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The roar of the wind and waves disappeared the moment Dylan slipped below the surface and began to follow the anchor line down. Enveloped by the sound of his own breathing, he held his hand-mounted dive light up and it cast an intense, very concentrated, 6-degree beam that penetrated the darkness.
Around 25-feet down, he and Tony reached the sea floor where approximately 50 chests sat, half-buried in the shifting sand. Tony reached for the rope at his side and they moved toward the closest chest, struggling against the rough current. All around them, various fish and several, smaller sharks swam.
After they secured the chest, Dylan and Tony swam back to the surface and climbed aboard the ship. They stripped their mask, fins and various equipment off and then began to haul the chest up.
After heaving it onto the deck, Tony took an axe and chopped through the wood preserved by 300 years of coral and barnacles. The chest split open to reveal stacks of gold bars. The rain continued to fall as Tony began to paw through the gold, counting, and Dylan picked up a heavy bar and laughed in amazement.
“Fifty,” Tony verified. He stood up and tilted his head. “One more?”
“Hell, yeah,” Dylan said, weighing the gold bar in his hand. All his financial problems were about to be over and his Mom’s care would be set for the next year.
∞∞∞
Hollis Quinn sat on the edge of the couch, caramel-colored eyes glued to the television screen where a meteorologist tracked the storm. She gathered her long, wavy copper hair into a messy bun and sighed. She wanted to leave, but her father just stood at the window and gazed out the rain-streaked glass. He didn’t turn around, but felt her impatient stare.
“Almost,” he said.
Charles “Chaz” Quinn, a legend in the treasure-hunting world, was Hollis’s idol. Though retired and well into his 60s, Chaz still maintained a zest for life and adventure. Hollis inherited his same spirit and also possessed a feisty, independent side. Typical traits of a redhead.
Thunder rumbled the glass in its windowpane and Chaz waited for another strike of lightning, but none came. “Lightning’s over. We’re good to go.”
“Oh, thank God.” Hollis jumped up and grabbed her jacket. She’d never been known for her patience.
Twenty minutes later, Chaz and Hollis stepped onto the deck of the salvage ship and froze. A light rain still sprinkled down and the first thing they saw was the broken-up chest and stacks of gold bars.
“Tombraiders,” Chaz warned. Hollis raced over to the railing, her gaze following a tethered guideline into the depths below. Her face darkened and she glanced over her shoulder and saw her Dad pulling on a dive tank.
“I’m going with you,” she said, but he held a hand up.
“No, you need to stay up here. Call the salvage company and keep an eye on the gold.”
Even though she wanted to argue, she bit her tongue. Whoever did this needed to be reported and arrested, and the sooner the better. God, she hated tombraiders. They gave all treasure hunters a bad name.
“Be careful,” she said. With a nod, he finished checking his equipment, slid a hand over the sheathed knife strapped to his hip and dropped into the choppy water. Swallowed up by the eerie quiet beneath the surface and the susurration of bubbles released by his regulator, Chaz followed the anchor line down. He turned his dive light on and it didn’t take long for him to spot the two divers tying rope around another chest.
Caught off guard by a third companion, Dylan released the rope and Tony turned the spear gun toward Chaz. When Chaz pulled his knife, Tony hit the trigger and Dylan shoved his arm. The spear shot, off-target, yet sliced between Chaz and his gear, catching his wetsuit. The harpoon point lodged in a chunk of coral-covered rock, pinning Chaz. His knife, dropped by the impact, now laid on the sandy bottom, out of reach. As Chaz struggled to break free, Tony dropped the spear gun and swam to the surface without a backward glance.
Up on deck, Hollis paced back and forth, near the rail. Suddenly, a diver surfaced and she hurried out onto the dive platform. But, it wasn’t her father. It was Tony Burke, she realized when he pulled off his mask. A coldness settled in the pit of her stomach.
Big fucking surprise.
He climbed up and pushed past her. “Why am I not surprised?” she asked, crossing her arms. But, Tony ignored her and headed straight for the gold. He grabbed a few bars, stuffing them in a bag.
“Where’s my Dad?” Hollis demanded.
“Didn’t see him.” She grabbed his arm and he shoved her away. “Back the fuck off,” he snarled.
“Where is he?” When he refused to answer, she lunged for the bag. “You can’t take that.” But, he yanked it away and raced across the deck to his boat. Hollis took off after him.
Far below the surface, Dylan swam toward Chaz. He slid his Ka-Bar out, raised his hands to show he meant Chaz no harm, then moved in to pry the harpoon from the rock. It was jammed in there good, but the knife’s steel was of highest military quality and, after a couple of minutes, Dylan finally managed to break Chaz free.
As Tony’s boat roared away, Hollis grabbed her diving gear and began to suit up. But, then two divers surfaced and she sighed in relief to see her Dad. She ran over and helped him up the ladder. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He gave her a nod, then turned to Dylan. “Go,” he ordered.
Dylan’s gaze lowered to all the gold still piled on the deck and he hesitated.Shit, he thought.
“Before I decide to call the police.”
