The Midas Trap

by Sharron McClellan

  Simon slid until he was under her. She settled herself on his lap, her thighs on either side of his, his jeans rough against her bare legs.

  He unsnapped her bra and slid it down her arms. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said, taking a nipple in his mouth.

  Veronica arched backward, her hands searching for purchase and finding the roof of the car. “Yesss,” she hissed as almost painful pleasure radiated from where Simon suckled down to her groin. God, it had been too long.

  She pushed him away and yanked his shirt over his head. She flung it to the floor, then ran her hands up his thighs until she reached his erection. It was hot under her hand. She rubbed him through the rough material and he arched into her palm.

  She squeezed him as best she could. He reached between them and stroked her through the thin panties, sending a shock wave all the way down to her toes. “Simon.” She ground her hips into his, wanting more. She craved him. Needed him. Maybe he could take his time, but her patience had already worn thin. “I can’t wait.”

  “Thank you,” he groaned. Wrapping her hair around his hand, he devoured her with his lips and pulled her panties down as far as he could. It wasn’t far enough. He gripped her right thigh. “Can you lift your leg up a bit? This is really awkward.”

  She’d only made out in a car before, never actually had sex. It wasn’t as carefree as books made it out to be. She extended her leg and a seam ripped as he forced the garment past her knee and over her foot, leaving it dangling on her other calf.

  She didn’t care. Her hand still on his groin, she unzipped his jeans. He lifted his hips, and she jerked the material down to his knees, freeing him. “Far enough.” He crushed her to his chest, and in seconds, he was in her, filling her. She wished she’d taken the time to see him, taste him, but that could come later. After they took the edge off.

  And her edge was sharp. Screaming for release.

  His hands on her hips, Simon thrust upward and Veronica moaned as he stretched her. “Harder.” She needed to feel him. Needed the tension. The torture. Needed to feel alive.

  Grabbing the back of the seat, she thrust downward and he wrapped his arms around her waist, grinding her against him. Skin against skin.

  “Oh, yes.” That was the spot. He held her tighter and thrust. “More.”

  She rode him, his breath hot in her ear, and his body so close she could feel his pulse.

  Her orgasm came seconds later, unexpected and hard, as what felt like every muscle in her body contracted. She screamed in the consuming pleasure even as she heard Simon urging her on. Telling her to ride it out as he stiffened under her. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her muscles around him and squeezed, propelling herself into another orgasm as he thrust himself into her.

  Then Simon was chanting her name, and she knew he was close to climax. The veins in his neck bulged as he fought for control. Now it was her turn to urge him onward. With a groan, he pulled out of her and she took him in her hand, stroking him until he peaked.

  He shuddered against her for what felt like forever. Finally, he let his head fall backwards onto the headrest, then he drew her to him for a kiss.

  “Simon.”

  This time, his mouth was sweet. Soft and moist as he tasted her. His tongue gentle in the taking. His caress as tender as a first kiss. He was still in her. Not hard but not soft. A satisfying reminder of what had happened.

  She leaned on him, enjoying the aftermath and the simple pleasure of making out in a parked car. A shaft of morning light glinted off the hood, striking her in the eye like an alarm clock. The night was over.

  “We should go,” Simon said, sculpting her jaw with his thumb.

  She glanced at the car’s clock. Five-thirty. “Nasim and Iamar will be worried.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “What?”

  He smiled sympathetically and kissed her forehead. “Do we really want to take a chance on going back? If someone saw us, it would implicate them.”

  She sighed, disappointed with herself for not thinking of that possibility, and tucked her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. She didn’t even bother to agree or protest since the answer was obvious. “What about the car? Lily and the codex?”

  “Lily and the codex are safe. Once we get to where we’re going, Nasim can send both to us by FedEx. As for the car, you’ve been here before. Is there anyone we could trade with? Someone with less-than-perfect morals?”

  Leave Lily? The codex? She knew they would both be safe with Nasim, but it just seemed so wrong somehow.

  “I don’t like this, either,” Simon assured her. “But unless you want to go to their home…?”

  No. Neither Lily nor the codex was worth the risk to her friends. “Benny.”

  “Benny?”

  “Just this guy we all use,” she explained. “No one can pronounce his name so we all call him Benny.” She smoothed a strand of hair away from his forehead. “He can get anything we need. I’ve never asked for anything illegal per se, but I’ve heard rumors. He’ll take the car in trade and give us something a little less obvious. I’m sure of it.”

  In her head, she drew a map from their current position to Benny’s workshop. “It’ll take us about fifteen minutes to get there.”

  He sighed. “Then we better get started.”

  Disappointed, and wishing the world would stand still for a while longer, she rolled off him. There was the sound of a zipper, and he was back in the driver’s seat.

  She tossed him his shirt. Her skirt was bunched around her waist. Her panties were trashed. Her bra had somehow made it under the seat. She slid the straps over her arms.

  “Let me,” Simon whispered. Her back to his chest, he slid the straps up to her shoulders. Taking a moment, he cupped her breasts before covering them with the skimpy piece of material. Finally, he dotted her shoulder and the back of her neck with feathery kisses as he snapped the back closed.

  She breathed a heavy sigh as she buckled herself into the passenger’s seat. Others might call her nuts, but that was probably the most erotic thing a man had ever done to her.

  Chapter 14

  Mykonos was everything a Greek island should be. White sand. Even whiter buildings. Blue water. Friendly people. A veritable Eden.

  With one snake in the mix: Michael.

  Four days ago, they’d traded the Mercedes for a rusted-out, pea-green, 1985 Volvo, a set of clothes for her and a new Dell laptop. Afterward, they’d driven to Ceme, a tourist town on the coast, where stealing a boat at night proved just as easy as stealing a car.

  She hated taking the boat, but with Michael and Deacon after the Midas Stone, there was little choice. It wasn’t just her career anymore. If one of them found the Stone, who knew what they’d do—especially Deacon. He was as cold-blooded as they came.

  Rebecca had traced Deacon as far as Athens, but Michael had come here, to Mykonos—the sister island to Delos and according to the codex, home to the Eye of Artemis.

  Veronica leaned back into her pillow, looking up at the white ceiling of their small bedroom at a local B and B, tracing a crack with her eyes. Coincidence?

  She hoped so. She prayed there was something on the Eye that told Michael to come here but didn’t give any more information.

  She prayed hard.

  At least she had Lily and the codex back. Both had arrived yesterday evening, courtesy of Nasim, and now she and Simon were ready to enter the next phase of their quest—retrieve the Eye, find the Stone and get the hell out of Greece before they added another country to their list of countries-they-could-never-go-to-again.

  The sheet slid off her shoulder as she snuggled against Simon’s back. She kissed his bare shoulder. He stretched and turned over, throwing his leg over her and pinning her to the bed. “Morning, Mrs. Adams,” he yawned.

  “Morning, Mr. Adams,” Veronica replied, kissing his mouth and laughing. She and Simon had once again assumed a “honeymooner”
persona when they checked in. One thing Veronica loved about the islands, as long as you paid cash and were friendly, identification was not necessary.

  He smoothed a strand of hair away from her forehead. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” she said. “Think he’ll fall for it?”

  “Let’s hope so. I don’t know about you, but as great as the islands are, I’m ready to get on with this,” he kissed her again but she had heard the frustration and impatience in his voice. He was a man of action—something she could completely relate to.

  Sitting up, she stretched, excited as a kid on her first day of school. She was finally going to get to confront Michael, and this time, she wasn’t alone.

  An hour later, they sipped espresso in the Blue Waters café, which was right across the street from the Coral café, which was where Michael went every morning for coffee.

  Veronica tugged at the short blond wig that covered her hair, her head baking in the heat. “He really needs to hurry,” she said, realizing it sounded like a whine and not caring.

  “Suck it up,” Simon said, glancing over the edge of his newspaper.

  “Yeah?” Veronica adjusted her sunglasses. “At least you’re comfortable.”

  “It does appear that way, doesn’t it?” he said as he ran his fingers through his recently cropped hair. Even though they weren’t sure Michael would recognize him, they hadn’t wanted to take the chance, and so Veronica had chopped it off with a pair of borrowed manicure scissors.

  Simon sat up in his chair, suddenly more interested in activities across the street and less interested in teasing her.

  “What? What?” Veronica whispered. “See anything?” Her back was to the café and she couldn’t see a damned thing.

  “He’s on the move,” Simon said, setting his paper down.

  Veronica tossed a handful of bills onto the table, grabbed her oversize beach bag and followed Simon to the street.

  Staying as close as they dared, they followed him down the street. Dressed in tan slacks, white shirt and a tan cotton jacket, he looked more like a wealthy tourist than a black marketeer.

  “Do you really thinks he’s dumb enough to carry it on him?” Simon asked out of the side of his mouth. “I wouldn’t.”

  “That’s because you’re trusting.”

  Simon grunted in disbelief.

  Veronica continued. “And honorable. Michael’s not. He’s a greedy jerk who expects everyone else to think like him. There is no way he’ll leave it in a vault that he doesn’t control.”

  “What if Deacon has it?”

  “He doesn’t,” she snapped. They’d had this conversation more than once and she was getting tired of it. “Now, do you trust my judgment or not?”

  He took her hand in his, swinging their arms as they followed Michael. To anyone else, they looked like a carefree couple. But she felt the tension in Simon’s hands and could see the lines of strain around his mouth. “I do,” he said.

  She heard the sincerity in his voice.

  She kissed his knuckles, not caring if public displays of affection bothered him or not. “I know. I‘m just…tense.”

  He squeezed her hand and both refocused on Michael. He turned a corner and they sped up. Rounding it, they saw him unlocking a rental car. It was small but had four doors and tinted windows. Bingo!

  “Go,” Simon whispered. Simon speed-walked to the car and began to speak to Michael. Veronica crossed the street and went up the sidewalk that paralleled Simon and Michael.

  Luckily, it was still early and the side road was deserted. She could hear the conversation, Simon asking for directions. Michael trying to help.

  Then Simon casually leaned against the car door, making Michael turn and put his back to her.

  Her signal.

  She counted off the steps, like they’d rehearsed in the room.

  One. She quickly crossed back and came up behind Michael.

  Two. Simon moved away from the driver’s door, opening it.

  Three. “What are you doing?” Michael asked, still unaware of her presence.

  Four. Her hand dropped into her bag where Lily waited, loaded and ready. “Hello, Michael.”

  Michael whirled about, his eyes wide. “Veronica?”

  She pulled Lily out just enough so Michael would see her. “Get in the car.”

  “I don’t think so,” he scoffed. “We’re in broad daylight. What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

  She wanted to. Wanted to wipe the smug glint from his eyes. Her hand tensed on the trigger. “It’s a thought,” she replied. “And might even be worth jail time.”

  “Or I can break your fingers,” Simon offered. Michael jerked backward and Veronica saw that Simon had Michael’s hand in some kind of weird grip. “Now, get in the car,” he said, twisting Michael’s hand for emphasis.

  Michael flinched and got in, sliding over so Simon could drive.

  Veronica opened the back door, pulled Lily from the bag, slid into the back seat and slammed the door before anyone on the street had a chance to glance her way.

  Five.

  Simon parked the car on a dirt road that was almost overgrown. They’d found it yesterday. It seemed the perfect spot.

  “You realize she’s nuts, don’t you?” Michael said to Simon as her partner shoved him out of the car. “I don’t know what she told you, but if you let me go now I promise not to press charges.”

  “Shut up,” Simon said, his voice low and controlled.

  Michael glared at him. “She’s angry that I dumped her.”

  “Dumped me?” Veronica shouted, kicking up dust as she marched toward him. “You abandoned me. Left me for dead!”

  Simon grabbed her by the arm as she passed, effectively halting her. “Let it go. He’s not worth it.”

  Michael simply shot her a malicious grin. “It was after I found out about her record. She’s wanted in Brazil for selling artifacts on the black market, you know. I couldn’t let her get away with it again.”

  Heat flooded Veronica’s face and she glared at Michael. She had been debating telling Simon about Brazil but hadn’t come to a decision. To have him find out from Michael was beyond mortifying.

  It was infuriating. Her ex was lucky Simon had the gun, otherwise he’d be minus a limb. “Tell him the truth before I beat it out of you,” she demanded, her fists clenched at her side.

  “You’re a thief and a liar. That is the truth,” Michael retorted.

  She would kill him. “Let me go,” she said, trying to yank herself out of Simon’s grasp.

  “Veronica,” Simon said, holding her back and never taking his eyes off Michael. “I know all about Brazil. You don’t have to defend yourself. Not to me and not to him.”

  Stunned, Veronica froze, and her jaw dropped in disbelief. “You knew? When?”

  “Before I ever came to your office. There were conflicting reports on what happened, and that was one of the things that made me hesitant to work with you, but after meeting you—” letting her go, he stepped toward Michael, only stopping when the open end of Lily pressed against his chest “—I knew the truth of who did what to whom.”

  She tried not to feel too pleased at the revelation. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It was your story to tell. Not mine.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Simon didn’t simply believe her. He believed in her. “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything.”

  “I told you. I didn’t need to. I know you.”

  He couldn’t have surprised her more than if he’d proposed marriage.

  “Excuse me. While I’m enjoying this love fest, can we please get on with whatever you plan to do?” Michael said, his voice tight. “I have appointments to keep.”

  Veronica swung her attention back to him. “Meeting Deacon?” she spat out.

  Surprise etched Michael’s face. “Deacon who?”

  “Deacon Gilchrist,” Simon said, sinking Lily’s barrel deeper into Michael’s gut. Michael b
acked up a step, but Simon followed him. Lily never lost contact. “The murderer who set Veronica up.” His eyes darkened. “Seems that birds of a feather really do flock together.”

  His eyes wide, true alarm showed in Michael’s expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Liar,” Simon said.

  Veronica laid a hand on Simon’s arm. While she appreciated his desire to protect her name, she’d fight this on her own. Later. Right now, they needed to stick to their agenda. “Let it go, Simon. We have other things to do.”

  Simon hesitated, then backed up a step. “You’re right.” He met Michael’s eyes. “And you’re lucky.” He motioned to the car. “Assume the position.”

  Facing the car, Michael put his hands on the hood. Veronica patted him down. She didn’t feel a thing. Not in his right breast pocket. Not his left. “Crap,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Trying to cop a feel, love?” Michael said. “All you had to do was ask.”

  She patted down his legs but felt nothing besides hard muscle. He turned and smiled at her, victory in his eyes, making her bristle. She wasn’t wrong. She knew it.

  No, he had it.

  And she knew where. Dusting her legs off, she stood. Face-to-face with Michael. Inches away. “Ready to concede defeat?” he asked.

  “Not even close,” she whispered as she cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed.

  With a scream of pain, Michael dropped to his knees but not before she felt what she wanted. There was something harder than flesh between his legs. There was metal.

  The Eye of Artemis.

  Veronica and Simon sat in the back of the café, side by side, where they could both face the door and have some privacy. They’d abandoned Michael and warned him not to show himself again or Simon would let Veronica shoot him.

  Taking the time to eat a late victory lunch, they kept uneasy eyes open for any hint of Michael, but it seemed he’d taken Simon’s warning and Veronica’s anger to heart. There was no sign he was watching them or that he’d paid anyone else to do so.