Читать книгу: «Under the Surface»

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

THEY NEEDED MONEY. Desperately. But was it worth risking his life?

The moment Jackson Duchane had seen Lancaster Diving’s battered, outdated equipment piled on the docks in Mobile, Alabama, that nasty sensation of impending doom had begun to crawl across his shoulders.

An oil company had hired the Lancaster team to blast away a thick layer of rock blocking access to a new line they wanted to drill in the Gulf. Easy enough. Or it should have been.

This was what he got for subcontracting to a diving company he’d never worked with before.

But Trident Diving couldn’t afford to be picky right now. The company was new and business was slow. Opening Trident in his hometown of Jacksonville, Florida had been a dream years in the making for him and his partners Asher Reynolds and Knox McLemore. Their friendship had been forged in the heat of battle. All of them were ex-Navy SEALs. There was nothing quite like sharing miserable conditions or crawling through a hail of bullets together to make you appreciate someone else’s strengths and how they shored up your weaknesses.

Jackson couldn’t imagine being in business with anyone else. Including his sister, Kennedy, who ran the Trident offices while she finished college, the four of them made an awesome team.

He’d wanted to turn down this job, had even mentioned his concerns to Knox and Asher. There’d been something off about James Lancaster and his offer. Something Jackson hadn’t been able to put his finger on. But Kennedy had quoted their pitiful bank balance to convince him.

He should have gone with his gut.

Now, a hundred feet below the surface of the water, it was too late to listen to instinct. And it was entirely possible that decision was going to cost him his damn life.

Where the hell had they found their explosives guy? And why wasn’t anyone else freaking that he was setting the charges completely wrong?

Jesus Christ! Jackson was going to kill someone when they got back to the surface—assuming he lived that long.

Signaling frantically, he tried to get the attention of one of the other divers, but everyone was ignoring him. Typical. They’d been less than welcoming. Considering he’d stepped in at the last minute to replace someone, that had already pissed him off. James had made it sound as if the injured diver had been hurt on dry land, but Jackson was beginning to wonder.

The problem with the explosives wasn’t the first safety violation he’d seen since coming aboard Emily’s Fortune.

Screw it. He wasn’t about to stick around and let himself or someone else get killed. He’d seen enough death and destruction during his years with the SEALs to last him a lifetime.

He, Knox and Asher could have handled the job, and a hell of a lot more efficiently. Not to mention safely.

And non-compete clause or not, after this he was going to be talking to the client about what he’d seen and making a promise that his company could perform any future work better, safer and cheaper.

Streamlining his body, Jackson streaked toward the rocky outcropping where Brian, the explosives guy, was working and pushed him out of the way. Brian was propelled sideways several feet, enough for Jackson to take his place in front of the charges.

The response he got was expected, an angry glare and an answering shove. He ignored both. Within minutes he had the charges set correctly.

Wrapping a hand around Brian’s arm, Jackson towed him back toward the surface, knowing they needed to get out of blast range. He gave the signal and everyone else on the team followed.

They rose up, blue sky slowly appearing above the waterline.

Jackson broke free, his body bursting up and then sinking back down. He spat the regulator out of his mouth, and was already yelling when the rest of the team surfaced beside him.

After climbing aboard the ship that bobbed several feet away, Jackson shed his equipment piece by piece, heading straight for James Lancaster, the owner and head of their team. He and James had gone a round or two already, so Jackson was fully prepared for this to become heated.

“What the hell happened down there, Duchane?”

“Damn hotshot SEAL thinks he knows every goddamn thing,” Brian hollered from behind him.

Jackson balled his hands into fists in an attempt to keep them by his sides instead of planted in the asshole’s face and growled, “Your idiot demo guy was about to blow every one of us to hell and back. He’d bypassed the trigger so the minute he set the charge it was going to blow.”

He watched James’ eyes widen. Finally.

“That’s bullshit,” Brian sputtered.

The other guys, who up to this point had been silent and watchful, muttered, shifting uncomfortably behind him.

“He just wanted to get his hands on some explosives,” Brian continued.

Jackson took a single menacing step forward. He was quickly losing the slippery hold on his temper. But before he could act, James stepped between them, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Son,” he started with a calming voice Jackson was so not in the mood to heed. “I think it would be better if we parted ways.”

1

Eight Months Later

LORALEI LANCASTER FORCED back the lump of fear clogging her throat and walked out on the dock.

The damn thing moved beneath her feet, swaying with the gentle lap of the water. Only to her it felt like a tidal wave preparing to swamp her, sweep her over the side and down into the bright blue water.

For most people a trip to Turks and Caicos was a prime vacation. For her it was pure hell. She was surrounded by water. And not just standing out here on the dock. Every window she looked through seemed to have an ocean view.

Suck it up, buttercup.

She could hear her dad’s voice, low and gruff in her head. It wasn’t any more soothing now than it had been when he was alive. Not that she’d heard it very often.

In fact, growing up, she’d gone months without hearing from him at all. And seeing him...that had happened maybe once or twice a year, if she was lucky. Or maybe it had been lucky that he hadn’t tried to drag her into the transient—and water-centric—life he’d led.

Maybe they both had been happier, although that didn’t quite negate Loralei’s resentment. After her mother had died in a freak diving accident, her father had dumped her on the mainland and let his in-laws raise his daughter.

“Loralei!” Brian hollered from a ship that was tied several feet down the dock. To her it felt like a mile.

She’d taken barely a handful of steps onto the dock before her body had frozen. Now her feet refused to move. There weren’t any railings for her to cling to for safety and support. Why weren’t there railings to keep people from falling in to the water?

Some masochistic part of her brain urged her to look. To turn her head and glance down. But she didn’t. She knew that would be too much.

Suddenly, Brian was standing in front of her, wrapping his arms around her stiff body. He didn’t seem to notice that she was stuck. Which was good. Maybe no one would notice her fear of the water.

She’d worked so hard to keep the weakness a secret.

Logically, she knew it was silly. Hundreds of thousands of people got in the water each day and they didn’t drown. But logic hadn’t helped her over the years. The few times she’d attempted to dip her toe in a pool as a teenager hadn’t gone well. And here she was, the brand-new owner of Lancaster Diving and Salvage. What the hell was she supposed to do with a diving company?

Especially one in such dire financial straits.

Loralei pulled up the same pep talk that had gotten her butt on the plane in Chicago. She just needed to get through the next few weeks. She could do this. She had to.

Her father, along with making her the sole beneficiary of a company she really didn’t want, also had left her with the means to make the company profitable enough to at least be tempting to potential buyers. He had been hot on the trail of a legendary shipwreck, the Chimera.

History suggested the ship had sailed from the Virgin Islands toward New Orleans and the Confederate States to deliver supplies and munitions.

But many believed that hadn’t been the only thing in the hold when a hurricane had set upon the ship and sunk it somewhere between Haiti and Turks and Caicos. According to legend, there was gold. Lots of it.

What Loralei had found historically interesting was that, if the rumors of gold were true, and if the ship had reached port as planned, the Chimera’s cargo could have changed the outcome of the war.

Of course, that was pure speculation. But a secret stash of gold provided by Caribbean plantation owners, who’d had a stake in the issues the Confederacy was fighting for...

As a historian, Loralei’s interest had been piqued the moment she’d begun reading her father’s research on the Chimera. But the story itself wasn’t the only surprise. Until she’d found the documentation on the Chimera, she’d never known her father had been interested in history at all. She’d grown up thinking that her driving need to uncover the past and discover how people thought, loved, hated and lived had come out of nowhere.

Why had it taken her father’s death to learn that they actually had something in common?

That, more than anything, haunted Loralei. And it was the biggest reason she’d pushed herself to come here, despite the damn water, and finish what he’d started.

According to the records she’d found, her dad had thought he’d narrowed down the potential resting places for the Chimera.

Finding the missing ship could make the difference between a debt-laden burden and a company that would be a nice boost to her bank account and allow her to focus on her academic and research career.

The problem was she couldn’t afford to hire anyone to oversee the operation. She was already afraid she wouldn’t be able to pay the divers’ salaries. But she’d worry about that if and when it became a reality.

Brian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and propelled her forward.

Loralie almost told him thank you before she realized he wouldn’t understand her meaning and bit back the words.

Her body was wooden, but at least it was heading in the right direction again.

She’d known this man most of her life, even if she could count on her hands and feet the number of times they’d actually been face-to-face. Brian had joined her dad’s team when he was fifteen. It had been a logical jump from summers and holidays to working full time once he was out of high school.

When she was younger, Loralei could admit to being a little jealous at how much time her dad spent with this man instead of his own daughter. Now, she was just grateful to have someone who was knowledgeable about what was going on and could help her through the next few weeks.

Grasping her around the waist, Brian lifted her up the ladder and onto the deck of their ship, Emily’s Fortune.

Seeing her mom’s name painted along the side in peeling, faded red letters sent an unexpected jolt of pain through her chest.

Somehow she managed to push that down, too.

To her relief, Brian led her into the belly of the ship. She could still feel the gentle sway as waves rocked against the hull, but at least she didn’t have to look at the water anymore. If she closed her eyes maybe she could convince herself she was on a train or a plane or something.

Although, the scent of salt in the air and the sound of sea birds pretty much killed that fantasy.

“The team from Trident is already here.”

Dropping onto the bench running along the wall behind a table in the galley, Lorelei rubbed a hand over her temple. “What?”

“Trident. You know, the diving company I was telling you about over the phone.”

“The one that’s been stealing clients from us for the last eight months?”

“Yeah, that one. They’re here.”

Dropping her hand, Lorelei looked up at Brian. He was about nine years older than she was, although when he smiled he looked even older. All his time in the sea and sun had etched extra lines at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. His skin was a deep, dark brown—a few shades darker than the natural caramel color she’d inherited from her Latin mother—and leathery.

“Why?”

Brian frowned, the line between his brows angling into a deep groove.

“I have no idea, but it makes me uneasy.”

Yeah, it didn’t exactly thrill her, either.

If Brian was telling her the truth—and she had no reason to doubt him—Trident had been a thorn in her dad’s side for months.

It couldn’t be coincidence that they’d shown up here now, could it?

No, her life didn’t work that way.

“Damn, this means we have competition, doesn’t it?”

“Probably.”

* * *

JACKSON BLENDED INTO the bustling activity of the marina and watched.

He’d never seen the woman Brian greeted with a hug and a deep smile, but he supposed it wasn’t a leap to assume she was Lancaster’s daughter.

He’d heard James had died from a heart attack three months ago. Damn shame, but not surprising. He hadn’t looked healthy the last time they’d spoken. Of course, the man had been red-faced and screaming at him.

It hadn’t taken James long to realize Trident—and Jackson specifically—was poaching his clients. The man had made it damn easy to do. But James had been livid, storming into the Trident offices to throw his weight around and threaten him with that non-compete clause he’d originally signed.

By then Jackson had discovered just how much financial trouble Lancaster was in, so he’d told the man to go ahead and hire a lawyer—he’d known James couldn’t afford one.

And he hadn’t felt a single twinge of guilt. Not when people’s lives and safety were involved.

That potential mishap with the explosives was how shit like oil rigs exploding and millions of gallons of crude spilling into pristine waters happened.

Several weeks later their front door had been smashed in and their offices ransacked. All the expensive dive equipment and computers had been left untouched, nothing of value missing.

It had taken Asher, Knox, Kennedy and himself several days to deal with the mess. There was no way to prove the burglars had paid an inordinate amount of attention to his research on the Chimera, or that the person behind the theft was James Lancaster, but his gut had told him that’s what had happened.

He’d had plenty of experience trusting his gut. On dangerous missions those hunches often had been the difference between life and death.

And now his gut was telling him Lancaster Diving’s presence in Turks and Caicos wasn’t a coincidence. Loralei Lancaster disappeared below deck, Brian right behind her, his hand hovering at the small of her back without actually touching. The diving community was small and he’d made it his business to know everything he could about Lancaster Diving...including the woman who’d inherited the mess James had left behind.

Jackson almost felt sorry for her. But not enough to stop his campaign to put them out of business. Which was secondary to keeping them away from the Chimera. He’d been researching the shipwreck for the past ten years. There was no way he’d let the Lancaster team find her first. Especially using his own damn work.

There was no denying Loralei was beautiful. Exotic. Her skin was a deep, sun-kissed brown. The shorts she wore hugged the curves of her hips, leaving plenty of long, delicious leg on display. Her lightweight shirt fluttered loosely against her body, making her look tropical and carefree.

Based on the information he’d been able to gather, he’d expected her to be bold and unabashed as she’d walked across the dock toward Emily’s Fortune. But she’d kept her gaze focused straight ahead, every movement of her body stiff.

Why?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to care. But the soldier in him couldn’t help but catalogue and consider.

Part of him wanted to stomp down the dock, storm onto her ship and confront her.

But that wouldn’t lead him anywhere. No doubt she’d simply lie just as her father, Brian, and everyone else attached to Lancaster Diving had.

So, he had a better plan.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jackson leaned against a low railing and settled in to wait. This was something he was comfortable with, trained to withstand the kind of boredom that could drive most men crazy.

He watched the ships coming and going from the marina so that anyone who noticed him would just assume he was a tourist taking in the native color. But he never lost sight of Lancaster’s ship.

Luckily, his wait wasn’t very long. An hour later Loralei emerged, Brian still glued to her side.

She kept her head high and her focus squarely in front of her. Brian’s mouth moved, but Jackson couldn’t hear what the man said. Not that it particularly mattered. Loralei was either bored or unimpressed because she didn’t bother responding. Her mouth was pulled into a tight line and her body strung with tension.

Her long black hair swirled in the soft breeze blowing off the water. For some reason he’d expected her eyes to be deep brown, but as she drew nearer Jackson realized they were actually a pale green. Like her father’s.

It was about the only resemblance he found between the bear of a man with red-tinged skin permanently burned from too many years in the sun and harsh sea air, and the woman striding ever closer.

Jackson didn’t bother moving as they drew even. Both of them were absorbed. Brian didn’t notice him at all.

Loralei’s gaze, though, brushed over him. And lingered. Not on his face, but on his body. He knew what she saw. He’d spent years honing his form into the weapon he needed it to be. He depended on strength and mobility to get the job done.

He was used to women noticing him. And he had to admit, the danger and secrecy of being a SEAL helped build a reputation many women found appealing. Over the years Jackson had been happy to take advantage of that job perk.

It had been months since he’d had the time to indulge, though. All his focus and energy had been going into opening Trident, building a reputation and client list, and gathering the research and capital to fund this search for the Chimera.

It irritated him that Loralei Lancaster stirred to life the first hint of awareness he’d felt in eighteen months.

Apparently, his dick didn’t feel like being picky. Good thing his brain had better sense.

Her perusal only lasted a few moments, enough time for her to walk past him and then it was gone. But the sensation she’d awakened lingered, an unwanted buzz beneath his skin.

Clamping his fingers around the railing, Jackson forced himself not to turn and watch her walk away. There was no point. He knew exactly where to find her.

* * *

LORALEI NEEDED A DRINK. Or several. Yep, definitely several of those pretty orange and pink things every restaurant and bar seemed to offer. Fruity concoctions with enough alcohol to help her forget that tomorrow she would be on a ship surrounded by nothing but ocean.

God, she wished Melody was here. Her best friend had offered to come, but she couldn’t get the time off. Melody was about the only person who knew of Loralei’s phobia. She supposed it wasn’t that important to keep it a secret, but she didn’t like weakness—especially in herself. And it was difficult to look at her fear as anything but that. Over the years she’d tried to logic herself out of the irrational reaction, but nothing seemed to work.

Melody had discovered the truth by accident several years into their friendship. Even then, Loralei had been reluctant to admit the extent of her phobia until her friend had backed her into a corner, unwilling to accept her lies.

She didn’t bother changing clothes before heading down to the bar attached to the hotel. She wasn’t in the market to get picked up so she didn’t care if her makeup was smudged and her clothes wrinkled after a long day of traveling.

She honestly didn’t care about anything aside from settling her nerves.

Walking across the plush carpet, she let the dim light and soft sounds wash over her. If not for the calypso music and beach-chic decor, she might have been able to convince herself she was home in Chicago, which is where she’d much rather be, instead of on a Caribbean island.

Sliding into a booth in the far corner, she placed her order and then drilled her fingers into the table while she waited for it to be delivered. She should probably order food, too, but she didn’t. Maybe in a bit, when her stomach stopped churning.

Her waitress dropped a heavy margarita glass onto a tiny white napkin and then slipped away. Loralei brought the drink to her lips and sipped, closing her eyes in pleasure as the fruity taste of it exploded across her tongue. Pineapple, strawberries, possibly mango.

When she opened her eyes again a man stood at the end of her table watching her. She started. The slushy contents of her glass rocked over the edge, sliding thickly down the angled curve to pool on her fingers.

With a frown, Loralei switched hands, brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked.

The man groaned low in his throat. Uneasiness crawled up to settle right between her shoulder blades.

“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, folding his body in half before he’d finished the question.

“Yes, I do mind. Nothing personal, but I’m not looking for company.”

His body stalled, shock crossing his face for the briefest moment before it was gone again. She supposed he was the kind of guy who didn’t hear the word no often. He was handsome enough in a professional kind of way. Probably on vacation. Possibly with a wife upstairs.

A smarmy smile replaced his startled expression, as if he expected she would change her mind at any moment.

Something about this guy made her seriously uncomfortable. And that was saying something considering the emotional turmoil she’d already been struggling with.

At least he straightened, keeping his rear from occupying the seat opposite her. “Let me buy you another drink.”

“Nope, I just got this one and I plan on nursing it for a while.”

She hadn’t been, but what was a little white lie in the grand scheme of things? Nothing if it kept his guy away from her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Loralei watched a man she’d noticed on the docks stalk across the bar. Over her admirer’s shoulder, she saw him walking in their direction.

Now he was gorgeous in a blond-surf-god kind of way. Tall, if she had to guess, several inches over six feet. Being five-ten she was used to looking most men in the eye. But not him.

If she’d been here to pick up someone, he definitely would have been on her list of prospects. Tall and muscular. The kind of guy whose mere presence commanded attention.

Yummy on a stick, as Melody would say.

He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts with about a million pockets sewn up and down the thighs. A pale blue polo stretched taut across his broad chest, the soft material doing little to conceal the swell of pecks and dip of abs. He hadn’t bothered to fasten the three tiny buttons, and she could see a dusting of pale blond hair that swept across his chest.

The color perfectly matched the honey-toned, tousled hair on his head, which looked as if he, the wind or some red-lipped siren had just been ruffling through it.

Loralei’s mouth went dry. Bringing the glass she still held to her lips, she gulped down a huge swallow of the slushy goodness to try to relieve the pressure. It didn’t quite work.

Especially when she realized the bronzed god was heading straight for her and not to one of the nearby tables.

She barely had time for a full breath before he was pushing the guy she’d completely forgotten out of the way.

“Excuse me,” he said, drawing close to her.

Leaning down, he brushed his mouth against hers, warm and soft. All Loralei could do was sit there and stare up at him.

“Sorry I’m late, baby,” he murmured, the low timber of his voice making every muscle in her body melt. She was pretty sure he’d also liquefied the frozen drink in her glass.

Somehow she managed to murmur something that obviously passed as appropriate because he smiled down at her, his unbelievably blue eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief.

Loralei’s mouth dropped open—she wasn’t sure if the gesture was an invitation for him to kiss her again or because she knew she should say something like, Who the hell are you?