her laptop back at the villa, since she wasn’t sure what kind of power she would have out at sea, and instead brought her AlphaSmart, a lightweight keyboard with a four-line screen that did word processing and ran for a hundred hours on four flashlight batteries.
Thank God she’d be able to use the Conquest ’s computer to do the Internet work she needed and bring up her e-mail—assuming Reese didn’t purposely keep the machine in use. She made a mental note to break out a little of Grandpa’s twenty thousand she had stashed away and buy what she needed before she started her next assignment.
Hope checked her watch. Time for her tour. She needed to know more about the boat and the equipment aboard, and Reese looked like a guy who knew his end of the business—the operations part, according to Artie Green. She found herself wondering about him, what his background was and how he had gotten involved with Brad Talbot.
Whoever he was, one thing was clear—he didn’t like her any more than she liked him. As she stepped out into the passage, she steeled herself for whatever he might have in store for her when they butted heads again.
Conn checked his watch. Thirty-three minutes. If she didn’t show up in the next two or three, he was heading down to the chart room. Since Hope was a woman, he could count on a good twenty-minute wait. He might as well go down now.
“Mr. Reese?”
The sound of her voice surprised him. He turned as she walked toward him along the deck. The wind whipped her hair away from her face and he noticed the strong line of her jaw. She was pretty. Better than pretty. But there was something about her that warned a man to beware.
Which was fine with him. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with a woman.
“It’s just Conn,” he said. “And you’re almost on time.”
“Yes, I am, and it’s just Hope.”
“Fair enough…Hope.” In concession to her being a woman, he had pulled a white cotton tee shirt over his bare chest. Hope had tied the tails of her gauzy white blouse together to hide the curve of her breasts.
At least they knew where they stood.
“Where would you like to start?” He was eager to get this over, mollify her a little so he could get back to work.
“Tell me about the boat. Eddie Markham said it was eighty feet long, but that’s about all I know.”
“Well, she’s iron-hulled, powered by a pair of twelve hundred-power Caterpillar diesels. The Conquest carries five thousand gallons of fuel and a thousand gallons of water. Even at that, you need to keep your showers short.”
He watched her jot down notes on a spiral pad. Not exactly state of the art, but then everyone had his own way of doing things.
“There are two generators on board, one that powers the equipment and one for backup.”
“So I guess it’s okay to use my hair dryer.”
His gaze moved up to the glossy red hair brushing her jaw, not quite touching her shoulders. Man, her hair was gorgeous, sleek and shiny as a seal, and the prettiest dark red shade he’d ever seen.
“Yeah, you can definitely use your dryer.”
“What about the equipment you’re using?” She turned and pointed toward the stuff that was sitting on the deck.
“For starters, that yellow thing with the runners on the bottom is an underwater sled. We can use it to take us down to whatever depth we want. It provides light if we need it, and the prop can serve as a blower.”
She made some more scribbles. “What about the cranes?”
“We’ve got a ten-ton knuckle crane and an eight-ton auxiliary winch. We find something, you can bet we’ll be able to bring it up.”
“Like treasure?”
“If we’re lucky. That is what we’re here for.” He looked over at the wheelhouse. “That thing on the top of the boat—that’s the radar bridge. And we use satellite navigation—GPS. We’ve got a couple of dinghies, for safety’s sake, and a fifteen-foot Boston Whaler with a fifty-horse engine we use to
Thank God she’d be able to use the Conquest ’s computer to do the Internet work she needed and bring up her e-mail—assuming Reese didn’t purposely keep the machine in use. She made a mental note to break out a little of Grandpa’s twenty thousand she had stashed away and buy what she needed before she started her next assignment.
Hope checked her watch. Time for her tour. She needed to know more about the boat and the equipment aboard, and Reese looked like a guy who knew his end of the business—the operations part, according to Artie Green. She found herself wondering about him, what his background was and how he had gotten involved with Brad Talbot.
Whoever he was, one thing was clear—he didn’t like her any more than she liked him. As she stepped out into the passage, she steeled herself for whatever he might have in store for her when they butted heads again.
Conn checked his watch. Thirty-three minutes. If she didn’t show up in the next two or three, he was heading down to the chart room. Since Hope was a woman, he could count on a good twenty-minute wait. He might as well go down now.
“Mr. Reese?”
The sound of her voice surprised him. He turned as she walked toward him along the deck. The wind whipped her hair away from her face and he noticed the strong line of her jaw. She was pretty. Better than pretty. But there was something about her that warned a man to beware.
Which was fine with him. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with a woman.
“It’s just Conn,” he said. “And you’re almost on time.”
“Yes, I am, and it’s just Hope.”
“Fair enough…Hope.” In concession to her being a woman, he had pulled a white cotton tee shirt over his bare chest. Hope had tied the tails of her gauzy white blouse together to hide the curve of her breasts.
At least they knew where they stood.
“Where would you like to start?” He was eager to get this over, mollify her a little so he could get back to work.
“Tell me about the boat. Eddie Markham said it was eighty feet long, but that’s about all I know.”
“Well, she’s iron-hulled, powered by a pair of twelve hundred-power Caterpillar diesels. The Conquest carries five thousand gallons of fuel and a thousand gallons of water. Even at that, you need to keep your showers short.”
He watched her jot down notes on a spiral pad. Not exactly state of the art, but then everyone had his own way of doing things.
“There are two generators on board, one that powers the equipment and one for backup.”
“So I guess it’s okay to use my hair dryer.”
His gaze moved up to the glossy red hair brushing her jaw, not quite touching her shoulders. Man, her hair was gorgeous, sleek and shiny as a seal, and the prettiest dark red shade he’d ever seen.
“Yeah, you can definitely use your dryer.”
“What about the equipment you’re using?” She turned and pointed toward the stuff that was sitting on the deck.
“For starters, that yellow thing with the runners on the bottom is an underwater sled. We can use it to take us down to whatever depth we want. It provides light if we need it, and the prop can serve as a blower.”
She made some more scribbles. “What about the cranes?”
“We’ve got a ten-ton knuckle crane and an eight-ton auxiliary winch. We find something, you can bet we’ll be able to bring it up.”
“Like treasure?”
“If we’re lucky. That is what we’re here for.” He looked over at the wheelhouse. “That thing on the top of the boat—that’s the radar bridge. And we use satellite navigation—GPS. We’ve got a couple of dinghies, for safety’s sake, and a fifteen-foot Boston Whaler with a fifty-horse engine we use to
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