The Reef

the end of it,” he said and reached for the rag himself. “No use dwelling on the past.”
    She had an urge to lay a hand on his scarred one, but judged, correctly, that he’d snap it off at the wrist. “An odd statement from a treasure hunter.”
    “Babe, it’s what it brings you now that counts. And this ain’t bad.”
    Distracted, she looked back down at the hilt. As Matthew rubbed, she began to see the gleam. “Silver,” she murmured. “It’s silver. A mark of rank. I knew it.”
    “It’s a nice piece.”
    Forgetting everything but the find, she leaned closer, let her fingertip skim along the gleam. “I think it’s eighteenth-century.”
    His eyes smiled. “Do you?”
    “I’m majoring in marine archeology.” She gave her bangs an impatient push. “It could have belonged to the captain.”
    “Or any other officer,” Matthew said dryly. “But it’ll keep me in beer and shrimp for a while.”
    Stunned, she jerked back. “You’re going to sell it? You’re just going to sell it? For money?”
    “I’m not going to sell it for clamshells.”
    “But don’t you want to know where it came from, who it came from?”
    “Not particularly.” He turned the cleaned portion of the hilt toward the sun, watched it glint in the light. “There’s an antique dealer on Saint Bart’s who’ll give me a square deal.”
    “That’s horrible. That’s . . .” She searched for the worst insult she could imagine. “Ignorant.” In a flash, shewas on her feet. “To just sell it that way. For all you know, it may have belonged to the captain of the Isabella or the Santa Marguerite. That would be a historic find. It could belong in a museum.”
    Amateurs, Matthew thought in disgust. “It belongs where I put it.” He rose fluidly. “I found it.”
    Her heart stuttered at the thought of it wasting away in some dusty antique shop, or worse, being bought by some careless tourist who would hang it on the wall of his den.
    “I’ll give you a hundred dollars for it.”
    His grin flashed. “Red, I could get more than that by melting down the hilt.”
    She paled at the thought. “You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t.” When he only cocked his head, she bit her lip. The stereo system she envisioned gracing her college dorm room would have to wait. “Two hundred then. It’s all I have saved.”
    “I’ll take my chances on Saint Bart’s.”
    Color flooded back into her cheeks. “You’re nothing but an opportunist.”
    “You’re right. And you’re an idealist.” He smiled as she stood in front of him, hands fisted, eyes fired. Over her shoulder, he caught movement on the deck of the Adventure. “And for better or worse, Red, it looks like we’re partners.”
    “Over my dead body.”
    He took her by the shoulders. For one startled minute, she thought he meant to heave her overboard. But he simply turned her until she faced her own boat.
    Her heart sank as she watched her father and Buck Lassiter shake hands.

C HAPTER 2
    A BRILLIANT SUNSET poured gold and pink across the sky and melted into the sea. The glory was followed by the finger-snap twilight so usual in the tropics. Over the calm water came the scratchy sound of a portable radio aboard the Sea Devil that did little justice to the bouncy reggae beat. The air might have been redolent with the scent of sautéing fish, but Tate’s mood was foul.
    “I don’t see why we need partners.” Tate propped her elbows on the narrow table in the galley and frowned at her mother’s back.
    “Your father took a real shine to Buck.” Marla sprinkled crushed rosemary into the pan. “It’s good for him to have a man near his own age to pal around with.”
    “He has us,” Tate grumbled.
    “Of course he has.” Marla smiled over her shoulder. “But men need men, honey. They’ve just got to spit and belch now and again.”
    Tate snorted at the idea of her impeccably mannered father doing either. “The point is we don’t know anything about them. I mean, they just showed up in our space.” She was still smarting over the sword. “Dad spent months researching these wrecks. Why should we trust the Lassiters?”
    “Because they’re Lassiters,” Ray said as he swung into the galley. Bending over, he planted a noisy kiss on the top of Tate’s head. “Our girl’s got a suspicious nature, Marla.” He winked at his wife, then because it was his turn for galley duty, began to set the table. “That’s a good thing, to a point. It’s not