Phantom Prospect. Alex Archer
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was sound asleep beside her.
She made her way to the door without fainting and opened it slowly. She was unsure what to expect on the other side. The boat was quiet and lolled gently, anchored as it was.
Dim red lights illuminated the hallway leading out to the stairs. Annja padded down the walkway until she came to the steps and started up them. She could already feel the wind washing over the boat and her skin. Goose bumps broke out along her hairline and she shivered slightly as she crept higher.
Her stomach didn’t hurt and Annja felt somewhat secure as she crept along the walkway toward the wheelhouse. The salt air refreshed her. Waves lapped at the sides of the ship and she felt some of the spray wash up on her skin.
Annja felt good. She kept her hands along the railing, however, just in case she felt faint, aware that she was still recovering from the concussion she’d received earlier.
A weak yellow light came from the wheelhouse. Annja moved toward it. Maybe she could have a word with Jax about what happened earlier. Annja didn’t like bad blood if she could avoid it. But if she couldn’t, then she’d just have to deal with it another time.
She took a deep breath and swung the door to the wheelhouse open. But Jax wasn’t there.
Hunter was.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.” Annja glanced around. “No Jax?”
Hunter smiled. “Even the captain needs sleep sometimes. I gave her the night off so she could crash. She’s been pulling hard since the attack.”
“She close with the victim?”
Hunter shrugged. “Don’t really know. Jax has a way about her. She can get guys if she wants ’em. Or she can turn ’em off like a light switch. I’m not sure how she felt about Jock. Or how he felt about her, for that matter. Not that that would have been an obstacle per se. Jock had a thing for anything with breasts.”
“Nice.”
“Sorry.”
Annja shrugged. “Forget it. I know how guys think. You’re honest and I appreciate that.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Annja glanced around the wheelhouse. “I thought I’d come topside for a little air.”
“Always clears my head, too,” Hunter said. “You want a drink?”
“What have you got?”
Hunter handed her a flask. “A little whiskey. It’s aged. Got a taste of peat in it, if you like that sort of thing.”
Annja took a sniff and then a sip. The smooth whiskey flowed down her throat and she took a deep breath. “Wow.”
Hunter took the flask back from her. “Don’t tell Cole. He’ll kill me if he finds out how much this stuff runs me. But why waste money on crap if you have a chance to get the good stuff, right?”
“I guess.” Annja felt the whiskey hit her hard. “That’s some potent stuff.”
“Keep you steady, it will,” Hunter said. “And I’ve used it to do just that on some stormy nights at sea.”
“You had many?”
Hunter nodded and took a deep drag on the flask. “Once or twice. We were off the coast of Florida when a gale blew up and knocked us sideways. We were cresting fifty-foot waves, crawling up one side and diving down the other. They were like mountains, you know. Fifty feet doesn’t sound like much until you actually get out in the thick of it in a twenty-foot boat.”
“You were in a twenty-footer?”
Hunter grinned. “First and last time, mind you. I came back and resolved never to sail anything less than a hundred foot.”
“Those waves must have been terrifying.”
“They were. I had to keep the ship on course because any mistake meant we’d have been swamped and gone before anyone knew we were there. A storm like that, they don’t roll up all that often.”
Hunter switched the radio on and Annja heard smooth music roll out of the speakers. He adjusted the volume, then took another sip and offered the flask back to Annja.
Annja shook her head. “I should stop. The booze and my concussion probably won’t get along that well.”
Hunter took the flask back. “Good point. Hang out, though. I can use the company.”
Annja leaned back against the wall and watched him. He had the same type of chiseled face that Cole had. But Hunter had strong limbs that seemed longer than Cole’s. Cole’s upper torso was more compact while Hunter’s reminded her of a languid jungle cat stretched out on a rock in the sun.
“How’d you get into treasure hunting?” she asked.
Hunter shook his head. “Not exactly the type of thing you go to school for, is it?”
“Nope.”
Bars of music filtered out of the speakers, while Hunter closed his eyes in appreciation of it. After a moment he looked at Annja. “I could say it’s all because of a girl.”
Annja smiled. “Oh is it?”
“Yep. I fell in love with a girl in college and flipped out of my mind over her. Spent the summer chasing her all over the Caribbean. We jumped from island to island on my dime, just having a blast. Sleeping on the beaches, making love, drinking our brains into a permanent pickled state. Youth’s a crazy thing, you know?”
“I guess.”
Hunter eyed her. “Yeah, I don’t suppose my experiences as a kid are universal or anything. I can see that.”
“So go on.”
Hunter shrugged. “I came across this boat anchored in the blue of the Caribbean one day. There were a couple of guys in the water. Real island dudes. The boat represented every dime they had in the world and they were out there diving off this patch of sand. We happened to sail up at just the right moment.”
“Right moment?”
Hunter took another sip. “You believe in serendipity?”
“Depends, I guess.”
“Well, these guys had come across a sunken Spanish galleon filled with chests of gold. I was there when one of the divers broke the surface of the water holding a single gold coin in his hand. I’ll never forget how the sun caught that gleaming yellow coin and made it look as brilliant as the brightest star in the sky. It blew me away. I wanted that joy of discovery. And I wanted all those riches.”
“So, that was it? You shelved the college life and threw your lot in with those guys?”
Hunter chuckled. “Those guys wanted nothing to do with me. Right after we came upon them, one of the guys still on the boat pulled a pistol and told us to sail away or they’d kill us. Treasure hunting’s a dangerous gambit sometimes.”
“Certainly seems to be.” Annja shivered as a cold breeze blew through the wheelhouse. “So, how’d you get started?”
“I spent a lot of my own money—hell, all of it—on a boat and top-of-the-line equipment that I had little clue how to operate. I was a fool and a cocksure one at that. I thought that my money could make everything go right when all it did was foul it up even quicker than if I’d been broke.”
“How so?”
“On my first dive I lost two people. Couldn’t be helped. The wreck we dove on shifted and crushed them. There was no way to help them. You’re not moving tons of rusted steel no matter how strong you think you are.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. And that venture cost me a lot more than I thought it would. I came back to the States and found