Veronica couldn’t deny the accusation. It was true. They both knew it.
Alyssa shifted. “If something happens to you…” She shuddered. “Seeing you in that jail. Hurt. Scared.” She leaned against the windowsill, one hand pressed flat against the glass. “I’m not as strong as you are. If you needed me, like that, I’m not sure I could do it again.”
Veronica crossed her arms. “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to, and I don’t expect to land in jail in a foreign country again. Or this country, for that matter.”
Alyssa whirled to face her, her normally controlled demeanor darkened with angry passion. “Can’t you just ignore this? For me? Do a nice, normal excavation?”
Veronica hated to hurt Alyssa, but knew there was no other choice. “It’s not just about me. Not anymore.”
The emotion in Alyssa’s eyes shuttered closed, shutting out both her rising emotions and Veronica. She walked back to her desk, as poised as if the conversation had never happened. “Call me when you get back?”
“Of course.” Veronica flung the backpack over her shoulder, knowing a dismissal when she heard it. Alyssa would want to talk after she took a few days to process the facts, mull them over, and massage them, but until she was ready, there was no point in pushing her.
“Veronica?”
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
Alyssa sat at her computer. To a client, she looked professional. Poised.
Only Veronica would notice the strain around her eyes. “Will you at least have Rebecca run a background check on Simon?”
“Good idea,” she agreed as she pushed the button to recall the elevator. It dinged and slid open, waiting. She stepped in and turned to wave goodbye, the door sliding shut.
“Veronica!” Beyond the door, Veronica saw her sister jump to her feet. Quickly, she stuck her foot in the closing door, making them slide back open.
“What?”
“If something did happen, you’d call. Right?” She whispered the question.
Veronica smiled. Her sister was stronger than she thought, and their bond stronger than Alyssa’s fear. “Of course.” And she let the doors slide shut.
With his hair still damp from a shower and wearing only snug jeans, Simon looked better than Veronica remembered. Not even the overkill of the bed-and-breakfast’s floral décor could detract from a body honed by years of fieldwork.
Her eyes glanced downward of their own accord.
She liked his feet. Most men had ugly feet. Yellow nails. Hairy. Simon’s were smooth. And muscled. She wondered how he managed to do that.
Slowly, she perused his jeans-clad calves, then his thighs, only slowing when she came to his naked chest.
Nice.
His muscles were the kind that came from digging excavation pits—not from a gym.
He had a nice swatch of hair on his chest. Not too much, just enough to catch her attention and hold it. She remembered his chest pressed against her at the party. Even then, he’d had a six-pack. She’d loved it. Laughing and tipsy in the corner, she’d pulled his T-shirt from his jeans and let her hands roam beneath the worn cotton, tracing his muscles with her fingertips until his breath was ragged against her neck.
She inhaled and her eyes continued upward. She met his gaze. Dark. Deep.
And laughing at her as he toweled his hair dry. “See something you like?”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “Nice feet,” she muttered as she pushed past him and into the room.
“And nice room.” She’d thought it was bad from the hallway. The bed was an antique four-poster with a canopy. The rest of the decor was just as feminine. She counted three varieties of rose-covered wallpaper from where she stood. One was flocked with velvet.
“This must be the I-love-roses-and-I’m-not-afraid-to-show-it room,” she commented as she made her way past an overstuffed pink chair with a matching ottoman.
“I didn’t come for the decor.” Simon folded up the towel and set it inside the door to the private bathroom. “I’m betting that you didn’t, either.”
He slid past her, opened up the French doors and took a seat out on the balcony at a small white wrought-iron table.
Veronica took the chair across from him, setting her backpack next to her chair. It was a sunny afternoon. Baskets filled with jasmine and ivy hung from the balconies with matching white wrought-iron railings. The air was warm and the scent clean—a welcome change from the stuffy bedroom.
Trees protected the redbrick home from the sounds of the city, and they could almost be in another world instead of a boutique hotel on the Upper East Side of New York.
His eyes locked with hers, and Simon ran a hand over his still-unshaven, rough chin. “I take it you got the proof you needed?”
No games. She liked that. It would make convincing him to take her with him that much easier once he realized he didn’t have a choice. “Yeah. I did.” With her sneakered foot, she pushed the backpack to him. It scraped across the tiles. “We need to talk.”
He gave a long, deliberate nod.
She held herself still, silent, like a Roman gladiator just before he crossed the threshold to an arena filled with waiting lions and surrounded by the cheering populace. The blood pounded in her ears with such force that it threatened to deafen her. It was foolish, but she wondered if Simon could hear it or if he noticed how her veins throbbed. She crossed the threshold and presented her offer. “I’ll tell you what I know about the Eye of Artemis, but there is a condition.”
He didn’t flinch. “Not a shock. How much?”
She inhaled slowly, keeping herself steady. Then took another deep breath as she prepared for the explosion of anger she knew was coming once Simon heard her terms. “No money. I’m going with you.”
He smiled, showing white, even teeth. “No.”
Simple. Precise. And without a hint of emotion. Veronica cocked her head, surprised he wasn’t angry at her challenge. She’d be furious if he tried that with her. “You might know Europe, but the Stone is in the Mediterranean. My bailiwick. You need me.”
“No.” Again. Simple. Precise. Firm.
And infuriating. “I don’t think you understand. It’s not negotiable.”
He drummed a beat on the table with his fingertips—the only suggestion he might be growing angry. “I do understand, but the answer is still no. I knew you might propose this—”
“It’s not a proposal. It’s an ultimatum,” Veronica said, cutting him off, then putting her hands in her lap to keep them still. If he could maintain calm, so could she, even though her inner self wanted to stand up and make her case by pounding on the table until Simon reacted.
His expression remained impassive, but the drumming stopped.
And Veronica noticed that he didn’t say no this time. Her lips twitched as she reined in her relief—she hadn’t won yet. She leaned toward him, the edge of the tabletop pressing into her chest. “You can try to find another archaeologist who knows something useful about the Eye, but you won’t. Believe me, I tried. There’s only me and Joseph and he’s not going to help you.”
He leaned forward to meet her. She ignored the way his muscles bunched. He exhaled. His breath smelled minty and caressed her skin with its warmth. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t need the added responsibility of taking care of you.” He leaned back, one closed fist on the table, the other resting against his denimed thigh. “Now, keep your part of the bargain and tell me where I can find the Eye.”
He could argue, try to bully her into doing what he wanted, but it all came down to one irreconcilable truth—she had the information he needed and wasn’t giving it up until she got what she wanted. She leveled her stare, defying him even before she spoke. “No.”
“No?”
“Uh-huh.”
He didn’t break their visual lock but held it. She knew what he was doing—the same thing she would do if she were in his shoes. He was weighing the need to find the Midas Stone with the advantages and disadvantages
of bringing her with him. “If it helps,” she commented, breaking the silence, “My dad made sure I could take care of myself in a fight. You won’t have to take care of me.”
“Do you think we’re walking into danger?” Simon asked, his voice stony.
Veronica bit her lip realizing that she’d just made it more difficult for Simon to accept her ultimatum. Still, there was no taking it back and if they were partners, then he needed to know that potential danger was very real. “Possibly.”
“From whom?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t going to tell him about the Vatican. Not yet.
“Fine.”
His mouth set in a grim line, Simon pushed his chair back and rose. “Show me.”
Her face betrayed her confusion before she could mask it. “Show you what?”
He looked down at her in patent disbelief. “You say you can take care of yourself? Prove it.”
She hadn’t expected that. “You want to fight me?”
His brows rose, and his eyes mocked her as if he felt assured of his own success. “Unless you’re all talk. Yes.”
Heat made its way up her neck and to her cheeks. Veronica stood. All talk, my ass. She raised her chin to meet his eyes. “I do this and you agree to take me?”
He hesitated and uncertainty briefly sketched his face before disappearing. “Agreed.”
Idiot. He didn’t know what he was in for—which worked for her. The element of surprise was always an advantage.
Veronica followed him into the bedroom. Together, they pushed the floral-covered furniture to the sides of the room, opening up a bare patch that was roughly ten feet in diameter.
Picking up a black cloth hair-tie from the bedside table, Simon ran a hand over his still-damp hair, smoothing it down before he tied it back. “You sure you want to do this? You might get hurt,” he said, his tone more sincere and less arrogant than she expected.
“I’ll take my chances.” Veronica stuck her hand out. “Good luck.”
He took her hand in his. It was warm, callused and strong. Her body instinctively remembered his touch and raced into overdrive. Useful.
“You, too,” he said.
His words were like a fight bell and the signal she needed. Bracing her feet, she yanked him toward her and kneed him in the groin.
Carrying a half-full pot of coffee and two mugs, Veronica tapped the door open with her foot and walked back into the rose room.
Simon waited in one of the overstuffed chairs, trying to get comfortable.
She tried not to seem too pleased. Served him right for doubting her. She’d warned him that she knew how to defend herself.
And as much as she hated to admit it, it was a nice little payback for not believing her myth theory when she first proposed it. A few more hits like that and she might even forgive him.
Her eyes zeroed in on his crotch for a split second before she caught herself, then flickered upward.
He glared at her. “Let’s hope I can still have kids,” he muttered.
She handed him a cup of coffee, trying not to appear too pleased with herself. After all, he’d wanted her to prove her worth. It was his own fault. “I’m sure your swimmers will be fine.”
He rolled his eyes and took the coffee. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Partner.”
He hesitated, and for a moment, she wondered if he was going to renege on their deal. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d screwed her over—the thought was bitter in her brain. If he did, she’d go after the Midas Stone herself. Without his half of the codex, it would be more difficult. Take longer. Possibly years.
But it was possible. She wouldn’t let him take this away from her. Not again.
But instead of showing her the door, he assessed her with his piercing eyes. His frank examination gave her the distinct impression she was being judged the way one would judge a quality Thoroughbred. Heat rose in the pit of her stomach, then spread through her body like a flash fire as his intimate assessment took in her thighs. Waist. Chest. Arms.
Finally, he dipped his head to sip the hot coffee, the break in visual contact effectively dousing the fire he’d started in her body. Veronica picked up her own cup, took a deep breath and waited for his decision.
“You win. Partner it is.”
Her shoulders relaxed, releasing much of the tension she’d been holding in since Alyssa’s report.
Once again, his eyes locked onto her. “Unlike some people, I keep my word.”
Instantly, her hackles rose at the criticism. “If you’d agreed to take me, I wouldn’t have had to push the issue.”
He grunted. “As I said, I keep my word. Now, I have to ask, where were you raised that you had to knee men in the balls on a regular basis?”
She leaned back into the pink-velvet chair, forcing the hackles down. If he were willing to play nice, she’d do the same. “All over the world. Some of the regions were less, let’s say, hospitable, than others. My dad thought it would be best if my sister and I both learned how to defend ourselves. He taught us to do whatever it took.”
Simon shifted with another grunt of pain. “I’ll remember that next time.”
She snickered, despite her attempt to hold it back.
To his credit, he didn’t glare at her. Instead, he gave her a look that was almost admiration. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad as a partner.
He templed his hands in front of him. “Do you want to tell me about the Eye now?”
“Sure. I read about it in the other half of your codex.”
“You have the other half?” Simon almost jumped to his feet in excitement, but fell back with an “oomph” and a pained expression that told her his crotch was far from recovered.
She didn’t laugh this time.
He shook his head, clearing it. “Where is it?”
Veronica took a sip of coffee. “I never said I had it. I’ve read it. Or part of it. It’s in the Vatican.”
“How do we see it?”
“That’s the more difficult part.” She set her cup down and leaned toward him, her forearms resting on her thighs. He wasn’t going to like what she had to say, but he needed to know the degree of difficulty involved. “I have a friend, Sylvia, who worked there. She specializes in holy relics. She told me about the codex and got me in to view it. I was partway into my translation when she was fired, and I was denied access.”
Simon remained silent.
“I was never told the reason and neither was she, but I can assume that once they realized the basis of my theory, they didn’t want the knowledge proven and made public. They told her that her services were no longer required. I tried to get in again but was unsuccessful.”
One hand resting over his flat abdomen, Simon rubbed his chin. A gesture that Veronica knew meant he was taking in the info and drawing conclusions.
“I have some connections.” He said, his voice hesitant. “I might be able to get us a viewing.”
“Don’t be naive.” Veronica snapped before she thought to hold her temper.
“Excuse me?” His eyebrows arched in surprise. “Naive? Naive is not mentioning the codex in your presentation. If you had, you might have been more credible, and I’d be in Rome by now.”
Veronica rubbed the back of her neck. She was doing this badly. “You don’t understand. What was I going to say about the notes to back it up? The Vatican was, and I’m sure still is, in full denial.” A deep sigh of frustration escaped her lips. “It wasn’t just that I was a nuisance. It was more. They had armed guards escort me from Vatican City. They confiscated my work, and when I got back to the hotel, my room was ransacked. My notes stolen. Luckily, I’d left a few with Sylvia, and in the end, that was all I recovered.”
Simon leaned back and Veronica knew he was studying her. Alyssa had that same look when she was evaluating one of Veronica’s wilder claims. “What do you suggest?”
Veronica relaxed. “I have a plan. One that will get us into the room where the relics are kept.�
�� She hesitated. Simon might appear as analytical and cynical as Alyssa, but his belief in the Midas Stone told her he had an adventurous side. She hoped she was right. “If you’re up to doing something that is a tad outside the law.”
His eyes lit up, and Veronica knew he was hooked. “What do you have in mind?” He asked, his voice equally interested.
Veronica sent a silent prayer of thanks to the crazy gods that blessed even crazier archaeologists. “How do you feel about breaking and entering?”
Chapter 5
Veronica watched the city pass by as Simon zipped through Rome in their rented Peugeot 307 Coupé. After drawing money from her business account and his savings account to fund their quest, they’d spent the last eight days getting their travel documents in order, going over her notes and the scant evidence from the ill-received myth paper and reassuring both Alyssa and Rebecca that they would be fine.
Now they were driving through Rome in a convertible with the top down. Veronica breathed in the air that was a combination of rich food, marble warmed by the midday sun, exhaust and spring flowers.
A teenager in ripped jeans, headphones covering her ears, and looking very American, bopped past them as they waited at a red light. If not for the plethora of historical artifacts, they could almost be in a city in the United States.
Simon turned the small car into the Piazza Navona where Bernini’s Fontana dei Quattro Fium, fountain of the four rivers, caught her attention with its human representation of the Ganges, Nile, Danube and Rio de la Plata Rivers carved in marble and flanking a Roman obelisk that reached skyward.
Around the fountain, people milled about drinking coffee, taking pictures, gawking and talking.
She grinned. This was definitely not New York. In New York, someone would probably be fishing for change.
It still seemed surreal. She and Simon certainly weren’t in the United States. They were in one of the most historical and beautiful places on the planet, planning to break into one of the most well-secured places on the planet. Another day or so and she’d be well on her way to committing a felony.
The Midas Trap Page 7
