Make Her Pay - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,1
things halfway. If I work for you, I’d want to be the man you call one of your best.” The conviction in his voice erased any concerns that the Con Man was doing a job on her.
A few seconds crawled by, punctuated by the pendulum swing of an antique grandfather clock across the room. Finally, without taking her eyes from his, she circled the writing table, settled in her chair, and reached for the dossier she’d been reading before he arrived. She couldn’t go one more day without fulfilling this client’s request, and the perfect man for the job was right in front of her.
“The assignment is tough, even for a seasoned Bullet Catcher.” She handed him the file. “I need a diver.”
“My time as a SEAL was brief, but I’m certified to dive.”
“And I need a thief.”
He lifted his gaze from the paperwork. “Excuse me?”
“Or someone who would know how to spot one.” When he nodded, she continued. “The Bullet Catcher client is Judd Paxton. Are you familiar with him?”
“Of course. Paxton Treasures is the most successful underwater salvage company in the world. But no one’s diving in November.”
“Yes, actually, someone is. Paxton is running a highly confidential dive about ten miles off the east coast of Florida that isn’t an official salvage effort.”
He frowned. “You mean it’s not leased or claimed with the state?”
“Not yet.”
“So there’s no state rep on board cataloging everything they recover so Florida can suck its twenty percent of the potential bounty? That makes it a lot easier to sell anything recovered for full profit on the black market.”
His knowledge of the inner workings of the salvage industry was another point in his favor, even if it was gleaned from the wrong kind of experience.
“Judd’s not out to cheat the state or anyone out of money,” she assured him. “He has a sponsor who wants to be the exclusive buyer for any treasure recovered on the dive, and that sponsor has insisted that the dive be kept secret, until they can confirm exactly what they’ve found. Evidently it will rock the salvage world, and when word gets out the area will be pounced on by poachers or, worse, pirates.”
He looked intrigued. “What is it?”
“Are you familiar with the legend of the ship called El Falcone?”
“Yes,” he said with a soft laugh. “I’m also familiar with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. It’s folklore, Lucy.”
“Well, Mr. Paxton doesn’t happen to agree with you,” she replied. “The folklore of an unregistered ship that carried treasures from Havana to Lisbon would become fact if he is able to prove that’s what he’s found.”
Con sifted through a few pages in the file, obviously unconvinced. “There’s no manifest on record of a ship that wasn’t registered, so this is pure speculation.”
“The entire business of treasure hunting is speculative, but evidently some paperwork does exist, in various bits and pieces, and some of those are in the hands of Mr. Paxton’s sponsor. The dive job is so confidential, I might add, that the crew and divers don’t know what wreck they’re salvaging.”
He flipped the page, read some names. “Then why are they out freezing their backsides off, diving in November?”
“Because Paxton’s paying a fortune. So, they’re abiding by a no cell phone, no Internet access rule while on board. Since several of the Paxton ships were ambushed last season by well-organized thieves, the divers have been told the secrecy is for their safety.”
He nodded. “That makes sense. So what’s the assignment, protection from the potential pirates?”
“Not exactly. The threat, Judd thinks, is closer. They’ve recovered quite a few items already, and some are missing.”
“Oh.” His fingers rested on the diver and crew list. “So there’s a thief on board-one of the crew or divers.”
“It would appear so, but it’s more complex than that,” she said. “In Paxton’s opinion, just as worrisome as someone helping himself to a few gold coins is a leak to the outside world when something more substantive is recovered. There are a few items in particular that are believed to have been on board El Falcone.”
“What are they?”
“A pair of gold scepters topped with matching diamonds, made for the king and queen of Portugal on the occasion of their marriage in 1862. And not just any diamonds-the Bombay Blues, two of the most valuable blue diamonds ever mined in India.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “That tale’s been going around the art world for years. The Bombay Blues don’t exist.”
“Whether or not they exist doesn’t matter. Our