by Addison Fox
Pull it together, girl.
The admonishment did little to remove the memory, but it was enough to have her gathering her manners and extending her hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
The cultured tones of his native Britain met her ears, and another remembrance struck hard and fast. This man’s voice was deeper than the one that haunted her memories, but still effective at turning her insides liquid.
Kensington gestured him toward a seat, and Rowan took a moment to gather herself while his attention was diverted. She’d been in the presence of men with British accents before. She’d also been in the presence of men with hazel eyes.
So where was this sudden flash of memory coming from?
And why was it so strong and nearly debilitating in its intensity?
Sure, the dreams had been particularly bad of late and she hadn’t been sleeping well, but even insomnia wasn’t an excuse for such a reaction. Maybe it was the prospect of spending time in his all-too-attractive company if they agreed to the assignment.
Or so Rowan hoped.
They all helped themselves to coffee and a small fruit-and-breakfast-pastry tray before resuming spots at the table. Rowan hung back, lingering over the preparation for her coffee, intrigued by the seat Finn selected.
In her experience, powerful men always gravitated to the head of the table, so it was fascinating when he selected a seat in the middle. It was even more fascinating to watch as he removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, the thick muscles of his forearms capturing her gaze.
“Finn, I appreciate your taking the time to meet with us.” Kensington started in, her “client tone” firmly in place. “Your request is an interesting one and frankly not something a lot of firms have the expertise to pull off.”
“Which is why I made the outreach to you in the first place.”
“And which we appreciate.” Kensington volleyed right back. “It doesn’t change the fact you’re requesting services from us that are, at best, unorthodox and, at worst, highly dangerous.”
“The danger should be minimal, especially for someone of your sister’s expertise.”
For the first time since the discussion began, Finn’s gaze settled fully on her. Rowan felt the shift in attention immediately, a heavy rush of heat filling her center at his scrutiny.
“You seem awfully sure about that, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Finn.” He corrected her with a smile. “Please.”
“Whatever I call you, it doesn’t change the fact you want me to accompany you into a highly charged political situation. Those assigned to excavate the site have a variety of interests. What makes you so sure they’re all willing to play well with others?”
“I make it my business to know the odds. To understand where there’s real danger and where there’s simply a lot of smoke.”
“And I make it my business to pick the proper partner when politics are involved,” Rowan parried.
“I am the right partner.”
“I’ve already been approached on this project by the British Museum. I’m scheduled to spend time on the excavation site in the spring.”
“Partner with me and you can get there next week. All your clearances will be taken care of. Immediate access, Ms. Steele.”
Rowan smiled, the formality an interesting touch, especially since they’d already dispensed with surnames at his directive. “I’ve spent my career building my reputation with the Egyptian authorities, the world’s major auction houses and the academicians who want to ensure history is preserved.”
“As have I.”
“Yet you want me to pose as your business partner, aid you in authenticating the cache and potentially aid in the removal of said cache if the situation becomes untenable.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, the movement enough to flutter the light material of her blouse where it gaped at her throat. “You don’t need me for that. Your reputation is sound and you’ve already got the job. Why bring in an outsider?”
Finn knew she had a point, but damn it, he needed her on this. “I want an expert. An outside expert who can see things that I can’t.”
“The intel that’s come back already suggests it’s a straight excavation job on a site that’s already been studied for a century. It’s about to play host to several teams of experts. Why bring in one more?”
While he’d expected her skepticism, he didn’t expect the overt push back. He’d been involved in the project for the past two months, and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t hold back the sense that he needed another resource with him. The parties in play—the British Museum, the British and Egyptian governments, and several interested auction houses—all had ulterior motives in mind.
But were any of them truly worried about the preservation of the priceless artifacts the experts were pulling from the tomb?
“The site’s always been considered the most dynamic of all the tombs in the Valley. A discovery anywhere is big news, but a discovery like this has drawn the interest of any number of unsavory interests.”
“The British Museum is hardly going to let an unsavory character—” the slightest edge of humor tinged her words “—walk out of there.”
“They will if they don’t know who to keep an eye on.”
Her eyes widened and any hint of teasing had vanished. “You think an insider is going to try to take the pieces?”
“I need to be prepared for that eventuality. I can’t authenticate anything if it’s removed before I take possession of it. And I won’t take a risk that someone switches in a fake.”
“So why do you need me?”
“You know the items. You know Egyptian artifacts. You know the players. I need a right hand to help me remove anything that might be at risk.”
“Then perhaps you’re unfamiliar with my work and my reputation. I’m no thief, Finn.”
Chapter 3
On the contrary.
The words popped to mind immediately—along with the memory of Rowan Steele clad head to toe in black—but Finn kept them to himself as he took in the twin looks of concern staring at him across the old cherrywood conference table.
Perhaps he’d miscalculated.
He’d originally thought his summons to the Upper East Side brownstone that acted as headquarters for the House of Steele was about sizing him up for the job and deciding if they wanted in.
What he saw brewing was something else entirely.
The question wasn’t if they wanted in on the job. They were simply calculating the odds of whether or not they wanted to hitch their wagon to his.
“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort, Rowan.”
“Yet that’s exactly what you’ve asked of me and are willing to pay our already significant fees several times over should I agree to accompany you.”
“If I determine the cache that’s been discovered is at risk, I’ll do what I need to do to protect it.”
“Even if taking it means you’ll be in violation of the UNESCO Convention?
“Yes.” The vivid blue of her gaze never wavered from his, and he had to admire her gumption. “I have no intention of keeping any of the contents should it come to removal. But I will not see them looted by thieves in the middle of the desert.”
“What makes you qualified to make that decision?”
“I’ll know it should the situation arise.”
Rowan shook her head, but he didn’t miss the faint smile that ghosted her lips. Heat arced between them as he smiled back and enjoyed the slight widening of her lips before she morphed back into skeptical adversary on the other side of the conference room table.
She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Although he’d kept tabs on her since that night in
London, he had forcefully tamped down on allowing that interest to be anything more than that of a smart businessman who possessed full knowledge of his competition.
Whenever he’d thought of that night—those youthful moments that defined his path for adulthood—he thought of Rowan Steele.
Her presence at the town house had been as shocking as it was unexpected. But it was the young woman who had revealed herself to him that night who had intrigued him, while also ensuring he’d never forgotten her.
He’d sensed pain. A deep-rooted recklessness that drove her actions and which she wasn’t quite able to control.
It was that recklessness—and the corresponding sensation of looking into a mirror where his own actions and choices reflected back at him—that had dogged him throughout his recovery from the gunshot wound he’d sustained that night. Rowan had forced him to acknowledge he was on a path that wasn’t going to ensure a very long life span.
She’d also ensured he had quite a mystery to solve once he’d healed from his injuries. Although he’d begun focusing on his future, he’d made it his business to figure out how a highly skilled young girl had come to be on the Warringtons’ roof.
“Tell me more about the excavation. In your own words.”
Rowan’s question pulled him from his thoughts and he focused on the reason he’d sought her out. “A small tomb was discovered next to Nefertari’s burial site. The cache of objects is believed to depict the great love between Ramesses II and his wife, Nefertari. Several of the jewels already discovered are believed to be her wedding set.”
“Why do you believe it’s been overlooked? Nefertari’s tomb is the best known in the Valley of the Queens. Scholars have been over and around every inch of it.”
He’d turned the problem over and over in his mind and hadn’t yet come to any firm conclusions, but was anxious to discuss them with her. “At the risk of seeming uneducated, I’d consider it a sign of technological advancement combined with a stroke of pure dumb luck.”
Rowan’s smile was back. “I’m not quite sure the team from the British Museum who made the discovery while rephotographing the tomb would appreciate that characterization.”
“You know the team?”
“Well enough. Baxter Monroe has always been a supporter of my work.”
Finn suspected Baxter Monroe was also a supporter of Rowan Steele’s rather delectable ass, but kept his thoughts to himself. “We’ll agree to disagree.”
Kensington took that moment to step in. “Finn, while I have every confidence in my sister, you can’t ignore there’s possible risk.”
“Which my firm is prepared to minimize. In addition to Rowan’s sterling reputation, I have legitimate reason to be on-site because Gallagher International has been selected to authenticate the dig by the Coalition of Antiquities.”
Clearly unconvinced, Kensington pressed again. “So why isn’t your firm fully handling the site?”
“I am personally handling the site, not my staff. I need an expert on this and someone who knows the players in the region. Rowan has that. Her recent history of successfully retrieving various antiquities thefts is impressive. I think her presence will offer a degree of deterrence to those who’d like to see the cache distributed to the highest private bidder.”
“Why don’t you cut to the chase?” Rowan interrupted whatever it was Kensington was about to say next. “You want me to spy on-site and schmooze with my contacts. None of which will do us any good if everything goes sideways.”
Finn felt the deal slipping away, the hard glint in her eyes telegraphing what would no doubt be a refusal, and he puzzled at the strange sense of disappointment sweeping through his bloodstream. He knew from the start this was a difficult request. Knew the tensions between the various political factions involved in the tomb discovery were a hard sell.
So why did the rejection feel personal?
“The deal’s not going to go sideways. But if you want reassurance, why don’t you pay a visit to the Gallagher International offices? I’ll take you through all our research to date. The original reports from the team at the British Museum overlaid with topography of the region, our intel on all of the major crime rings currently involved in antiquities theft and full background on each of the players currently involved in the site.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then you’ll miss out on the opportunity to be on-site for the full excavation inside the tomb, the opportunity to authenticate the jewelry and private items already discovered in the cache along with anything else we find. Oh, and unfettered access to Nefertari’s tomb, which, as you know, isn’t granted to just anyone, nor is it granted all that often.”
A merry little twinkle lit up her eyes, the only real expression of her agreement. “I’m in.”
* * *
Rowan took a small measure of satisfaction at the matched looks of shock on both Finn’s and Kensington’s faces. While she knew the surprise was for vastly different reasons, she was pleased to have knocked both off guard.
Sure, the dangers at the site were real, but so were the dangers on any job she took on. She would go through her normal meticulous preparation in advance, and then it would be up to the situation to fall where it may.
But there was no way in hell she was missing out on that tomb.
“Then it’s settled. Can you be in London in two days?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll see you then. In the meantime, I’ll forward some additional documentation for you to review.”
Kensington maintained her usual small talk, then ushered Finn Gallagher from the conference room, their voices fading down the hall. Rowan heard the vague mention of contracts and an early transfer of funds to pay for her travel but tuned the majority of it out.
She was headed back to Egypt.
And she was headed there with a man who put her back up all the while intriguing her.
Finn Gallagher was a puzzle. The same early behavior that impressed her with his seat selection—a clear indication he held both her and Kensington in equal regard—had continued throughout the meeting. He made his points without apology, yet she got the distinct impression he fully understood what he was asking.
And he scored major points for his very real skepticism of Baxter Monroe.
She’d always hated the museum’s head of Egyptian artifacts and thought the man operated with a pomposity that bordered on ignorance. She also knew for a fact the man had spent little time on the dig site despite his lavish claims to the contrary. The discovery was the result of his poor behavior in the tomb on a random visit that had oddly paid dividends, but rather than acknowledge his team, he was now blithely taking credit for the work of his staff.
Oh yeah, she wanted in.
And when you added in the petty joy that would come from the chance to get on-site and beat the museum to the catalog of the find as well as its overall authentication, she’d be damned if she stayed out of this project.
“I’m not sure if I think you’re terrifyingly brilliant or brilliantly terrifying.” Kensington walked back into the room and crossed toward the credenza on the far wall for more coffee.
“Can’t I be both?”
“I thought you were going to brush him off like lint.”
“Aside from the fact that I don’t think Finn Gallagher brushes easily, there’s no way I’m passing this up.”
“Ro.” Kensington took her seat once more, a sudden seriousness painting her features as her blue gaze turned solemn. “You need to be careful.”
“I will be.”
“Really careful. There are a lot of players in this one with a lot invested in the outcome.”
“I’m invested, too. This is a major discovery.”
“That’s my point.”
Rowan fought to keep the
frustration from her voice, opting for what she hoped was a more persuasive tone. “This is the perfect blend of my professional expertise and the types of assignments we take on here. I’d be a fool to pass it up.”
“Please just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“No, you’re not.” That serious expression was back, and much as she wanted to argue with Kenzi, on some level Rowan refused to lie.
She did take risks and she always had.
While she had given up stealing after that night in the Warrington house, she’d never given up the thrill of the hunt. And archaeology had given her an outlet for that.
Great finds.
The potential for danger.
And the deep understanding of how the mind of a thief worked had come in handy on more than one occasion.
Because she knew how to case a place—how to find its weak points and devise a plan to get in and out—she knew how to find the thieves that regularly attacked locations of value.
“I’d say it’s a family trait we all have in spades.”
* * *
Jared Wright reviewed the report from the Valley of the Queens and marveled at the sheer stupidity of his contact at the Cairo Museum. He’d ensured a local was on the job within days of the discovery of a cache of royal jewels, yet it didn’t seem to be helping. The team from the British Museum had the inside track and had managed to get the site locked up tight as a drum.
He needed a way in.
His phone beeped and he glanced down at the screen. The words New Player flashed before the screen faded to black. He did a quick screen swipe and typed in his ten-digit password—you could never be too careful—before accessing the message.
J:
Some old friends are headed to Luxor. Seems the duo on the Victoria Project are back in business together. Talk soon.
M
The news had a ready sense of anticipation flooding his veins as he reread the message.
Although he’d kept tabs on the two kids who’d taken the Queen Victoria bracelet years ago, he’d never done more than keep watch. The boy hadn’t been worth his time and when he’d discovered a few weeks after the heist the kid had had the fortitude to live, he’d given him the benefit of the doubt. They’d never found the bracelet when they searched him and he was too small-time to ultimately be worth his time.
