Gabe watched the lady pierce the professor’s self-inflated bubble of authority. Good. There was a backbone of steel inside that soft, curvaceous body. Otherwise, the conversation was over as far as Gabe was concerned. He’d not work under Primston’s haughty professorial eye.
Many of Gabe’s parents’ associates fell into that category, not that that was the real reason he shunned academia and opted for a real life on the water. He’d courted them once and, but for a bizarre twist of fate, he might have become one of them. Gabe brandished a smile intended to charm more than apologize.
“Sorry, Dr. Madison. I have a tendency to think aloud. So how did this information come to be in the Sierra Madres?”
He could almost hear her excitement pop as she explained. “Don Diego Ortiz, who built a hacienda over a labyrinth of mine shafts and caves at the turn of the nineteenth century, was descended from the captain of the Luna Azul—Captain Alfonso Ortiz . . . ”
Female PhDs didn’t look like that when I was in school, Gabe thought, distracted by the shoulder-length golden brown hair that Jeanne Madison wore pulled from her tanned oval face with some kind of tortoiseshell clasp. This one had a compelling schoolgirl innocence and exuberance, with eyes that sparkled like polished amber. The moment he’d seen them in the lamplight by the cantina door, Gabe wondered if they were contacts.
Regardless, Doctor—the word wedged like a square peg in the round hole of Gabe’s senses, because Lady Jeanne was more suitable for this classy package of brains and beauty. Better yet, Jeanne. They weren’t that familiar yet, but they were going to be. It was a shame she came paired with Dr. Prim.
“So Ortiz reported the minimum of the facts that led to the loss to the authorities in Spain,” she continued, all business and engagingly oblivious that his interest went beyond professional, “and sealed the rest in a small strongbox. My brother found the box with other Ortiz family heirlooms stored in a mine shaft that led through a hidden entrance into the haunted hacienda he was rebuilding after it burned down.”
Gabe held up his hand. “Hang on—a haunted hacienda?”
“Not really.”
She grinned, scrunching her nose in such a way as to make something in Gabe’s belly scrunch as well.
“There were these guys who tried to scare my brother away so that they could buy the hacienda, because some valuable fossils were discovered in the mines.”
Her hasty dismissal of what seemed to be a great story said more than her words. She had the fever all right, with all its first-time passion and naiveté. Gabe suppressed a smile. “So this box was hidden in the mine connected to the hacienda?”
“Right.” Her hair bobbed with her affirmation.
Gabe leaned forward, shoving Primston to the periphery of his vision in favor of their charming companion. “Where are the letters and log now?”
“At my advice, my brother turned them over to the Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City,” Jeanne told him.
Gabe groaned inwardly. Why did she have to be one of those by-the-book types? A chance like this came along once in a blue moon. Having had his treasure pocket picked by Mexican authorities on another gig, he’d have seized a windfall like that and run with it, leaving the historians to pick up the leftovers.
“But,” she explained, “they allowed us to get the last recorded position from the log and copies of the letters, which really tell more than the log itself.”
“Mighty decent of them, considering the gift you dropped in their lap.”
“You see, Captain Ortiz reported to his Spanish authorities that his ship was lost due to a storm, which was partially true,” she said, undaunted by his cynicism. “But a storm flared up after the Blue Moon . . . Luna Azul,” she amended, “had gone off course, outgunned and pursued by pirates. The storm caused the pirates to give up their chase, and the Luna Azul crashed onto a reef. Ortiz and his men escaped to a small elbow-shaped island and tried to salvage the wreck when the storm broke. But only a small portion of the treasure was recovered.”
“How much?” Gabe asked. Already his blood had made course toward the island at full speed. Visions of ducats and doubloons danced in his mind. The symptoms were all too familiar.
“Less than an eighth,” Jeanne answered, unconcerned at the possible loss of loot.
And she was in it for the find more than the money. It was a strange strain of the fever, but fine with Gabe. The motivation was strong, and that was what counted most in choosing a partner for this kind of endeavor—as long as shares were made clear from the start.
“Another storm, worse than the first, forced Ortiz and his men to seek shelter, from which they watched as the ship broke apart and washed away.”
An elbow-shaped island. Gabe knew the Yucatán coast well and there was only one that he knew of. “There is an uninhabited barrier island south of Chinchorro Reef called Isla Codo. Too small to develop. Great fishing there, though.”
“Exactly,” Jeanne said, turning to her stuffed shirt companion. “Remy?”
With a grudging look, Remy pulled a map from the inside of his jacket and handed it over. Dr. Madison spread the map on the table, her enthusiasm fading as she shot a doleful look at the cantina lighting.
“No worries,” Gabe said, producing a small penlight attached to his key chain. He’d have conjured a tiki torch to get a look at that map.
“The position given to the authorities was way to the south of Isla Codo,” she told him, moving her hand over the printout to the exact spot he’d pictured in his mind. “But the island has to be the location of the wreck based on Ortiz’s letters to his brother and wife. And I don’t think it’s an accident that it’s located off Punta Azul. Blue Point.”
For someone so young and obviously green, the lady had done her homework. It wouldn’t be the first landmark named after a shipwreck. “So you’re going to set up your base in Punta Azul?” He pointed to the nearest village, one of few remaining on the coast, he knew, that hadn’t been consumed by tourism from the north.
Jeanne nodded. “The company has rented cottages from an ecolodge that was all but destroyed a year ago by a hurricane.”
Beside her, Remy winced.
“But it’s rebuilding,” she added, brightening. “It’s just not ready to open to tourists. Las Palapas?”
“Been there, Je . . . er . . . Dr. Madison.” Las Palapas had been built for the native experience, so she obviously wasn’t hung up on comfort, which was hard to find on expeditions like these. Or she hadn’t been there yet.
“Jeanne,” she said. “Please call me Jeanne . . . and this is Remy.”
“Fine then . . . Jeanne.” Gabe was delighted to have that out of the way, although he doubted she spoke for her tight-lipped companion. “But you know you’re talking remote when it comes to Punta Azul.”
“Blasted galleons never sink in a convenient place, do they, Avery?”
Jeanne allowed Remy’s attempt at humor a short laugh before answering. “It’s the closest village to our intended search area, and the lodging was cheap.”
A mix of apology and desperation lit her face. For all Jeanne’s savvy, she was not a poker player. And one needed a poker face in the dog-eat-dog treasure-hunting circles, lest a fellow enthusiast pick up on the heat and preempt one’s expedition. Gabe had learned that the hard way too.
“You see, Captain Avery—”
“Gabe,” Gabe insisted, adding with flirtatious wink, “After all, fair is fair.”
“Right, um . . . Gabe.”
He had the feeling a blush accompanied her stammer, even though he couldn’t see it in the dim lamplight.
“This is my first expedition,” she confessed, moving up another notch in Gabe’s estimation with a humility that was absent in her companion. “I put it together with funding from grants and pledges and formed a company called Genesis Corporation. It’s taken six months to get permission from the Mexican government to search for the wreck and work out the details of disbursement, if we find the treasure. Half goes to Mexico and the rest is to be divided among the participants in the dive. Which brings me to our reason for being here. We’d like to hire out you and the Fallen Angel.”
Hire? Gabe would give his right arm to be a part of the Luna Azul expedition. He was on board already, but he maintained a poker face. Besides, they hadn’t seen the Angel. The old girl was sound enough, but needed some cosmetic maintenance—a paint job for one.
“But naturally, we’d like to see the ship first,” Remy put in, as though reading Gabe’s thought. “Safety regulations leave much to be desired south of the border, as it were.”
“The Angel will do the job. The biggest problem is going to be maneuvering around that reef.” Gabe highlighted the area with his penlight.
“Yes, that will be a problem,” Jeanne agreed. “But I have to tell you up front, we need you to furnish the boat for a share of the treasure, if we find it.”
Gabe looked shocked. “Wait a minute. I don’t have the kind of money on hand to put out on the chance we might find this ship. The Angel doesn’t run on air.”
“We’ll provide the fuel or whatever expenses you incur for the job. All we ask is that you provide the boat and captain it. For that, you’ll receive a share for yourself and one for your ship.”
“I don’t know, Jeanne.” He was bluffing. Truth was, for treasure, Gabe would go—even if the Angel wasn’t paid for.
“I can speak for myself and my boat, but I can’t speak for my deckhand. He has a family to support.”
“Maybe we could pay him a minimal fee, say ten dollars a day, and a share, of course.”
Manolo would jump at the chance. His brother, who worked in a manufacturing plant in Matamoros earned little more and had no chance at becoming wealthy for life.
“Sounds fair,” Gabe said at last. “We’ll talk it over and get back with you in the morning, if that’s all right.”
“You’re not booked for charter?” Jeanne asked.
“No, as a matter of fact, we’re not. Interested?”
She laughed. “I would love to go fishing, but I’m saving pennies wherever I can. Besides, Remy and I have a flight back to Texas tomorrow evening to tie up loose ends. This is our reconnaissance visit.”
Gabe picked up her hand from the map and lifted it to his lips in a show of gallantry. “The Fallen Angel and I will be right here at the dock’s end.”
“You can count on it, Cap . . . Gabe,” she amended, a shy smile claiming her full lips. Concern vexed her brow as she withdrew her hand and propped her chin on it. “I’m just curious. Where did you come up with the name for your vessel?”
Taken aback at the personal turn of the conversation, Gabe scuffed a well-worn Docksider on hard-packed sand beneath the table. “A joke,” he said at last. “Or perhaps not. Call it a reflection of myself.”
“It’s getting late.” Remy tapped his watch.
Jeanne dug out a business card from her purse and handed it to Gabe. “My cell phone is on all the time, in case you need to get in touch with us.”
“Thanks. And you know where I am,” he teased, wishing Primston would take a long walk off the short Marina Garza pier.
“Who knows?” She closed her handbag. “We might find more than a ship. All things are possible.”
Gabe fell into the dancing pool of her gaze, searching for the possibilities. Just then, the cantina awning began to fold.
“The awning!” Remy shouted in alarm.
The map! Realizing that the awning was about to dump its accumulation of the afternoon’s rain, Gabe threw himself over the table—and the young woman who already had the map covered with her body.
“For heaven’s sake, Jeanne, we have copies,” Remy derided, flipping his arms and jacket like a mad sea lion.
“I know. I forgot,” a muffled voice replied from under Gabe’s upper torso.
Feeling the fool himself, Gabe pulled away so that the equally water-soaked Jeanne could get her breath. Facing off nose to nose over the smeared ink that had been a map, he took in the stained front of the clingy blouse and jacket that she wore over it. What hair wasn’t plastered to her scalp dangled limp and dripping from the tortoiseshell clasp.
But it was once again her eyes that cornered Gabe’s attention. Amusement gathered there and began to escape her lips, a snicker at first, then outright laughter.
“Well, I see that we have at least one thing in common.”
Gabe lifted his brow. “That we’re both daft?”
“Maybe that too,” Jeanne admitted with a grin that made Gabe’s shivering pulse leap. “But I was going to say that we both are passionate.”
“I believe the word is enthusiastic,” Remy interjected.
Jeanne glanced at her companion. “Well, of course, Remy. What else . . .” She broke off, her bewildered expression giving way to an awkward embarrassment. Lips thinning with impatience, she went on. “Remy, I am certain the captain knows that I speak strictly in reference to the Blue Moon.”
“Like the lady said, Primston,” Gabe chimed in, a tad disappointed. “What else?”