An Artifact of Death

by J. J. Cagney

  Once settled at her kitchen table, Sam across from her, Cici slit open the tape with care, taking much longer than necessary thanks to her shaking hands. With tentative movements, Cici shook the contents onto the wooden tabletop, thankful she kept the package close to the surface, when something wrapped in many layers of tissue paper slid out of the padding with an almost delicate thunk. A piece of paper fluttered after it, landing atop, much like a feather on a rock.

  Cici picked up the sheet of paper, holding it while studying the small wrapped parcel.

  The last moment she saw him, he’d stood up in the Jeep, backlit by the rising sun. Cici always knew as soon as Sam arrived, Anton would disappear. He’d told her from the beginning he could—would—extract himself.

  He’d stayed those two full days, frying his skin, risking his life, to protect her. That might not make him as ruthless a spy as he needed to be, but that decision of mercy—to save Cici—made him a more complex, compassionate human.

  When he’d raised his hand in a small wave, almost a benediction, Cici’s stomach had wobbled. He’d anticipated a death sentence. He received Cici, a bunch of attitudinal ghosts, and a helicopter full of special ops.

  The last week turned out much different than Cici or Anton expected.

  Cici unfolded the paper.

  You were right. History’s important. It reminds us where we come from, and perhaps, where we’re going.

  In this, I’d tell you to look up the myth of the gambler’s stone, but I got the sense you already know it. And, more, suspected what I couldn’t tell you.

  It was well-protected, but some people don’t mind blasting through rock or crypts any more than they mind shooting at lovely reverends.

  Our time together was interesting. Thank you for giving me back Rebecca. I’ve been lost without her light to guide me.

  In that, you remind me of her.

  Yours,

  Sterling Danvers

  Cici’s smile widened to the point where her face ached. Sure, he’d given her the geopolitical overview that might set her world aflame during their long treks across the sparse mesa, but this—this was him. His reason. And…Cici gasped.

  His name. His real one. The one no one outside a select few in the world would ever read.

  Sterling Danvers.

  Sterling.

  Huh. Suited him. He shone like a bright nickel in the morass of darkness and espionage. Her lips curved down a little. She’d not see him again; Sterling would make sure of it. That’s why he offered his name.

  But, in the craziness of life—in those life or death moments, in the quiet of the great black void dotted with shiny beacons of stars—Sterling and she had become friends.

  Cici glanced down at the note in her hand. “I’ll pray for you every day, my friend,” she whispered. “For you and your Rebecca. For future peace and happiness.”

  “What?” Sam asked. He craned his neck and Cici hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was something she should share—even with Sam.

  Not that Sterling Danvers would want her to offer him or his wife up to God, no doubt impatient with the entire construct of faith, which made her daily prayers that much more delicious.

  Tough guy getting help from the little rev in a town he’d never visit.

  Smiling at her thoughts, she handed Sam the note. He read it, brow furrowing.

  Cici ignored Sam’s darkening attitude as she picked up the small, heavy wrapping. She’d been right.

  “The ancient Navajo believed a gambler walked the earth, winning from gods and animals alike. His most prized possession was a stone,” she murmured.

  “What?” Sam asked. “Oh, the gambler god. From Chaco. Anna Carmen used to go on and on about him.”

  “She wanted to see the big house the Chacoans built him in exchange for their people’s freedom.”

  Sam settled into the chair next to her. “And you went to fulfill the promise to her.”

  “Yes.”

  Maybe now that Sam knew her reason, he wouldn’t be quite as angry with her.

  With careful, controlled motions, Cici picked off the thin piece of clear tape and unrolled the first layer of tissue paper. With each flip of the package, she caught her breath. But none revealed the gem within. Until…she gasped at the flash of color.

  A cool weight slid into her hand. Her fingers curled tight around it, and she puffed out another gasp. Sam’s eyes widened as he stared at the large stone on her kitchen table.

  She opened her hand. Yes, the badass spy had sent it to her.

  The weight of such a responsibility settled over her shoulders, pressing into her chest.

  “Maybe I won’t pray for you, Sterling Danvers, you sly coyote.”

  But she laughed as she held the smooth piece of turquoise in her hand, the same size as her palm.

  Sam whistled. “That’s a gorgeous piece of turquoise.”

  “Yes. And it very nearly started a war.”

  “Read about the Bratva’s plan in my dossier,” Sam asked. “Pretty smart. Calculating bastards,” Sam grumbled.

  The semiprecious stone glowed with warm aquamarine light. Cici loved the color—richer and creamier than lapis lazuli.

  One of her favorites.

  “Yes, they are. But this is Anton’s idea of a joke.” Cici sighed as she set the stone on her table. Sterling not Anton. She picked up the letter and refolded it, tucking it into her pants pocket. She’d burn it, as Sterling would want, as soon as she was alone. No one else needed to know who her spy buddy was, really. No one besides Sam.

  “A lot of responsibility, too,” Cici continued.

  Sam stared at it, awed. “What are you going to do with it?”

  Cici pursed her lips, enjoying the rich sheen. She shrugged. “With his name? Destroy the evidence.”

  Sam nodded, clearly understanding the need. He held her gaze. “I worried you developed feelings for him.”

  Cici’s eyes flashed up to Sam’s and something passed behind his. She wasn’t sure what—maybe yearning or regret. Whatever Sam wanted to talk to her about, Cici needed to hear.

  “I don’t. Not romantically,” she said, her voice soft.

  Sam cupped her hand that still held the stone. “But the time there changed you. Didn’t it?” Sam asked.

  Cici stared down at the stone. She ran her finger over it, unsurprised to see her hand tremble. The stone was ancient, part of a history she could barely fathom.

  She took a deep breath. “I think…yes. Yes, it did. And now I have to return this to the Navajo nation to ensure we avoid an unnecessary war.”

  She eyed Sam for a long moment, her heart pattering in her chest. “You think your boss or Jeannette or whoever it is in charge would let you go on a road trip? One with international repercussions?”

  Sam’s eyes flashed back up to hers. “Well, considering how Jeannette isn’t my boss—”

  “What?”

  Sam smiled. “She’s my recruiter. My boss is based in DC.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything.”

  Sam shrugged. “Me either. But considering they want to keep me out here in the west, traipsing up and down throughout New Mexico and Colorado, over into Arizona,” Sam muttered. His finger slid across the top of the stone next to Cici’s, his eyes gleaming with awe. “I don’t care where the guy works.”

  “So, you think he’ll let you go with me, then?”

  Sam raised his eyes to hers, his gunmetal gaze bright and filled with sincerity. “First, let me say that I like spending time with you. And I can’t leave you alone for any length of time because you manage to find trouble—”

  “I do not!” Cici replied, her voice filled with indignation.

  “I’d love to take you up on your invitation for a road trip.” Sam hesitated for a moment before meeting her gaze. His was dark with some secrets.

  Cici bit her lip and stared down at the stone. “I need to visit my dad.”

  Sam tucked her hair behind her ear. “You, C
ecilia María Gurule, are a truly good person.” He leaned in closer, his face solemn, as he said, “I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

  The moment weighed with a heaviness, as if Sam were trying to tell her something more—something she did not understand. To lighten the growing tension, Cici winked at him, even as her fingers grazed the edge of the large, smooth stone. She grasped it in her hand, enjoying the heavy weight there.

  “And don’t you forget it,” she said with a sassy toss of her head.

  He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb across her cheek.

  “I never have.”

  Thank You!

  Dear Readers,

  Thank you for choosing and reading this book. If you enjoyed it, I’d be grateful if you’d write a short review and post it on your favorite book site. By taking a few seconds to leave a review, you not only help out your favorite authors, you help new readers find them as well—a total win-win!

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  And, thank you so much for your support! To hear about new books and get an exclusive freebie, sign up for my newsletter here.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, thank you, Chris. Your unwavering support and love shine through in all you do for the kids and me. I couldn’t ask for a better man, and I’m thrilled to wake up with you each day. You’re also the best movie date a gal could ask for.

  To Corinne Jones, who shared her police and criminal justice expertise.

  To my family, thank you for your patience with my dream—and letting me hang out in my head way too often.

  To Deborah Nemeth, thank you for pushing me to make this story better--for challenging me when and where I needed to be challenged.

  To Nicole Pomeroy, thank you for seeing the big picture and how all the details fit within that framework. You are such a pleasure to work with.

  To my Team, who have stuck with me and encourage me and read all my ARCs as well as whatever quirky thought I decide to share on Facebook. Thank you. I appreciate each of you.

  To Emma Rider, this cover is gorgeous. Thank you for sharing so much of your beautiful self in it.

  To Charity Chimni, your eagle-eye for grammar and typos is so deeply appreciated.

  And to my readers and reviewers, I would not be where I am today without you. I cannot thank you enough for sharing your time with me.

  About the Author

  J. J. Cagney is the mystery/thriller pen name of USA Today bestselling author Alexa Padgett. Her debut mystery, A Pilgrimage of Death, was named to Kirkus Reviews' 100 Best Books of 2018 and Goodreads Best Mysteries of 2010s.

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  Cagney holds a bachelor’s in international marketing and spent part of her twenties as the marketing director for an elite sports management firm. And, yes, she did her requisite stint with a dotcom back in the that early 2000s, first as a marketing coordinator and then as a content manager. She’s penned work for a variety of websites and magazines, and she worked as a literary agent for Irene Webb Literary.

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  Cagney lives in northern New Mexico with her husband, children, about a million fish, and their Great Pyrenees, Ash. Kirkus Reviews called Cagney's latest mystery, An Artifact of Death, "An exhilarating entry in a thoroughly enjoyable series."

  Also by J. J. Cagney

  A Pilgrimage to Death

  A Heritage of Death

  Identical Death (A Prequel Novella)