The Reef

shout.
    “Ready to roll up there?”
    “Just about.” Ray, full-suited, came to the rail with a grin. “Tate’s checking her camera.” He lifted a hand in a wave to Buck. “How’s he doing?”
    “He’ll be all right,” Matthew said. The last thing he wanted to do was dwell on his uncle’s fears. Now that they were here, he was impatient to begin. “Let’s go, Red!” he shouted. “The morning’s wasting.”
    “I’m coming.”
    He caught a glimpse of her before she sat to pull on her flippers. Moments later, he watched her graceful entry. With a quick pike dive, Matthew was following her down even as Ray dropped into the water.
    The three of them descended, nearly side by side.
    Matthew hadn’t expected the memories to swarm up at him like the bright, quick fish. Everything about that summer came back, unbidden and unwelcomed. He remembered the way she had looked when he’d first seen her.The wary suspicious eyes, the quick flares of anger, resentment.
    Oh, and he remembered his instant attraction, one he’d smothered, or tried to. The sense of competition when they’d teamed as diving partners, an edge that had never really dulled even after they’d melded into a unit.
    There was the thrill he’d experienced when they’d found the wreck. Those times with her that had opened both his heart and his hopes as nothing and no one ever had before. Or had again. All the sensations of falling in love, of working together, of discovery and promise spun through him as they neared the shadow of the wreck.
    As did the jarring aches of horror and loss.
    VanDyke had left little but the shredded shell of the galleon. Matthew knew at one glance it would be a foolish waste of time to bring down the airlift and dig. Nothing of any value would have been left behind. The wreck itself had been destroyed, ripped apart in search of that last doubloon.
    It surprised him to feel sorrow for that. With careful excavation, the Marguerite might have been saved. Instead she was in pieces, left for the worms.
    When he glanced at Tate, Matthew could see clearly that whatever vague regret he felt for the ship was nothing to what she was experiencing.
    It shattered her. Tate stared at the scattered planks, not bothering to attempt to block the wave of grief. She let it wash over her until she felt it deep inside.
    He’d killed her, she thought. VanDyke hadn’t been content with his rape, but had destroyed the Marguerite. No one would see what she had been, what she had meant. Because of one man’s greed.
    She might have wept if tears hadn’t been so late and so useless. Instead, she shook off the comforting hand Matthew put on her shoulder, and lifted her camera. If nothing else, she’d record the devastation.
    Catching Matthew’s eye, Ray shook his head, gestured so that they swam a short distance away.
    There was still beauty surrounding her. The coral, the fish, the waving plants. But it didn’t touch her now as sherecorded the scene that had once been the stage for such great joy.
    It was fitting, she supposed, that it had been ruined, destroyed, neglected. Just like the love she’d once offered Matthew.
    So, she thought, that summer was finally and completely over. It was past time to bury it, and start new.
    When they surfaced, the first thing she saw was Buck’s pale, anxious face leaning over the rail.
    “Everything okay?”
    “Everything’s fine,” she assured him. Because it was closer, she pulled herself aboard the Mermaid. She stopped, turned and waved to her mother, who was recording the event on video aboard the New Adventure. “Pretty much what we expected,” she told Buck after she had dropped her weight belt.
    “Bastard tore her apart, didn’t he?”
    “Yes.” She glanced over as Matthew climbed on deck.
    “Ray wants to head south right away.” He pulled off his mask, ran a hand through his hair. “You might as well stay put,” he told Tate before she could rise. “It won’t take long. Buck?”
    With a nod, Buck headed up to the bridge to take the wheel.
    “Best plan is to do some swim-overs.” After tugging down the zipper of his wet suit, Matthew sat beside her. “We could get lucky.”
    “Are you feeling lucky, Lassiter?”
    “No.” He closed his eyes as the engine purred. “She meant something to me, too.”
    “Fame and fortune?”
    The words cut, but not as keenly as the edge of her voice. His gaze, hot and hurt, swept up to hers before he stood and strode toward the