piece of metal that might have been a buckle or pin of some sort. But it was the nails that interested him most.
Marla was right. They were old. He picked one up, turned it in his fingers, imagining it once being hammered into planks that were doomed to storms and sea worms.
âBrass,â Tate announced with delight as she worked off the corrosion with solvent and a rag. âIt is a button. Itâs got some etching on it, a flower. A little rose. It was probably on a dress of a female passenger.â
The thought made her sad. The woman, unlike the button, hadnât survived.
âMaybe.â Matthew spared the button a glance. âOdds are we hit a bounce site.â
Tate reached for her own sunglasses to cut the glare. âWhatâs a bounce site?â
âJust what it sounds like. We probably found the spot where a ship hit while it was being driven in by waves. The wreckâs somewhere else.â He lifted his gaze, scanned the sea to the horizon. âSomewhere else,â he repeated.
But Tate shook her head. âYouâre not going to discourage me after this. We havenât come up empty-handed, Matthew. One full dive and we have all this. Coins and nailsââ
âBroken pottery and a brass button.â Matthew tossed the nail he held back into the pile. âChump change, Red. Even for an amateur.â
She reached out and took hold of the coin that dangled around his neck. âWhere thereâs some, thereâs more. My father believes we have a chance at a major find. So do I.â
She was ready to quiver with anger, he noted. Her chinthrust up, sharp as the spikes at their feet, eyes hard and hot.
Christ, why did she have to be a college girl?
He moved his shoulder, and deliberately gave her a light, insulting pat on the cheek. âWell, itâll keep us entertained. But itâs more often true that where thereâs some, thatâs all.â He brushed off his hands and rose. âIâll clean this up for you, Marla.â
âYouâre a real upbeat kind of guy, Lassiter.â Tate tugged off her T-shirt. For some reason, the way heâd looked at her, just for an instant, had heated her skin. âIâm going for a swim.â Moving to the rail, she dove off the side.
âSheâs her fatherâs daughter,â Marla said with a quiet smile. âAlways sure hard work, perseverence and a good heart will pay off. Lifeâs harder on them than it is for those of us who know those things arenât always enough.â She patted Matthewâs arm. âIâll tidy up here, Matthew. I have my own little system. You go on and get me that milk.â
C HAPTER 3
T ATE FOUND PESSIMISM cowardly. It seemed to her that it was simply an excuse never to face disappointment.
It was even worse when pessimism won out.
After two weeks of dawn-to-dusk double-team diving, they found nothing but a few more scraps of corroded metal. She told herself she wasnât discouraged and hunted on her shift with more care and more enthusiasm than was warranted.
At night, she took to poring over her fatherâs charts, the copies heâd made from his research. The more cavalier Matthew became, the more determined she was to prove him wrong. She wanted the wreck now, passionately. If only to beat him.
She had to admit the weeks werenât a total loss. The weather was beautiful, the diving spectacular. The time she spent on the island when her mother insisted on a break was filled with souvenir shopping, exploring, picnics on the beach. She hunted through cemeteries and old churches, hoping she might find another clue to the secret of the wrecks of 1733.
But most of all, she enjoyed watching her father with Buck. They were an odd pairâone squat and round andcue-ball bald, the other aristocratically lean with a mane of silvering blond hair.
Her father spoke with the slow, sweet drawl of coastal Carolina while
Learning to Kill: Stories