Her Passionate Protector Page 3

  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 l
ooking 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."

  It was a moment before she connected. Then a cold shiver attacked her spine. James Drummond had been indirectly responsible for the death of Granger and Rogan's father.

  "Damn." Granger's voice held unusual force. "And damn the judge who let him stay out of jail until the trial. Now there may not be one."

  "He threatened to kill Camille and Rogan!" He'd been prepared to stop at nothing to get at the Maiden's Prayer and her treasure before the Brodericks. Even murder.

  "Yes," Granger agreed grimly. "Though I don't suppose they're in any danger now that there's nothing he can get from them. He's probably only concerned with saving his own skin. He'll be lying low somewhere. Maybe out of the country."

  In a way Sienna hoped so. "Didn't he have to hand over his passport?"

  "As the police said when they opposed bail, he has contacts in the shipping industry from illegally exporting prohibited heritage items out of New Zealand. Let's hope Rogue and Camille don't find out about this until their honeymoon's over. It could put a damper on it."

  He refolded the paper and handed her a card, saying, "Call me if you need any more information about the job, and I do hope you're going to join us. Camille would be pleased."

  A few days after Sienna's return to the dig with her students, the team unearthed a cache of carved Maori weapons that might date back as far as pre-European times, and she invited Aidan to visit and give his advice.

  After agreeing with her assessment and helping secure the site, Aidan offered to treat the team to a drink in celebration, and at the conclusion of a couple of hours in a pub she found that her car wouldn't start. "My own fault," she admitted ruefully to the young men who fruitlessly opened up the engine and peered at the interior, jiggling wires. "It's been iffy lately but I was just too busy to get it checked."

  Rain began to fall, it was dark and she didn't fancy sitting around waiting for help. "I'll get a taxi," she said, "and call the AA in the morning."

  "I'll run you home," Aidan offered, having already piled several students into his car. One of them got out and insisted on her having the front seat.

  Aidan dropped off the students first at their hostel, and then in silence drove her to the small house she rented in the center of the city.

  Drawing up outside, he sat frowning through the windscreen as she unfastened her seat belt. "I'm sorry," he said, "if I've not been good company tonight."

  "You're always good company, Aidan," she assured him, pausing as she fumbled for the door handle.

  He gave a strained laugh. "Tell that to my wife," he muttered. "She thinks I'm a bore—I don't know what kind of life she expected with an archaeology lecturer, but it's not lively enough for her. And my salary won't stretch to the sort of lifestyle she'd like."

  Sharon Rutherford always gave an impression of being restless and bored at any university function she attended, and it was fairly obvious she didn't want to be there.

  "I'm sorry," Sienna murmured uncomfortably. Her fingers closed about the handle.

  "Don't go yet." He turned to her with a pleading expression.

  "Won't your wife be wondering where you are?"

  "I phoned her, said good night to Pixie and promised to give her a kiss if she's still awake when I get home." His daughter's name was Priscilla, but he called her Pixie.

  "Give Pixie a hug for me," Sienna said, beginning to open the door.

  "That's very sweet of you." As she turned away he said her name in a desperate undertone. "Sienna, I—" He grabbed at her free hand, holding tightly, then pulled the other one into an equally fierce grip and lunged toward her.

  Sienna sharply turned her head to the side. Dragging herself away, she said firmly, "Good night, Aidan. Thanks for the lift."

  As she hurried to her front door, he restarted the engine and roared away with an uncharacteristic screech of tires.

  Her heart was pounding, and she felt a shivery dismay.

  Aidan was close to the ideal man she had quite consciously set up in her mind, a man she could respect and admire. Who seemed to respect and like her. But although they worked closely together, at times she'd almost forgotten that he was male.

  It crossed her mind that Brodie Stanner would never have allowed her to forget that important fact. When she was with him she hadn't been able to put it out of her mind for a minute. He'd simply exuded masculinity and hadn't bothered to hide his interest in her. Not that she supposed it was exclusive. There'd been that blonde at the wedding reception, and no doubt if nothing had come of that he'd found another woman to take his fancy by now. Perhaps more than one…

  Impatiently she dragged herself back to the immediate problem.

  She couldn't—wouldn't—allow Aidan to endanger his marriage and embroil her in the resultant mess. The thought of following in her father's footsteps made her feel sick.

  She'd been fifteen when her parents' marriage had been torn apart by his affair with a woman he'd worked with. Two families had been shattered by the inability of two people to stand by their vows.

  No way was she going to be the cause of another man making the same mistake. Why couldn't he have maintained the comfortable working partnership of the past two years?

  She went to bed torn between pity for Aidan and a muted anger that he'd clumsily tipped the neutral balance of their relationship. Once that balance had shifted, they could never regain their previous equilibrium. And the tension would spill into her work.

  Next morning she phoned Granger Broderick and said, "I'm interested in that job with your company."

  Sienna allowed the university authorities to believe that her health was the main reason for her requesting indefinite leave of absence from the end of the semester. Her normal appetite hadn't returned and she was aware that her colleagues worried about her. The professor emeritus who had filled in while she was hospitalized was happy to return for the next semester. But when she confessed to Aidan that she was going to work on a marine archaeology project he was taken aback, even shocked. Sitting opposite her at his desk, he dropped the pencil he'd been idly playing with and stared as though he didn't believe what he was hearing. "This is connected to those artifacts your friend from the history department brought to you that were st
olen?" Surprising her with his vehemence, he said, "Sienna, I'd advise you to have nothing more to do with that!"

  "I know some archaeologists feel that working with treasure hunters compromises their integrity, but—"

  "You don't realize what you're getting into!" He leaned across the desk, his expression full of tension, his pale skin seeming even more so. "The field is full of thugs and thieves. Haven't you had enough trouble already?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "The burglary, and … well, isn't that enough? Suppose you'd been here when they broke in? Heaven knows what they might have done to you."

  He could have a point. Needing to keep her private assignment separate and secret, she had worked on the pieces in her own time, at all kinds of odd hours, so she might well have been in the lab alone when the burglars made their move. "It's kind of you to be so concerned," she said, touched despite herself, "but you said yourself that the break-in probably had no connection to those particular pieces, and more likely someone heard the students talking about the Maori jade ornaments and carvings we'd recovered from the dig. They were just lucky that the treasure hoard was here too."