The Reef

her, just for an instant, had heated her skin. “I’m going for a swim.” Moving to the rail, she dove off the side.
    “She’s her father’s daughter,” Marla said with a quiet smile. “Always sure hard work, perseverence and a good heart will pay off. Life’s harder on them than it is for those of us who know those things aren’t always enough.” She patted Matthew’s arm. “I’ll tidy up here, Matthew. I have my own little system. You go on and get me that milk.”

C HAPTER 3
    T ATE FOUND PESSIMISM cowardly. It seemed to her that it was simply an excuse never to face disappointment.
    It was even worse when pessimism won out.
    After two weeks of dawn-to-dusk double-team diving, they found nothing but a few more scraps of corroded metal. She told herself she wasn’t discouraged and hunted on her shift with more care and more enthusiasm than was warranted.
    At night, she took to poring over her father’s charts, the copies he’d made from his research. The more cavalier Matthew became, the more determined she was to prove him wrong. She wanted the wreck now, passionately. If only to beat him.
    She had to admit the weeks weren’t a total loss. The weather was beautiful, the diving spectacular. The time she spent on the island when her mother insisted on a break was filled with souvenir shopping, exploring, picnics on the beach. She hunted through cemeteries and old churches, hoping she might find another clue to the secret of the wrecks of 1733.
    But most of all, she enjoyed watching her father with Buck. They were an odd pair—one squat and round andcue-ball bald, the other aristocratically lean with a mane of silvering blond hair.
    Her father spoke with the slow, sweet drawl of coastal Carolina while Buck’s conversation was peppershot with oaths delivered with Yankee quickness. Yet they merged together like old friends reunited.
    Often when they surfaced after a dive, they were laughing like boys fresh from some misdemeanor. And one always seemed to have a tale to tell on the other.
    It was illuminating for Tate to watch the friendship bloom and grow so rapidly. On land, her father’s companions were businessmen, a suit-and-tie brigade of success, moderate wealth and staunch Southern heritage.
    Here she watched him bronzing in the sun with Buck, sharing a beer and dreams of fortune.
    Marla would snap their picture or pull out her ubiquitous video camera and call them two old salts.
    As Tate prepared for her morning dive, she watched them arguing baseball over coffee and croissants.
    “What Buck knows about baseball you could swallow in one gulp,” Matthew commented. “He’s been boning up so he can fight with Ray.”
    Tate sat down to pull on her flippers. “I think it’s nice.”
    “Didn’t say it wasn’t.”
    “You never say anything’s nice.”
    He sat beside her. “Okay, it’s nice. Hanging with your father’s been good for Buck. He’s had a rough time the last few years. I haven’t seen him enjoy himself so much since . . . for a long time.”
    Tate let out a long sigh. It was difficult to work up any annoyance with straight sincerity. “I know you care about him.”
    “Sure I do. He’s always been there for me. I’d do anything for Buck.” Matthew pressed a securing hand to his mask. “Hell, I’m diving with you, aren’t I?” With that, he rolled into the water.
    Instead of being insulted, she grinned, and rolled in after him.
    They followed the marker down. They had been moving the search steadily northward. Each time they tried newterritory, Tate felt that quickening surge of anticipation. Each time they went down, she told herself today could be the day.
    The water was pleasantly cool on the exposed skin of her hands and face. She enjoyed the way it streamed through her hair on her descent.
    The fish had grown used to them. It wasn’t unusual for a curious grouper or angelfish to peer into her mask. She’d gotten into the habit of bringing a plastic bag of crackers or bread crumbs with her, and took a few minutes at the start of every dive to feed them, and have them swirl around her.
    Invariably the barracuda they’d dubbed “Smiley” came to call, always keeping his distance, always watching. As a mascot, he wasn’t particularly lively, but he was loyal.
    She and Matthew developed an easy routine. They worked in sight of each other, rarely crossing the invisible line both recognized as separating their territories. Still, they shared their glimpses