She indicated the guard approaching them again, his bodybuilder’s physique flexing like a Macy’s balloon.

“Mr. DeSalliers says he doesn’t have time to play games with you,” the man announced.

“All right.” Dar lifted a hand. “Hasta Manana, jackass.” She turned and started back down the dock. “If he changes his mind, we’re in slip 30.”

“Bye.” Kerry waggled her fingers at the men before she ambled after Dar. She caught up to her partner after a few steps and they strolled along together. “So,” she commented. “Now what?”

Dar glanced down at the keychain watch looped through her belt. “Give it a minute.”

It really was a big game, of sorts. Kerry had gotten used to the delicate and sometimes not so delicate maneuverings of the boardroom. This didn’t seem that different.

“Ms. Roberts!”

Kerry clucked her tongue. “Ooh, you’re good.”


Terrors of the High Seas 155

Dar paused and looked over her shoulder, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses despite the rain. Ah. DeSalliers himself was trotting down the dock after them, his blue blazer getting spotted with rain. Dar turned fully and waited, having gotten what she’d asked for. “Yes?”

“Ms. Roberts, Ms. Roberts.” DeSalliers sighed. “You know, I think we really did start off on the wrong foot.” His attitude, completely reversed from the morning’s, was almost friendly. “All we do is keep getting more and more hostile. Can’t we turn this around?”

Dar regarded him warily. “You’re giving me bullshit whiplash.”

“Please,” DeSalliers continued, “let’s just go inside, out of this blasted rain, and talk.”

The risk seemed acceptable, Dar reasoned, considering everything. “All right,” she agreed.

“Great.” He started to lead them back toward his boat. “I’m sure we can come to a better understanding of each other, if we just put a little effort into it.” Only then did he seem to notice Kerry’s continued presence. “Sorry. I don’t think we’ve met?”

Kerry promptly extended a hand. “Kerry.”

“Ah.” DeSalliers took it and pressed it briefly. “And you are?”

“Dar’s American Express card,” Kerry replied smoothly. “She never leaves home without me.”

Dar had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.

“We’re partners,” she supplied succinctly.

They passed the two guards, both of whom glared at Dar as she brushed by them. Dar ignored their attitude and followed DeSalliers up the long gangplank to the deck of his boat, stepping neatly down after him onto the vessel.

Kerry eased off after Dar, looking around the deck of the big boat as they moved around toward the cabin. The deck floor was covered in plush-looking, all-weather Astroturf, and there were two more guards who were braced on either side of the deck, hands clasped behind their backs. They were big and healthy looking, and reminded Kerry irresistibly of cattle. “Moo,” she uttered, under her breath. She saw Dar’s shoulders twitch in a silent laugh.

They followed DeSalliers inside the cabin and found a space as ostentatiously well-appointed as the exterior deck suggested. It was full of dark leather furniture and teak wood, and smelled very masculine. On one side there was a bar, complete with a ceiling-mounted glass rack with pivots. Across from the bar was an entertainment center with a circular viewing lounge. Toward the rear was a spacious galley, and behind that, a closed door that led to the more private areas of the boat’s cabin.

The windows were so tinted that light barely penetrated. Most 156 Melissa Good of the illumination was provided by recessed fixtures near the walls, and one searingly bright beam that splashed over the dining room table, highlighting a crystal vase with a single, perfect red rose in it.

“Please, sit down,” DeSalliers said as he crossed to the bar.

“Can I get you both a drink?”

“No thank you,” Kerry replied. She waited quietly near the door, looking around.

Dar was circling the cabin, examining the oriental-themed, framed mats on the walls. “Nothing for me, thanks.” She stopped in front of a small painting near the galley, leaning forward a little as she recognized the style. Her eyebrows rose behind her glasses.

“Nice piece, isn’t it?” Their host spoke up behind her. “I have a much larger one in my home. Truly captures the majesty of the sea.”

Dar straightened. “Very nice.” She pulled off her sunglasses and turned, chewing on the earpiece as she regarded DeSalliers.

“I’ll pass your compliments on to my mother.”

The man froze in place. His brows contracted fiercely, giving him an almost comical look as he paused in the act of pouring himself a glass of what appeared to be scotch. “Excuse me?”

Dar’s thumb gestured over her shoulder at the small painting.

“That’s my mother’s work,” she replied mildly. “Seascapes are a favorite theme of hers.”

DeSalliers put down the glass and rested his hands on the bar.

“Well, well,” he murmured. “You are a veritable Pandora’s box of surprises, aren’t you, Ms. Roberts?” He picked up his glass and swirled the contents, circling Dar. “I send out an inquiry expecting, at best, some rich brat tooling about the Caribbean, and what do I come up with? The CIO of the largest computer services organization in the world.” He paused. “What a surprise.”

Dar shrugged. “We’re even. I go out tooling about the Caribbean on a simple vacation, and what do I come up with?

Assholes chasing my boat, breaking and entering my hotel room, and vague, useless threats sent by courier,” she countered. “What a surprise. All I was expecting was reasonable weather and a few spiny lobster.”

DeSalliers sighed. “I thought we were trying to get on a better footing.”

Dar spread out her hands, both of her eyebrows lifting. “I come up from a damn dive, and the next thing I know, your half-witted goons are chasing my ass down.”

“Now, Ms. Roberts…” The man held a hand up soothingly. “I realize now we came at you the wrong way.”

“You mean, after the intimidation tricks didn’t work, then you decided to find out who you were chasing?” Kerry commented from Terrors of the High Seas 157

her spot near the doorway.

DeSalliers shot a glance at her and apparently decided the gracious host scam wasn’t working. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Finally.” Dar chewed on her sunglasses again, then she sauntered over to the nearest comfortable leather chair and sprawled in it. Kerry caught the almost imperceptible signal and joined her, perching on the chair’s arm.

“Okay.” DeSalliers adapted again, taking the chair across from them. “Here’s the deal.” His entire attitude changed, becoming tough and businesslike. Almost like Dar, in fact. “I have a piece of ocean on which I own the rights of salvage. You dove that piece of ocean and removed something from it. I want it.”

Kerry took the lead. “Okay. First off, you didn’t mark the salvage site.” She ticked off her fingers. “You didn’t post a buoy, you didn’t put up a diver flag, and there were no tags on the wreck.”

He took a sip of his drink. “We were about to.”

“But you didn’t,” Kerry said. “So how were we supposed to know you were going to salvage it? ILS doesn’t hire psychics.”

“That’s not the point,” DeSalliers said with a frown. “The fact is, you were down there.”

“What’s so important about this wreck?” Kerry asked. “I saw it.

It’s an old fishing freighter with more coral than steel.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Then,” Dar picked up the conversation, “for your records, we picked up a conch shell and brought it topside. You don’t have salvage rights on marine invertebrates or their calciferous exterior structures.”

The man’s fingers drummed nervously on his knee, which jiggled slightly with tension. “I’m very sorry,” he remarked quietly,

“but I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Kerry asked suddenly. “Excuse me, but what the hell would we care about marine salvage? We’re nerd sport divers.”

She stood up and paced. “That’s what I don’t understand about this entire scenario. What makes you think we give a rat’s patootie about whatever junk you’re searching for?”

DeSalliers gazed at her through hooded eyes. “Who are you?”

Dar leaned forward and caught his attention. “What are you looking for?” she asked in a low, vibrant tone. “If it’s what we took from the sea, we’ll tell you.”

His dark eyes bored into hers. They stared at each other for a long moment. “I can’t tell you,” DeSalliers finally said.

Dar started to get up. “Waste of time.”

“Ms. Roberts,” he also stood, and held up a hand, “I mean it. I can’t tell you, not won’t.”

“You don’t know what it is,” Kerry realized. “You have no idea 158 Melissa Good what you’re looking for, do you?”

DeSalliers relaxed back into his chair with a disgusted sigh.

Dar settled back and crossed her ankles. “I’m not getting this.”

She shook her head. “How the hell can you stake a salvage claim on an unknown object?” she asked their host.

He rubbed his temples. “Did you ever get hoisted on your own petard, Ms. Roberts?” he inquired. “Hung out to dry by your own reputation?”

Dar considered the question. “No,” she replied. “Not yet, anyway.”

Kerry walked over and knelt next to his chair, resting her arm near his. “Talk to us, Mr. DeSalliers. Tell us what the heck is really going on. Maybe we can help.” She gave him a quiet, sincere look.

“We’re better friends than enemies, believe me.”

He hesitated, then took a breath, as if to speak.