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He scoffed. “Okay, princess.”
Her mouth gaped. Okay, so maybe that had sounded a little rich-girlish, as though she were used to getting her way. Nothing was further from the truth. As a female in this male-dominated industry—a young, wealthy female—she met with a lot of pushback. From older, more experienced hunters to the hired help she employed on her expeditions, she struggled consistently to be taken seriously. Sure, she was chasing pots of gold at the ends of rainbows, but sometimes that pot was really there.
And in this case, she desperately needed it to be.
But playing the money or power card on Dwayne wouldn’t work. She’d try a different tactic. “I asked for you specifically because I know you’re not one to care about breaking the rules.”
He shot her a questioning look, his gorgeous blue eyes transfixed on her, and she continued. “Two suspensions in the last year for breaking protocol on rescue missions suggests you like doing things your way.”
His head swung toward her again and the helicopter jerked slightly to one side. “How do you know that?”
She shrugged casually, feeling the power dynamic shift. “I’m a princess, remember. Money buys knowledge.” Her voice softened. “Look, I need your help because I know you can get me where I need to be.”
“You hired the wrong guy.”
“Dwayne, please... This is important to me,” she said, daring to reach across and touch his arm. She wasn’t ready to tell him just how important...
His gaze shot to the physical connection between them and she watched him struggle with the decision—obviously common sense in battle with an intrigued urge to do as she requested.
“Come on. Don’t tell me you’re not curious. All this time taking tourists along the wrong path... Don’t you want to know if the story is true?” She had an insatiable thirst for discovery, searching and seeking answers. She thrived on deciphering clues and solving mysteries. Having grown up in a family of treasure hunters and surrounded by those always up for the challenge, she knew how to spot that spark of intrigue in someone...and she saw it in Dwayne.
He sighed his resolve, but the excitement in his eyes, the color of the ocean below them, was undeniable. “If we get a fine for being in an unauthorized area, you’re paying it,” he said, pointing a finger at her.
“Consider it done,” she said with a wide smile. Money was never an obstacle for her. Money was never the ultimate treasure either...
“And you need to tell me how your family got that map.”
Damn. That part would be tougher.
CHAPTER THREE
ANNAARMOSWASLOOKINGfor something, but it wasn’t Winters Lot.
Dwayne’s gut was rarely wrong when it came to reading people, and Anna had personal stakes in whatever she was really searching for.
That map she held could have only come from one place—Winter Sullivan himself. Which meant Anna Armos had ties to Port Serenity and its past, making her even more intriguing than when she’d simply been a disillusioned but beautiful wealthy tourist.
She shook her head next to him. “Like I said, just something my family had. I come from generations of treasure hunters,” she said simply, as though it were a normal, everyday career choice. “I think my grandfather found it in a museum or something...”
“Okay,” Dwayne said, pulling on the cyclic and turning the chopper in the other direction. If she wasn’t going to tell him the truth...
Anna’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“I agreed on two conditions,” he said.
“Grr.” She caught him barely containing a grin at her annoyance. “Fine! I’ll tell you—just turn back,” she said. “Please.”
He did. “Start talking.”
She took a deep breath, as though this story wasn’t something she told many people. “Winter Sullivan was my great-great-grandfather. When he was found in the Alaskan backwoods—the authorities had discovered the ship after days of searching—he was sentenced to life in jail for smuggling and assisting the Wakefields in their questionable transporting of goods.”
Dwayne nodded. That part he knew. Earl Wakefield was sentenced as well, by his best friend Castor Beaumont, and it had started the decades-old feud between the Beaumont and Wakefield families.
“In jail he drew the map of where he’d hidden the gold and contraband,” Anna continued.
“Right. That’s the map on our brochure.”
Anna shook her head. “There were two. One he released to authorities looking to retrieve the goods and one—the real one—he kept for himself. When he died, the map was discovered among his items and my family started searching for it.”
