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everything.”
    Alita shot her a withering look. “Actually, Lizzie, if you haven’t had breakfast yet, I’ll switch shifts with you.” Her gaze shifted to Con and her dimpled smile deepened. “I’m just dying to go back to that spot where I snagged that chain. I’d love to show you, Con.”
    Obviously they’d met already. Which would explain the mascara.
    “Fine with me,” Lizzie said. She could get the key back and her dive would definitely be easier without him distracting her. “I prefer afternoon dives in this weather, anyway.”
    “Don’t screw with my schedule,” Dave called out. “No substitutions. There’s a science to this, you know.”
    They all looked at each other with knowing smiles.
    “The science is that Dave is a control freak,” Sam explained to Con.
    In the salon, Charlotte Gorman, tucked into the corner of one of the two dining booths, looked up from the chart spread in front of her, a frown of concern forming. “You feeling okay, Lizzie? You look flushed.”
    “I’m fine, Char.” As she breezed through the aisle between the tables and headed back to the breakfast buffet, Lizzie reached out and tapped Charlotte’s knuckles. Sam’s wife of less than a year was not only the conservator, making her the one person who would have her hands on every single treasure before it left the ship, she was also the closest thing Lizzie had to a girlfriend on this boat. So the temptation to trust her and even enlist her help was strong, but Lizzie had resisted so far.
    For one thing, if Charlotte assisted Lizzie in getting detailed pictures of recovered salvage and in making comparisons to the drawings in Dad’s journal, then Charlotte would be an accomplice, and Lizzie didn’t want to put her in that position.
    She also didn’t know her as well as she knew Sam. But, without help from someone soon, her whole plan would fall apart. That could happen any day, on any dive.
    So who could she trust?
    A soft breath moved the hair against her back, making her splash coffee mid-pour.
    “Divemaster Dave says he’s ready for us.”
    “I haven’t had my coffee,” she said, turning, bracing for the proximity of Con’s body and the sheer power of his eyes.
    “I returned the lab key to its rightful owner.” His voice was little more than a baritone rumble, the very sound of it like a sexy come-on. She glanced at Charlotte, but the other woman was deep into her charts again.
    “Thanks for covering for me,” she said softly, lifting her coffee mug to her lips. “Keep up the good work and I might let you have first hands on a gold coin.”
    “First hands?” His brow shot up. “I like the sound of that.”
    “Let’s go, crew!” Dave popped his head into the salon with a sharp look at Lizzie. “We got a schedule to maintain.”
    She threw a wistful glance at the coffee and another at the man who made her miss it. “I hope you know what you’re doing down there, Con. I can’t babysit.” She zoomed out to the deck, where she checked the stern blower while she stepped into her suit. Con came right over to her, zipping up and studying the murky water churning below.
    “You ever dive with a blower, Con?” Kenny Brubaker’s sun-kissed curly hair blew around his head in the breeze, but his eyes were blocked by the reflective shades he wore even on cloudy days.
    “Not for a while,” Con replied.
    Lizzie threw a look at Kenny. Great, a rookie.
    “Lemme just give you a primer.” Kenny pointed to the two metal elbow-shaped pipes mounted onto the stern and swung over the prop. “Those are dusting about three feet of sand, and they’ll run the whole time you’re down there. You dive right under them and go to work when you hit the pan-meaning the hard coquina shell under the sand. You’ll have the metal detectors, but stay next to Lizzie while you get the lay of the land down there. We’ll be operating the air hoses and you can signal with them.”
    “What’s the system of pulls?” Con