Her Passionate Pirate. Neesa Hart

a written statement. The conference is just a formality.”

      “Ugh.” Cora dropped her head back against the chair. “I should have known.” She looked at Rafael accusingly. “What did you think was going to happen when you told Jerry I’d refused your request?”

      “It never occurred to me that you and I wouldn’t come to an understanding,” he said.

      “That’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think?”

      “Maybe.”

      “What if we hadn’t?”

      “I would have respected that.” He waited for the truth of the statement to sink in. “I asked Jerry for his opinion. If I’d known he’d try to trump you, I would have handled it differently.”

      “I can manage Jerry, believe me.”

      “I don’t doubt it.” And he didn’t. Cora wasn’t the type to be cowed by an arrogant SOB like Jerry Heath. “But he can be a real bastard when he wants to be.”

      Becky laughed. “You could say that.”

      Rafael nodded. “If it counts for anything, when he and Willers told me about this, I told him he was a pain in the ass.”

      Cora settled more deeply into her seat. Digging in, he mused. She regarded him with a steady look. “I’m sure he took that well.”

      Becky snorted. “What a jerk.”

      She had no idea, Rafael thought. He’d been in a black rage since the confrontation in Willers’s office. He’d even threatened to walk off the project, but Jerry had been quick to point out that information had already been issued to the press. If Rafael left and took the prestige of his reputation with him, Jerry would ensure that Cora bore the blame in the eyes of the media and the college. Feeling trapped and hating nothing more than being manipulated and snared, Rafael had conceded, but not without choking several concessions out of Jerry and Henry Willers.

      The room had fallen silent, and Cora stared into her coffee mug, frowning intently.

      Becky touched Cora’s knee. “Cora, I talked to Willers’s secretary. She was my roommate last year, you know?” Cora nodded, so Becky continued, “They were going to take the entire project away from you. If Dr. Adriano hadn’t intervened, Jerry was just going to make you hand over the diaries to the college. He says you gave the college the rights to any historical records or artifacts you found in this house when you bought it from them.”

      “I did,” Cora muttered. “They wouldn’t sell it to me without that clause.”

      “So at least this way, you get to continue studying them,” Becky pointed out.

      Cora’s short laugh was humorless. “Thank God.” She gave him a cold look. “I should be grateful for that, I suppose.”

      He ground his teeth. He should have slugged Jerry when he had the chance. “You’re still in charge of the project,” he said. “I insisted on that.”

      Cora didn’t respond. Becky gave Rafael a worried look. “It doesn’t have to be that bad, Cora. I know you’re frustrated, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

      Cora took a sip of her coffee. “Becky,” she said patiently, too patiently, “do you have any idea what’s going to happen when the story gets out that Dr. Adriano is here to join this project?” Becky shook her head.

      Cora looked at Rafael and said, “Madness and mayhem.”

      Rafael decided it was time to tip his hand. “Money and media,” he corrected her. “And from what Jerry tells me, you need them both.”

      “We’re not desperate,” she insisted.

      “You don’t even have enough in your research funding to complete your examination of the existing diaries—much less for their preservation and authentication.”

      Becky nodded. “It’s true, Cora.”

      “I’ve got some promising leads,” Cora protested. “It’s—”

      Rafael cut her off. “I can guarantee you three million dollars by the end of the week.”

      Cora choked. “Three million?”

      “Oh, my God,” Becky said, wide-eyed.

      Rafael nodded, satisfied. That kind of grant money was unheard of in Cora’s field. She’d probably been hoping for several thousand. “And that’s just starters.”

      Cora stared at him. “What could possibly—”

      “The historic record tells us that in the fall of 1861 del Flores and his ship disappeared. He was last seen when he sailed from Savannah on a reported raid. He was supposed to prevent the French fleet from delivering supplies and munitions. The theory is that he encountered bad weather—maybe a hurricane—off the coast and sank.”

      “But you don’t think so,” Cora said.

      “No. I think he loaded the Isabela with five years’ worth of plunder and headed here, to rendezvous with Abigail. Wherever the Isabela is now, it’s probably still loaded with del Flores’s treasure.”

      “Wow,” Becky said. “It would be worth millions.”

      “One of the biggest finds ever,” Rafael concurred. “And the cultural significance of those artifacts is unimaginable. Until now, I’ve had nothing to study but del Flores’s own logs and papers. The chance to look at Abigail’s work…”

      “If they had an affair,” Becky said. “We don’t even know that for sure. She talks about her lover, but she never names him.”

      “I haven’t studied them all,” Cora conceded, “but I haven’t seen his name.”

      Rafael wasn’t deterred. “I want to compare what Abigail wrote with what I’ve already discovered about del Flores. If she makes references to her lover that correspond to the dates of his visits, then I can place them together circumstantially.”

      “What good will that do?” Becky asked.

      “It will explain why no one’s been able to find the ship off the coast of Savannah,” he said quietly. “Because it’s farther north. Closer to here.”

      “And you’ve got investors willing to stake that hunch?” Cora pressed.

      “I’ve got enough of a reputation that I can raise the money I need.”

      “Then why help me?” she probed. “With that kind of cash at your disposal, I’m sure you could persuade Jerry and the rest of the college to just hand you total control of the diaries.”

      He heard the bitterness in her voice. He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right on that account. He had enough clout to wrest the project from her completely, if that was what he wanted. But he didn’t merely want access to Cora Prescott’s house—he wanted all the privileges that came with having her on his team. “That’s not what I want. I’m no more interested in sacrificing Abigail Conrad to the fortune hunters than you are. I just want the truth.”

      “And the ship?”

      “I’ve spent my career looking for the Isabela.” He hesitated. He rarely discussed this. He’d been informed by some very knowledgeable people that he sounded far too intense. Frighteningly intense. “This is one more piece of the puzzle.”

      Cora frowned. “And that will bring every fortune hunter and relic seeker in the world to Cape Marr, hoping to beat you to the treasure.”

      Her tone was pure censure, condemning and condescending. He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. “The fact that my research is more accessible to the general public doesn’t make it any less valid than yours.”

      She gasped. “I didn’t mean—”

      “I’m