by Addison Fox
“You’ve done other work for the museum and so have I. We both know the players involved. Why does it feel like there’s something just out of reach? Like someone’s pulling the strings?”
“I don’t know.”
He might not know, but he couldn’t argue with Rowan’s assessment. From the very start, the entire project had the strangest feel to it. And the imagery of a puppet master, dragging the strings offstage, was an apt one.
“I got lucky and spoke to my brother earlier. He’s pulling one of his all-nighters. He’s looking into the web forum. I can have him do some more nosing around.”
“Nosing in what? From what Will’s said, there’s a small online community tied to these forums.”
“Campbell can get into Baxter Monroe’s email, if you want him to.”
Finn was used to taking every advantage he could find, but even he had to admit Rowan’s brother had some serious skills. “He can do that?”
“He’d kill me if I said yes, but yes, he can do it. And if I give him a good reason why we need to know, he’ll do it without getting all uppity and moral about it.”
While he was the last person who should be pointing a finger in judgment, he couldn’t quite ignore the irony of her statement. “Isn’t the ability to do that sort of the opposite?”
She leaned in, her voice low. “Would you steal for just anyone?”
“No.” As an afterthought, he added, “And it’s not nearly that sordid.”
“Go with me for a minute.” When he only nodded, she continued, “You don’t do jobs for the hell of it. You do them to some personal code that only you know and understand. Despite my recent reaction, I do understand that.” Her gaze dropped. “I never had that. My personal code wasn’t nearly as refined. Or discriminating. It was a sickness.”
Whatever direction he’d expected their conversation to take, Rowan’s sudden admission wasn’t it. “That may be the case, but you weren’t entirely wrong last night, either. Our choices do define us. Who we are. The jobs we take.”
Jobs.
Something stopped him and flipped the entire problem on its ear. “Wait a minute.”
“What?”
“You’ve got a point on taking jobs.”
“In what way?”
“Who stands to gain from the dig in Egypt?”
“Monroe’s certainly lining his pockets. He’ll make a fortune in speaking engagements for the rest of his life, not to mention book deals and whatever salary increase he can command at the museum.”
“Right, but he’s got that no matter what. He might be a little toady, but he’s a well-positioned toady.”
“Yeah, right.” Her indelicate snort let him know exactly what she thought about that.
“Come on, you have to agree. Not liking him isn’t reason enough to assume he’s hiring thugs to shiv me in broad daylight.”
Her gaze drifted to the red stain that colored his shirt before she looked away. “Fair point.”
“There’s also the museum brass. They stand to gain from this, as does the auction house who ultimately gets some of the lesser pieces.”
Her somber gaze sharpened. “This is going to auction?”
“Yep. The scholarly committees involved have all agreed some select pieces can go out to collectors. After the auction house gets their cut for handling the auction, all proceeds will be split between the Egyptian government, a UN coalition on preserving antiquities and future grants in the region.”
“Who’s competing for the prize?”
“All the major houses. I spoke to the head of Hamilton’s a few days ago and they’re well positioned to secure the project.”
“Yet we haven’t been looking at them. This is big money, Finn. Nothing like the artifacts on this dig have seen the light of day, and no respectable collector has ever been able to get their hands on something like this. The bids are going to be enormous.”
“So’s every major collection the auction houses touch. They don’t need to resort to criminal activity to get projects. Hell, I know all of these people because of the work we do. There’s no way Hamilton’s or anyone else is going to risk their reputation like that. The ramifications are too great.”
She didn’t appear convinced, but obviously decided not to argue the point for the moment. “Who else?”
“No one else stands to gain other than the black market.”
“And since when does the black market show up attacking people assigned to the dig? To anyone involved, you’re there to authenticate the cache, nothing more.”
“True.”
“So why is someone trying to take you out?”
* * *
Rowan’s words were still rattling around his head a half hour later when he walked into his apartment. He needed to clean up before going to dinner with the Steeles. If the few extra minutes in his apartment would help him calm down, well, that would be even better.
Damn it, why couldn’t he stop shaking?
He headed for the bathroom, stripping the soiled shirt off as he went. He tossed it in the kitchen garbage, then kept on to his room. Another wave of shivers racked his chest and he cursed the betrayal of his body as he snatched a washcloth from the closet and wet it with hot water.
He’d tried to hide the shivers from Rowan, but no matter how hard he’d willed himself to calm, he couldn’t stop the post-adrenaline letdown that wouldn’t let go of him.
He was more shaken than he’d normally want to admit.
Was there something bigger at stake?
In his line of work, he knew better than most that the antiquities culture was fraught with wealthy players who often attempted to play outside the rules. It was the sole reason he’d maintained an outlet for his less-than-reputable work over the years.
And while he hadn’t lied to Rowan—that portion of his activities had diminished over time—it was still a part of his life.
So who could possibly be playing in the game, and if they were, why was he a target?
You don’t kill the golden goose.
He stared at his reflection in his bathroom mirror, the wound on his side and the flesh around it bright pink. His motions were limited, but they were a hell of a lot less limited than if he’d had stitches. He could only thank his lucky stars the thug with the knife hadn’t met with success.
The wound was a scratch and it wasn’t likely to give him too many problems.
The wound was a scratch....
“Damn it!” He threw the washcloth on the counter, the wet cotton landing with a thud.
You didn’t kill the golden goose, but you sure as hell could slow it down.
And someone clearly didn’t want him and Rowan to get to Egypt on time.
The heavy knocking on his door drew his attention and he stomped from the bathroom, his senses on high alert. No one had called up to notify him he had a visitor. He flung open the door, surprised when Rowan stood on the other side. “How’d you get up here?”
The briefest hesitation tinged her voice, but it was gone so fast he had to wonder if he’d even heard it. “I nicked the extra elevator pass you had in your desk. It’s dangerous to keep it there, you know. You live in one of the most secure buildings in the world, yet anyone who comes into your office can get up here.”
“Situational ethics, Rowan?” He couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious. “The office is secure, too. And I have a guard dog outside my office nonstop.”
“I earned that jab fair and square.”
“Yes, you did.”
“You still shouldn’t leave this lying around.” She waved a small key fob at him and he took it. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but it galled him to think he’d grown lax in the past few months, the convenience of living where he worked obviously getting to him.
He heard the genuine concern in her voice, yet her gaze held something else entirely as it roved over his skin.
Hunger.
And suddenly, whatever pain he felt vanished at the very real evidence of her interest. “It’s not so bad.”
Her eyes narrowed and any hint of sensuality vanished from her gaze as she moved forward, her hand on his stomach. The muscles there quivered involuntarily at her touch. “What’s this?”
“It’s a liquid bandage.”
“No, this!” She closed the remaining distance between them and placed her fingers on his skin.
The heat was immediate—electric—and he could only imagine this was what it felt like to be branded. His skin was hot, yet all sensation seemed centered in the flesh underneath the pads of her fingers.
But it was only when he looked down at her hands that her reaction registered.
Tears shimmered over the clear blue of her eyes. “That’s where you got shot, isn’t it?”
* * *
“Yes.”
“Oh, Finn. I’m so sorry.” Why hadn’t she thought about a scar?
The admonition rang over and over again in her mind as her gaze returned once more to that puckered flesh underneath the last rib on his right side. The knife wound a few inches below it had colored the skin on that side of his body pink with the fresh injury, but the outlines of his scar were unmistakable.
“How many times do we have to go over this, Rowan? My injuries that night weren’t your fault. I was in that house of my own free will.”
“And you stayed behind to help me. A stranger.”
“I couldn’t leave you there to fend for yourself. And none of it changes that I earned this fair and square.”
His words filled her with a subtle heartache she didn’t know how to assuage. She’d spent so many years living with a combination of guilt and anger that it was more challenging than she’d ever have expected to learn to let go.
“I’ve had dreams. Nightmares about that night ever since it happened.”
“Often?”
“Often enough. At first I had them almost every night.” She shrugged, the sheer terror of those first days filling her mind’s eye. “It faded over time until they only came when I was stressed or tired.”
“I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t resist throwing his words right back at him. “It wasn’t your fault. Besides, I considered them penance.”
“Consider yourself atoned.” His voice was husky and he moved a fraction closer, his hand reaching up to cover hers where it still pressed to his flesh.
The memories faded as his touch pulled her back to the here and now and the magnificent specimen of a man standing before her. The hard planes of his body filled her vision, and she lifted her other hand to touch him. A light dusting of hair covered his chest, tapering to a thin line over the ridges of his abdomen. She traced the path, fascinated when his stomach muscles tensed under her touch.
“Rowan.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. “I think you need to stop.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders, the thick ropes of muscles under her fingers so enticing she couldn’t resist dragging her palms over his skin in a hard caress. His skin vibrated at the contact and she felt the subtle beat of his blood pumping under her touch.
“What if I don’t want to?”
He never lifted his head, but his words held a world of regret. “Nothing’s changed since last night.”
“No, it hasn’t.” She dropped her hands and stepped back, the sudden realization her behavior bordered on that of a tease if she didn’t get out of there quick. “I’m sorry. I should leave you to get dressed.”
The overpowering desire that curled under her skin like a living, breathing thing nearly had her going back into his arms, but she held off.
Because no matter how badly she wished things were different, they were still on opposite sides of a very large chasm.
Chapter 12
Finn knew Alexander and Penelope Steele missed little, but it had been many years since he’d felt himself sized up in quite this way. Add Rowan’s brother Liam to the mix and he’d basically run the triumvirate of Rowan’s overprotective family.
The dinner they’d shared earlier in the formal dining room had given way to coffee and dessert in a small parlor off the main hallway. Despite the less formal environment, the scrutiny was as unyielding as dinner.
And no matter how he tried to gauge his performance, he could only think he’d come up lacking.
Whether it was from genuine interest or a desire to break the awkward silence, Penelope smiled at him as she added sugar to her coffee. “Finn, dear. Where in Ireland is your family from?”
“Dublin, ma’am. And you? I can hear the hints of the Emerald Isle in your voice.”
Her smile grew bright at that and he thought perhaps he’d finally hit on a topic that wasn’t controversial. The talk thus far—of his business, the impending trip to Egypt or his new office space—had resulted in stilted conversation and subtle disapproval.
“County Cork.”
“And don’t think she doesn’t have the gift of blarney to prove it.” Alexander piped up over his coffee and his open smile was the first time since they’d arrived Finn thought he might be on more stable ground.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Penelope’s face maintained its serene lines but he didn’t miss the mischief that alighted in her green gaze. “You’ve kissed that stone on more than one occasion, my dear. It’s yet to sweeten your tongue.”
Rowan rolled her eyes from her perch across the room and Finn wasn’t sure if he should take heart or make up some medical emergency and duck out. He’d even momentarily thought about rubbing at his wound in hopes he could get it to start bleeding again.
And how far gone was that?
He’d dealt with stickier situations in his life—ones that actually involved life-and-death decisions—so why was he sweating one evening with a pair of octogenarians?
“How do you like living in the Shard, Finn?” Liam took up the conversation ball and Finn latched on to it like a drowning man. “Rowan’s been raving about your work space but I’m curious what you think of it as a residence.”
“You thinking of buying a space?” Finn eased into the conversation, the change another welcome diversion from Alexander’s scrutiny.
Liam shrugged lightly, the casual gesture at odds with the intense man Finn knew him to be. “I’ve considered it. The floor plans are gorgeous but I’m sort of attached to New York as my home base.”
“You should see the views from Finn’s place. You can see all of London.” Rowan’s voice floated over the room, effectively stopping all conversation.
Finn fought a wince, but just barely. What was she thinking? And why did she bring up the fact she’d been inside his apartment?
If a cow had walked into the room and died on the carpet, it would have made less of an impact than her statement.
As it were, Alexander’s already stoic visage darkened. In that age-old way of older men intimidating the younger ones who came calling, Finn didn’t doubt the man knew where and how to hide bodies.
What was even more shocking was that the dark gaze was still mighty effective and he was long out of the classroom.
“Finn, I’d like to talk to you.”
He recognized the summons for what it was and rose at Alexander’s words. “Of course, sir.”
“Grandfather.” Rowan rose to follow. “We’re having a nice evening. Why do you need to talk to Finn?”
“It’s nothing to worry about, just a quick conversation. Go join your grandmother in the li
brary. She wants you to get some pictures for her in Egypt. She’s made you a list.”
“Grandfather—”
“Go on, Ro.” Liam smiled as he lifted his after-dinner cognac. “I’ll run interference.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Rowan took her grandmother’s hand in hers and helped the woman from her seat.
It didn’t take long for the women to depart, the ritual old-fashioned and borderline archaic. Finn was about to say as much—what the hell did he have to lose at this point?—when a broad grin split Alexander’s face. “I’d say he passed rather well, wouldn’t you, Liam?”
“Like a champ.”
“Excuse me?” Finn had the distinct sensation of swimming underwater as he dropped back into his seat. “Passed what?”
Alexander slapped his knee. “The gauntlet.”
“I wasn’t aware that was part of the evening’s entertainment.” Finn glanced at the cognac Liam laid at his elbow. “What’s this for?”
“A peace offering.”
“You have feelings for my girl, now, don’t you, Gallagher?” Alexander’s direct stare bored into him with all the subtlety of a thousand volts of electricity.
“She’s a special woman.”
“Damn straight she is. She’s also headstrong, impulsive and often reckless, and you’d be stupid not to have feelings for her.” The old man leaned forward. “Something makes me think you’re far from stupid.”
“I like to think so.” Finn couldn’t hold back the grin at that. “And she is pretty headstrong. A trait from your wife’s family?”
Alexander did laugh at that, and Finn thought they perhaps had moved another step further. “I think both branches of the family tree contributed. And from what I know of her mother’s parents, those branches were likely ripe for climbing, as well. But I’m getting off topic.”
What was the topic?
“Look, Mr. Steele. I’m quite sure you didn’t bring me here to size me up as a possible date for your granddaughter. She’s more than capable of making those decisions for herself.”
When both men remained silent, Finn continued on. “So why am I really here?”
