The Reef by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

Buck’s conversation was peppershot with oaths delivered with Yankee quickness. Yet they merged together like old friends reunited.
    Often when they surfaced after a dive, they were laughing like boys fresh from some misdemeanor. And one always seemed to have a tale to tell on the other.
    It was illuminating for Tate to watch the friendship bloom and grow so rapidly. On land, her father’s companions were businessmen, a suit-and-tie brigade of success, moderate wealth and staunch Southern heritage.
    Here she watched him bronzing in the sun with Buck, sharing a beer and dreams of fortune.
    Marla would snap their picture or pull out her ubiquitous video camera and call them two old salts.
    As Tate prepared for her morning dive, she watched them arguing baseball over coffee and croissants.
    â€œWhat Buck knows about baseball you could swallow in one gulp,” Matthew commented. “He’s been boning up so he can fight with Ray.”
    Tate sat down to pull on her flippers. “I think it’s nice.”
    â€œDidn’t say it wasn’t.”
    â€œYou never say anything’s nice.”
    He sat beside her. “Okay, it’s nice. Hanging with your father’s been good for Buck. He’s had a rough time the last few years. I haven’t seen him enjoy himself so much since . . . for a long time.”
    Tate let out a long sigh. It was difficult to work up any annoyance with straight sincerity. “I know you care about him.”
    â€œSure I do. He’s always been there for me. I’d do anything for Buck.” Matthew pressed a securing hand to his mask. “Hell, I’m diving with you, aren’t I?” With that, he rolled into the water.
    Instead of being insulted, she grinned, and rolled in after him.
    They followed the marker down. They had been moving the search steadily northward. Each time they tried newterritory, Tate felt that quickening surge of anticipation. Each time they went down, she told herself today could be the day.
    The water was pleasantly cool on the exposed skin of her hands and face. She enjoyed the way it streamed through her hair on her descent.
    The fish had grown used to them. It wasn’t unusual for a curious grouper or angelfish to peer into her mask. She’d gotten into the habit of bringing a plastic bag of crackers or bread crumbs with her, and took a few minutes at the start of every dive to feed them, and have them swirl around her.
    Invariably the barracuda they’d dubbed “Smiley” came to call, always keeping his distance, always watching. As a mascot, he wasn’t particularly lively, but he was loyal.
    She and Matthew developed an easy routine. They worked in sight of each other, rarely crossing the invisible line both recognized as separating their territories. Still, they shared their glimpses of sea life. A hand signal, a tap on the tank to point out a school of fish, a burrowing ray.
    He was, Tate decided, easier to tolerate in the silence of the sea than above it. Now and again that silence was broken by the blurred roar of a tourist boat above them. Tate had even heard the eerie echo of music from a blasting portable radio with Tina Turner’s raw-throated voice wanting to know what love had to do with it.
    Singing in her head, Tate aimed for an odd formation of coral. She startled a grouper, who gave her one baleful glance before gliding off. Amused, she glanced over her shoulder. Matthew was swimming west, but was still in her line of vision. She flipped north toward the pretty soft reds and browns of the formation.
    Tate was on top of it before she realized it wasn’t coral, but rocks. Bubbles burst from her mouthpiece. If she had been above the water rather than below, she might have babbled.
    Ballast rocks. Surely they had to be ballast rocks. From her studies she knew the color meant galleon. Schooners had used the brittle gray egg rock. The ballast of a galleon,she thought with a