The Rush Read Online Free PDF

agree, wasn’t he? They’d been here for over
a week without a single mishap. History didn’t need to necessarily repeat
itself, did it?
    “Well then, I will be getting back to the bridge,” Buton
responded, his face as academically impassive and inscrutable as always.
    Perhaps she had been too harsh and too eager to shut down
any discussion of the dive. Cleo went to say something to the retreating
figure, but instead stifled a laugh. Buton’s arms extended as far out as he
could possibly get them, swaying from side to side as he made his way back to
the bridge.
    “Hey!” A voice called out from the water. “Can I get some
help down here?”
    Buton spun around, lost his footing, and would have fallen
overboard if it hadn’t been for Cleo’s intervention.
    “Hang on. Don’t let go,” she instructed Buton, pressing his
palms against the railing before turning to survey the water. Jarod’s tanned
face bobbed above the surface as his sun-bleached hair spread out around him.
His grin was incandescent, lighting up the water. Or maybe that was the
sunlight reflecting off the bright gold goblet clutched in Jarod’s fist. A ray
glinted off a jewel and embedded itself in the back of Cleo’s brain.
    Jarod crowed his excitement as he hauled himself up on the
side of the ship. “Tell me this isn’t fifteenth-century Spanish!”
    He hopped over the railing, sending salt water spraying over
Cleo and Buton, as well as Jarod’s rapidly approaching nephew, Rob. Once the
teen saw the jewel-encrusted bauble in his uncle’s hands, he let out a huge
whoop.
    “Yes!”
    “I know, right?” Jarod’s cat-eating-the-canary grin grew to even
greater proportions. “Let’s get outfitted, guys! This find ain’t gonna wait.”
    “What about sharks, Jarod?” Cleo hoped her caution could cut
across the guys’ enthusiasm.
    “No sharks. We’re good.” Jarod’s smile didn’t even flicker.
But she knew…she could feel…that at least thirty-five hundred hammerheads were
within a fifty-league radius. And he hadn’t run into a single one? Yeah, right.
Just because she lacked proof from the radar didn’t make her a complete moron.
    The boat lurched, knocking everyone but Jarod to the deck.
The prow of the Rogues’ Gamble listed toward starboard, churned by the suddenly
restless waters. Everyone grabbed whatever he or she could to ride it out.
    Jarod recovered, calling out, “No worries, people! Just an
aftershock!”
    Rising, Cleo looked out at the surging waters and cocked an
eyebrow. Earthquakes were known to agitate the hammerheads into feeding
frenzies. And without radar down there, they had to rely on eyewitness
accounts.
    “You’re certain there weren’t any sharks down there?”
    “I told you, no!” Jarod held up the goblet. “Now, who wants
to celebrate?”
    The second cheer nearly deafened her as Buton, Jarod, and
Rob headed for the bridge. Cleo looked back into the slowly subsiding waters, a
flash of movement catching her eye.
    “Cleo, we’re breaking out the rum!” Rob’s face peered out
from the bridge. “Well, Uncle Jare says rum cake for me, but you’re missing it!”
    Cleo beamed at the boy, watching him retreat inside. She
glanced once more at the still-seething waters, the smile slipping from her
face.
    * * *
    The farmstead showed signs of not just wear, but decay. The
rolling hills were verdant, but distinctly overgrown. The equipment dotting the
property looked like something out of a postapocalyptic film.
    The old house appeared ready to fall down—if not for the
abundant ivy covering the walls. A doorway-shaped patch had been cut out of the
intruding vines. Within that slight hollow, two men in black suits labored to
post a notice onto the peeled-paint surface of what must have been, in more
prosperous times, a proper door.
    Inside, the atmosphere was cozier, if no less run-down. The
kitchen was small, colored in the yellow-orange, avocado, and tan shades of the
late fifties. Knickknacks and