The Reef

cargoes of sugar from the islands. There were jewels and porcelain and more than ten million pesos of gold and silver. In addition, if true to the custom of the day, there would be the hoards secreted by the passengers and seamen.
    Both wrecks would be very rich indeed. More than that, discovery would be one of the major finds of the century.
    Finding nothing, Tate moved on, bearing north. The competition from the other divers caused her to keep her eyes and her instincts sharp. A school of gem-bright fish speared around her in a perfect vee, a slice of color within color. Delighted, she swam through their bubbles.
    Competition or not, she would always enjoy the small things. She explored tirelessly, fanning sand and studying fish with equal enthusiasm.
    It looked like a rock at first glance. Still, training had her swimming toward it. She was no more than a yard away when something streaked by her. She saw with faint irritation that scarred, long-fingered hand reach down and close over the rock.
    Jerk, she thought, and was about to turn away when she saw him work it free. Not a rock at all, but the crusted handle of a sword that he drew from the scabbard of the sea. Grinning around his mouthpiece, he hefted it.
    He had the nerve to salute her with it, cutting a swatch through the water. As he headed up, Tate went after him. They broke the surface in tandem.
    She spit out her mouthpiece. “I saw it first.”
    “I don’t think so.” Still grinning, he levered up hisface mask. “Anyway, you were slow, and I wasn’t. Finders keepers.”
    “Rules of salvage,” she said, struggling for calm. “You were in my space.”
    “The way I see it, you were in mine. Better luck next time.”
    “Tate, honey.” From the deck of the Adventure, Marla Beaumont waved her hands and called out. “Lunch is ready. Invite your friend and come aboard.”
    “Don’t mind if I do.” In a few powerful strokes, he was at the stern of the Adventure. The sword hit the deck with a clatter, his flippers followed.
    Cursing the poor beginning to what had promised to be a wonderful summer, Tate headed in. Ignoring his gallantly offered hand, she hauled herself in just as her father and the other diver broke the surface.
    “Nice meeting you.” He dragged a hand through his dripping hair and smiled charmingly at Marla. “Matthew Lassiter.”
    “Marla Beaumont. Welcome aboard.” Tate’s mother beamed at Matthew from under the wide brim of her flowered sun hat. She was a striking woman, with porcelain skin and a willowy frame beneath loose and flowing shirt and slacks. She tipped down her dark glasses in greeting.
    “I see you’ve met my daughter, Tate, and my husband, Ray.”
    “In a manner of speaking.” Matthew unhooked his weight belt, set it and his mask aside. “Nice rig here.”
    “Oh yes, thank you.” Marla looked proudly around the deck. She wasn’t a fan of housework, but there was nothing she liked better than keeping the Adventure spit and polished. “And that’s your boat there.” She gestured off the bow. “The Sea Devil. ”
    Tate snorted at the name. It was certainly apt, she thought, for the man, and the boat. Unlike the Adventure, the Sea Devil didn’t gleam. The old fishing boat badly needed painting. At a distance, it looked like little more than a tub floating on the brilliant platter of the sea.
    “Nothing fancy,” Matthew was saying, “but she runs.” He walked over to offer a hand to the other divers.
    “Good eye, boy.” Buck Lassiter slapped Matthew on the back. “This boy was born with the knack,” he said to Ray in a voice as rough as broken glass, then belatedly held out a hand. “Buck Lassiter, my nephew, Matthew.”
    Ignoring the introductions making their way around the deck, Tate stowed her equipment, then tugged out of her wet suit. While the others admired the sword, she ducked into the deckhouse and cut through to her cabin.
    It wasn’t anything unusual, she supposed as she found an oversized T-shirt. Her parents were always making friends with strangers, inviting them onboard, fixing them meals. Her father had simply never developed the wary and suspicious manner of a veteran treasure hunter. Instead her parents shimmered with Southern hospitality.
    Normally she found the trait endearing. She only wished they would be a little choosy.
    She heard her father offer cheerful congratulations to Matthew on his find, and gritted her teeth.
    Damn it, she’d seen it first.
    Sulking,