Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1) Read online

  Jonathan was the first to look away, running his hands through his curly hair. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Mark held her gaze. “Girly, I know you were scared. Shoot, I was up here on this boat, and still my blood pressure skyrocketed. But you were safe, and deep down I know a Florida girl like you knows that.” He waited, brows raised.

  Summer gave an imperceptible nod. She wasn’t convinced she hadn’t been in danger, but if she didn’t concede, Mark would stand there all day. Stubborn man.

  “Life is a beautiful but sometimes dangerous thing. Same as the ocean. You respect the dangers and enjoy the beauty, you hear? If you hide or shy away from something just because you might be afraid, then you’re going to miss out on the best things in life.”

  Cold water on hot coals, Summer’s temper fizzled. Who could stay mad after such words of wisdom? Would her own father have said something similar? Better not to dwell on things that never were and never would be.

  Jonathan put his wrist on the top of his head, his fingers pointing straight up in a mock dorsal fin. Low and slow at first and then gaining volume and speed, he chanted, “Da-nuh…da-nuh…da-nuh, da-nuh, da-nuh.”

  The Jaws theme music. Summer rolled her eyes, but her lips tipped up.

  He put his hands out in front of him, one on top of the other, like a closed mouth, then opened them and swallowed her up in his arms, play-biting her shoulder.

  Mark laughed out loud, and Summer grinned as she pushed Jonathan away from her.

  “Okay, okay, can we go now? I want to get back to shore and see what kind of pictures I put my life on the line for.”

  Mark gave a mock salute and revved up the boat’s engine.

  The wind whipped her hair out behind her, and she shuddered. Good pictures or not, no way was she ever diving in those waters again. She’d stick with cute little clown fish and their anemones.

  Chapter Two

  Two Months Later, Florida

  The buttery croissant melted in Summer’s mouth, her eyes closing as she savored the fluffy pastry. Oh, how she needed this small break in the middle of a hectic day. It was the first time in hours she felt like she had enough time to just breathe. The iced vanilla latte was cold and sweet on her tongue, and she held it in her mouth before swallowing. One more thing was needed to enter full relaxation mode. She plugged her earbuds into her iPhone and let Bruno Mars take her away.

  A pair of clunky black biker boots appeared in her peripheral vision. A groan lodged in her throat, and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t know any bikers, and none of her friends would wear shoes like that, especially when the temperature neared one hundred degrees and the humidity rivaled that of a sauna.

  Not now. She started a game of Fruit Ninja on her phone. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll lose his nerve and go away.

  Guys hitting on her wasn’t anything new, but at the moment she didn’t feel like putting on a fake smile and trying to let the guy down gently. All she wanted was a little time to herself to eat her pastry, drink her latte, and have Bruno Mars serenade her with “Just the Way You Are.” Was that too much to ask?

  Her finger hit a flying bomb, the screen exploded, and her game ended. She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Yep. Mr. Biker Boots was still there. Until next time, Bruno. Sighing, she took out the earbuds, forced her lips to curve into a smile, and looked up.

  Whoa. All coherent thought flew from her head. Standing in front of her was the epitome of a Norse god incarnate. Blond hair grazed his shoulders, his sky-blue eyes framed by dark lashes. He had a strong square jaw and a devilish grin that lifted the corners of his mouth. His black V-neck shirt only accentuated a muscular body that would’ve had Michelangelo running for his chisel.

  “Excuse me, but are you Summer Arnet?”

  “Ah…ah…” Summer pinched the inside of her wrist to get her derailed thoughts back on track. Get a grip. “Yes. Yes, I am.” She tilted her head to the side. No way they’d met before. She would’ve remembered him for sure. “And you are…”

  “Trent Carrington.” He eyed her, then the chair across from where she sat, and when he looked at her again, his brows were raised in question.

  Lips suddenly dry, she ran her tongue along the top and motioned to the chair. “Please have a seat.”

  All six foot plus of him folded down into the small café chair. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other so his ankle rested on the opposite knee. He said nothing as he regarded her. The whirl of the cappuccino machine as the barista made another beverage filled the silence at the table for two.

  Seconds ticked by, and Thor’s twin didn’t say a word. His gaze mirrored appreciation as he looked at her, and she wasn't sure she should be flattered or offended. Mostly she was confused.

  She took a sip of her latte. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Sorry, you're different than I imaged and caught me off guard.” His smile developed slowly, full of confidence. “You’re the same Summer Arnet that took the photo of the great white shark featured in Marine Life magazine?”

  Her brows pinched together. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Great.” He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. “I was wondering if you could take me to where you took that shot. I’d compensate you for your time, of course.”

  The tattoo on his forearm caught her attention. A Celtic knot. When she glanced up, his intent gaze reeled her in, sending chills across her shoulders. She cleared her throat. “Why do you want to go there?”

  His eye contact faltered and he looked over her shoulder, then shrugged. “Does it matter?” He looked at her again, one side of his mouth lifting in a flirtatious grin.

  She may not know Trent Carrington, but she knew his type. He was the guy that thought all he had to do was smile and wink and he’d get whatever he wanted. Especially from women. Any appreciation that had flushed through her system at the sight of him dissolved. Looked like he needed a wakeup call. No way would she fawn over him and be as accommodating as he obviously hoped she’d be.

  “Yes. It does.”

  His grin slipped a fraction before he tacked it back up.

  Her phone vibrated on the table, and she held up a finger. Tabitha Michaels. Editor in chief at Our World. Summer’s breath hitched. Did she finally have a shot at the gig of a lifetime?

  “Sorry, but I’ve got to take this. It was nice meeting you.”

  His chair scraped against the tile floor as he stood. “Wait. What about the—”

  But Summer cruised out the door, phone to her ear. She’d already let the man ruin her one moment of solitude for the day. She wasn’t about to let him wreck what could be the biggest career opportunity that had ever come her way.

  ***

  Trent slid a hand down his face. That hadn’t gone at all like he’d planned. What an egotistical fool he was. If his kid sister, Amber, could see him right now, she’d laugh in his face and tell him he’d gotten what he deserved. And she’d be right. Was he really so conceited that he’d thought Miss Arnet would jump at the chance to help him just because he’d smiled at her? It was a hard pill to swallow, but it was probably the truth. Why else had he ridden his Harley over two hours when he could have just made a phone call or sent an e-mail?

  Of course he hadn’t been prepared for the auburn beauty, either. A quick Google search of her name had directed him to her website and studio address, but she hadn’t posted a personal picture. It had been pure luck that an employee at the boutique beside her office space had been outside sweeping the sidewalk and had informed him of her whereabouts—otherwise he would’ve had to camp out on her front stoop. Apparently she frequented this coffee shop, because the barista had been quick to point her out—his smile had worked on the teenager in the green apron.

  His mouth twitched upward. So it hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought to convince the photographer to share the exact location. No big deal. He liked a good challenge. He just had to find something Summer Arnet couldn’t say n
o to.

  Trent pulled out a folded magazine from his back pocket and opened it to page 14. Summer’s photo. While she’d captured harrowing detail of a dangerous creature, he could really care less about the shark. What had snagged his attention from the first time laying eyes on the photo were the shadows in the bottom right-hand corner. Maybe it was wishful thinking or his imagination playing tricks on him, but he swore he could make out the bowsprit, forecastle, and foremast of a seventeenth-century Spanish vessel. A galleon used in the country’s treasure fleet.

  Ever since Christopher Columbus accidentally landed in the New World in 1492, ships had been bringing back the exploitations of the land—with silver and gold mined from Peru and Colombia among the exports. Pedro Menendez de Aviles, a personal advisor to King Phillip II and an experienced admiral, designed both the treasure fleet system and the galleons used to protect the trade. The fleet stuck to two main routes, so Trent could narrow down the possibilities as to where Summer had taken the photo, but even then it would take longer than his lifespan to search the entire route, and that wasn’t taking into consideration the fact that a strong storm could’ve blown the ship off course and been the means for it sinking in the first place.

  He could just imagine the history and wealth locked within the hold of the galleon, preserved in the depth of the earth’s seas.

  An image of his mother, concern in her eyes, overshadowed the excitement building inside him. He pushed it to the side. Her concerns were unfounded. Searching for the ship was neither dangerous nor illegal. And just because he liked to look for lost things and have a good time didn’t mean he was trying to fill a void in his life—that was her favorite lecture to date. Besides, even if there was a void in his life—and he wasn’t admitting there was—it was his parents’ God who had created it in the first place. Trent shook his head. His mother pictured him a lost little boy searching for his way home, when in reality he was more like Ponce de Leon and Hernando de Soto, an adventurous man on the cusp of a great discovery. If he happened to have a few conquests along the way…well…what was the harm in that?

  “Hey, do you mind if I borrow this chair?” Trent looked up at a middle-aged gentleman in a business suit. At a table behind him sat two men and two women, all similarly attired. One had a laptop open in front of him.

  “No, go ahead. I was just leaving.” Trent stood and walked out the door. The afternoon sun blinded him, and the warm humid air hung heavy in his lungs. He pushed a pair of sunglasses up the bridge of his nose before unhooking his helmet from the handlebars of his Harley. After tucking his hair behind his ears, he slid the helmet on and revved the V-twin engine.

  As he pulled out into the palm tree–lined street, the coastal breeze swaying the fingerlike fronds, his thoughts traveled back to Miss Arnet. What had made her say no without even hearing him out first? More importantly, what would make her say yes? Most people could be motivated by either love or money.

  He grinned. He wouldn’t mind offering a little of both.

  Chapter Three

  Summer walked up the two steps to the front door of her home, her movements automatic. It was a good thing unlocking the door and stepping over the threshold required no brain power. The conversation with Tabitha Michaels had tased her mind, leaving it incapacitated to form any coherent thoughts.

  Shooting for Our World was a farfetched dream, but didn’t fantastic and implausible things happen every day? Apparently they happened every day for other people. Not for her. She fought back the sting of rejection as her mind played over Tabitha’s words. Your pictures are beautiful, Summer. That was when she’d paused, and Summer had let her heart soar with hope, with possibility. Too bad it’d crashed and burned with the next breath. But they aren’t unique. We’ve seen pictures like yours from hundreds of other photographers. If you want your photos to be published with Our World, then I need to see something truly original. Something new, edgy. Something that will wow our readers, create dialogue, and entice new subscriptions.

  Rejection wrapped in a pretty package. Thank you, but no thank you. Your work isn’t a good fit for our company at this time. Good luck on your future endeavors. Tiny darts puncturing holes in life’s dreams.

  She flopped onto the swivel chair behind an oak desk she’d splurged on, and buried her face in her hands. What was edgier than cage diving and photographing a great white shark?

  The strip of rubber dangling from the underside of the front door swept across the stained concrete floor. Summer peeked between her fingers. If she’d had the presence of mind, she’d have locked the door. Who cared if it was still business hours? Right now she considered the space more her home and less her studio.

  The self-absorbed Norse god from the coffee shop entered and closed the door behind him. What was he doing here?

  “Are you following me?” Summer’s voice held both accusation and apprehension as she eyed the man. He was turned away from her, studying some of her favorite photos displayed on the opposite wall.

  “Actually, yes,” he said without bothering to look at her.

  She stared at his profile and silently pulled her phone out of her pocket in case she needed to call the police. Too many late nights watching crime shows had her imagination running wild.

  He turned. “I came to make a proposition.”

  “A proposition?” Wariness coated her voice, and her eyes darted around the room. Was there anything handy she could grab to wield as a weapon if the need arose?

  Trent came and sat on one of two metal folding chairs she had in front of her desk. “Yes, a proposition. I need you to take me to where you took the picture of the great white.”

  That again? Curiosity warred with her unease. What was so special about that location?

  “Why?”

  He eyed her and looked to be weighing his options before shifting in his seat. She squeezed her phone. Reaching behind him, he withdrew a folded magazine from his back pocket. He flipped pages and creased the center. Turning it around, he placed it on the desk and pushed it toward her.

  Summer leaned forward. What was she supposed to be looking at that was so mysterious? All she saw was evidence of a harrowing experience. She huffed as she sat back. “It’s my photo. So what?”

  Trent scooted forward until he was on the edge of his chair. A strand of hair came loose from behind his ear and fondled his cheek as he pointed to the bottom corner of the page. Dangerously beautiful. Like fire coral. Mesmerizing to look at, but don’t get too close, or you’re liable to get hurt.

  Her eyes slid to the spot where he indicated. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there besides the vastness of the open ocean. She lifted her gaze and met his look of expectation. Was she missing something? Her feet pushed off the ground, and her chair rolled closer to the window. The natural light shone on the glossy pages. She squinted and inspected every inch of the corner before shaking her head. Too bad Thor’s twin was crazy. She eyed him again. Hopefully not crazy and dangerous.

  “You don’t see it?” He sounded disappointed.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what it is I’m supposed to be looking at?”

  Trent stood and walked to the other side of the desk. Summer rolled her chair away from him. No use letting him get too close, in case he did have some nefarious intentions.

  “Right here.” He pressed his index finger to the page. “I’m convinced these shadows are from a seventeenth-century galleon that was a part of the Spanish treasure fleet.”

  She stared at him before returning her gaze to the picture. All she saw were highlights and low lights—shadows created in the ocean’s depth. “I don’t see anything.”

  He took the magazine, folded it, and put it in his back pocket. “Look, I’ll make it a win-win situation for you. Take me to where you took this picture. If there isn’t a sunken ship, I’ll still pay you for your time, but if there is a Spanish galleon down there, well, I’ll share a portion of the treasure with you.”

  Sunken ships? Tr
easure? Was he going to produce a map with a giant X that marked the spot next? The notion was ridiculous.

  Wait. That was it. This whole thing was some practical joke. Of course. It all made sense now. Summer grinned. They’d almost had her. “So who put you up to this? Mark? No, I bet it was Jonathan, wasn’t it?”

  She stood and searched the room for a hidden camera. If her place wasn’t so small, she would’ve expected Jonathan to jump out from behind a piece of furniture with his crooked grin in place. The practical jokester.

  No hidden cameras she could see on her desk. The top of the fish tank maybe? Three long strides and she was there. The sound of the water overflow as she scanned the top of the tank was interrupted as Trent spoke from behind her.

  “What are you doing?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Looking for the camera. Jonathan’s going to be disappointed I didn’t fall for his little trick this time.” Not on the fish tank. Where could it be? There couldn’t be too many places in the six-hundred-square-foot room to hide a camera. The kitchenette counter?

  “Who’s Jonathan?”

  Summer stopped scrutinizing the counter around the coffeemaker and turned. “What do you mean, ‘Who’s Jonathan?’ Jonathan is the guy who put you up to this whole prank.” She raised her hand about four inches over her head. “He’s about this tall, curly brown hair, glasses. Ring a bell?”

  Trent still sat in the metal folding chair. He’d lost his air of excitement and was once again carefree personified as he leaned back and placed his interwoven fingers behind his head. The dark ink of his woven triangle Celtic knot tattoo on his forearm contrasted with his fair complexion. “Sorry to disappoint you, babe, but I don’t know anyone named Jonathan.”

  Babe? She raised her chin and tried not to grind her teeth. A dentist appointment wasn’t in her budget. “First of all, never ever call me babe, capisce? I’m a grown woman and not some infant that needs a daddy to take care of her, you got it? And second, if Jonathan isn’t behind”—she waved her hand—“this, then why are you here?” Without taking her eyes off him, she slid her hand back across the counter until her fingers rested at the base of the knife block. “How did you find me?”