Going, Going, Gone

by Samantha A. Cole

  A burst of gas fueling the flame keeping them aloft startled her, and just like that, Dylan’s spell she’d been under the past few minutes had been broken. She dropped her gaze to his broad chest, then pivoted to face away from him again. As scared as she was to see how high they were, it was better than dealing with his intense scrutiny and the sudden attraction she felt toward him. His hands returned to her hips, but this time he stood much closer to her, his front to her back. If she moved back an inch, his dick would nestle against her ass. The thought made her wet. She could feel his body heat penetrating her jeans and long-sleeved top the Blue Skies website had suggested she wear. Even though it was a comfortable seventy-eight degrees on the ground, up here, the temperatures were a lot cooler. Well, they had been until Dylan had warmed her up. Holy shit. She was here for one reason, and one reason only, yet when his fingers flexed into her flesh, everything she’d wanted to say to him fled from her mind.

  “So, tell me more about you—did you grow up in Norfolk?”

  Trying to ignore how his voice right next to her ear sent waves of arousal through her, Vanessa nodded. “Yes. My parents moved here from Richmond when I was two. What about you?”

  “Mm-hm. I was born in Norfolk. Only time I haven’t lived here was during college—I went to Virginia Tech. Where did you get your degree?”

  “Cornell University in New York. I also got my Ph.D. there. I loved C.U. but hated the New York winters.” Virginia had nothing on the frigid January and February temperatures in Ithaca.

  “I can only imagine. A doctorate—I’m impressed.” He never gave her a chance to respond to that, immediately moving on to the next question. “Hobbies?”

  “Um . . . well, history of course. Reading. Research.”

  “Research? What do you research?”

  Here was her chance. She took a deep breath and dove head first into the topic she’d come here to discuss with him. “Local history mostly. Right now, I’m trying to find evidence to prove a local farm was part of the Underground Railroad.”

  “Really? I—” His words were cut off at the same time she felt him stiffen. He let go of her hips and took a step to the side, glaring down at her face. “You’re Vanessa Adams?”

  “Please, Dylan, let me explain.”

  He bit his lip and shook his head before letting out a snort of disbelief. “You . . . you paid $1800 for a date just to try to talk me out of a two-million-dollar deal. I don’t fucking believe this.”

  Vanessa tried again, ignoring Ross’s expression of interest in the turn of events, as he stood on the other side of the basket. “Please, let me explain. I tried making appointments to see you at your office, but you cancelled them.”

  “There’s a reason for that.” Dylan crossed his arms over his chest. Gone was the flirt. In his place stood a very pissed-off, arrogant man. A vein in his temple throbbed. “You have no proof that property has any historical value. I’ve had lawyers and researchers go over everything. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. In two weeks, it’ll be sold and become the new home for a bunch of stores.”

  “But—”

  “Nothing! Jesus! I don’t fucking believe this,” he repeated before glancing at Ross. “How long is this damn ride?”

  The older man chuckled in amusement. “You’ve got another thirty or forty minutes before we land, and before you ask, no I can’t put it down at the next little league field. My crew is meeting us at the drop site. Might as well listen to what the lady has to say.”

  Dylan grumbled something under his breath before turning back to Vanessa. “Fine. You have until we land. Then I’m writing you a check for the $1800, because I have no intention of continuing with the rest of the date.”

  Vanessa didn’t care about the picnic after they landed. She had a half hour to try to reason with him and was going to give it everything she had. “I grew up listening to Aunt Elise telling stories about how—”

  “Wait a minute. Elise Coldrick didn’t have any heirs. How can you be her niece?”

  “I’m not. I mean—she and my grandmother were best friends since childhood. My mother grew up calling her Aunt Elise, and so did me and my brother and sister.” When he just stared at her, she forged onward. “Elise would tell us stories that were passed down through her family. When her great-grandmother, Rose Coldrick, was a small child, her father used the farm to help hundreds of slaves escape the South. Aunt Elise showed me the trap door in the pantry that leads to a hidden room in the basement where they hid the runaways during the day, letting them rest, until nightfall when they would move to the next stop.”

  “We saw that extra space. There wasn’t anything but dirt in there.”

  “Did you use a metal detector?”

  His brow furrowed. “Why would we do that?”

  Vanessa sighed. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t if you didn’t have a reason. But I think there might be remnants of the shackles and chains the slaves wore down there. Or—or—”

  “Nessa, you have no proof.”

  “I’m trying to get the proof! Aunt Elise said when she was little, there was a diary that Rose’s oldest sister had kept—Emily was thirteen when Rose was born. In the diary, she wrote about her father helping the slaves escape. I doubt he ever knew she’d documented everything. It could have gotten them all killed.”

  “Where’s this so-called diary?” His tone said he didn’t believe it existed.

  “That’s just it. Aunt Elise didn’t know what had happened to it. I helped search the house a few years ago, but we didn’t find it. She thought it might have gotten donated with a bunch of things her grandmother had given to several museums and historical societies years ago. But Elise didn’t know where everything ended up—only just a few artifacts. I’ve checked with the organizations that we found out had some pieces, but the diary wasn’t with them. I have requests in to about thirty different places I think may have the rest of the Coldrick artifacts. Only a few have gotten back to me so far. All I’m asking for is for you to stall the sale of the property for a few weeks until—”

  “All you’re asking?” He huffed. “No, that’s not all you’re asking, Nessa. You’re asking me to blow a two-million-dollar deal on a bunch of what-ifs.”

  “But if it’s true, and if I find the proof I know is out there, then the farm will be designated a historical site. You said you loved history. Would you be able to live with the fact the farm was destroyed, only to find out I was right a few weeks later?”

  Dylan sucked his upper lip between his teeth, not answering her right away, and that gave her a glimmer of hope. Behind Dylan’s back, Ross gave her a silent thumbs up. At least she had one person in her corner. Now she could only pray she’d convinced Dylan to join them.

  Chapter Six

  Dylan let the silence drag on while he thought about what Nessa had said. How the hell had he gotten caught up in this mess? It was supposed to have been a simple sale that would net him a tidy commission. He honestly didn’t think she would be able to prove her claims, but looking at her pleading, hazel eyes, he suddenly found himself wanting to be her champion. Was it because of the attraction he felt toward her? Was it because he wanted her in his bed? No. Dylan might have gone through more than his fair share of women over the years, but he never had or ever would lead a woman on just to sleep with her. Something about Nessa called to him. Despite the reason she’d bid on his date, for the first time in a very long time, he was interested in learning more about a woman, beyond how she responded to him on a sexual level. She intrigued him. He couldn’t remember dating anyone with as much passion and tenacity to do what she thought was right, instead of what she could gain from it, than this woman standing in front of him. Not that they were dating in the traditional sense. After she got what she wanted, she’d probably never want to see him again. And that made him all the more determined to make sure she did.

  A large bird, flying by the basket a little too closely, startled Nessa, and she practically lunged a
t Dylan. Surprised, he reacted spontaneously, catching her in his arms and holding her trembling body closely. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly. “Just a bird. There’s lots of them up here. We’re kind of invading their territory for a change.”

  She let out a nervous giggle, that made him want to hold her even tighter, but she put her hands on his chest and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” he repeated, missing her in his arms the moment she moved away. In that instant, he made up his mind. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “Look, I honestly don’t think the farm was part of the Underground Railroad—”

  Her eyes widened. “But—”

  Dylan held up his hand. “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t think you’ll find the proof you need, but . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’ll see if I can push the sale date back a week. I’m sorry it can’t be more, but it’ll be hard enough to do that much. The buyers are very anxious to close, but I’ll think of something.”

  This time when she lunged at him, it was to throw her arms around his neck and hug the hell out of him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ll call the organizations I’m waiting on again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until they get so tired of hearing from me, they’ll check their records just to be rid of me! Thank you!”

  He smiled and chuckled at her exuberance. His hands slipped around her waist, coming together at the small of her back. His cock twitched in his pants, and he willed the bastard to stay down. He didn’t want Nessa to think he was doing this to get into her pants. Well, maybe a part of him was, but the real reason was he wanted to give her the chance to prove she was right, even if he didn’t think she was. This meant a great deal to her—enough that she blew $1800 to meet with him and pitch her request. No matter what the results of her search were, he was going to write her a check for that money. He’d been so busy with work lately and had cancelled Nessa’s appointments after finding out why she’d wanted to talk to him, just because there were enough problems he was dealing with on two other properties. If he’d just met with her, she wouldn’t have had to resort to such a drastic measure. But, then again, if he’d done that, he may not have agreed to help her. “You’re welcome.”

  Another idea occurred to him. “Can you get access to a metal detector?”

  Nessa lifted her head, her eyebrows almost to her hairline. “Um . . . yeah. Why?”

  “Since I’ve agreed to try to help and I have the keys to the house, I might as well let you check that hidden room for any signs of the shackles.”

  “Really? I—I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  One corner of his mouth ticked upwards in a lopsided grin. He thought it was cute she wanted to protect him. “Well, the property is still owned by the library, and my mother happens to be on the board of said library. You remember my mother, right? The history buff who passed her love of the past onto her sons. I’m sure if I explain what’s going on, she would love to help in any way she could.” Hell, his mother would probably lead the brigade to make sure no stone was left unturned. But the other board members would probably put up a stink over any delay in the sale—especially the chairman, who could be quite the bigot. He was never vocal in public, outside of his church, about his righteousness against people of color, the LGBT community, and non-Christians, but his sermons and closed-door conversations were filled with what would happen to those people on Judgement Day. Dylan had never met a true bible-thumper before he’d been introduced to Reverend Josiah Price of the local Mount Zion Tabernacle Church, and he hoped he never did again. Bigotry was high on Dylan’s list of repulsive attributes a person could have.

  “You’d do that for me?”

  Had he really been that much of an ass? Yeah, he had. His gaze softened. “I’m not an evil monster who just wants to make an easy buck, Nessa. I’ll do what I can—within reason—to help. But if we don’t find anything and you don’t locate the diary, in three weeks, I’ll have to put the sale through. Understood?”

  She nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Dylan.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting kind of hungry.”

  A smile spread across her face. “Me too. I’m just glad the picnic is on the ground.”

  The picnic turned out to be a catered lunch in a gazebo overlooking a lake on the property of a local event venue. The popular spot they were eating in was often used as a backdrop for wedding and other formal photos. A walking bridge crossed over the lake, with flowering plants hanging from poles on either side. The colorful foliage continued in beautifully landscaped areas along a path that circled the water’s edge. Birds and butterflies flitted by. As if they’d been cued, a mother deer and her weeks-old fawn had made an appearance from a wooded area on the far side of the lake and were cautiously enjoying their own lunch out of the healthy and vibrant green grass. A cozy table for two, topped with fine china, crystal wine glasses, and crisp, white linens, had been placed in the shaded center of the gazebo. So far, Vanessa and Dylan had enjoyed three of the four courses, consisting of lobster bisque, sautéed asparagus with melted provolone cheese, and Chateaubriand with roasted red potatoes and steamed broccoli.

  After the tuxedoed and white-gloved waiter removed her dinner plate, Vanessa picked up her glass of pinot noir and took a sip. It was exquisite as everything else had been. “I know I keep saying it, but everything has been absolutely delicious. I can’t wait to see what’s for dessert. I don’t think I’ll be hungry for days after this.” She patted her full and happy stomach. Usually after a meal consisting of more than one course, she’d skip the dessert, but it wasn’t often she dined on such gourmet food, so she was going to make an exception today. Tomorrow, she’d add an extra thousand steps to her daily walking average, which was monitored by the unobtrusive Fitbit bracelet she wore on her wrist.

  Dylan smiled at her after wiping the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin. “I agree. Everything was cooked to perfection. I’ll have to send my compliments to the chef before we leave.”

  Once they’d landed in a nearby field, they’d climbed out of the gondola and into a limousine where a bottle of chilled champagne had been waiting for them. If Vanessa hadn’t overheard Dylan’s secretary say she’d arranged everything for the date, she might’ve been impressed. Well, she was, but not because of the bubbly and limo. No, she was impressed Dylan had not only agreed to give her a little more time to prove her case, but also offered to help her. And after his initial blast of anger at her devious tactic to corner him for a meeting, he’d calmed down and, much to her surprise, returned to being the flirtatious and inquisitive date he’d been earlier.

  “So, back to the question you asked me in the balloon,” Vanessa said. “What are your hobbies?”

  He shrugged. “Golf and fishing, when I have time, but my favorite thing to do, whenever I get the chance, is spelunking.”

  “Seriously? You’re a cave explorer?” That was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

  “Yup. I took an elective class in college and fell in love. A few years earlier, my instructor and two of his friends had discovered a previously undocumented cave in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Turned out to be an American Indian burial site. Once I’d heard that, my interest was piqued. After my first cave—even though we didn’t find anything significant—I was hooked.”

  “Wow, I can see how you would be. I’ve only done a few guided tours of caves before.”

  Dylan nodded as he leaned back as the waiter placed a cup of cappuccino in front of both of them. “Yeah, there’s a big difference between those and caves only a few people have ever been in—especially the ones you need ropes and climbing equipment to get to where the good stuff is.”

  “What was the coolest thing you ever found in one?”

  “Besides evidence of Bigfoot?”

  Her eyes widened. “What? You’re joking.”

  He winked
at her. “Yeah, I am. Actually, though, two of my friends and I found a three-carat garnet a few years ago in a cave in the Blue Ridge—sold it for three grand and split the money. We’ve gone back to the same cave quite a few times since then, but haven’t found anything else over a quarter carat.”

  “That’s still cool.”

  “Yeah, it is. It’s fun to imagine what it was like for the first settlers in the region when they’d found it was rich in gems. Kind of like the California gold rush. If time travel existed, I think I’d like to see what it was like back then.”

  Vanessa smiled. “If time travel existed, I’d have a very hard time choosing just one era to visit. They’re all so fascinating.”

  “So are you.”

  A blush stole across Vanessa’s cheeks, as Dylan’s surprised expression told her he hadn’t meant to say those words aloud. She bit her bottom lip and glanced away. His compliment had felt so much more than innocent flirting, and it thrilled her. Somehow, she found the courage to meet his intense gaze once more and say, “The feeling is mutual.”

  Chapter Seven

  When a tan Toyota Camry and a black pickup truck pulled into the driveway, Dylan turned off the ignition of his SUV and climbed out to meet Nessa. He was still calling her that even though she’d told him over their lunch date that only her family and best friend used the shortened moniker. It was informal and cute, and he liked it.

  In addition to bringing a few metal detectors, she’d recruited two of her undergraduate students to help search for evidence that slaves had hidden beneath the Coldrick farmhouse. He couldn’t imagine what it’d been like for people of color back then, running for freedom, knowing if they were caught it would mean death or worse—a punishment so severe they’d wish for death. The fate of those helping them could also end with the same results. It took a lot of courage for Elise Coldrick’s great-great-grandfather to do what he knew was right, even if it jeopardized his own family.