Everything To Prove. Nadia Nichols

was that?

      He crammed the six-pack, less two, into the little propane refrigerator in the galley and then went up on deck, breathless again after climbing the ship’s ladder, and kicked back to enjoy the sunset. If he had the energy he’d take the cabin cruiser out and do a little fishing. Try for a halibut, maybe. Halibut was good eating, fit for a king…even an old and injured one. But he felt too run-down to cast off the lines and fire up the cruiser’s engines. Maybe after a beer or two he’d feel better. Younger. More like his old self.

      Old? Whoa. Poor choice of words.

      He took a long swallow and gazed out at the looming snowcapped Chugach Mountains, aglow with a clear yellow fire in the late-evening sunlight. He thought about the unexpected visitor he’d had, and the offer she’d made. Libby Wilson had beautiful eyes and was quiet spoken. Didn’t chatter. He liked that about her. Came right out and said what she wanted to say. He’d treated her a little rudely, but she was just too damned pretty. If she’d been ugly he’d have been nicer. Anyway, odds were he’d never see her again. A measly five grand wasn’t even worth gassing up the plane for.

      On the other hand, Evening Lake was mighty good fishing at the right time of year, and the right time of year was coming up quick. Still, finding a wrecked plane when one didn’t know exactly where it went down would be time-consuming…not that he couldn’t do it. She had a helluva nerve intimating that he might not be up to the task and that his skills might only be worth five thousand dollars.

      What was in the plane that she wanted to get her hands on? Obviously something of value that the pilot had been bringing to Libby Wilson’s mother on her wedding day. Something of great value, considering the girl’s keen interest in recovering the plane. Wedding day… His own experience with such events was shallow at best, a whirlwind courtship with a student he’d met while teaching a dive school in New York City nine years ago, followed by a marriage that began in Las Vegas with a cheap gold ring and ended barely a year later. A bitter year it had been, too, a year of disillusionment, betrayal and hurt that had plagued every moment of their doomed marriage. Brown-eyed Barbara McGee with the sweet, pretty smile that had lured him into such an ugly hell of emotional bondage. Barbara, who loved the nightlife, loved to party and didn’t know how to sit home at night alone when he was off working a salvage job.

      Didn’t know how to be faithful.

      Lesson learned the hard way. Love is blind, deaf and very, very dumb.

      Anyhow, it was pointless to reopen old wounds thinking about his own brief and ill-fated marriage. The wedding scenario Libby Wilson had described was completely different. She was talking billionaire groom on his way to marry his beloved. Flying his own plane to his own wedding. And in that plane he was ferrying proof of his undying love. Jewelry. That had to be it. A big diamond, possibly huge. Maybe an enormous diamond ring and matching necklace, bracelet and, what the hell, a tiara. Daniel Frey’s rich godson could afford to go overboard on his bride. A veritable treasure trove could be sitting on the bottom of Evening Lake inside a de Havilland Beaver that crashed twenty-eight years ago.

      Carson eased his bad leg out in front of him and took another swallow of beer. Finding the plane didn’t have to be a full-crew job. He’d need to call Trig after he found the wreckage, but he could search for the plane himself. The search itself wouldn’t be physically difficult, just tedious. He’d work the search pattern using the rubber boat with the side-scanning sonar and GPS and map out the bottom of the lake lane by lane, like mowing a giant lawn. He could do that alone, no sweat. He could pack up his tent, the rubber boat, some supplies and the sonar gear and fly up to Evening Lake. Worst-case scenario, he’d make five grand taking a working vacation and maybe get some good fishing in on the side. A big lake trout or two broiled over the coals would taste pretty good. And what the hell, it sure beat sitting around the office wishing he were out with the boys on the Pacific Explorer, that sleek, beautiful forty-eight-foot dive vessel that was the pride of his salvage operation.

      Or wondering why Gracie hadn’t been by. Not since the accident had that sultry, sexy bartender from the pool hall paid him a visit. She, too, was probably convinced he’d never be a whole man again and had sought out greener pastures.

      He finished the first beer and cracked open the second. Halfway through it he went below to snag his cell phone. Back on deck, after he’d caught his breath, he called the Airport Hotel and asked to be connected to Libby Wilson’s room.

      “Dodge here,” he said when she answered. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal and I have a counter proposal of my own.”

      “Go ahead,” she said, cool voiced and calm, as if she’d been expecting his call.

      “I’m teaching a deep-diving rescue-and-recovery course at the university this weekend. I can fly up and look the situation over on—” he glanced at his wrist watch “—June 15. That’s a Monday, five days from now.”

      “All right.”

      “If I like what I see I’ll take the job and play by your terms if we don’t find the plane.”

      “And if we do find it?”

      “You shell out one hundred and fifty grand minimum, and it could shake out to be more if the salvage costs run high. Odds are I’m going to end up with a huge loss I can’t particularly afford right now. I’ll want the five grand up front, and I’ll want the salvage contract in legalese, signed, sealed and delivered into my hand upon arrival at the lake.”

      On her part there was no hesitation whatsoever, which reinforced his theory of huge diamonds. Millions of dollars’ worth of rare and priceless jewels. “Fine,” she said. “Will you be bringing your crew?”

      “Until the plane is located, I won’t be needing any crew.”

      There was a pause. “No offense intended, Mr. Dodge, but are you sure you’re up to doing this by yourself?”

      “I’m up to anything you can throw at me,” Carson responded, inwardly bristling. “Where should I hook up with you?”

      “There’s a new fishing lodge almost directly across the lake from Daniel Frey’s place. I believe it’s called the Lodge on Evening Lake. That’s where I’ll be staying. I’ll see you on Monday the fifteenth, Mr. Dodge.”

      She hung up before he could, and he stuffed the cell phone into his pocket with a silent curse and finished off his second beer while nursing his twice-bruised ego.

      LIBBY REPLACED THE PHONE in its cradle and then sat up in her bed with a surge of panic that centered around a horrible thought. What if Dodge found the wreckage, but her father’s remains couldn’t be found? What if she couldn’t prove her paternity? She’d never be able to come up with the money to pay him off. It would take years. She reached for the phone to call him back and tell him the truth, then paused. She’d led him to believe that the plane held great treasures, and to her it did. But if she told Dodge he was looking for bones, what were the odds he’d take the job? She drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She had nothing to fear. Her father’s bones wouldn’t have dissolved, and they’d be with the plane.

      Wouldn’t they?

      She glanced over at her mother. Marie was sleeping. It had been a long day for her, and while the medicine she’d received at the hospital had begun the process of making her feel better, in the interim she was far better off sleeping. Chronic lymphocytic leukemia. Marie Wilson deserved a whole lot better than that. She deserved to live the way she should have been living for the past twenty-eight years, and would have been if Daniel Frey hadn’t sent her away, denouncing her claim that Connor was the father of her child when he knew Connor loved her and was on his way to marry her.

      “I’m going to nail the bastard for what he did, Dad,” Libby said. “I swear to you, I will.”

      Dad.

      She’d lived with the idea of him all her life, but it had been an elusive idea. Nothing more than a picture on her mother’s bureau. Not one he’d given Marie, but one an employee at Frey’s lodge had stolen and passed to her