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asked.
    “One pull on your hose means stop the blower. Two means start it up, three means you found something. Four means major find.” Kenny grinned. “We like those the best.”
    Lizzie pointed to the air hoses that Dave was readying. “Just remember, we’re down fifty feet and there’s about a hundred feet of line, so feel free to take the tether room. The more we spread out, the better our chances of finding something.”
    Con gave her a knowing look. “You really don’t want to dive with me, do you?”
    “Just spelling out the guidelines,” she said.
    “Stay within sight of each other,” Dave interjected. “Which is close, because it’s bright enough to see a few feet away, but at this time of year, distance visibility is low.” He nudged them toward the dive platform. “Use those detectors, and put your masks to the pan-especially the outer edge, where you’ll have the best luck. If it shines or sparkles or makes that thing ding, we want it.”
    Kenny brought the metal detectors over to them. “First one to touch a treasure gets credit in the books, a Gold Digger baseball cap, and the biggest piece of Brady’s celebration cake.”
    “That’s ‘first hands,’ I take it,” Con said.
    “First hands aren’t important,” Dave replied, humorless as always. “And, just for the record, the second hands are mine or Flynn’s; from there the goods go to Charlotte. We’re not on this dive for caps or cake.”
    “I know why we’re here,” Con replied, giving Lizzie a meaningful look.
    She pulled her mask down and shimmied to the dive platform, resentment burning. “If you have beginner’s luck, I swear I’ll kill someone,” she murmured.
    Con got closer to her. “Who says I’m a beginner?”
    “Hookahs in!” Dave hollered. “Let’s get to work, troops!”
    Lizzie snapped her hose, checked it, then slid into the icy cold water. A second later, a warm, strong body was next to her, as close to her face as he could be with the air hoses separating them.
    She knew it. She’d be wearing him on this dive.
    Behind his mask, he winked, took her free hand with his, and pulled her deep into the murky water.
    Con hated to dive. He could do it, and had, many times since that bad, black mission in Quezon City. But every time he submerged, he remembered that night, that save, that choice, and what it cost him.
    Everything. It cost him fucking everything. So he hated to dive, which was probably one of the many reasons Ms. Machiavelli picked this job as his Bullet Catcher test.
    They dropped straight down through the sandstorm blowing under the set of pipes that directed the prop-wash to the bottom. Con kicked through it, heading toward a two-foot-high pyramid-shaped ballast pile. These black stones were proof that they had found a bona fide shipwreck, since the pile of weighted rocks used to center the vessel was probably all that remained of the actual ship. There could be cannon down there and, of course, the cargo.
    Lizzie started to swim to the edge of the pan, and he stayed right next to her, still highly suspicious of her, even though there hadn’t been anything incriminating on her phone. The only person she’d been in contact with since she’d gotten on board was Brianna Dare, whom he assumed was a sister, though he hadn’t asked the Bullet Catchers investigative team to verify that yet. Still, he wasn’t about to let his little thief out of his sight underwater.
    For one thing, the notebook she was hiding in her room proved she knew exactly which shipwreck they were salvaging. She was his number one target for the moment, which was why he’d subtly convinced the divemaster to let him dive with her.
    If he wanted to steal treasure on a dive, he’d forget the stuff being recovered and processed. He’d take it right from the bottom of the ocean and no one would be the wiser.
    Lizzie slithered in front of him, took his arm, and yanked him away from the ballast pile, using her metal detector to