It took the rest of the morning for Kate to arrange everything, including the resolution of a lengthy argument with Marsh. She refused to let him come with her, ending by saying she’d simply rent a boat and do without his assistance altogether. In the end, she stood at the helm of his boat alone and headed out to sea.

She craved the solitude. Almost in defiance, she pushed the throttle forward. If it was defiance, she didn’t care, anymore than she cared whom she was defying. It was vital to do this one act for herself.

She refused to think about Ky, about why she’d exploded at him. If her words had been harsh, they’d also been necessary. She comforted herself with that. For too long, for a lifetime, she’d been influenced by someone else’s opinion, someone else’s expectations.

Mechanically, she stopped the engines and put on her equipment, checking and rechecking as she went. She’d never gone down alone before. Even that seemed suddenly a vital thing to do.

With a last look at her compass, she took the mesh basket over the side.

As she went deep, a thrill went through her. She was alone. In acres and acres of sea, she was alone. The water parted for her like silk. She was in control, and her destiny was her own.

She didn’t rush. Kate found she wanted that euphoric feeling of being isolated under the sea where only curious fish bothered to give her a passing glance. Ultimately, her only responsibility here was to herself. Briefly, she closed her eyes and floated. At last, only to herself.

When she reached the site, she felt a new surge of pride. This was something she’d done without her father. She wouldn’t think of the whys or the hows now, but simply the triumph. For two centuries, it had waited. And now, she’d found it. She circled the hole the prop-wash had created and began to fan using her hand.

Her first find was a dinner plate with a flamboyant floral pattern around the rim. She found one, then half a dozen, two of which were intact. On the back was the mark of an English potter. There were cups as well, dainty, exquisite English china that might have graced the table of a wealthy colonist, might have become a beloved heir-loom, if nature hadn’t interfered. Now they looked like something out of a horror show—crusted, misshapen with sea life. They couldn’t have been more beautiful to her.

As she continued to fan, Kate nearly missed what appeared to be a dark sea shell. On closer examination she saw it was a silver coin. She couldn’t make out the currency, but knew it didn’t matter. It could just as easily be Spanish, as she’d read that Spanish currency had been used by all European nations with settlements in the New World.