And that was all before the approaching hurricane had begun to stir up the ocean around the salvage site.
He wasn’t surprised his partners hadn’t managed to haul up the last of the booty before the sun set. But he was surprised to hear LT add, “And to make matters worse, looks like Julia is going to hit us after all.”
The hairs on Doc’s arms lifted in warning. He tugged on his ear. “I thought the meteorologists said she was only going to skim us with her outer edges.”
“Apparently she changed her mind and changed directions.” LT made a face. “New projections say she’ll smack us head-on before turnin’ to make landfall somewhere around New Orleans.”
“Fuck,” Mason muttered. The man was a born and raised Bostonian. When he did deign to speak, it was a safe bet the F-bomb would be involved.
“She’s currently a Category 2, but they’re estimatin’ she’ll be a 3 by the time she reaches us,” LT continued, and Doc heard his molars creak when he gritted his teeth together.
As a bona fide landlubber, he’d never gotten completely comfortable with the tropical storms that crashed through the Straits of Florida on a yearly basis. Luckily, in the time he’d lived on Wayfarer Island, the biggest hurricane he’d had to weather had topped out at a Category 2.
Even then, he’d thought the beach house was going to blow down.
He shuddered to remember how the rain hadn’t fallen from the sky so much as it’d been flung through the air like tiny, watery missiles that’d pummeled his exposed skin. How his hair had whipped around so violently that it’s stung when it made contact with his face.
“How much time do we have?” Bran asked, his arm tightening around his wife’s shoulders.
“We’ll probably start feelin’ the winds of her leading edges around noon tomorrow,” LT said.
“Which gives us tomorrow morning to finish bringing up what’s left of the loot.” Bran’s concerned expression cleared. “Bada bing, bada boom. Easy peasy.”
Bran was a New Jerseyan through and through and couldn’t help sounding like an extra off The Sopranos.
LT’s jaw muscles worked hard against the gum in his mouth. He used a hand to indicate the ship around him. “There’s no way we’ll be able to outrun the hurricane in Wayfarer II if we wait to leave until the storm is almost on top us. She’s not fast enough. We’ll hafta anchor her on the leeward side of the island and cross our fingers she rides out the storm.”
“Um.” Alex raised her hand, her freckled nose wrinkling. “Is that really the best idea? I mean, what if she sinks? The treasure will go down with her.” She frowned. “Not that we couldn’t salvage it again, of course. But for the love of all that’s holy, what a pain in the ass.”
“Which is why I say we should sail her to Key West tonight.” LT’s drawl always grew more pronounced when he was keyed up and working through a problem.
“And leave what’s left of the treasure behind?” One pitch-black eyebrow winged up Wolf’s forehead. “I know we were thinkin’ we got all but about one, maybe two percent of it up today. But two percent of half a billion dollars is still ten million. Are we really okay lettin’ the storm come in and scatter ten million benjis across the ocean floor?”
Whereas LT had grown up in New Orleans and spoke with the elongated vowels of the South, Wolf had a twang that was right out of an old Western, thanks to having spent his formative years on a reservation in northeast Oklahoma.
LT pinned a look on Mia. “You got everything cataloged and recorded at the site for the state, yeah? Everything you need to finish the paperwork?”
Mia nodded and the movement caused a lock of strawberry-blond hair to fall into her face. Romeo casually, almost absently, brushed it behind her ear. “The actual hands-on archeological part of my job is finished,” she assured LT. “All that’s left is to photograph the final pieces once you’ve brough them up.”
LT ran a finger under his chin. After a couple of seconds, he declared, “Then I volunteer to stay behind and salvage what’s left tomorrow mornin’. I’ll load it into Uncle John’s catamaran and head west. The sailboat is faster than Wayfarer II. I’ll sail out of the path of the storm and hang out in calm water until it passes. Then we can all meet back here in two days. Three days tops.”
Doc opened his mouth to tell LT there was no way in hell he was letting him stay back to finish salvaging the treasure alone, but Dana beat him to the punch by asking, “Will the tide still be covering the reef tomorrow morning?”
“Accordin’ to the charts it will,” LT assured her. “Plus, Julia will be pushin’ the ocean ahead of her. So we should be good to go.”
“I’ll need to stay to make sure of that, of course,” Dana said.
“I’m stayin’ too,” Uncle John piped up. He was dressed in his standard getup of baggy cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that was bright enough to blind a person. “I’m better at sailin’ the cat than you are anyway.”
When LT opened his mouth to argue, Uncle John—who was technically only LT’s biological uncle, but who held the honorary title when it came to the rest of them—lifted a wide, callused hand. “My mind’s made up, boy. And you know better than to argue with me once that’s happened.”
LT snapped his mouth shut, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. It was obvious he wished to finish the job himself. But as Doc’s father had been so fond of saying, You can wish in one hand and shit in the other, and just see which one fills up faster.
“I’m staying too,” Doc told LT, making sure his tone brooked no argument at the same time he shoved the toothpick back into his mouth. “It’ll go faster tomorrow with both of us working.”
“And as your lawyer,” Cami interjected, “I’m duty-bound to stay until the very last coin is recovered.”
“I’m staying if you’re staying,” Olivia told LT.
“No.” LT shook his head, staring down at his dark-haired wife. “I want you safe in Key West.”
Oliva arched an imperious-looking eyebrow. “Safe? The way you tell it, there’s no danger. We’ll be long gone before Julia hits, right?”
“It’s settled then,” Doc declared with a decisive nod. “The six of us will stay here and finish the job while everyone else makes sure the salvage ship and the rest of the treasure is hell and gone out of Julia’s path.”
“Please say we have time to eat before heading to Key West.” Alex’s Kewpie doll mouth was pursed into a bow. “I’m starving.”
“I swear you must have a hollow leg,” Chrissy harrumphed.