Second Chance Gold (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 4) John Cunningham (the rosie project TXT) 📖

the natural conclusion, and with Jerry’s possessions and rum still on board, his death sure looked like an accident.

Maybe it was.

Gustavia was hopping with midday traffic. Boats, cars, delivery trucks, pedestrians, a topless Russian woman shouting up the street … I tried to block it all out but it was impossible.

I passed by the Banque Nationale de Paris branch and imagined Jerry’s money on deposit there. Eight figures was a substantial sum—not to mention a broad range from bottom to top. Could be anywhere between ten and ninety-nine million for all I knew.

The smell of grease drew me toward Le Select, where I snagged a table and ordered a burger at the counter. The large round sign by the gate caught my eye. Cheeseburger in Paradise, indeed. With the order placed, I went to the bar window to order a beer. As I waited for the bartender, I noticed Marius inside by the back door.

“Marius!” I spoke loudly through the bar window.

He craned around, smiled, and signaled that he’d meet me outside.

I made it back to my table with a cold bottle of Carib. Marius appeared a moment later.

“Ça va, Buck?”

When I told him what had happened to me and Truck—mostly Truck—his face sagged.

“Terrible news—but I’m glad you stopped by.” He rubbed his hands together and lowered his voice. “A woman was here looking for you, a very interesting woman. She said she’s a historian and wanted to speak with you about the Concepcíon!”

I felt my brow wrinkle. “How would she know who I was?”

“It’s a small island, Buck. With Gisele being hurt and these Dominicans getting violent—and with your background? Word gets around.”

“So you told her you knew me?”

Marius smiled. “She was interesting, possibly even beautiful.”

I’d never met a possibly beautiful historian.

He gave me her card: Caterina Moreau, Societe Francaise d’Histoire Maritime. Marius said her office wasn’t far from the hospital.

Once I finished my burger I made my way back around the harbor to find Ms. Moreau. Her address turned out to be the second story above a small art gallery. I rang the bell, announced myself on the intercom when she answered. A buzz followed, and I entered the door and climbed the stairs to a bright, open room that faced the harbor.

Ms. Moreau’s hair was almost black, tied into a loose bun on top of her head. Round black glasses covered much of her face, but her full lips caught my attention—that and the small upturned nose and piercing green eyes behind the glasses. I could see what Marius meant about this tall woman in a pale green top and stylish loose-fitting pants.

“I’m Buck Reilly. I understand you were asking about me?”

Her white teeth flashed in a quick smile.

“Wonderful! Come in, Buck. Do you mind if I call you that? I am thrilled to meet you after reading about all your successes with e-Antiquity!”

“You’d better keep reading,” I said.

She clasped her hands in front of her.

“The work you did at e-Antiquity was ground-breaking in establishing a new understanding of Mayan culture, and the treasure troves of period jewelry and other artifacts represent some of the most popular museum exhibits in Mexico, Panama, Colombia, and Peru.” She caught her breath and ushered me toward a wood chair that matched the one behind her modest desk. “The disappearance of e-Antiquity has left a gaping hole in historic discovery these past few years. And it was your role within the company to lead the research, so it’s a special honor to meet you.”

“Well, thank you.” I felt my cheeks burning. When was the last time I met someone who actually appreciated the work we’d done at e-Antiquity? And she was right—while we rarely got credit for it, part of our pre-negotiated arrangements with host countries was to donate a significant amount of whatever we found to cultural museums. From what I’d been told, many of the exhibitions are popular tourist attractions even today.

“I would love to discuss some of your experiences, if you have time.”

I’d met with a lot of historians over the years, in seaside towns and third world capitals, but none remotely like Caterina Moreau.

“Tell me, Caterina, what exactly is the Societe Francaise d’Histoire Maritime?”

Her eyes lit up again. “The Societe is a French publisher and research organization of nautical history. I am the representative here in the French West Indies.”

“So, what, you write historical articles?”

“Amongst other things. I do get out in the field—or on the water, as it were.”

I’d never been interested in having my targets flogged about in the press, so normally I’d have run the other way from someone like Caterina. But maybe I could use this relationship to cause problems for the Dominicans—and possibly Jack and Gunner, too.

“Are you aware of the connection between Remy de Haenen and Jacques Cousteau?” I said.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Both were notable figures in modern French history, each explorers, adventurers, and famous individuals in their own right.” She paused. “And both have recently been connected to a search for the wreck of the Concepcíon that sank off the coast of the Dominican Republic in 1641.”

“You are well versed,” I said. She glanced down for a second. “I’ve heard these rumors too.”

“The Concepcíon was a Spanish ship, but if these Frenchmen were successful in their efforts to locate the wreck, it would be newsworthy to our members.”

If I can’t search for the ship, then denying Jack the discovery would be the next best thing. How would that feel, huh, partner?

“So that is why you are here on St. Barths now?” she said. “Searching for this connection to the Concepcíon?”

I smiled. I had several other files with more academic potential than financial upside, and if I wasn’t able to get Harry to back me, I’d eventually want someone to help me pursue them. Caterina’s passion, lack of greed, and focus could be exactly the combination I needed.

“While the wreckis of interest, I’m primarily here on behalf of Lou Atlas, searching for