gentlemanly streak before. He guided her down the path to the parking lot and opened the car door and waited while she slid into the seat.
They drove along the winding road that paralleled the ocean to a restaurant called the Panorama in the Fern Hill Hotel. The place sat on the mountainside on the outskirts of the city and the views were spectacular. The dining area was covered but sat out in the open air. There were white linen cloths on the tables and a candle sat in the middle of each one next to a small glass vase holding a single red hibiscus. Conn pulled out her chair, waited till she was seated, then sat down across from her.
“So what would you like to drink?”
Hope glanced around, checking out some of the other patrons. “I think I’ll have one of those fancy island drinks that come with an umbrella in it…a piña colada or something.”
“Try the Island Punch. That’s their specialty here.”
She gave her order to the waiter, while Conn ordered a Scotch and water on the rocks. She had started to think of him that way, as Conn instead of Conner or Reese. In a way she wished she could retain the formality, but after he had bought her the dress, it just didn’t seem possible anymore.
The waiter brought their drinks and for several long moments they sipped them in silence, looking out at the magnificent view of the harbor and the beach and the vast stretch of blue-green ocean beyond. Tiny sailboats leaned into the wind and a few stray clouds floated by overhead.
The sun didn’t set over the water on this side of the island, but still it was fun to watch the colors change as it slipped behind the lush green hills to the west.
Hope toyed with the swizzle stick in her Island Punch, a mixture of fruit juices and dark Jamaican rum that tasted utterly delicious.
“So…how did a guy like you manage to hook up with a guy like Brad Talbot?”
“A guy like me?”
“A man with the kind of skills to know about salvage boats and underwater search equipment and how to use it to find sunken treasure. Not a social climber with an extra fifty million in his pocket—or at least that’s my guess.”
“Actually, Eddie Markham knew Talbot.”
She swizzled her drink. “So how did you hook up with Emperor Eddie?”
Conn reached into the pocket of his khaki pants and pulled out a big gold coin. “It all started with this.” He turned the coin over in his palm, then handed it to her to examine. “I began carrying it for luck when we started this project.”
It was one of the Spanish coins she had seen on the Internet, a fantastically beautiful piece of treasure. Hope handed back the coin and listened for the next half-hour as he filled her in on how the venture had slowly come together. How Joe Ramirez had been with him the day he’d found the coin and insisted he show it to his old college professor.
In time, Conn and Dr. Marlin had become good friends. Together they had found out who owned the island, then went to see Eddie Markham in person. Markham had loved the idea of treasure hunting off the island. So much so, he had introduced them to Talbot, who agreed to back the venture.
“It took us three years to put the expedition together,” Conn said. “But unlike Mel Fisher, we haven’t got seventeen years to find the treasure.”
“How long do you have?”
“Talbot’s not the kind to hang in there very long. He wants the glory—and the money. I’d say we’ve got till the beginning of hurricane season to come up with something solid that will prove the ship is there.”
“And the season starts when?”
“Late May, first of June. The seas get rough after that. The sands start shifting. We’ll have to start again after the season ends in November, and without something concrete, we’ll probably have to do it with another backer.”
“If you can find one.”
“Yeah.”
But they both knew it wouldn’t be easy. Treasure hunting was very expensive, and very high-risk. And she knew he was