Deep Blue Death: Jami Laramie Mysteries

By Sharyn Bradford Lunn

During exploration of the wreckage of a 15th-century Dutch ship on an Australian reef, archaeologist Jami Laramie becomes embroiled in mishaps, misunderstandings, and the antics of one saucy but handsome shipmate. Things quickly take a turn for the sinister when valuable artifacts begin disappearing … and murder rears its ominous head.

 

As Jami navigates the treacherous waters of marine archaeology and death, she must also come to terms with her parents' divorce and her own burgeoning love life. The combination is most certainly not for the faint of heart.

 

Join Jami on a thrilling adventure full of danger, romance, and intrigue as she dives into the depths of the past to uncover the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: thewordverve
• Release date: Apr 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781956856354

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Aknock at the hotel room door sent a semi-naked Jami Laramie scurrying for the shirt she’d recently discarded. She was on a call with her mother back in Denver, Colorado, letting her know she’d arrived safely in Australia, but she quickly shut the conversation down. Call you back soon, Mom, she said as she threw on the white silk shirt over beige trousers.

Of course, she hadn’t wanted to hang up, but the news her mother had shared required her full attention. Her parents were getting divorced. Apparently, her father had been having an affair for some time and had already moved out of the family home to be with the other woman.

She threw the phone on the bed and headed for the door. She certainly wasn’t expecting any visitors so soon after her arrival.

She was here in Rockpool Bay, Australia, as a volunteer—to work with a team of marine archaeologists on the site of an ancient Dutch shipwreck. Her mother’s news had Jami wanting to just turn around and head back home, but she’d made a commitment and refused to let the team down. In all her time as a field archaeologist, she’d never bowed out of a project at the last minute, and she had no plans to start now. Besides, leaving them in a lurch would reflect negatively on her career. Who needed that kind of baggage on their record? Not me, Jami thought, then realized she was chewing her thumbnail and just staring at the door.

The knock came again.

She would need to call her father soon as well. She dreaded the thought.

The knock at the door sounded again, louder this time. Impatient, she swung open the door with her jaw set, irritated.

Can I help you with something? she asked, a slight bite to her tone.

The man said nothing, just lazily eyeballed her—top to bottom, in fact—from beneath a shock of unruly brown hair. He took a step back, clearly amused, then rolled his eyes as he jammed a hand into the front pocket of his faded jeans.

Fearing she’d left something exposed in her haste, Jami glanced down at her attire, found nothing amiss, and returned her attention to the man, who now rested a forearm on the doorjamb. Far from amused, she asked again, Can I help you with something?

I bet you could, the man said through a wicked grin. Then he shook his head, as if to shake away whatever untoward thoughts may have been on his mind. Anyway, I’d hoped you’d be ready to leave right away.

And you are? Jami cocked an eyebrow, one hand on a hip. She then realized who he might be—the person who was supposed to ferry her out to the shipwreck. Regardless, the least he could do was introduce himself first.

Right. Sorry about that. I’m Cole Cadman. At your service, Ms. Laramie, he said with a theatrical bow. It’s time for us to head out.

Jami rolled her eyes and blew out a sigh. I was about to take a shower. I wasn’t expecting to be picked up so soon. She took a step back from his towering presence, though she was having a hard time ignoring his chiseled features, face and body alike.

Sorry about that. No can do. He pushed himself off the doorjamb, clearly waiting for an invitation to enter.

She did not oblige. You’re two hours early, and I’ve been traveling for days. I’m taking that shower. Come back in two hours. She started to close the door, but he stuck his foot in the way, halting her efforts.

No time for that. We need to get cracking.

Jami’s mouth fell open at his abruptness. Is this guy for real? All she could do in that moment was stare. And he stared right back, challenging her with his magnetic baby blues, a jolting hue of aquamarine that she’d not seen before in real life.

He was tall and lean with plenty of sinewy muscle. His hair was slightly damp—from the heat, she suspected—and the dark locks hung low over his brow, curled up at the ends near the nape of his neck. His wrinkled white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and his jeans fit him easily, not too tight, not too loose.

Just right.

Stop it, Jami.

She’d heard about the legendary bronzed Aussie male, and at first glance, it looked like her stay in Australia could turn out to be far more enjoyable than she ever imagined. Well, if he wasn’t so inconsiderate. Or so sweaty and unkempt. He looked like he’d just run a marathon.

But damn, that tanned, glowing hunk of a—

She bit her figurative tongue and stepped aside with a scowl, allowing him to enter the room.

Conscious of her scrutiny, the man fumbled with his undone shirt buttons. I threw this on to come into the hotel. They’ve a dress code. He shrugged and gave her a sheepish grin. It’s stinking hot outside.

Right. Precisely why I’d like a shower before we go. I’ve been on a train, a plane, and then a bus for the last forty-eight hours, and I really would appreciate a shower before we leave. You can wait in the lobby.

He said nothing.

Surely you understand, she persisted. Hell, you look like you could use one yourself.

A wicked glint instantly sparked in his gaze, making her regret what he obviously interpreted as an invitation. His jaw had also dropped a little, but not for long. That grin was making a reappearance in a big way. She felt the hot tingle of blood surging to her cheeks.

The man ran his finger through his thick hair. "Thanks for the offer, uh, but I really need to get back to the ship. Someone on board has gone missing, plus there’s a squall forecast later this afternoon, and I don’t want to be in the cabin cruiser when it hits. If we go now, we’ll have just enough time to reach the Seaclaim. A ship like her can weather a storm like the one that’s coming. We can freshen up on board then if you like. He gave a cheeky wink, adding, Provided you still have a mind to, of course."

Jami groaned and turned away. She knew she’d pretty much asked for it, and he was only being frivolous, but still…

She was weary of men who only had one thing on their minds, which unfortunately had been her experience with Michael, the guy she’d recently kicked to the curb—and others before him. She loathed the controlling tactics, always dismissive of her ideas and needs. Not to mention that Michael was a straight-up manwhore. Even tried to make a move on her best friend! Fortunately, Nicole had remained loyal, but that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. It left Jami deflated and wary … and yet, here she was, drooling over this handsome man before her.

A hopeless romantic she was.

A self-inflicted curse, but she couldn’t help it. She still believed true love would come her way, believed it wholeheartedly. Maybe even with this stranger in front of her. She quickly shoved that idea aside and refocused.

You know I didn’t mean it that way, she said.

He laughed. Yeah, but you kinda asked for it.

Can we just move on? You said someone has gone missing from the ship?

Yes, one of the junior members of the team. He was the one meant to pick you up this afternoon, but he was nowhere to be found, so I had to come instead. Hopefully, they’ve found him by now, but I want to get back on board pronto.

Maybe the guy had too much to drink or something like that? And he’s sleeping it off somewhere?

There was a bit of a celebration going on last night, so I would guess the same—if it were anyone other than Josh. He’s not a partier by any stretch. He shifted his stance and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. I’m concerned.

His admission caused her mind to shift gears, to focus not on herself but on this missing person, one of her teammates whom she’d not yet met. Right, we should get going. She turned to the large blue suitcase on the bed, its contents strewn haphazardly across the quilt. She sighed, resigned to the fact that she wasn’t getting her shower just yet. Let me just … And she began to repack. How did you know where to find me, anyway? I hadn’t called in just yet to let anyone know where I was, or even that I’d arrived.

It’s not hard to find someone in a small place like this. People talk. I only had to ask a few questions down around Main Street to learn you’d already checked into a hotel.

Jami blew out a long breath, which caused some loose strands of blond hair to flutter around her face. She had so wanted a quiet afternoon before heading to the Seaclaim. Just a few hours to indulge in a little luxury. She knew the Seaclaim would not be equipped with extravagant facilities. Money was always tight on archaeological ventures, and expenditures were generally kept to a bare minimum.

As soon as she was repacked, Jami retrieved her jacket from the chair, slipped into it, and turned toward her escort with what she hoped was now a smile of confidence and control. She was a college graduate with degrees in anthropology and archaeology, after all. At twenty-eight years of age, Jami Laramie had seen a bit of the world and considered herself seasoned and fairly streetwise, even if she was a sucker for romance. She was here for one reason only—to broaden her education and experience, and that required concentration, dedication, and a certain amount of mature intellect. She wasn’t about to even entertain the thought of rushing down the relationship rabbit hole while she was here, no matter how easy on the eyes this guy was.

Why am I arguing with myself?

They walked in silence to the lobby and out onto the steamy street of Australia’s small coastal city of Rockpool Bay.

Several months ago, when the Seaclaim salvage team had called for international volunteers with diving experience to assist in the salvage of artifacts from the recently discovered Dutch wreck, the Zuytwyck, Jami had jumped at the chance, completing her application the same day she’d read about the adventure. She knew hundreds of others were battling for the same spot, so she was surprised and pleased to receive the acceptance letter. She supposed her selling point was that she was experienced in on-site archaeology, both in the Middle East and Central America, and had made a few pleasure dives on sunken vessels in the Caribbean.

The Zuytwyck went down in 1620 while on a voyage between Amsterdam and Batavia, now known as Djakarta in Indonesia. Working with a team of well-respected marine archaeologists offered Jami a new challenge. She planned to learn all she could over the next few weeks, so she’d be well-prepared for work in the Mediterranean and, eventually, hopefully, the sunken parts of the ancient Egyptian city of Alexandria—an area that fascinated her to no end. She had never had the opportunity to dive on the site of such an old wreck as the Zuytwyck.

No records of what the Zuytwyck was actually carrying when she’d foundered were available, but it was hoped some valuable artifacts would be brought up. The Western Australian government was so confident of the ship’s bounty that they had partly financed the expedition, the remainder being met by the federal government and independent investors. But it was acknowledged by all concerned that whatever was found legally became government property and would eventually find its home in a Western Australian museum.

They left the hotel and stepped into the all-engulfing heat of the nearly deserted street. Jami shot a side-eye at her companion, whose goofy grin was at odds with his concern for the missing team member.

"I should have asked this earlier, but, uh, do you have any kind of, say, proof that you’re really with the Seaclaim expedition?" she asked with a stab of alarm as she tried to recall their conversation at the door.

I certainly do. Proof right here, he replied, that mischievous twinkle deepening in those incredibly blue eyes as he produced a plastic ID card bearing the name Cole Cadman beneath Seaclaim’s logo. The photograph certainly did him no justice. Next time, Jami vowed to ask to see an ID first. For all she knew, he could have been a serial killer. She knew better than to go waltzing off with strangers, but she’d been flummoxed by his unannounced arrival, not to mention his bone-melting looks.

What’s with the smirk? How about letting me in on the joke? she asked, after they’d crossed the street and turned toward the bay.

Sorry, he said, but she could tell that he was anything but sorry; the grin remained, maybe even a bit broader now. You see, they’re all expecting a man. When they get a load of you, they’re going to—

There was nothing in the advertisement that stipulated the volunteer must be male, Jami cut in. She had always excelled in her chosen career. These days there were countless female archaeologists, so the outdated concept that a woman couldn’t do the job was downright irritating. I’m a qualified archaeologist with diving experience, so I’m quite capable of performing whatever task is required.

I don’t doubt that you can do the work, luv, but …

I’d rather you didn’t call me that, she said. My name is Jami.

Cole glanced at her from under raised eyebrows but chose to ignore the dig. It’s just that with a name like Jami—could be a foreign version of James or Jameson—well, everyone assumed you’d be a man. Nothing more sinister than that. Lighten up, will you?

Jami blew out a low sigh. Of course, it had to do with her name. She should be used to that by now. Whatever, was all she said.

All I’m saying is everyone will be surprised. He stepped in front of her and walked backward as his gaze swept over her, one arm splayed, the other still dragging her suitcase. A nice surprise. Nothing to get yourself riled up about, luv.

She suspected he really did mean nothing by it, but the mere fact that the word had slipped out again suggested he either didn’t care or was totally unaware that these days most women didn’t appreciate being addressed that way. Was he a caveman? Maybe you could try harder, she said with little attempt to curb her annoyance. And I don’t particularly appreciate being ogled like you just did there either. You might try to moderate that as well. Hmm? No sooner were the words out than she regretted them, painfully aware her irritation was due in large part to being tired—and the anger she felt toward her father.

Still walking backward, he barked out a laugh. Ha! As if you’re innocent in that department. I’m not the only ogler here.

Jami flushed. What he was saying was the truth, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

Cole continued. It works both ways, you know. So perhaps you should try stepping down into the real world, Miss High and Mighty. Out here, we don’t stand too much on ceremony. Most people couldn’t give two hoots about your politically correct ideas. His eyes swept up and down her length again. Or the latest city fashions and gossip, for that matter. I call it latte-sipping city-slicker rubbish, and that sort of thing won’t cut it out here. But you’ll learn that soon enough. He spun around to face forward and picked up his pace.

Jami stood in her tracks for a moment, jaw agape, an apology still sitting on her lips.

Quite obviously, she’d been dismissed.

CHAPTER TWO

Jami stared after Cole, mystified as to how she might have manifested the latte-sipping qualities he apparently thought he’d observed. Of course, she’d been guilty of sipping the occasional latte—who hadn’t—so why had he made a thing of it, making it seem derogatory, like she’d done something wrong?

And she was certainly no city slicker, either. She supposed Cole threw that in for good measure just to make sure she understood that her supposed big-city ways were unlikely to impress out here. She was appalled by the notion that she came across as a latte-sipping city slicker since she’d spent most of the last few years on her hands and knees in the dirt on remote archaeological digs throughout the world. From that aspect, she theorized she could almost be considered a jetsetter, but even that idea didn’t sit comfortably. She was well-rounded. That’s what she was, whether he saw it or not.

Jami shrugged off the beige Armani jacket and slung it over her arm. Armani. She glanced own at the simple but expensive white silk shirt. Perhaps Cole Cadman could be forgiven for the conclusion he’d reached after all. He didn’t know she’d been treated to an early birthday gift by her parents, which included not just the clothes but an extended week in Rome. She’d relished the time, exploring, shopping, and enjoying the culture after the dig at the villa near Messina in Southern Italy, where she’d been working for the season. If it wasn’t for them, there was no way she’d have been able to pay for any of that on her meager salary as a field archaeologist.

Cole Cadman was judging a book by its cover in her case, but she could see why he’d come to the conclusions he had. He didn’t know her circumstances, her backstory. Just as she didn’t know his. Perhaps they both could be a little less judgmental toward the other.

Jami quickened her pace, not at all resentful that he was still wheeling her overstuffed suitcase behind him because the sun’s heat was already draining her energy, and her purse, along with the huge canvas tote bag hanging from her shoulder, were weighty enough without having to haul a suitcase. The scorching temperature was weighty, oppressive as they trekked the few blocks to the bay. It was difficult to believe a storm was forecast because there were only a few scattered wisps of clouds off in the distance.

The wharf was long and narrow, its gray, weathered boardwalk jutting from the safety of the shore and narrowing to a speck in the distance. Only the stark white paint on the supporting pylons provided evidence of any maintenance. Several boats of various colors were tied up alongside Cole’s, as well as on the opposite side of the wharf. It looked as though the area could become quite congested at certain times of the day, but aside from the fisherman and small boy they’d passed, it was deserted.

How long will this trip take? Jami asked, eyeing with a degree of apprehension the white twenty-foot cabin cruiser with red trim as it bounced on the choppy sea.

A little over an hour. Cole leaped from the wharf to the deck. But this little vessel cuts through the water like a knife. She’s as solid as a rock. The trip won’t be as rough as you think.

His tone was confident enough to assuage her misgivings. Ignoring his outstretched hand, Jami followed his lead and hopped from the security of the wharf to the scrubbed wooden deck—her attempt to make it crystal clear she was a capable, independent woman who didn’t need or want any special treatment.

As soon as the engine was humming, off came Cole’s shirt, revealing the buff body Jami had envisioned beneath. He was quite right about the way in which she had gaped at him in the hotel, and despite her resolve, she found herself indulging yet again. Double standards, Jami! She ignored the voice in her head. Cole’s taut muscles rippled in the sunlight as he released the ropes, then pushed the craft clear of the wharf. A flat stomach disappearing into those scandalously crowded jeans practically took her breath away.

She shifted her sights to the shimmering blue-green water, then around the deck.

Can I help with anything? she asked.

It’s done, he said flatly, then held up the rope used to tie the boat up to the pylons. But I suppose you could finish coiling this.

He plonked the rope unceremoniously over her outstretched arm before turning and disappearing under the canopy attached to the small cockpit without another word.

Jami’s shoulders slumped. Clearly, she’d poked the bear. The last thing she wanted was to start this venture off on the wrong foot. The engine revved and the bow lifted slightly in the water as the craft pulled away from the wharf. Jami finished coiling the rope and placed it neatly at the stern. She took a step back to maintain her balance as the cabin cruiser slowly thrust its way through the water, heading for the open sea.

CHAPTER THREE

Jami chose to stay out in the fresh air rather than deal with Cole’s mood in the cockpit. She settled herself on a wooden crate at the stern to survey the receding coastline and enjoy the trip. Despite the sun’s heat, the breeze made sitting on the open deck extremely pleasant, even exhilarating, and soon any conscious remorse over the spat with Cole Cadman drifted from her mind. She wasn’t about to let it sour her working holiday or spoil the learning experience promised by the project. Besides, if the fishing tackle surrounding her was any indication, he wasn’t part of the Seaclaim enterprise, but a fisherman most likely engaged to pick her up and perform other errands to supplement his income.

Soon the wharf and the small township of Rockpool Bay receded into a distant gray-blue haze as the boat accelerated. It lurched increasingly, sometimes staggering momentarily on the upward slope of a rolling wave as the heaving sea increased its momentum, but ultimately, it cut a solid path through the water. Cole was right; it was a sturdy little vessel.

It wasn’t long before Jami’s skin began to prickle, a reminder that her unprotected fair skin needed protection from the sun, but she wasn’t about to pass by the unpredictable Cole and give him an opportunity to make a jab. She turned her face away from the sun and slipped into her jacket, knowing it would soon be needed for an entirely different reason. One look at the gray billowing clouds now rolling in from the northwest told her the storm was on its way.

Jami glanced back at Cole half-expecting a comment about the jacket, only to see him staring straight ahead. They were nowhere near treacherous waters yet, but she was comforted to see he kept a close vigil. She knew it wasn’t wise to become too complacent in these waters, given the continental shelf’s disastrous maritime history. Over the centuries, countless ships had encountered submerged reefs or rocks and met a watery demise. Divers had located only a small percentage of the sunken vessels due largely to inaccessible locations and heavy seas. The Zuytwyck was currently the oldest known wreck off the coast of Western Australia, although Jami had heard rumors of the discovery of a twelfth-century Chinese junk nearby and an ancient Phoenician trireme off King Sound to the north. The existence of both vessels at their alleged locations had not yet been confirmed, but if they ever were, the finds would rewrite the history of Australia in relation to its discovery by Europeans.

The notion excited Jami to the extent she couldn’t resist asking Cole’s opinion. A little conversation to help get them on better footing might be just what they needed. A fresh start. She negotiated the rolling deck, ducked under the canopy, and seated herself in the chair beside him in the cockpit.

To what do I owe this honor? was Cole’s flat remark. He didn’t shift his gaze from the water. There was not even the slightest flicker of his facial muscles to indicate any interest in her presence.

Tough audience.

I was wondering if you’d heard the rumors about the discovery of a Chinese junk or a Phoenician trireme.

Cole’s eyebrows came together. I’ve heard the rumors. What do you know about triremes?

What do I know about triremes? If this was some kind of test, Jami decided to go along with it. I know they were an ancient oar-powered war vessel with three distinct seating levels for rowers and were likely invented by the Phoenicians but perfected by the Greeks. She refrained from pointing out that as an archaeologist it was part of her job to be familiar with historical watercraft.

Top marks, Cole said, still with no change in his expression, even though his sarcasm rang clear.

Jami clenched her teeth, restrained herself from a smart comeback of her own. Well, most people say the stories are a load of BS. Nothing more than rumors. But there’s this one guy who insists they both exist, she said. Jami’s quizzical expression failed to extract more information so she pushed more. What do you think?

Cole laughed. I think the naysayers are probably right, but until we see definite proof, I guess we’ll never know.

But if someone—a man named Royland, if I remember correctly—has claimed to have seen what remains of these vessels, and it’s my understanding he has, then how can you be so dismissive?

"Because to the best of my knowledge there’s no historical evidence the Chinese were ever in these waters.