Laughter and more applause. No walk to the gallows could ever have seemed longer or more ominous than his walk to the front of the room.
Shane clapped him on the shoulder a little hard to be good-natured, and West gritted his teeth, trying to make it look like a grin.
“My name is Shane Burke, and I’m a technical diver based in Florida.” The room settled into silence, and West felt like he’d fallen into a bad surreal film. Shane went through a whole, exciting story about Duncan Campbell’s theft of the Templars’ cross, his voyage to Canada, and the wreck of The Marcus Aurelius. “My friend Gillian Campbell, a descendant of Duncan’s, came to me with the story, but before we got anyone excited about it, we wanted to take a look around and see if we could find it. It’s an important piece of history.”
Shane blithered on about how expensive the scouting expedition had been. “Secretary Flynn here, who has a keen interest in history and the Templars, funded our expedition out of his own pocket, without any desire for publicity for himself,” Shane said, giving West a sly, sidelong look. “And today, I’m pleased to announce that not only have we located and verified the wreckage of The Marcus Aurelius, but we have photographic evidence of the presence of the Knights Templars’ cross. I can’t tell you how much that’s worth in today’s money, but”—Shane shrugged his shoulders in an “aw-shucks” gesture—“it’s a lot.”
The rest of the “ceremony” went by in a blur. They had found the cross and left it, something West should’ve realized when they only had underwater photos of it. Then they’d reported the find, including a few gold coins, to the receiver of wrecks in Nova Scotia.
Now, “thanks to the generosity of Secretary Weston Flynn,” Canada owned it, cross and all.
A fresh stick of gum couldn’t erase the sour taste in West’s mouth as he left the press conference with airport security, headed for his departure gate. His stomach rumbled with hunger, his right hand ached from a solid half hour of hearty handshaking, and he had an overwhelming urge to either cry or shoot something.
But what the hell. He’d be the goddamned financial savior of eastern Canada by the time it was all said and done.
EPILOGUE
“You seen this?”
Shane cracked open one eye and groaned at the sight of Gillian, sitting up in bed, naked except for the red-framed glasses she wore when her contact lenses were out. Which would be perfect for a game of Sexy Librarian…except for the laptop claiming all her attention.
He was going to throw the damned thing overboard. Before they’d moved onto The Evangeline II, he’d had no idea the extent of her Internet addiction.
“You really are obsessed, you know that? You need therapy.” And he knew just the therapy she needed. He burrowed closer and slipped a hand under the sheet, sending his fingers on a little exploratory mission.
“Ahh…oh.” Her voice was appropriately breathy, but her fingers continued to tap on the damned keyboard. He was beginning to hate that sound. “Wait, wait, wait. I need to read this.”
He pulled his arm from beneath the sheet, balled up his pillow, and settled back with an apology to his unhappy morning hard-on. Clearly, he’d shacked up with a geek. They’d even discussed the “M word,” which neither of them had quite been able to say, but it had hovered around them like gnats during several recent conversations.
They’d spent Christmas at the Campbell gator farm in Louisiana, which had made the “M word” gnats buzz louder. He liked the Campbell clan. Gretchen and Holly had been there, and Gillian’s parents had seemed suitably intrigued that he owned a diving school and lived on a pimped-out workboat. Not being conventional themselves, they didn’t expect it of their daughter, the geek. Never mind that his diving school wouldn’t really open until spring and had been financed with very dirty money. That, they’d never know.
Before this relationship progressed further, though, Shane had to rearrange Gillian’s priorities. “We need to set some house rules. Number one: no reading of email in bed, especially when there’s uneaten chocolate within reach.” He still daydreamed of chocolate-covered cherries.
She made a pfffft sound. “We’ve been living together a month, Shane. The statute of limitations for rule-making has passed.”
“There’s a special dispensation for people who live on boats.”
“Well, okay. But you realize that house rule would force me to get out of bed earlier.” She gave him a sexy sidelong glance. “You never know when I’ll get tired of the computer and turn my mind to other things. Be a pity if I were dressed.”
She had a point.
Finally, he sighed and gave in to the inevitable, consigned to the fact that he was destined to become one of those henpecked husb…men. “What are you reading, anyway?”
“A story from the newspaper in Cape Breton.” She opened the lid of the laptop wider, which allowed Shane to see a familiar face on the screen.
He sat up and leaned over her shoulder. “Is that who I think it is?” The headline read “Body of Missing Texan Found.”
She nodded. “Here’s the lead: ‘A decomposed body believed to be that of Garland Garrison III, missing since September 30, was discovered on the northern shore of Scaterie Island on Tuesday after being spotted by crew members of a passing freighter.’ It goes on to talk about how he and his father had rented a boat in Main-à-Dieu back in September.” She scrolled down the screen, reading. “Listen to this: ‘Authorities attribute Garrison’s death to natural causes and say they have no reason to suspect foul play.’”
Shane couldn’t avoid a stab of pity for Trey Garrison, the classic rich-kid screw up who’d gotten in way over his head. “Flynn had it done. I’d bet the dive school on it. Probably three months ago, right after we left the lighthouse. Chevy had planned to let him go, so Flynn probably had somebody waiting for him.”
Gillian closed the laptop, set it on the floor, and snuggled against Shane. “I talked to Cleo last night, and everything was fine with her and Chevy.” She paused. “Do you think he’ll ever come after us?”
He kissed Gillian’s forehead and slipped an arm around her. He’d asked himself that question a lot in the past three months. “I don’t think so. Flynn came out of this whole mess looking like a choirboy, and he wants the presidency.”
If Weston Flynn got elected president, they’d have another moral dilemma to face. Talk about unfit to lead. “As long as we don’t stir the pot, I don’t think he will either. He has too much at risk.”
Gillian didn’t say anything, but Shane could guess her thoughts. There were no guarantees. Some part of them would probably always be looking over one shoulder, but so would Flynn.
In the meantime, though, it was New Year’s Eve and they had the whole day to kill before the countdown-to-midnight party at Jagger’s. His friend had taken to running his new bar and restaurant like a natural, although having co-owner Harley in the kitchen helped.
“So what’s on tap for today?” She kissed him, soft and sweet.
He sneaked an arm over to the nightstand, slipped open the drawer, and pulled out the first thing he came to: a rich chocolate square oozing with caramel filling. “I think we should have breakfast.”
“I like the way you think.” Gillian unwrapped the candy and broke it apart, holding it up so a drip of caramel landed on her tongue. She licked her lips with that wicked little smile that made him very grateful she and her computer had stayed under the sheets.
She turned the other half of the chocolate square sideways, letting a slow drizzle of caramel trail down his chest, headed south.
Shane closed his eyes and smiled. Damn, now we’re talk—
A thump sounded outside the door, and Gillian paused mid-caramel. “You expecting anybody?”
Charlie had moved into Gillian’s trailer, but surely the old man hadn’t driven his handicap-modified car down to Cedar Key this early.
“Boy, where the hell are you?”
He groaned. It was Charlie, all right, and he sounded
annoyingly cheerful.
“Don’t answer,” Shane whispered. “He’ll leave and go to Jagger’s if he thinks we’re not here.” Charlie needed a hobby, but Shane didn’t want to be that hobby.
Gillian swiped her tongue down his chest, licking and kissing away his caramel dreams. He wanted to cry.
The thumping sound of Charlie’s crutch had passed the master suite and gone toward the salon—twice as big as the one on the original Evangeline—but now grew louder again.
“Shane Burke, I know you’re here. I’ve got a great idea for your dive school. You should try…” The door burst open. “Why, howdy, Gillian.”
Gillian shrieked and ducked under the covers. Shane caught a glimpse of his grinning uncle before a black freight train plowed him off the bed and onto the hard floor. He looked up into the large, white teeth of a snarling minion of Satan with peanut-butter breath.
Tank.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susannah Sandlin is the award-winning author of the Penton Legacy paranormal romance series, made up of Redemption, Absolution, Omega, and the spin-off paranormal romance Storm Force. As Suzanne Johnson, she writes the Sentinels of New Orleans urban fantasy series. She lives in Auburn, Alabama, with her two rescue dogs.
This book was originally released in Episodes as a Kindle Serial. Kindle Serials launched in 2012 as a new way to experience serialized books. Kindle Serials allow readers to enjoy the story as the author creates it, purchasing once and receiving all existing Episodes immediately, followed by future Episodes as they are published. To find out more about Kindle Serials and to see the current selection of Serials titles, www.amazon.com/kindleserials.
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