These Reckless Hearts

by E. M. Moore

  “Hey,” I scold.

  “Except for you,” Cole smiles, taking back what he just said. “Everyone else looks like death, but you’re stunning.”

  Well, that’s more like it.

  A smirk teases his lips. “So, I’m guessing you either got so mad you didn’t find anything and you started drinking or you were drinking for a much better reason. Since you’re smiling, I’m going with the second option.”

  I sit next to him, and he swings his feet to the ground. “We found something,” I beam. “Well, we may have found something,” I correct. “I don’t want you to get your little gang-leader hopes up, but if you want to check it out, it’s currently sitting on the coffee table in the main room.”

  Cole takes the towel sitting next to him and wipes the sweat from his face and torso. Then, he throws his black shirt back on, hiding most of his ink until just the dragon-breathing flames peek out of his collar like usual. It’s honestly a kickass fucking tattoo, especially now that I’ve gotten to see more of it.

  We head into the main room, Wyatt going into the kitchen to more than likely get us some real food. We’ve only been gone for a day, but it’s always a joy to not have to eat beans or rice or whatever else we have to cook up there just to keep satiated.

  I gesture toward the lantern with a flourish. Cole takes the sunglasses from his face and narrows his eyes at it. “Hate to break it to you, baby girl, but that’s a hunk of junk.”

  I stifle a laugh. “Well, it’s not the treasure. Yet.”

  Ninja speaks up, “Yeah, this is the item they need to find that should take us to the treasure.”

  Cole gives Ninja a what-the-fuck? scowl. I’m telling you, we could have Ninja on our side. I might even be able to ask Cole to give him up without repercussion—not that I would do that, but it goes to show the allure of the rich stuff.

  “We don’t really know for sure yet,” Stone informs Cole. “We have to take it to a professional to get it cleaned, however, we need it done on the downlow. We’d prefer it if the person we take it to doesn’t get attacked.”

  “Funny thing about that,” Cole interjects, sitting down on the pure white sofa that somehow has stayed a brilliant white this whole time. The housekeeper they use is a rockstar, I swear. That’s all there is to it. Cole’s lips thin as he glares at Stone. “I sent my guys to check on the jeweler now that he’s home and there was already someone there....”

  “I asked him to do that,” I confide. “Besides, I thought you couldn’t do anything for the jeweler?”

  Cole glances away. “Yeah, well, I found myself wanting to give you an update on his health, only to find out that Jacobs here had already saved the day.”

  Stone gives him a humongous smile that’s so sexy I can’t stand it. Though, I doubt Cole is having the same thoughts as me. He kind of looks like he wants to deck Stone. These two are ridiculous. Each of them wants to be the knight in shining armor when it comes to me.

  “Well, you can help us with this then,” I offer, trying to break the tension between the two of them. “Stone has someone who can work on the lantern, but we need to ensure their safety, and we also don’t want to alert Lance and his team that we have a possible something.”

  “Speaking of,” Wyatt starts. “Do you know if his team followed us up the mountains?”

  Cole shakes his head. “I had men stationed incognito at the trailhead and no one went up after you. If they went up another way, that’s another story.”

  That’s a relief, anyway. Not that we can plan on that always being the case, but I’m glad we weren’t followed yesterday—which may turn out to be one of the most important trips I’ve ever taken up the mountain.

  “So...can you help us?” I ask, lips threatening to tug into a smile. No matter how much I’ve told myself to not let anticipation build up, I’m useless to stop it. When something you’ve wanted all your life is within your reach, the sparking of hope is as inevitable as getting wet in a rainstorm.

  “If it gets you one step closer and keeps you safe in the long run, I’ll do anything,” Cole promises.

  “I’m safe,” I tell him, eyes moving directly to Wyatt, Stone, and Lucas. With the addition of Ninja and Dave, I’m more than protected. “Promise.”

  Cole stills, gaze darkening. His hands turn to fists, and the shadow that shrouds his face pulls in tight. “Please don’t say that to me ever again.” Cole stands and stalks off toward the hallway.

  We all watch him walk away. I blink at my guys, and they have matching looks of curiosity. Ninja and Dave avoid my stare. They glance away, focusing on the wall.

  It dawns on me that something similar to this happened once before. I said almost the same thing to Cole and he lost his shit about it over the phone. “I’m going to talk to him,” I tell them, getting to my feet.

  Lucas speaks up. “Wild Girl, are you sure?” He stares at the hallway as if he doesn’t think that’s the best idea right now.

  “I’m sure,” I tell him. Cole looks scary as fuck, and I’m not saying he can’t be, but he checked on the jeweler for me while we were gone—and he’s done nothing but try to protect me since he came into my life. If that doesn’t truly reflect the kind of person he is, then I don’t know what will.

  I find Cole in my room, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “Got sick of sitting outside?” I ask, my poor attempt at breaking the ice.

  He startles, then glares at the empty space behind me. “I’m glad I pay my guards so well. They’re really on the ball,” he snarks.

  “You really need guards for me?” A painful tug twists my gut. “I can leave.”

  Cole shakes his head. “No, I’m just...fucking lost in a memory. That’s all. It’s not about you really.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “You want to talk about it?”

  “No, but if you’re anything like Charlie, I’m guessing you don’t give a fuck.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess I am.” It’s odd to hear him talk about my brother like that. I wonder if genetics really does tie people together? It’s not just that you’re brought up the same, but that DNA makes you share similar traits. It’s a fascinating idea if you ask me.

  I wait in silence for a little while, but when it stretches out for as long as I can stand it, I say, “You freaked out on me once before when I said that word—the one I’m not supposed to say to you anymore. Do you want to tell me why?”

  Cole blows out a breath, standing from the bed with his fists clenched and moving to the dresser where the box of my family’s things still sits. I haven’t opened it yet, and I wonder if he has. “You have a right to know, so I’ll tell you,” he hedges. His leader of the Dragons persona is back in full force. His skin is taut, jaw feathering from the tension building in his body. The darkness in the room seems to close in with the morphing of his mood.

  A hollow drum of apprehension beats a rhythm in my heart as I wait for him to go on. “Promise....” he whispers. “It’s what Charlie said to me right before he got shot.”

  He sighs while I hug my hands to myself. “It was a routine job passed down from the big boss. These guys we went to see owed money for some drugs that had passed hands or something,” Cole tells me, the tenor of his voice as if he’s speaking straight out of a daydream. “We were to go in there and rough them up a bit, make sure they knew the Dragons meant business. Usually, people hand over the money when we show up. We were like enforcers at the time. Some of the best, actually.

  “Nothing seemed wrong until we got to the place and the people who owed the Dragons were not run-of-the-mill fucking miscreants on the street. They were packing their own heat, which we were never informed of ahead of time. They opened fire right away.” He turns and pulls his shirt up, showing off two puckered scars on his abdomen. “I got hit.” He lowers his shirt. “We were making our way the fuck out of there, calling for backup, and I looked at Charlie and knew he was in way worse shape than me. I told him not to fucking die on me, and he
said...‘promise.’” He side-eyes me, and even though his vibe says scary as fuck, he pulls at my heartstrings. “It’s funny how one word can bring you right back to something you wish you could forget.”

  “Yeah,” I choke out, moved by his story. I don’t know if it’s because I can see the pain it gives Cole or if I’m mourning the loss of a brother I never met. “I wish I could have known him.”

  The corner of Cole’s lips pull up. “Well, look in the mirror and pretend to be a boy. There, you got Charlie.”

  “Is that the real reason why you don’t want to fuck me?” I tease. “Because I look like your best friend?”

  He pretends to gag. “That and I’m pretty sure the fucker would find a way to come back and kick my ass for it.” He flashes me a smile. “Plus, it seems like you have enough boyfriends.”

  “Ha. Ha,” I remark right back to him. “Don’t knock the harem life until you try it.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, one woman would be all I could handle.”

  I tilt my head. “I mean finding a girl you share with more than one dude.”

  “I’d shank their fucking asses.” When I laugh, he doesn’t laugh back. “I’m not kidding. I’d kill someone who so much as thought of touching what was mine. They wouldn’t be able to breathe another fucking day.” He smiles. “Not that I blame you for having your own. More power to you and all that shit, but I’m way too fucking possessive of my woman to share her.”

  “You got a girl?” I’d be shocked to learn that. I don’t know why.

  He laughs. “No, not at all. Surprisingly, people are afraid of me.”

  “I think it’s the tattoos and the guns and the fact that you have guards keeping you safe 24/7. I mean, that’s my best guess. It’s like a billboard saying No Fucking Thank You.”

  “Fuck off.” He grins at me, and I love the easy banter between us. He heads toward the door. “Now, let’s get your shit handled before anything else bad happens.”

  17

  Stone’s guy works for a college in Phoenix, and he’s able to pull some strings so the archaeology professor will see us right away. We place the lantern in a box and surround it with bath towels, and that’s how we transport the single most important artifact Wilder treasure hunters have found in a hundred years.

  At least they’re really soft towels, likely purchased from a high-end boutique if I know Stone.

  Cole tells us he has something else to do, but he sends four guards with us—none of them are Dave. When I ask Cole about that, he tells me it’s gang business. Ninja’s hiding a smirk though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the mouthy guard got himself demoted. Or put on some sort of leave for making comments he shouldn’t have. I guess I’ll never know since they’re so tight-lipped about it.

  Ninja and his new partner—I’m not sure if I should try to remember his name—scare the shit out of the working professor once we get to his upstairs lab. The two burly dudes move in to clear the room, hands on the guns hiding in their waistbands as if they could pull them out at a moment’s notice if they needed to. They’re not trying to hide anything, and I don’t complain because they afford us the privacy of being with the archaeologist alone in his preservation room and the peace of mind knowing that he’s not going to end up like the jeweler.

  This guy, I really like. His name’s Nevin, and he lifts a brow at us as soon as the muscle leaves. “Now, I’m intrigued.” He’s pushing mid-life crisis age, and is suave in that dorky, intelligent kind of way. He’s very sure of himself, which makes me think he’s probably smarter than I’ll ever be.

  Lucas takes the box and places it on a steel table, the only flat surface in the room that doesn’t have pieces of equipment or plastic containers or Ziploc bags stored on top of it. He must have cleared the area for us.

  “Any context I should be aware of?”

  Stone shakes his head. We’re here under assumed names again. We’re not taking any chances, and we’re definitely not saying a word about the treasure. No one but descendants of the Wilder family would know we were even searching for a lantern to show us the next step in the hunting journey, but that doesn’t mean we should announce that we’re here about gold and jewels either. That would be asking for trouble. The not-so-cloak-and-dagger routine with the guards won’t help us fly under the radar, but we also want to make sure we don’t drag the professor into our problems either. It’s a trade-off.

  “The artifact,” Stone starts, the area between his eyes pinching, “…is highly important to us. We’re searching for a possible inscription on the object, as we’ve been told uncovering it will denote it as a family heirloom.”

  Nevin gives us a tight smile. I’m not sure if Stone is trying to pass us off as family members, but if he is, Wyatt should probably stop touching my ass. Even so, the half-truth works for me, and I’m kind of impressed by my blond hottie right now.

  “Alright, let’s see what we got. Do you know how old the object is?” He holds out his hand, waiting.

  Lucas gently unwraps our find. In the bright light of the fluorescents, the lamp really does resemble a hunk of junk, just like Cole said. A thin, rusted-out circle sits atop the lantern, which couldn’t be more than four inches in diameter. A hook would’ve attached to it to hang in the cave, but that’s long gone. Off the circle is a flat top that bevels out. When new, glass would’ve contained the area that held the flame. Now, however, three strips of metal connect the bottom to the top. The cylindrical base has a square cutout where the fuel would’ve been fed through to light the flame.

  The body is misshapen in some areas from oxidation and dirt that we couldn’t quite get off for fear it would hurt the relic.

  “Ahh,” Nevin croons as soon as he sees it. “Mining lamp circa late 1800’s. She’s in good shape.”

  Ha. I’m going to file that compliment away to tell Cole when we get back.

  “A piece like this would’ve been made with tin and some copper. In fact, these”—he points to the connecting pieces—“would’ve been constructed with either alloy depending on the exact year this was made.”

  He brings down the glasses he had sitting atop his head, placing them on the bridge of his nose. “So, you say there’s possibly an inscription of some kind?” He turns the lantern in a circle like we all did when we first got our hands on it. “Do you know where?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Stone confirms.

  “I’ll have to be careful when cleaning, then,” he explains, lips thinning as he gets down to business. “Please take any available seats around the room, but I’m going to have to ask you not to touch anything. I’ll start the process.”

  Wyatt meets my gaze and smirks now that Nevin has gone into his professor-like persona.

  You wouldn’t think that watching someone painstakingly polish an artifact would be fascinating, but it is. He does an overall cleansing with a white cloth, rubbing a clear liquid over it. I’m curious about his process, but I stay mute, not wanting to bother him as he works. The sooner we get answers, the better.

  Next, he arranges three glass jars beside the lantern, each no longer than my thumb and containing some sort of liquid. He dips a Q-tip into the farthest one, then delves into the nooks and crannies. Rust colored debris slowly stains the pristine white swabs.

  When only the base is left to clean, I walk toward the table to watch him closely. All of us have been gravitating that way the more the real lantern is revealed. Anticipation builds until it feels like a hundred ants are crawling around inside my stomach.

  My feet pinch from standing as the work drags on. One section takes him a half hour to uncover, and when he finishes, there are no score marks. The antique is cleaning up well despite its age and being in the elements all these years. Sure, the metal is pocked and discolored, but when Nevin finishes, it’ll be easy to imagine this in my ancestor’s hands while walking up the Superstitions.

  I’m so caught in my own head that I don’t notice the pure concentration that’s crossed Nevin’
s face until Stone tangles his fingers with mine and squeezes. I snap out of it, leaning over the table for a closer look. “Did you find something?”

  He runs a Q-tip over one spot, and my heart nearly trips over itself when I see a definite score mark in the metal. It’s faint and could very well be a scratch, but it’s a noticeable blemish.

  Nevin takes his white cloth that isn’t so white anymore and polishes the area he’s focusing on. “It certainly seems like there might be something here.” He bites his lower lip as he throws out the Q-tip and grabs a fresh one, dabbing it in the clear liquid that’s closest to the lantern. Flecks of oxidation come off as he scrubs it harder than I think he should. My heart leaps into my throat, and Stone and I tighten our grips on one another. It’s so tense in the room that the clicking on and off of the A/C system sounds like a bomb. Outside, students’ voices waft up to the third floor where we wait to see if what we surmise is actually true.

  I’m so excited I could pee. And actually, I don’t think it’s all from excitement because we’ve been here for hours. Hunger gnaws at me, too, but I block out everything except the brushes Nevin makes on the lantern. “N, I think,” he murmurs, surprising us all.

  I drop Stone’s hand and join the archaeologist on the other side of the table. He points with his pinky, marking the strokes of the N just over the surface. “Holy shit....” I grip the metal edge for support.

  Nevin chuckles. “I guess. Yes.” He starts on the next section. “L? I’m not sure yet.” His eyes are sharp, laser focused as he works.

  I grin up at the guys who are too busy staring at the archaeologist’s hands to notice. Honestly, we could probably stop right here. We have the proof, right? He said N. An L could definitely be the start of an E.

  On the other hand, we need to be sure. We need to see the proof with our own eyes.

  Twenty minutes later, Nevin has that area as clean as he’s going to get it. His guess is that it says NCL because the middle stroke inside the E is worn, and the C of the third letter is very square, but we know exactly what it says: NEC.