Page 97 of Ship Outta Luck

“It should be here.” I slam my hand on the base of the captain’s chair.

“This would be easier with another boat, huh?” He winces. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Thompson and Thorne’s boat isn’t going to make it in time. They ran into some trouble with a team of smugglers waiting off the coast, and thought it better to go radio silent just in case.

Now they’re too far out to get here anytime soon.

A dull beep catches my attention. At this point, I can’t muster any excitement.

The thrill of discovery’s long since worn off, once all the beeping only proved that there were a lot of really big fish swimming about.

Freaking amberjack.

Sighing, I’m afraid to look, disappointment already settling deep in my gut.

“Wait.” Dean’s voice triggers a fresh rush of adrenaline. “June, look. June.”

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs, my chest expanding as I search the grayscale screen. It beeps again. This… if this is a fish, it is a mother-loving whale shark.

I continue my pass over the object, easing up on the throttle. My gaze cuts to the depth finder, which also beeps a small warning. Forty feet. Thirty feet.Holy crapola.

Finally, the fish finder shows we’ve reached the end of the object.

The keys slide in my clammy hands. The engine dies, and I stumble from the captain’s chair.

“I’m gonna be sick,” I mutter.

This is it.It has to be.

Dean calls my name, but I can’t focus on him right now. No way.

The metal barrier of the catwalk is hellishly hot on my hand. Carefully, I pick my way to the front of the boat, to the heavy metal anchor that is plenty long enough to cut into the silt and sand of this shallower water.

Water that, in the danged middle of the Gulf of Mexico, has absolutely no right to be so shallow.

A drum beats in my chest, picking up speed. My heart races so fast I can hardly catch my breath. In a smooth, practiced motion, I throw the anchor overboard, where it splashes and fizzes into a cloud of white bubbles.

Immediately, the boat slows, no longer at the mercy of the current. Then the anchor bites, and I brace myself against the railing.

Mud and silt fly, clouding the water.Dang it.

A deep breath steadies me. I need to calm the fudge down. If I do this wrong, if this… shadow blip is what is left of theSantu Espiritu, I need to do everything right. Take it slow. Stirring muck up from the bottom won’t help visibility once I’m down there.

“June, did you hear anything I just said?”

“Get the diving buoy out. It’s in the cabin. I need to check my tanks. Do you know how to dive?”Idiot. Of course he knows how to dive. He’s an ex-Marine, for crying out loud.

I glance over to where he stands. The salt spray and dirt across the glass windshied in front of the captain’s chair impedes most of my the view of his face, but his eyes narrow in concentration. One finger runs across the screen of the fish finder. His other hand is on the sat phone, dialing a number, rattling off coordinates to someone I can only assume is Pierce.

A pop sounds as I roll my neck, then my shoulders. Breath leaves my chest in a slow exhalation.

For all my father’s faults, he steered me to our goal. I don’t have time for DEA bullshit. This is the find of my career, of my lifetime.

TheSantu Espirituis down there, I’m sure of it.

Certainty settles in, followed by confidence and excitement. Even if my dad didn’t bother to tell me about his find while he was alive, I’ve found it now.

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