Her Passionate Protector

“Are you related to Rogan and Granger?” She supposed he could be a cousin or something.

He shook his head. “Nope, but Rogue and I have been hanging out together off and on since primary school. He’ll look after Camille, don’t worry about that.”

Her gaze flew back to him. How had he known she was concerned for her friend, who had fallen in love with a man Sienna couldn’t help thinking was all wrong for her? A man Camille herself had admitted was the very antithesis of what she’d thought was her ideal.

He said, “There’s no news about the stolen shipwreck items?”

She supposed if they were such old friends it was natural for him to be in Rogan’s confidence. She’d been asked to keep very quiet about the antique coins, jewelry and watches she’d been entrusted with. She’d explained when Camille enlisted her expertise that she’d have to take the head of the archaeology department partially into her confidence so she could use the university facilities, but she’d told no one else. “The police don’t seem to have any ideas.”

She felt unreasonably guilty about the theft, although Camille and Rogan had been very understanding. It wasn’t her fault that the laboratory where she’d been painstakingly removing a century and a half of verdigris and various accretions from the artifacts recovered from a wreck site somewhere out in the Pacific had been burgled while she was in hospital. Fortunately not before she’d taken full sets of photographs.

Other things had been stolen. Sienna’s students had been excavating a recently discovered pa site. The palisaded Maori village from which tattooed warriors had once defended their families against attack had long gone, leaving only a grassy terraced hillside. The dig had yielded priceless jade and bone ornaments and weapons to be studied before finding suitable homes with tribal descendants of the original owners or in museums. But these precious artifacts had now disappeared.

“Nothing’s been recovered,” she told Brodie.

“Well, I guess there’s more treasure under the sea, where Rogue found that lot,” Brodie said. “And Pacific Treasure Salvors will be back there as soon as the divers and equipment are ready, hopefully before anyone else gets to it.”

Although the Brodericks had done their best to keep quiet about their discovery and refused to talk to the media, it was an open secret that the Sea-Rogue had found a treasure ship, and rumor was rife about the new company’s plans. Even the name they’d given it was a dead giveaway. She supposed they’d seen no point in trying to disguise its purpose, since the secret was out anyway.

Sienna bit at her thumbnail, a frown creasing her forehead. Despite Camille’s assurance that the salvage would be carried out with due regard to the wreck’s historical importance, she wasn’t at all sure her friend hadn’t been dazzled by her dashing new husband into a false sense of security. Apparently the Broderick brothers’ father had been obsessed with finding a treasure ship, and Rogan looked to be following in the old man’s footsteps.

“What’s the matter?” Brodie asked curiously.

She dropped her hand. “I’m not sure about this company—disturbing a historic wreck.”

Brodie folded his arms, his eyes assessing her. “You want the ship to remain on the bottom of the ocean, untouched, until it rots away?”

“I’d just like to know that nothing of archaeological significance is lost because of ignorance or greed.”

Brodie’s eyebrows lifted. He said in a deceptively mild tone, “Don’t you trust Camille to make sure that doesn’t happen? She’s the official researcher and a qualified historian.”

“She’s in love!” Sienna shot back at him. “It tends to skew people’s thinking.” As Brodie cast her an inquiring look, she said hastily, “I’m sure she’ll do her best, but archaeology isn’t her specialty, and…”

“And you’re afraid that Rogan will influence her.” Brodie appeared slightly amused. “Don’t you realize the guy is crazy about her? He’d do anything for Camille. She only has to lift her little finger.”

“That may not last.” A shadow touched her heart, but she tried to keep it from reaching her face.

His expression was quizzical. “Cynic,” he accused. “A bit young for that, aren’t you? Twenty-five?”

“Twenty-seven.” She was well aware that he was fishing. He’d be about Rogan’s age, presumably—thirtyish. “Age has nothing to do with it. I’m being realistic.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Something inside her quivered. “Of course. Haven’t you?”

Brodie looked past her, and his eyes glazed. He said slowly, “Not…like that.”

Involuntarily she turned to see what had taken his attention. Camille and Rogan were framed in the open doorway, holding each other’s hands and for the moment alone. And it wasn’t the sun that lent that almost blinding glow to Camille’s face, or kindled the fierce light in her new husband’s eyes.

The picture held Sienna spellbound for a second, and an unaccountable lump rose in her throat. Rogan said something to his bride, and she gave him a smile that positively dazzled. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. It looked like an act of homage, and Sienna recalled the words from the traditional marriage service he’d spoken in the chapel earlier, “With my body I thee worship….”

She experienced a return of the poignant sense of desolation that had unexpectedly pierced her when a radiant Camille and blazingly proud Rogan had turned from the altar to begin their married life.

Brodie said softly, “You don’t think that will last?”

Wrenching her gaze away, Sienna lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? All I’m saying is I wouldn’t count on it.” For Camille’s sake she fervently hoped it would, but experience made her cautious of such predictions.

Brodie’s blue gaze was suddenly penetrating. “Want to bet on it?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t gamble.”

“That figures.”

It sounded like a derogatory comment, but she didn’t reply, instead shifting her attention again to the moored boats. “Is one of those the Sea-Rogue?” Camille and Rogan planned a short honeymoon on the boat they owned, before its refitting was completed and they put it to work as a dive tender for Pacific Treasure Salvors.

“She’s farther round the bay,” Brodie told her. “At the old fishing wharves.”

Sienna nodded. She looked away from the boats and started to get up. This time Brodie didn’t stop her.

“Well, nice talking to you,” she said distantly as he too rose to his feet.

He cocked his head, his questioning eyes openly doubting her sincerity, but he didn’t follow when she made her way to the now empty doorway.

Sienna found Camille who said, “I might go up and change soon. Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

“I’m fine,” Sienna insisted. “I’ve been sitting out in the sun.” Although Brodie had made sure she was under the shade of the umbrella.

“Oh, yes. Granger was hunting for you but he said Brodie seemed to be looking after you.”

“I don’t need looking after!”

Camille smiled at her vehemence. “You do look a bit fragile, and I suppose it brings out the protective instinct in the male of the species.”

“They can keep their instincts to themselves as far as I’m concerned.” A long time ago Sienna had learned there was no sanctuary in a man’s arms. That the only person she could rely on to look after her was herself.

Regarding her thoughtfully, Camille evidently decided not to comment. “It’s only about two weeks since you came out of hospital. You would have said, wouldn’t you, if you weren’t up to being my bridesmaid?”

“I told you,” Sienna replied, “it’s a pleasure. I didn’t want to miss it.” In truth, the pleasure was mixed with concern on her friend’s behalf. Impressed despite herself by Camille’s steadfast certainty, she hadn’t dared voice her own reservations.

A little later they went upstairs and Camille shed her wedding gown in favor of more practical cotton pants and a shirt. Most of the wedding party then decamped along the foreshore to see the newlyweds aboard the Sea-Rogue for their short honeymoon cruise, and as the boat slipped out of its berth some of the onlookers threw streamers across the widening gap and Camille tossed her bouquet to the wharf.

Sienna stepped back, her hands resolutely at her sides, but Granger deftly caught it, and when he presented it to her with one of his grave smiles and a faintly lifted eyebrow, she could hardly refuse to take the flowers.

Back at the hotel Granger told Sienna, “I’ve booked us a table for dinner here at seven-thirty. Camille’s mother and some other people will be joining us.”

Supposing that entertaining Mona Hartley was part of her bridal-attendant duties, Sienna said, “I’ll get changed and meet you in the dining room later.”

In her bathroom she freed her hair from its knot of curls and brushed it out, hoping it wouldn’t spring back into its usual wild corkscrews too quickly. The floor creaked as she crossed the old kauri boards to her suitcase and pulled out a plain sand-colored skirt and a sleeveless cream top embroidered with amber beads. The mirror in which she checked her appearance before going downstairs had a heavy carved wooden frame on which stylized Maori patterns were mixed with depictions of roses and lilies.

At the foot of the stairs she saw Brodie, one hand thrust into a pocket of his dark trousers, his collar open and his jacket slung across one shoulder. He watched her descend, his gaze swiftly encompassing her from head to toe and returning to her face with a gleam of masculine appreciation lurking in the vivid depths, and she wished she’d thought to take the old elevator instead, but for only one floor it hadn’t seemed worth it.

“Ready for your dinner?” he asked her.

“I’m having it with Granger,” she said coolly, fighting a ridiculous sense of pleasure at the way his hair gleamed in the light from a chandelier overhead, the blond streaks turning to gold.

“I know. Me too,” he replied, walking at her side as she made for the dining room. “I offered to wait for you.”

She wasn’t late, but when they entered, two women already sat with Granger at the round table—Camille’s mother and another middle-aged woman.

Mona looked pinched and put upon—not unusual in Sienna’s experience. The other woman, whom Granger smoothly introduced as Mollie Edwards, a good friend of his and Rogan’s late father, was cozily rounded with brass-colored curls framing her rather overpainted face, and a wide smile.

Sienna took to her immediately, but to help Granger out—and also to avoid having to talk too much to Brodie, whose presence she was all too conscious of at her side—she devoted a good deal of her attention during the meal to Mona. The woman had just seen her only child marry a man Sienna had a strong hunch she didn’t approve of. Though it seemed that Mollie’s presence had more to do with Mona’s offended air than did the loss of her daughter.

Granger occasionally caught Sienna’s eye with a hint of grateful appreciation in the turquoise depths of his, and attempted to keep the conversation general around the table.

Brodie had discarded his suit and wore casual gray pants and a T-shirt. When his bare arm brushed against hers as he reached for salt, Sienna felt as though the tiny hairs on her skin had been charged with a current of electricity. It must be the dry seaside air, she thought, confused. The same phenomenon that caused her clothes to crackle sometimes when she shed them.

Mollie was excited that Rogan and his brother, along with Camille who had inherited half of the Sea-Rogue, were planning to raise the treasure their late father had discovered. “Barney always knew he’d find it someday.” She wiped a small tear from her eye with her table napkin.

Mona gave a scornful little laugh. “I have my doubts about this whole thing.” She speared a piece of fish on her plate. “Camille won’t even tell me what all the excitement is about. After all,” she complained, “my husband was Barney’s partner, I think I’m entitled.”

Granger studied her for a moment, then said quietly, “I’m sure you can keep a secret, Mona. Rogan’s already recovered coins and a few pieces of jewelry from the wreck Barney found. The cargo, if we can recover it, could be worth a great deal.”

Brodie swallowed a mouthful of his rare steak. “Even passengers’ effects might bring in quite a lot of money, coming from a historic wreck.”

Mona sniffed. “What difference can that make?”

Granger explained, “Sunken treasure accrues value from its history. A romantic shipwreck story and a certificate of authenticity make for a better price at auction.”

Sienna commented, “It’s an artificial inflation. Part of this whole business of commercial treasure hunting.”

Brodie turned to her. “Can you give an expert opinion,” he asked her, “on the possible worth of the pieces Rogan had?”

She had to meet his eyes, finding them blindingly blue and disconcertingly close. She could see her own face reflected in them, giving her an odd feeling of unwanted intimacy. For a moment she couldn’t recall what the conversation was about. Pulling herself together, she said, “The brief I was given was to try to find out where and when they were made, to help identify the wreck. I’m sure Rogan and Granger will get the highest prices possible.”

Mollie’s look at Sienna was disappointed. “You sound as though you disapprove.”

Brodie said, sounding amused, “Sienna’s suspicious of treasure hunters.” His eyes teased her, still holding her gaze until she wrenched it away as Mollie spoke to her.

“Why?” Mollie asked. “You’re too young to be bitter and twisted about it.” She directed a meaningful look at Mona, who almost choked on another morsel of fish.

Granger’s gaze went to Sienna. “I’m sure you have good reasons. Would you like to tell us what they are?”

Sienna suspected he knew very well, or could at least make an educated guess. But the men obviously hoped, by throwing Sienna into the arena, to avoid open female warfare.

Ignoring the over-respectful look that Brodie turned on her, she said, “Old shipwrecks contain a lot of information about life in former times. Ships might remain preserved in mud or sand for centuries, until someone disturbs that protection and leaves them open to decay.”

Beside her Brodie moved slightly, and she heard him take in a breath as though about to say something, but without giving him the chance, she continued defiantly, “Nothing should be removed from a wreck before an archaeological survey is conducted and the site properly mapped.”

Mollie looked dubious. Brodie tipped his chair and hooked one arm over the back of it to lazily study Sienna. He said, “It costs a hell of a lot to salvage a wreck properly. Even archaeologists aren’t keen on going ahead without hard evidence that it’s going to be worthwhile. And most of them don’t have the money or expertise to do it.”

Mona gave a genteel snort, perhaps of corroboration.

“It seems to be a constant dilemma,” Granger agreed, confirming Sienna’s suspicion that he hadn’t needed to be informed of the problem. “It’s only by bringing in investors that anyone can exploit a remote, difficult wreck—and investors expect a profit.”

Sienna acknowledged that reluctantly, glad to concentrate on him instead of Brodie. “Only, irresponsible divers can ruin a heritage that belongs to us all. Priceless objects have been melted down for their metal. It’s criminal!”

Brodie was still regarding her, his gaze turning curious. “Not all treasure hunters are looters and vandals,” he told her. “And your colleagues can be so pigheaded that in the end no one benefits.”

“Pigheaded?” She flashed him a hostile look.

“What’s the point of barring salvors from exploring wrecks that are breaking up and being scattered all over the seabed? Or due to go under earthworks in harbors and be buried for all time?”

“I hope that wouldn’t happen.”

“It has happened. And that’s criminal, surely? Salvage is damned hard work.” Brodie let his chair drop back to the floor and leaned toward her, one strong forearm on the table. “Dangerous too, with far more disappointments than successes. Most of what divers recover goes to museums or private collections, where they’re cared for and available for people like you to study.”

“But treasure hunters’ primary concern is money,” Sienna objected. She gave him a challenging stare, her passion for the subject making her bold. The prickling sensations running up her arms must signal antipathy for his argument, she thought.

He looked at her almost pityingly. “It’s not a sin to be paid for what you do. And guys who dive for treasure aren’t in it just for the money. There’s a thrill in finding something precious that’s been under the sea for a hundred or even a thousand years. You’d know that.”

“Of course!” She knew how it felt to unearth a Victorian china cup or a pre-European carved Maori implement, and speculate who had owned it, who had crafted it, how they had lived so long ago, how and when they had died.

Granger regarded her thoughtfully across the table. “I know you have a secure position at the university, Sienna,” he said, “but I wonder if you would consider joining Pacific Treasure Salvors as our official archaeologist?”

Chapter 2

Sienna stared back at Granger. “Me?”

He didn’t smile. “Camille mentioned before you got ill that she’d like to have you on board. I was going to broach this to you tomorrow, but as the subject’s come up…”

Brodie glanced Granger’s way, and some kind of wordless exchange briefly passed between them. Sienna wondered if there was a reason Camille hadn’t done the asking earlier. Maybe the men had wanted to check her out.

Mollie’s eyes sparkled. “It sounds exciting. If I were you, dear, I’d jump at the chance. I’ve got a little investment in the company myself. For Barney’s sake.”

Mona looked as though she was about to roll her eyes.

Sienna was bemused. Of course she didn’t want to be any part of a treasure hunt. Did she? “I don’t think—”

Brodie interrupted. “You’d get to make sure things are done the way you think they should be.”

Granger added, “Camille said you’re experienced at scuba work.”

“I’ve done some,” Sienna admitted. She’d learned to dive as a teenager, so in her student days when an ancient Maori canoe was discovered buried in the silt of a tidal estuary, she’d been seconded by the professor in charge of the underwater excavation and had taken advanced courses to improve her skills. “But most of my wreck diving has been recreational.”

Granger said, “I hope you’ll give our offer some thought. I’ll be happy to supply details anytime.”

Even as she shook her head, starting to say thanks but no thanks, Brodie argued, sitting back in his chair again to fix her with a direct look. “If you’re really worried about the site being ruined this is your chance to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Sienna hesitated, and Granger flicked Brodie a slightly amused glance. “He’s right. But your university job isn’t something to be treated lightly. Nor, I understand, is possibly risking your reputation among your peers. I know a lot of archaeologists regard working with treasure salvors as incompatible with their profession.”

Granger’s understanding and Brodie’s challenge made her seem stuffy and overcautious—and more interested in preserving her position and salary than in her avowed mission of saving precious remnants of the past. She directed a suspicious look at Granger, but his expression was perfectly serious, his eyes blandly meeting hers.

“There’s no immediate hurry to make a decision,” he told her. “The Sea-Rogue won’t be sailing again until the hurricane season’s over, and we have a top-notch salvage team and the necessary equipment in place. Camille intends to finish the semester. Maybe if you decide not to take the job you could recommend someone.”

Then he turned to Mona, offering to refill her wineglass, and the subject was dropped.

After she’d gone to bed, Sienna lay listening to the breakers gently washing the sand, the occasional sound of a car passing by, voices carrying on the clear night air.

She shouldn’t even be thinking about Granger’s surprising proposition, but her mind wouldn’t let it go.

What he was offering could be an escape from a niggling worry that she’d put to the back of her mind.

She’d scarcely thought about Aidan Rutherford, her head of department, since coming to Mokohina.

Aidan had visited almost daily when she was in hospital, bringing flowers, books and exotic foodstuffs that he hoped would tempt her appetite. He’d even volunteered to keep an eye on her home and water her plants and feed the little cat that had adopted her.

One afternoon, he’d caught her hand in his and leaned toward her, saying her name in an urgent undertone. But when her startled gaze flew to his earnest brown eyes he’d suddenly dropped her hand, sat back and pinched the skin on the bridge of his long nose, his expression hidden as he muttered, “I hope you’ll be better soon. I…we miss you in the staff room.”

On her first day back at work his rather melancholy face lit up with relief when she walked into his office. He’d come round his desk and taken both her hands, then brushed a light kiss across her cheek, and after stepping back there was color in his normally sallow cheeks. He’d passed a hand over his thinning hair before retreating behind his desk and assuming a businesslike manner, to her considerable relief.

If Aidan ever showed signs of more than friendly interest they were both in trouble. He was married.

Not only married, but with a delightful brown-eyed daughter of six years.

Apart from an aversion to messy extramarital affairs between colleagues that led to gossip and tensions and sometimes wrecked careers and lives, and Sienna’s own moral and very personal objections to breaking up a marriage, no way could she be responsible for hurting a child.

He was the kind of man she’d hoped one day to meet, but he was definitely off limits.

Maybe she was mistaking concern at her illness for something else. But even though she tried to believe that, she couldn’t shake the uneasy knowledge that lately Aidan had been looking at her in a way she found disquieting, hurriedly shifting his gaze when he saw she’d noticed.

There were soft footsteps in the passageway, and someone quietly opened and closed a door. A light flickered against the window for a few minutes, then went out, leaving the room seemingly darker than before.

Resolutely Sienna closed her eyes. Images of the day imprinted themselves on her lids like a moving slide show. Camille’s radiant face, the sunlight that had flashed briefly on the gold band Rogan placed firmly on his bride’s finger, Granger reaching to catch the bouquet that now sat in a vase on the low table by the window. She had no idea what she was going to do with it. Probably leave it for the hotel staff to take care of.

The last clear picture she saw before drifting off was of Brodie Stanner looking at her with studied concentration when she threw back at him his question about ever having been in love. And she heard again the strange intensity in his voice as he lifted his gaze to watch Rogan and Camille and said, “Not like that.”

Rogan had arranged for Granger to drive Sienna to Auckland where he had his home and legal practice, and she was booked on a flight to take her from there farther south to Palmerston North, where she’d pick up her own car and drive to her house near the Rusden campus.

On the way he told her what terms the company could offer an archaeologist, and at the airport insisted on carrying her bag to the counter. He bought a newspaper, and while she checked in, he glanced over a couple of pages.

As Sienna turned back to him with her boarding pass in her hand he gave a soft exclamation and frowned down at something he was reading.

“What is it?” she asked.

Granger looked up, his mouth hardening. “James Drummond’s broken his bail conditions. Apparently he hasn’t been seen for two months.”