Free Stolen Chances by Elisabeth Naughton Page A

generous cabin below. But knowing her father, Maren suspected the technology on board would be state-of-the-art—GPS, side scan sonar, Doppler, Pulse 12 metal detector, the works. The man never did anything half-assed.
    Unless of course it had anything to do with family. Then he didn’t give a damn.
    Forcing back the contempt and reminding herself to keep the mood light and noncombative, she climbed on board and tossed her backpack on the deck. A quick peek in the pilothouse confirmed her predictions, and she let out a slow whistle. “Patrick spent a pretty penny on this.”
    “Investors did,” Thad said, easing by her.
    When he passed, Maren caught a hint of that husky male scent as the air stirred near her and his warm body brushed by. That moment back at camp rushed through her memory, the way his skin had tingled against hers when he’d shaken her hand. How hot and alive he’d been next to her. Refocusing on why she was here, she glanced up with the intent of smiling politely, then noticed his profile and couldn’t help but falter.
    Chiseled jaw, strong neck, square chin, and lush, masculine lips. Every bit the man she still dreamed about at night, and the one she saw in her daughter’s face every time she looked at her. Emotions tightened her chest, mixing with memories she fought to keep back. Averting her eyes, she turned away and blinked several times to keep from getting sucked back under.
    “Lab’s set up in the salon downstairs,” he said.
    Thankful for the distraction—and the fact he hadn’t seemed to notice her little hiccup—she headed for the stairs. Being close to him was hard enough without the added knowledge he was aware of her. And the fact he hadn’t argued with her when she’d proposed they put the past behind them and simply be professional colleagues? That just proved there was nothing left between them and that he’d moved on long ago. A good thing, she assured herself.
    So why did that knowledge depress her?
    Shaking off the crazy thoughts, she moved down the stairs into the main salon. As she’d expected, the Escapade wasn’t merely a sailing vessel, but a full-fledged working research vessel. A long counter against one wall and large, rectangular table in the middle of the salon would suffice for the work she needed to do once they started gathering artifacts. There was a small galley ahead and a door leading to two staterooms. After glancing around the bedrooms, she turned back for the salon. If nothing else, the extra room on board might come in handy if she decided to work late some night or just wanted to get away from the group.
    Back at the counter, she took out her notebook, slipped on her glasses, and focused on making lists of chemicals and supplies she’d need. Even though her father’s main goal was La Malinche , they were bound to unearth other important artifacts. To keep her ruse up, she’d have to play her part to the letter.
    They’d need more containers, muriatic acid for cleaning brass, bronze, and copper pieces, citric acid for electrolyte cleaning. She’d have to pick up nylon brushes in town, bags for labeling and cataloging finds, and picks and hammers to dislodge conglomerate—the chunks of calcium carbonate that formed over objects underwater after centuries of chemical reactions.
    As Thad had explained to her on the drive to the marina, the artifacts would be cleaned, bagged, and stored, then shipped to a research lab in Mexico once the dig was complete.
    She reached for her laptop in the bag at her feet and began typing in notes and making lists of what still needed to be done to prepare for the work ahead.
    Still busy two hours later, she barely heard Thad when he wandered into the cabin. With her notebook open next to her, her eyes busily scanning the pages, and her fingers clicking across the keyboard, she didn’t look up until he shifted his weight and cleared his throat.
    “Drummer and I are heading into town to pick up supplies at the dive