Page 101 of Ship Outta Luck

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

JUNE

Sea life glimmers,parading all around us. Even the elusive amberjack make a showy appearance, massive silver bodies gleaming where the sun hits them, dazzling as they school above me, chasing smaller prey.

Vicious, nearly as long as I am, a sport fisher’s wet dream.

But I turn my gaze, focusing on what lay beneath them, mostly buried in mud and muck, the teeming fish a sign that it’s been here a long time, an artificial reef sunk in a devastating storm.

Dean trails behind me, as great a dive partner as I could ask for.

I close my eyes, trying to steady my body, my breathing.

At this rate, I’m sucking down oxygen too fast. Slow and steady. Relaxing will help the tanks last longer.

Something flashes in the sand, catching my eye, as we swim towards the looming structure. Pausing, I fan a foot over it, hovering, hoping it isn’t just a stingray waiting to jab its next meal. More likely a shellfish, but it never hurts to be careful.

If this is the site of a massive archaeological find, I can’t overlook the chance that this isn’t just some pretty shell.

When nothing rises out of the sand, I dig my hand through it. Particles trickle around my fingertips, and I rub my other hand against it.

Disbelief surges. A hand grips my shoulder, and I stare at Dean, then back to the object in my hand. I can’t look away from the dull, barely glimmering object.

Holding it up, I swear I hear Dean let out a laugh through his equipment. Bubbles wreath my face as I laugh into my own respirator.

The circular gold piece is heavy against my palm, the design eroded after over four centuries in the sand. The recent hurricanes must have shifted the seafloor, likely uncovering more of the wreck.

Because the gold piece…

It’s a sure sign that the reef teeming with sea life in front of us is, in fact, the remains of theSantu Espiritu.

My heart hammers against my chest, and I close my eyes for a brief moment, attempting to regain some control over my body.

Finally, I open my eyes.

The reef is still there. Fish still swim around it, obscuring it from view. And Dean. Dean floats next to me, his expression inscrutable under the respirator and mask. I tuck the piece into a small zipper pouch hanging from my tank straps, careful to secure it.

This is it.

Elation spreads through my body, making my limbs feel even more weightless than the buoyant saltwater. My dad left clues to his life’s work. To the wreck he told me stories of as he tucked me into bed at night, the ship we’d worked together to find underthe hot Texas sun for most of my life. This was forme, not for some criminal organization.

He hadn’t been running drugs.

Bubbles pour from my respirator, and I swim towards the structure with my heart in my throat. Saltwater pools at the bottom of my mask, but it isn’t from the sea. I swim faster, Dean keeping pace beside me, the long fins propelling us through the water. Amberjack scattering as we approach.

A rotting wood pier juts from the seafloor and I pinch my nose, decompressing my ears before swimming down to inspect it. Dean swims on, powering through the water.

Gently, I fan a hand over its surface, sending several irritated shrimps curling their bodies away, legs fluttering in the current. Emerald-green algae and crimson barnacles distort the carved imagery, but I would know it anywhere. I bring a hand to my mouth, forgetting the respirator is there.

TheSantu Espiritu.

The woman’s mostly disintegrated face takes on an eerie, nightmarish quality underwater, the wooden hair fanning around her face covered in living creatures. She was built to withstand the onslaught of salt and sun, and she’d withstood the currents and tides of the gulf for almost five hundred years.

Blowing out the breath in my lungs, I sink to my knees on the seafloor next to the sad remnants of the figurehead.

Any lingering doubts long gone.

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