Barefoot in Pearls (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  For one crazy second, he wished Arielle were right here beside him, using her keen intuition to tell him whether he should trust this woman.

  “Would a week throw off your construction schedule?” she asked.

  “Yes, it would,” he admitted. “Let me give it some thought.”

  She stood, closing the file. “This is your copy. Compare it to the report from the other firm and let me know how you’d like to proceed, Mr. McBain.”

  “Luke,” he corrected, taking the file. Their hands touched, but he felt nothing other than a vague sense of disloyalty. Not like with Ari, when he crackled like he was licking live wires every time they barely brushed each other.

  “I have to say, you look surprised at all of this,” she said.

  At some of it. “It’s the usual can of worms no builder wants to open.” But he had to have answers. He couldn’t start without answers.

  What if the other firm was completely bogus, and the core sampling was wrong, and there really was an Indian burial mound under that hill, and Cutter didn’t give a shit?

  Then what?

  Then he could kiss Arielle good-bye. And all he wanted to do was kiss her…more.

  How did that happen? He didn’t know, but he had to find out.

  * * *

  A kindly old museum docent led Ari to Dr. Marksman’s lab, which ran along the back of the Mound House business offices, surrounded by books, art, tools, and multiple computers all running different analyses and date-testing software. He was on the phone when Ari arrived, but he eagerly gestured her in and to a chair and mouthed for her to give him a second.

  While he finished the conversation, taking rapid notes, Ari looked out the open sliding glass doors that let in both breeze and sunshine, but her attention shifted immediately to the Cracker Jack crate, open and empty, on the archaeologist’s desk. She couldn’t wait to hear what he’d found.

  As soon as he finished and signed off the call, he stood and held out a hand to greet her, his bright blue eyes practically electrified with excitement. “Miss Chandler, I’m so glad you could come.”

  “I take it you found something important?” she asked.

  He seemed to fight a smile, fidgeting and glancing down at his desk. “You might say that.”

  “Where are the artifacts I left?”

  “Oh, they’re being cataloged and examined by some others, down the hall. I can tell you this, they are Calusa tools, and at least one is more than twenty-six hundred years old.”

  “Wow! Really?” No wonder he was excited. “That is great news.”

  “But it’s not the most important discovery.”

  “It’s not?”

  He came around to the front of his desk, leaning on it as he took his glasses off, cleaning them with a handkerchief. “How well did you examine everything in the box you found?”

  She felt scrutinized and a little thrown by the question. “I’ve been through every piece. Why?”

  “Frankly, I was curious if this was a test.”

  “A test? Of your capabilities?” She gave an easy laugh. “Your credentials are impeccable, so what would I be testing?”

  “My trustworthiness.”

  She shook her head, confused. “What could I possibly not trust you with?”

  He frowned at her, looking at her as intently as she’d been staring at him. “You really mean you didn’t…know?”

  A sense of frustration and impatience wended through her. “Know what?”

  “I found something of…incredible value.”

  “It all has value—”

  “Financial value. Extreme financial value.”

  No matter how historically priceless she considered a Calusa stone hammer, it wasn’t of extreme financial value. “Really?”

  “It’s possible you don’t even know its real worth.”

  Then it hit her. The rare baseball card that Cutter had talked about! “Was it hidden in the crate?”

  “Hidden completely,” he said. “It is small, but worthwhile.”

  “Three million worthwhile?”

  “At least.” He lifted his eyebrows, a coy smile wrinkling his face. “There has to be more.”

  “There might be,” she agreed, standing so the older man didn’t have the height advantage anymore. Surely he didn’t mean to keep the card that belonged to Cutter Valentine. “Apparently, the former owner was aware of its worth. He told his relative, who is now the official owner, that the house was sitting on a gold mine. So, yeah, there could be more.”

  His old eyes widened as he slipped on his now thoroughly cleaned glasses. “If history is anything to go by, there is more.”

  “Except someone might have beat us to it,” she told him. “When Luke and I were there last, someone had already been there. But if you found something valuable, then Cutter Valentine will be thrilled.”

  His eyes dimmed. “Yes, I imagine he will. It is on his land, but what will he do? Sell it? Look for more?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “But maybe it will buy us time to persuade him not to rip everything down. I’m still convinced that mound could be a burial ground.”

  “Or that’s where the rest of the treasure is.”

  She blinked at him. “Buried underground? Who would do that?”

  “Anyone who wanted to protect it, who thought it could be stolen, and then died before they could retrieve it. You said he died quite unexpectedly.”

  She angled her head, studying him, not getting what he was saying. “You think that old man buried a bunch of baseball cards in that hill?”

  His furry brows shot up, then he laughed softly. A little louder. He actually belly laughed, throwing his hands up to his cheeks as if trying to keep himself from literally laughing his face off.

  Ari just stared at him, starting to wonder if Dr. Marksman wasn’t a lunatic.

  “A baseball card?” He choked the words between snorts of laughter. “A baseball card?”

  “Or…something like that. Babe Ruth’s jersey or…or Shoeless Joe Jackson’s missing cleats?” Exasperation tightened her voice, especially when the old doctor had the audacity to wipe a tear of laughter from his crinkled cheek. “Whatever it is, Cutter’s great-uncle told him the house is valuable.”

  “There’s an understatement.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s rarely only one.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the crate. “I put it back in there after I cleaned off the coral that was all over it. I simply didn’t know where to put it that was safe. Go ahead, take a look.”

  A slow, icy chill worked its way up her spine, settling in the nape of her neck, pinching her hairs as they stood on end, like wee antennae on her body. The tingling always meant something major was about to happen.

  “Look…at what?” she managed to ask.

  He turned to the desk, lifted the lid, and made a grand gesture for her to look inside. There, resting on the bottom, was a rectangular object no longer than her index finger, so shiny, so bright, so…gold.

  “That, my dear, is a bar of pure gold, stamped with the king’s seal, circa 1544. Do you have any idea what you’ve stumbled upon?”

  A gold mine.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  For the tenth time in an hour, Luke wandered to the front of Gussie’s apartment to check the driveway for Ari’s car.

  “She’s not home yet,” Gussie called from the kitchen. “Trust me, she has to pass this kitchen door to get up to her apartment.”

  Blowing out a breath, he took a swig of beer and wandered back to where the rest of them had gathered. Tom was at the country-style table, quizzing Alex for tomorrow’s history test, while Gussie stirred a pot of pasta, her nesting and cooking and homemaking skills growing stronger with each passing day. Clearly, she’d been born to have a family.

  The thought kicked a little guilt through him as he remembered how his teenage decisions had cracked their perfect childhood in two. But she’d forgiven him and put that dark inci
dent in their past.

  If only he could put other dark days in his past. If he could, then maybe—

  “You look pensive, big brother.”

  “Just thinking,” he said, purposely vague.

  “Ari’s going to be really happy about this new development, don’t you think?” she asked.

  “I think she’ll be pleased to get another shot at testing out her burial-ground theory.”

  “Are they going to find skeletons?” Alex asked, her twelve-year-old face morphing into sheer disgust.

  “Don’t worry, Alex,” Tom said. “If there were people buried there, it was thousands of years ago.”

  “Then why is she so worried about them?” Alex asked.

  “The same reason you need to know about the Civil War.” Tom tapped the study sheet. “Because history matters.”

  “And it especially matters to Ari.”

  “Why?” Alex asked.

  “She’s part Native American,” Luke said. “Have you learned about what we did to the American Indians yet?”

  “A little,” she said sheepishly.

  “Let her tell you. Let her tell you about her grandmother and the way she marries people in the wind and…” His voice faded out as he realized all three of them were staring at him. “It’s cool,” he added.

  “What’s cool is how in love you are,” Gussie said.

  “I’m not…” Shit. “I hardly know her.”

  “I think that’s the beauty of her whole fated-love thing.” Gussie abandoned her pasta, picking up a glass of wine and coming out of the kitchen. “It’s like auto-love.”

  “There is no such thing.” Luke lifted his beer to his mouth, watching Gussie and Tom share a look that said there most certainly was such a thing. Damn it.

  Taking his drink, he left the room to look out at the driveway again. The empty driveway. Where the hell was she, anyway? Gussie said she’d left the office at three to run errands on the mainland.

  “It’s not the worst thing in the world, you know,” Gussie whispered behind him.

  He turned. “What?” Except he knew what. He knew exactly what.

  She crossed her arms and smiled at him. “Being happy. Giving your heart to someone. Finding love.”

  Done, done, and done. No, thanks. Not again. “It sucks too much when it’s over,” he said gruffly.

  “It doesn’t have to end.”

  “Everything ends,” he said, turning back, the memories suddenly powerful and raw.

  “I’m taking it you had a bad breakup in France.”

  “It wasn’t a breakup, and it wasn’t in France,” he said. “And do you forget that I spent almost fifteen years running, fighting, trying to forget real life?”

  She had her hand on his shoulder instantly, forcing him to face her. “We’ve been over this. I’m the one to blame for what happened that night on Cape Cod. You are completely vindicated.”

  “I know.” But did he?

  “You might have thrown a bottle rocket that scarred me, but I put myself in a dangerous place.”

  Which was exactly what Cerisse had done.

  “Forgive and forget, Luke. I’ve done both.”

  He didn’t need forgiveness for what happened with Cerisse, but, man, he sure as hell would like to forget. Because until he did, he didn’t stand a chance with Ari.

  She put a hand on his back. “Look.” She turned him around to see the little blue Mazda pulling into the driveway.

  “Oh, thank God, she’s here.”

  “You should see your face,” Gussie said with a laugh.

  “What about my face?” he asked as he watched Arielle climb out of the car, walking quickly—damn near running—toward the back stairs.

  “You’re crazy about her.”

  Arielle’s hair swung over her shoulders, a simple yellow sweater and pale slacks looking amazing on her. “Maybe I am,” he admitted. “But maybe it’s just lust and sex and physical desire.”

  Gussie snorted. “Hey, big bro, hate to break it to you, but lust and sex and physical desire are just step one.”

  He almost smiled, watching Arielle disappear at the side of the house. “And we haven’t even taken that step. But if we do…” He looked at his sister, knowing he couldn’t lie about these feelings and didn’t want to. “Then we’ve crossed some kind of line and…” He listened for footsteps on the outside stairs, hoping, waiting. But she passed the door and went up to her apartment. Shit. “There’s no going back.”

  She looked up at him, her wide green eyes honest and, for once, not twinkling with a joke. “Going back to France?”

  “Going back to normal.”

  “Is it normal to be alone?”

  “I don’t know what’s—”

  A scream, shrill and long and coming from the apartment upstairs, cut him off. Luke shoved his beer into Gussie’s hand and ran like hell.

  * * *

  Ari slammed her hand over her mouth to contain her shriek, dropping her handbag to stare in utter disbelief at the destruction of her apartment. Every…single…inch was wrecked.

  “Arielle!” Luke flew up the last few steps and launched into the entryway, grabbing her. “What’s…holy shit.”

  “Someone’s been here.” Which was like saying Vesuvius had a little bubble. Everything—every cushion, cabinet, and cranny—had been taken apart, turned inside out, and…searched.

  A wave of violation so strong she could practically taste it rolled over Ari, making her stumble backward into Luke. Instantly, his strong arms wrapped around her, turning her away from the mess, holding her, and squeezing her right back into sanity and safety.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, a catch of real fear in his voice.

  But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay at all.

  “Come with me.” He pulled her toward the door, but she didn’t move.

  “I have to see…”

  “Shhh. Get out of here. Come to Gussie’s.”

  She turned her head to look over her shoulder. “But I have to—”

  “No, you don’t. Not until I go through this place. Armed.” The word hit her heart, weakening her enough to let him step her outside as Gussie and Tom and Alex came up the stairs, feet and questions flying.

  Luke took over everything, moving them aside, getting them to go back down to Gussie’s place, keeping everyone calm and under his orders. He ushered them into Gussie’s kitchen, and when Ari was in a chair, he disappeared into the back, reappearing while Gussie and Alex peppered her with questions.

  Holding a gun—a gun!—he went outside, his footsteps audible as he ran back upstairs. Tom followed, but Gussie grabbed Alex’s sleeve when she tried to do the same.

  “You stay right here, missy,” she insisted, pushing Alex into the chair next to Ari. “I can’t believe you were robbed!” she exclaimed. “Why your apartment and not ours? What did they take? Was your laptop up there? Any jewelry? TV?”

  “They didn’t want my TV,” she said dryly. “Except to break it and look inside.”

  “What?” Alex demanded. “Who does that?”

  Ari didn’t answer, closing her eyes as puzzle pieces snapped into place. “They wanted the crate.”

  “The one full of seashells?” Gussie choked out the question. “I hate to break it to you, hon, but no old tools are worth that much.”

  But gold is. She thudded her elbow on the table, covering her mouth with her hand. She had to tell Luke first.

  “Besides, it doesn’t matter,” Gussie said, picking up her cell phone. “I’m calling the sheriff.”

  “Wait.” Ari put her hand on Gussie’s arm.

  “For what? You were robbed! They have to dust for fingerprints and take pictures and do…whatever sheriffs do.”

  “Wait for Luke.” Already impatient to talk to him, she stood. “There’s more to this than a simple robbery.” So much more.

  Gussie blinked at her, but Ari managed to escape when she heard a man’s footsteps on the stairs. It was Tom.

&
nbsp; “There’s no one up there,” he said, then put a hand on Ari’s arm. “But it’s pretty bad.”

  “I need to talk to Luke,” she said, slipping out of his touch, and then throwing a warning look at Gussie. “Don’t call anyone yet, okay?”

  Gussie agreed with a single nod, and Ari darted outside, running up the stairs to see Luke in the doorway, stuffing a gun in the back of his jeans.

  “Did you send the e-mail about the necklace?” he asked.

  She came up the last few steps. “It came back as a nonexistent address.”

  “Do you still have that message?”

  “Of course. But, Luke, this isn’t about a necklace.” She reached for him, aching for those strong arms around her again.

  “They were searching for something, Arielle.” He wrapped her in another embrace, and she hugged him back, looking over his shoulder into her demolished apartment. At the sight, her stomach turned. Sofa cushions sliced, all her art off the wall and cut up, every book torn from the shelves, and even her coffee table had been smashed with a hammer and taken apart.

  “Luke, they wanted…gold.”

  Luke drew back, looking at her. “What do you mean, gold?”

  She sighed, not even sure how to tell him. “I’ll tell you inside.” She gathered up her strength, taking a few steps, but keeping one arm around Luke for support.

  “Be careful,” he said. “There’s some glass and shards of wood.”

  She stole a glance at her kitchen, letting out a little moan at every open, broken cabinet. They’d even gone through her dishwasher.

  “Tell me about the gold. Did you have valuable jewelry?”

  “Remember when Cutter’s uncle told him he was sitting on a gold mine?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She swallowed and picked up a broken mug. “Well, he is. At least, he’s sitting on some gold that was apparently taken off a ship that wrecked on that coast in the 1500s. A Spanish galleon called the San Pedro, which had been in Mexico and the Caribbean, loaded with gold and pearls. It was in a battle with a French ship, and they both sank.”

  At Luke’s silence, she turned, seeing him as slack-jawed as she’d been when Dr. Marksman told her the story.