Castillo's Bride. Anne Duquette Marie

say that. However, you should have at least one safety in place. Your friend Donna, perhaps, if you don’t trust me. I wish you would,” he added in a low voice, surprised a second time by the urgency of his words.

      “No. Until these papers are filed, no one gets the location. Not even you. Not even Donna. My family comes first—whether they believe it or not.”

      Whether they believe it or not? Strange thing to say…It’d been years since she’d run away. Apparently the family hadn’t recovered from her youthful indiscretion. That kind of grudge was something he had no patience with.

      But before he could follow up on her statement, she rose. Jordan had no choice but to follow her back to the dinghy, a trimly painted blue-and-white with black letters proclaiming the name, the Tempest Tantrum. Aurora climbed in first, taking her position at the back of the small trolling motor.

      “Then we’ll file tomorrow,” Jordan said. “You give me the coordinates, and weather permitting, we dive the wreck.”

      “We’ll need at least two other people,” she said as he carefully climbed in. Small boats rocked easily, especially when carrying two people with disparate weights. Large crafts had built-in air pockets or plastic buoys within. Smaller craft sank like stones when overturned. “We could plan on a preliminary dive without a full crew. If it works out, we may be able to keep the scale of our operation small.”

      “What about Donna?”

      “She’s always game. I’d need a fourth, as well,” she said. “Two topside, plus two diving minimum—that’s you and me—for where we’re heading.”

      “Who else do you have in mind?”

      “There’s a young man in Mexico, Roberto Ortega,” she said in a thoughtful voice. “But I’d have to go to the border to pick him up. I don’t think I’ll have time. Cast off, please.” Aurora started the electric motor with a twist of the handle.

      Jordan removed the dinghy’s single line from the docking cleat. “He couldn’t meet us here?”

      “No, he doesn’t have transportation. Since we’ll be launching from San Diego Harbor, you’ll have to meet Roberto another time. Neil Harris has his own private watercraft, and his cruise ship’s in port, so he’s free to help us. I’ve already sounded him out and he’s agreeable. I wouldn’t usually ask him but since he already knows you, and you’re so eager to get out there…”

      “That’s our four, then. Period. I’d prefer to keep the dive site secret for as long as possible.”

      “Well, using Neil’s boat instead of mine will make it harder for anyone to follow—if we’re being followed. Besides, Neil can be trusted.”

      “Fine, that sounds reasonable,” he said a bit grudgingly. “But keep in mind that I have no intention of being the junior partner on this venture. We’re equal partners and I expect to be involved in all decisions before you discuss them with other people.” At her curt nod, he paused, then continued quietly. “I want you to understand something, Ms. Collins.”

      Aurora geared the little motor into idle. Silence washed over their patch of water as the orange of the setting sun slid across its surface. In no danger of traffic this late at night, the dinghy rocked slowly with the harbor surge.

      “You told me about your family. Now let me tell you about mine. Or rather, what’s left of it.” His words were terse, low, emotionless. “Thanks to a hurricane ten years ago, I’m the only father left for nine nieces, five nephews and their mothers. My two brothers are dead. My father and grandfather are dead. My sisters’ husbands are dead. My older cousins and nephews are dead—all drowned. You’re looking at the sole male support of what was once a thriving family and a thriving family business. If I go down, they go down with me. At present, half of the San Rafael is all I have left to offer. If anything happens to me before we salvage it, they have nothing. So I repeat—when it comes to future decisions about this venture, you’ll keep me informed at all times. Got it?”

      Aurora met his gaze full on. “You have my word.” She reached for the motor. “I’m sorry about your family. You must miss them terribly.”

      “Yes.”

      The water lapped gently at the wooden sides of the dinghy as her hand rested on his arm. After a brief moment, she twisted the forward gear shaft. The electric motor started up again, propelling the Tempest Tantrum back to Neptune’s Bride.

      The sun had disappeared by the time they climbed back aboard Bride. Jordan secured the dinghy in its resting place on the stern diving deck. Aurora tilted the motor out of the water, then sprayed off the saltwater with fresh water from her slip’s hose.

      “I’m going to shower,” she said. “There’s a common cabin I use as a sitting room. You’ll find the North County and San Diego newspapers there, if you want them. Help yourself.”

      “Thanks.”

      Moments later, he watched her head up toward the slip-gate and the private showers, key in hand, a fresh towel rolled up in the other. Jordan leaned against the railing, watching the sun sink the final distance below the waterline. Family conversations, cooking smells, children’s laughter and the barking of ships’ dogs mingled with the sounds of jazz, radios, and auto and marine traffic. The closeness of the slips, much narrower than those he was used to, made outdoor familiarity simple.

      People greeted other people with the warm familiarity he’d known in every port. Yet this woman was different. Aurora had exchanged brief greetings with several people, but remained somewhat aloof. Friendly yet uninvolved. She was certainly loyal to her own family—but they seemed far removed from her life.

      What kind of woman runs away from her family—a family she obviously loves? I would have done anything to hold on to mine.

      Honesty compelled him to answer his own question. She was probably no different than the kind of man who could walk away from a loving fiancé. He’d seen no other option at the time, but at least his family had understood. Apparently hers never did.