The Reef Read Free

was shark, and her heart stumbled. She turned, as she had been taught, one hand reaching for her diver’s knife, and prepared to defend herself and her father.
    The shape became a diver. Sleek and fast as a shark, perhaps, but a man. Her breath whooshed out in a stream of bubbles before she remembered to regulate it. The diver signaled to her, then to the man swimming in his wake.
    Tate found herself face mask to face mask with a recklessly grinning face, eyes as blue as the sea around them. Dark hair streamed in the current. She could see he was laughing at her, undoubtedly having guessed her reaction to the unexpected company. He held his hands up, a gesture of peace, until she sheathed her knife. Then he winked and sent a fluid salute toward Ray.
    As silent greetings were exchanged, Tate studied the newcomers. Their equipment was good, and included those necessary items of the treasure seeker. The goody bag, the knife, the wrist compass and diver’s watch. The first man was young, lean in his black wet suit. His gesturing hands were wide-palmed, long-fingered, and carried the nicks and scars of a veteran hunter.
    The second man was bald, thick in the middle, but as agile as a fish in his undersea movements. Tate could see he was reaching some sort of tacit agreement with her father. She wanted to protest. This was their spot. After all, they’d been there first.
    But she could do no more than frown as her fathercurled his fingers into an “okay” sign. The four of them spread out to explore.
    Tate went back to another mound to fan. Her father’s research indicated that four ships of the Spanish fleet had gone down north of Nevis and St. Kitts during the hurricane of July 11, 1733. Two, the San Cristobal and the Vaca, had been discovered and salvaged years earlier, broken on the reefs near Dieppe Bay. This left, undiscovered and untouched, the Santa Marguerite and the Isabella.
    Documents and manifests boasted that these ships carried much more than cargoes of sugar from the islands. There were jewels and porcelain and more than ten million pesos of gold and silver. In addition, if true to the custom of the day, there would be the hoards secreted by the passengers and seamen.
    Both wrecks would be very rich indeed. More than that, discovery would be one of the major finds of the century.
    Finding nothing, Tate moved on, bearing north. The competition from the other divers caused her to keep her eyes and her instincts sharp. A school of gem-bright fish speared around her in a perfect vee, a slice of color within color. Delighted, she swam through their bubbles.
    Competition or not, she would always enjoy the small things. She explored tirelessly, fanning sand and studying fish with equal enthusiasm.
    It looked like a rock at first glance. Still, training had her swimming toward it. She was no more than a yard away when something streaked by her. She saw with faint irritation that scarred, long-fingered hand reach down and close over the rock.
    Jerk, she thought, and was about to turn away when she saw him work it free. Not a rock at all, but the crusted handle of a sword that he drew from the scabbard of the sea. Grinning around his mouthpiece, he hefted it.
    He had the nerve to salute her with it, cutting a swatch through the water. As he headed up, Tate went after him. They broke the surface in tandem.
    She spit out her mouthpiece. “I saw it first.”
    “I don’t think so.” Still grinning, he levered up hisface mask. “Anyway, you were slow, and I wasn’t. Finders keepers.”
    “Rules of salvage,” she said, struggling for calm. “You were in my space.”
    “The way I see it, you were in mine. Better luck next time.”
    “Tate, honey.” From the deck of the Adventure, Marla Beaumont waved her hands and called out. “Lunch is ready. Invite your friend and come aboard.”
    “Don’t mind if I do.” In a few powerful strokes, he was at the stern of the Adventure. The sword hit the deck with a clatter,