His eyes took on that eerily calm, almost flat expression that meant his anger was lethal. “Because it mattered too much to you what he approved of.”

That stung. The truth often did. “I came here to finish my father’s project,” she said evenly. “I made that clear from the beginning. You’re still getting your fee.”

“You’re still following directions. His directions.” Before she could retort, he turned toward the cabin. “We’ll eat and rest before we go back under.”

With an effort, she held onto her temper. She wanted to dive again, badly. She wanted to find more. Not for her father’s approval, Kate thought fiercely. Certainly not for Ky’s. She wanted this for herself. Pulling down the zipper of her wet suit, she went down the cabin steps.

She’d eat because strength and energy were vital to a diver. She’d rest for the same reason. Then, she determined, she’d go back to the wreck and find proof that it was the Liberty.

Calmer, she watched Ky go through a small cupboard. “Peanut butter?” she asked when she saw the jar he pulled out.

“Protein.”

Her laugh helped her to relax again. “Do you still eat it with bananas?”

“It’s still good for you.”

Though she wrinkled her nose at the combination, she reminded herself that beggars couldn’t be choosers. “When we find the treasure,” she said recklessly, “I’ll buy you a bottle of champagne.”

Their fingers brushed as he handed her the first sandwich. “I’ll hold you to it.” He picked up his own sandwich and a quart of milk. “Let’s eat on deck.”

He wasn’t certain if he wanted the sun or the space, but it wasn’t any easier to be with her in that tiny cabin than it had been the first time, or the last. Taking her assent for granted, Ky went up the stairs again, without looking back. Kate followed.

“It might be good for you,” Kate commented as she took the first bite, “but it still tastes like something you give five-year-olds when they scrape their knees.”

“Five-year-olds require a lot of protein.”

Giving up, Kate sat cross-legged on the deck. The sun was bright, the movement of the boat gentle. She wouldn’t let his digs get to her, nor would she dig back. They were in this together, she reminded herself. Tension and sniping wouldn’t help them find what they sought.

“It’s the Liberty, Ky,” she murmured, looking at the plank again. “I know it is.”

“It’s possible.” He stretched out with his back against the port side. “But there are a lot of wrecks, unidentified and otherwise, all through these waters. Diamond Shoals is a graveyard.”

“Diamond Shoals is fifty miles north.”