her.

“Did Thor see her?”

“No.”

“Gen…”

“It’s the honest to God truth.”

“You saw the woman again? A dead woman. Then her…ghost pointed out the exact spot where you found the coin.”

“Exactly.”

Bethany just stared at her again.

“Say something.”

“Oh, God, what do you want me to say?”

“That you believe me!”

“Uh…”

“Oh, never mind. Just don’t repeat anything I’ve said. He’d have me locked up.”

“Who?”

“You know who. Thor Thompson.”

“Oh, Gen, I don’t think—”

“He’d manage to get me thrown off the dive, I guarantee you.”

Bethany walked over to her, setting a hand on her arm. “I think you’re right. I think…I think you’d better not talk about any of this.”

“I swear to you, everything I’m saying is true.”

“True in your own mind,” Bethany whispered gently.

“I saw her. I promise you, what I saw was real.”

“But Thor…?”

“No, you’re right. Thor didn’t see her.”

“And today you weren’t…scared?” Bethany asked.

“No. Yes. I was terrified at first. And then I had to pretend I wasn’t seeing anything.”

“I’m confused. The first day you nearly choked and drowned, it shook you up so much. And then…today…it’s become your friend?”

“I don’t exactly know. Maybe today I gave her a chance because I was more afraid of Thor than I was of seeing a ghost. Bethany, I know this will sound strange, but I think she wants us to find the ship.”

“Great,” Bethany murmured. “I want us to find the ship, too.” She stared at Genevieve anxiously. “So this is…”

“I guess.”

Genevieve hesitated. She was still afraid. And not just of what had happened in the water.

She was afraid of what had happened this morning.

Waking up soaking wet, wearing seaweed.

“I’m going to slip out during dinner and see Jay Gonzalez.”

Bethany sighed. “Oh, good move. Like Jay doesn’t think you’re crazy, too. You talked to him, remember? He wanted to help. He couldn’t find anything.”

“He can try again. Some poor woman is snatched somewhere every week, maybe every day. And there are always runaways who end up dead and unidentified,” Genevieve reminded Bethany.

“Genevieve…if you’re seeing a body, a…ghost who seems to want to help you find a lost ship, don’t you think the ghost should be someone from that era? I don’t believe this. We’re talking about a ghost. As if it’s…real.”

“She is real,” Genevieve said, wincing. “I swear, Bethany. I don’t think Thor Thompson would admit to seeing a ghost—even to himself—if one smacked him in the head. I don’t understand what’s going on, and why I should be seeing this…her, but I am. And it…it has to mean something.”

“Actually, I know who you should see,” Bethany murmured.

“Who?”

“Audrey Lynley,” Bethany said.

“Audrey? The We-went-to-school-with-her Audrey Lynley?” Genevieve said. It was her opportunity to stare at Bethany as if she were completely mad.

“Yes,” Bethany said firmly.

Genevieve shook her head. “Oh, come on, Bethany. She doesn’t even pretend that anything she does is real.”

“Excuse me, but aren’t you the one telling me you’re seeing a ghost?” Bethany demanded belligerently.

“She reads palms, Bethany. Or she pretends to read palms. And she does tarot cards. I think she even has a crystal ball and pretends to see the future in it sometimes.”

“You’re acting as if you don’t like her,” Bethany said.

“I like her fine—mainly because she uses her act for tourists and she entertains them—she doesn’t pretend she really has any answers.”

“What could it hurt to talk to her?”

Genevieve sighed. “If it got back to the guys that I was talking to her…”

“Hey, she’s an old friend. There’s no law against talking to old friends.”

Genevieve shrugged and started to speak but broke off when she heard a voice calling them from outside her front door. “Hey, in there!” It was Victor. “Are you guys ready yet? I’m starving. Let’s go.”

“We’re ready,” Bethany called back. Then she turned back to Genevieve and spoke more quietly. “I’ve got Audrey’s number, if you want it. Then again, she’s got it posted all over Key West. If—”

“I have her number. We live in a really small place, remember?” Genevieve said softly, shoving Bethany toward the door. “And don’t you dare whisper a word of what I’ve said.”

“Of course not,” Bethany said.

“Do you believe in ghosts at all, Thor?” Bethany asked, sitting across from him at one of the group’s favorite seafood places on Whitehead Street.

She was cute, he thought, and apparently an excellent diver, as well, with a round, charming face that made her appear even younger than her twenty-something years. There was a simple eagerness and honesty about her that was very appealing. Different, of course, from the way Genevieve Wallace was appealing. Genevieve seemed to throw off a musk of sensuality and sophistication without the least awareness. Bethany was like a puppy, ready to be cuddled.

“Ouch!” Bethany cried suddenly, reaching down for her leg.

He’d felt the kick. Genevieve was seated next to him, so there was no way he could miss knowing that she had kicked Bethany beneath the table.

“It’s an innocent question,” Bethany said.

He glanced at Genevieve. She stared at him, her expression unfathomable. She was close to him. Very close, in the small booth. Once again they’d ended up together. Not that he would normally have had anything to complain about. Her perfume was subtle, an underlying tease. She’d worn yellow, a halter dress that contrasted perfectly with her dark hair and bronze skin, and set off the elusive green of her eyes. Her every movement aroused his baser instincts, a fact to which she seemed indifferent, maybe even unaware. She was accustomed to being with friends. She obviously took pride in her appearance but did little to enhance what nature had given her. He was in a polo shirt and shorts. The sleek feel of her leg—stretching out as she kicked Bethany—had rubbed along his like a brush of living silk.

She smiled. “Sorry. After the other day…you know.” She stared firmly at Bethany. “We’re not going to talk about ghosts.”

“I just asked if Thor believed in them,” Bethany said.

“No,” he said flatly, and stared at Genevieve again.

“Pass the bread, will you, please?” she asked.

“Have you been to our cemetery?” Bethany persisted.

“Bethany, drop it,” Genevieve warned. “He doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I didn’t say he did. If he hasn’t been there, it’s kind of a cool place, that’s all,” Bethany said.

“We used to try to walk the girls by there late at night and scare them,” Victor put in from across the table, next to Bethany. “It is a cool place. It was established in the 1840s, after a hurricane washed up a bunch of old coffins. You should check it out. The graves aren’t set up like in New Orleans, though there are a bunch of mausoleums. They’re stacked on top of one another. There’s a nice little memorial to the Maine. And if you go by at night…it’s creepy. I tried to make out with Genevieve there the first time.”

Genevieve let out a sound of exasperation. “The first time?”

He laughed. “Okay, the only time. It was sad. She was three feet taller than me at the time. I needed a ladder.”

“Very funny,” Genevieve told him.

He blew her a kiss.

“We could take the ghost tour,” Bethany suggested.

Genevieve groaned aloud. “I do not want to take the ghost tour. I thought we were going barhopping?”

“We are barhopping,” Alex said from the end of the table.

“Actually, that’s when most people see ghosts,” Jack chimed in ruefully.

“Yeah, the Hard Rock Cafe is supposed to be haunted,” Bethany said.

“We’re not going to the Hard Rock,” Genevieve said. She had sounded a little impatient and looked at him with just a hint of apology. “The Hard Rock is fine, and the building is supposed to be haunted. One of the Currys committed suicide upstairs and a prominent citizen shot himself in front of the fireplace. The staff tends to be super nice and the food is fine. But you don’t believe in ghosts anyway. It’s still a fine place. It’s just that…we’re going to our local friendly favorite places. Hey, Clint is playing tonight, you know. We’ve got to take our guests to hear Clint.” She looked at Thor again. “He can do anything. His own stuff, country-western, Buffett, the Eagles—and U2.”

“Hey, the girl down at Duffy’s is good, too!” Marshall called.

“Yeah, she’s great,” Genevieve agreed.

Their entrees came, some fish, some chicken, some steak. Just like the appetizers, their main courses were delicious.

Just then the check came, and Thor picked it up.

Genevieve turned to him. “Are you going to put it on a card? I’ll just give you cash.”

“Don’t give me anything.”

“It’s not as if we’re all on a date.”

“And it’s not as if I’m paying. We get reimbursed for meals,” he said.

“We’ll divvy it up later?” Marshall called to him.

“Doesn’t make any difference. I’ll just put it on the expense report.”

Marshall gave him a thumbs-up sign. Genevieve flushed uncomfortably and hoped no one noticed.

By the time he had paid the check and returned to the table, the group had risen and was milling outside the front door. This town wasn’t as insane now as it was during Fantasy Fest or the dead of winter, when the snowbirds flocked down, but the streets in Key West were busy year round. People did what they called “the Duval crawl”—just shopping and barhopping up and down Duval Street—into the wee hours. In Old Town, shops, restaurants and bars often kept their doors open, air-conditioning wafting out onto the street. With the amount of people around them as they headed to the first bar, Thor didn’t realize at first that both Bethany and Genevieve had disappeared.

In the bar, they found tables near the street-side door, far enough from the singer to be able to talk, enough inside that they weren’t deafened by the crowds outside. “Champagne all around,” Marshall said. “We can toast our first find.”

“Great. Where is the rest of our party?” Alex asked. “Genevieve and Bethany are gone. Why would Genevieve disappear? She and Thor were the ones who made the discovery.”

“They’ll be right back,” Victor said.

“Where’d they go?” Alex demanded.

Victor shrugged. “Some errand…I don’t know. They know the path we’re following. They’ll find us.”

“Well, hell, I say we toast without them,” Alex said, rolling his eyes.

“We should wait,” Lizzie said politely.

“Toast,” Marshall said, shaking his head. “They’ll get here when they get here.”

“Champagne will give me a splitting headache tomorrow—mind if I toast with a beer?” Zach asked.

The sentiment went around. Marshall shrugged. “Beer will be a lot cheaper. All right, beer all around.”

“Order two extra—if our delinquents don’t show up soon, we’ll drink them anyway, I’m sure,” Victor said.

Thor glanced out the open door, letting the conversation flow around him.

Thanks to Genevieve’s height, he was certain he saw her.

She was just passing into an alleyway at the far end of the block.

“Be right back,” he said, and left to follow her.

“This is nuts,” Genevieve told Bethany.

Bethany stopped walking to stare at her. Genevieve had explained pretty much everything that had happened to her. She’d had to, since Bethany knew she wasn’t prone to simply walking out into the surf in her nightshirt. Bethany had been practical at first.

“No pirate bones are going to rise up and come get you,” she had said thoughtfully. “I mean, think about the time and the conditions. The sea, storms, sand…those skeletons are not intact anymore. Unless, of course, the pirates were buried. But then why would they be coming at you from the sea? Can you imagine being here after that storm when all the bodies floated up? Ugh!”

“I’m sure the skeletons were just a dream,” Genevieve said.

“But you were all covered in seawater—and seaweed,” Bethany said. “And then you saw the ghost again.”

“But she was trying to help me. That’s what’s so weird.”

“And that’s why you have to talk to Audrey. I called her and told her we’d have about ten minutes. She’s waiting for us. She’s a great researcher—that’s where she gets all her ghost stuff when she tells visitors who’s following them down Duval Street—so she may know something after all. Hey, what can it hurt?”

They had come to a small wrought-iron gate that led to a walkway between two buildings. A small cottage from the late nineteenth century was sandwiched in at the end of the walk. On the sign above the gate were written the words: Oracle; Tarot and Palm Readings. Appointments Suggested, Walk-ins Welcome.

Genevieve let out a sigh and opened the gate. Bethany followed her through.

Audrey was, as promised, waiting for them. She was standing at the wooden door to the house, opening it wide as she saw them arrive. “Hi, guys! Amazing, we live and work in the same town and hardly ever see each other. But your new project must be really exciting, huh? Welcome. Come in, come in.”

Audrey wasn’t quite as tall as Genevieve, but she was a respectable five-nine, and she bowed a bit to give Bethany a hug, then reached up just a shade to welcome Genevieve. She was a pretty woman, with long dark hair and flashing dark eyes. Genevieve had been afraid she would find her old friend dressed up in a shawl and scarf, calling herself Madam Zena or something. But Audrey was wearing a simple, fashionably casual cotton skirt and halter top, with sandals.

“It’s great to see you, Audrey,” Genevieve said, feeling guilty. They did live in an incredibly small community. Why didn’t they keep up with old friends?

“You look great,” Bethany said.

“So do you two. But then again, you’re athletes, huh? Living in bathing suits, diving, diving, diving. So what’s up? I can’t believe you came for a tarot reading,” she said, and looked curiously at Genevieve. “Bethany said you only had about ten minutes.”

“She’s seeing ghosts,” Bethany said cheerfully.

Audrey’s brows shot up as she looked at Genevieve. “You?” she said incredulously.

“No, not really—”

“Good God, tell her the truth!” Bethany exploded.

“All right, I think I’m seeing a ghost near the site where we think a wreck is lying. But she’s turned out to be a helpful ghost,” Genevieve said, feeling ridiculous.

“I can do some historical research for you, see what I can find.” She shrugged and grinned, looking at Genevieve. “I’ve never, uh, seen a ghost. I mean, this is a cool way to make a living, but…” She shrugged wordlessly. “Anyway…I’m sure I can find something if I look into your wreck more deeply.”

“I’ve done all kinds of research,” Genevieve said. “I’m still not sure who this woman might be.”

“Wait,” Bethany protested. “You said Gasparilla was in love with the captain’s daughter. Maybe that’s who you’re seeing. Maybe she spurned him and he drowned her.”

Genevieve stared at Bethany. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that possibility.

Yes, she did. She hadn’t believed the first time that she’d really seen a ghost. She’d been looking for a prankster—or the victim of a recent murder.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “That’s an idea, certainly.” She winced, looking back at Audrey. “When I didn’t freak out at the sight of her the second time I saw her, she led me to the first find.”

“Really?” Audrey said, staring at her.

“Don’t you dare tell any of this to anyone, please?” Genevieve begged.

Audrey shook her head. “Don’t worry, I won’t. But if anything comes out of this…I’m working on a book of Key West ghost stories right now. If there’s something to this Gasparilla connection, can I use this?”

“Sure. But for the moment, if my co-workers think I’m seeing a medium so I can communicate with the dead, I won’t be working on this project much longer,” Genevieve said.

Audrey smiled and said softly, “I’d never betray a friend. But, hey, let me see your palm.”

Genevieve was tempted to lock her hands behind her back like a frightened child.

“Give her your hand,” Bethany said impatiently.

When Genevieve did so, she was instantly disturbed.

Because Audrey seemed disturbed. She frowned deeply, her mouth pursing. “Interesting,” she said at last.

“What?” Genevieve asked warily.

“Oh, nothing, really. I just go by the books. It’s all a lot of bull.”

“Audrey, what the hell do you see?” Genevieve demanded.

Audrey stared up at her for a moment, then shrugged. “See your lifeline? It doesn’t stop here…but it suddenly gets very jagged.”

“What does that mean?” Bethany asked.

“Um. Well…a tremendous disruption.”

“Like what?” Bethany asked.

“Listen, like I said, it’s all a load of shit.”

“Like what?” Genevieve persisted.

Audrey shrugged unhappily. “A disruption in life…catastrophic illness—or a deadly peril. According to your palm, you’re going to face an incredible danger. And there’s a break that means you may survive it and…”

“And?” Genevieve demanded.

“And you may not.”

5

“Oh,” Audrey continued, “wait, it’s…it’s not really all that bad. It looks as if the line does continue.”

“Great,” Genevieve murmured.

“She’s not going to die and come back to life, is she?” Bethany asked.

“Bethany!” Genevieve snapped.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to help.”

“Well, you’re not helping.”

“No, you’re not going to become a zombie,” Audrey said. “I…well, I’ve just never seen anything like that line.”

“This just gets better and better,” Genevieve said.

“It probably means nothing at all,” Audrey said with a shrug and a smile. “I’ve told you—this is just how I make my living.” She grinned. “We have ghost tours down here, too. Do you think all the guys leading those tours believe in ghosts? We’re all vulnerable to the power of suggestion. It’s how I keep ’em coming back. And if you repeat that…” She tried—and failed—to look threatening.

“Let’s have lunch soon,” Bethany suggested. “We’re not diving on Saturday. Can you meet us?”

“Sure. Let’s shoot for late afternoon. I don’t open until five on Saturday, when the tourists are filling the bars,” Audrey said. “I give my very best readings to drunks,” she assured them with a trace of wry amusement.

“Saturday, then,” Genevieve confirmed. “And, Audrey…thanks.”

“Sure. See you two then,” Audrey said.

She stood in the doorway, watching as they left.

“That was kind of stupid,” Genevieve murmured.

“Seeing Audrey?” Bethany asked.

“Seeing Audrey for five minutes,” Genevieve said. “I feel guilty.”

“And freaked out,” Bethany added.

“I’m not freaked out,” Genevieve protested.

“Well, what she said—”

“What she said was that she’s a fake,” Genevieve said sternly. “And I feel guilty for not being a better friend and keeping up.”

“We’re going to see her for lunch,” Bethany said. “And I’m getting a little worried, even if you’re not.” She held open the wrought-iron gate to the walkway so Genevieve could follow.

“That I’m cracking up—or that a ghost is after me?” Genevieve asked wearily, closing the gate behind her as they reached the street.

Then she froze.

He was there.

Thor Thompson. Casually leaning against the wall. He smiled as they saw him, nonchalantly glancing up at the sign that announced Audrey’s business.

She could have held her temper, she told herself afterward. Should have held her temper. He hadn’t said a word.

He didn’t need to. She saw the way he looked at the sign, then looked at her.

She walked up to him furiously. “You followed me,” she accused him.

He seemed a lot taller. She wasn’t short, especially in heels, but he was able to look down at her.

“We ordered your drinks for you. We didn’t know where you were. Nothing quite as bad as warm beer.”

“You followed me,” she repeated. “You son of a bitch. You had no right.”

He arched a brow. “Maybe I followed Bethany.”

“I think Bethany ought to be getting out of here right now,” Bethany said nervously. “If you’ll both excuse me—”

They turned to her simultaneously. “No.”

“Oh,” Bethany said, acutely uncomfortable.

“For your information, Mr. Thompson, we were just stopping in to say hello to an old friend from school,” Genevieve advised him. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”

He looked up at the sign again, then cast her a disdainful look. “Everything you do right now concerns me. I need you sharp and on the ball.”

“You need me sharp and on the ball? Have you forgotten something? I don’t work for you. I work for Marshall.”

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