The Reef

she’d recently manicured. “If that’s the way you define fun. When’s the last time you took a vacation?”
    “Oh, let’s see . . .” Tate leaned back, closed her eyes. “That would have been about eight years ago, unless we count a couple of quick weekends and Christmases at home.”
    “We don’t,” Lorraine said definitely. “Doctor Lorraine’s prescription is very simple. What you’ve got here is a case of the blues. Take a month off when we’re done here, go someplace with lots of palm trees and spend lots of time with fish.”
    Lorraine developed a sudden avid interest in her manicure and studied the coral-pink enamel. “If you wanted company, Hayden would jump at the chance to go with you.”
    “Hayden?”
    “To use a technical term, the man’s nuts about you.”
    “Hayden?”
    “Yes, Hayden.” Lorraine jerked back so that her feet slapped on the floor. “Christ, Tate, pay attention. He’s been mooning over you for weeks.”
    “Hay—” Tate began before she caught herself. “We’re friends, Lorraine, associates.” Then she remembered the way he’d kissed her the night they’d found the Justine. “Well, hell.”
    “He’s a terrific man.”
    “Of course he is.” Baffled, Tate dragged a hand through her hair. “I just never thought about him that way.”
    “He’s thinking about you that way.”
    “It’s not a good idea,” Tate murmured. “It’s not a good idea to get involved with someone you’re working with. I know.”
    “Your choice,” Lorraine said carelessly. “I just thought it was time somebody gave the guy a break and let you know. I’m also supposed to let you know that some reps from SeaSearch and Poseidon are coming to examine and transport some of the loot. And they’re bringing a film crew.”
    “A film crew.” Automatically, Tate filed the problem of Hayden in the back of her mind. “I thought we were doing our own video records.”
    “They’ll use ours as well. We’re going to be a cable documentary, so don’t forget your mascara and lipstick.”
    “When are they due?”
    “They’re on their way.”
    Hardly realizing it, Tate picked up the wooden top, cupped it possessively in her hands. “They’re not moving anything I haven’t finished studying and cataloguing.”
    “You be sure to tell them that, champ.” Lorraine headed for the door. “But remember, we’re just the hired help.”
    The hired help, Tate thought and set the top carefully aside. Maybe that was the crux of it. Somehow she’d gone from being an independent woman looking for adventure to a competent drone who worked for a faceless corporation.
    It made her work possible, she reminded herself. Scientists were always beggars. And yet . . .
    There were a lot of “and yets” in her life, she realized. She was going to have to take some time and decide which ones mattered.
     
    Matthew decided he had lost his mind. He’d quit his job. A job he’d hated, but one that had paid the bills and left enough to spare to keep a couple of small dreams from dying. Without the job, the boat he’d been building bit by bit over the years would never be completed, his uncle would be forced to live on subsidies and he would be lucky to be able to afford a decent meal in six months’ time.
    Not only had he quit his job, but he’d been maneuvered into taking LaRue along with him. The man had simply packed up and shipped out with him with no encouragement at all. As Matthew saw it, he was now stuck with two dependents, two men who spent most of their time arguing with each other and pointing out his flaws.
    So here he sat, outside a trailer in southern Florida wondering when he had gone mad.
    It was the letter from the Beaumonts that had started it. The mention of Tate, of VanDyke, and of course, the Isabella. It had brought back too many memories, too many failures and too much hope. Before he’d let himself think through the consequences, he’d been packing his gear.
    Now that his bridges were burning at his back, Matthew had plenty of time to think. What the hell was he going to do with Buck? The man’s drinking was out of hand again.
    Big surprise, Matthew thought. Every year, he came back to Florida and spent his month on shore struggling to get his uncle dry. And every year he went back to sea, hampered with guilt, regrets and the grief that he would never be able to make a difference.
    Even now, he could hear Buck’s voice lifted in drunken bitterness. Despite the