“So—did I pass inspection?” she called to Sean, more to start a conversation than because she was really ready for an answer.
He didn’t reply; he was looking straight ahead with a small smile on his face. The wind had ruffled his hair, he was in board shorts and nothing else, and his chest was gleaming bronze and powerfully muscled. She was startled to feel a stirring of admiration or something worse, even—attraction.
It was the smile, she thought.
He reached for sunglasses, and leaned casually against the captain’s seat rather than sitting.
She eased back in the companion chair, tired from the night before. She closed her eyes and allowed herself just to feel.
The figurehead had seemed so real…
Her eyes flew open. She almost bolted out of the chair.
The figurehead! The figurehead with its beautiful face…
The same face she had in her own possession, her copy of the artist’s rendering of Dona Isabella.
4
Vanessa Loren knew how to work and how to move. She seemed familiar with every aspect of equipment and the importance of rinsing off their dive gear and his camera rigging as soon as they got back to the dock. When they were done, she slipped her oversize T-shirt back on and looked at him expectantly.
“Tell her she’s hired,” Bartholomew said. He was stretched out on his back on the aft seat, hands crossed behind his head, hat over his eyes, as if he still needed to shade them from the sun. One leg dangled over the other in lazy comfort. “Tell her that she’s hired, and you’re doing the story. You know you’re going to do it. She’s a scriptwriter, she knows cameras, she knows boats, and she sure seems to have a great work ethic. Not to mention great legs as long as a yardarm and…well, nothing wrong with the rest of her, either.”
Sean ignored Bartholomew. He smiled at Vanessa. “You know we’ll do a background check,” he told her.
“Go for it,” she said, looking off into the distance. She seemed distracted.
He nodded. “Oh, the object you found—I’m going to take it to friends who have a small shop on Simonton—they usually work privately, but they have a little storefront. It’s called Sunken Treasures. You’re more than welcome to take it yourself, if you prefer. You discovered the piece.”
“I trust you to take it—I’m not after treasure,” she told him. Her hair was still damp; her eyes seemed the most brilliant blue he had ever seen, filled with honesty. There was something as she stood there, her answer to him filled with trust and disinterest, that seemed to catch at his throat. Or his heart.
Or, admittedly, other parts of his anatomy. Even wet, she was stunning. And yet beauty itself never created such an appeal. Maybe it was her energy or vitality. Or the way she seemed filled with warmth and vibrant, sleek movement—even when she stood still. He wanted to step closer to her, as intrigued by the woman as the mystery she brought.
He stepped back.
“All right, but you’ll know where it is,” he told her.
She smiled. The smile seemed a little distant. She looked around him and seemed confused, then shrugged, as if returning to the subject. “Thanks. I’ll, uh, talk to you later, then?” she asked.
“Yes. I’ll talk to you later,” he assured her.
“Thank you.”
She was sincere.
And yet it was odd. She still seemed distracted as she walked away. Sean watched her go, puzzled.
“She senses me—that’s what’s going on,” Bartholomew said, rising and adjusting his hat. “She’s got the sense—it’s not developed, but she’s got something. I know—trust me. I spent a few of my early years in this rather awkward state playing tricks on people. There are those who will never sense a thing, and there are those who always get a feeling…but don’t really know what it is. She’s gifted, I’d say.”
“Wonderful. She’s tracking a murderer—seriously, that’s what she wants to do—and you’re doing your best to make her jump at every whisper of breeze,” Sean said.
“Excuse me! I don’t really have much to do with it. Well, maybe I do. I mean, ghosts can make an effort, as you know…but I wasn’t doing anything.”
“That’s not exactly true—since you talked a blue streak all day. Now I have to think over some things.”
Bartholomew shrugged. “But you know you’re going to work with her.”
“It’s not just my decision. David has to decide on this, as well.”
“David’s going to do whatever you want to do.”
“The point is, really, there’s nothing new that we’re going to discover. Say Carlos Roca did it—he’s long gone. Say someone else did it—that someone has managed to change the boat so that no one would ever recognize her, and they’re probably living in Brazil by now,” Sean said.
“You know better than anyone that it’s never too late to seek the truth,” Bartholomew said.