by Rachel Grant
HOLY CRAP. SHE’D JUST THREATENED the casino. The meeting was not following the script Erica had envisioned. First, Riversong’s attitude toward potential Indian remains had stunned her. We should let sleeping dogs lie. Had he really called his ancestors dogs?
No. Surely he’d meant they shouldn’t create trouble by digging in a potential burial ground. That made more sense.
She had good reason to suspect someone high up in the tribe, and Sam Riversong, a former museum curator who knew all the players, was her top suspect. For a year now she’d wondered if an Indian would buy stolen artifacts—trafficking in artifacts was so far outside the value system of every Native American she’d ever known—but now, after finally meeting the man face-to-face, she believed he might.
While the bones were a curious find, she wasn’t pushing for the tests out of concern they were human. No, her motives were self-serving, and she would add the guilt this triggered to the load she’d amassed over the last year. Someday her conscience would demand deep reckoning, but for now she just wanted to know what really mattered to Sam Riversong: bones, house, tribe, or casino?
She focused on the table and took her shot. The cue ball smacked into the eight, which obediently slid into the corner pocket but was followed by the white cue. She swallowed a lump of dread. On the most important shot of the game, she’d forgotten to aim low.
“You lost.” Riversong’s voice was frigid, the look in his eyes even colder. “You might think my win due to your scratch isn’t a real victory for me, but I like to win, and I don’t care how I do it.”
“I was careless.” She met his eyes without flinching. “And lost fair and square.”
Riversong’s cold brown eyes pierced her; then suddenly he smiled. “Good.” He snatched a ball out of the nearest pocket. “Let’s place a wager on this game.”
“Great.” Lee grabbed a cue. “If I win, then Shortcake gets her tests to determine the species and age of the bone.”
“Shortcake?” she said, bristling at the nickname.
“And if I win?” Riversong asked.
“We return the bone to the hole and forget about it,” Lee said.
“Lee, this isn’t how archaeology is done!” Panic jolted through her. Lee sucked at pool. Would she lose this opportunity to work with Riversong?
The chairman grinned. “I like it. Rack ’em up. I break.”
She squirmed as Riversong sank three balls before relinquishing the table. “Don’t go for the long shot, go for the corner,” she said. She felt sick. “You’re lousy at long shots.”
Lee turned to her. His green eyes swept her from head to toe in a blatant caress. “I can sink long with my eyes closed. Earlier I missed on purpose. You looked great, by the way, with your back arched over your stick and your butt up on the table.”
The sonofabitch had just reduced her to a sex object in front of a client. She would maim him. At the first opportunity. “Just take the shot,” she said through gritted teeth.
Lee leaned down, lined up the ball, and closed his eyes.
“With your eyes open!”
He winked at her and made the shot. Riversong never got another turn.
CHAPTER FOUR
WITH SAM RIVERSONG’S PERMISSION, Erica returned to the Thermo-Con house to collect bones for the species and carbon-14 tests. Kneeling over the hole in the floor, she studied a fragment that was the right size and shape to be a human carpal bone. She smiled. This was almost certainly human; the expert might not even need to run a genetic test. If this turned out to be a burial, then Riversong would have to meet with her again, and more than anything, she wanted access to the chairman.
She packed the bones inside another bag, said good-bye to the plumbers, and left the house. At her car, she slid into the driver’s seat and faced Lee, who’d been waiting while she collected the samples. She still hadn’t figured out how she was going to murder him without being arrested. She faced forward and twisted the key in the ignition.
“Stop brooding and say it,” he said.
She glared at him. “You’re a pig.”
He smiled. “See, was that so hard?”
She put the car in drive, but his hand covered hers on the gearshift. “You’re pissed, but the truth is, by diminishing you, I made it hard for Riversong to take you or your threats seriously. I saved your ass.”
The look in his eyes said he was serious. The hand covering hers squeezed slightly, and she had the insane notion he was soothing her in the same way he’d calm a riled cat.
Who is this man?
“Did you really do it on purpose?” she asked.
“I just said I did.”
“No, I mean miss your shot. Did you set me up for the behind-the-back-shot?”
He looked at her incredulously, then laughed. “That’s what you’re upset about?”
She jerked her hand away from his and pulled onto the road, disgusted with herself for asking such a revealing question.
“Okay, I admit it,” he said. “Yes. And it was worth it.”
Ignoring the miniscule ripple of pleasure his words caused, she fixated on the tidal wave of frustration. “You are my intern. I am your boss. This stops here. Now.”
“Okay, Boss, as your intern, I’m trying to learn about archaeology and want to know why those bones are so important you threatened the casino to get authorization for the tests.”
“I wasn’t threatening. I was explaining why my client needs to comply with environmental law.”
“If Riversong thinks you’re a threat to the casino, he’ll have your perfect ass fired.”
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I told you to stop.”
“I wasn’t hitting on you. I was merely stating a fact: your ass is perfect.”
She jabbed at the buttons on the car stereo and turned up the volume until a lovesick girl singing about a boy she’d lost prevented further conversation. Too bad the music couldn’t make her stop worrying about the disturbing pleasure she took from Lee’s callous compliment.
Back at Talon & Drake, she wrapped the bones for testing, then dropped them in the overnight mail bin. She returned to their office and studied Lee, who was filling out paperwork for personnel. Maybe if she bored him to tears, he’d leave her alone.
She cleared her throat to get his attention. “I’ve got a cell tower site to visit. While I’m gone, I want you to read the regs that govern our work. Look them up online. Start with the National Historic Preservation Act of 1966, as amended. Focus on Section 106—it’s the primary driver for the work we do. When you’re done with that, read the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act—NAGPRA; and the Archaeological Resources Protection Act—known as ARPA.” She held back a smile. He’d be asleep before he got through Section 106.
Lee turned back to his paperwork, dismissing her. “Fine. See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The National Archives. Lee was connected to a bigwig, and it was her job to train him. Bad enough she was ditching him now so she could go back to the reservation; Janice would be angry if she ditched him all day tomorrow as well. She couldn’t screw up her job, not now. “We’ll meet at the Archives as soon as it opens. I want you to look up their research protocol online.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never been there before. Find out what time they open and what we can bring with us—computers, papers, pencils, purses, that sort of thing. Call me on my cell and let me know what you find out.” She gave him her number.
“Tech support still has my laptop, and I need a network ID to access the Internet.”
She hesitated, but really, she had no choice. “Use my computer.” She pulled her company ID card from the lanyard around her neck. “This plugs into the card slot and will give you access to the network.” She placed a hand on the table and leaned over him. “If you lose my ID, you’ll be my new workout bag.”
The warm glint in his eye said he had already begun to fantasize. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your password?” he asked.
Oh damn!
He was looking at her, waiting.
“Riversong. One word, lowercase.” She turned on her heel and left before he could ask any questions.
CHAPTER FIVE
TUESDAY MORNING, LEE STOOD in front of the National Archives building in College Park, Maryland, and watched Erica’s car pull into the lot. He braced himself for the coming day and wished he’d taken acting classes. Maybe then he’d do a better job of staying in character.
At least yesterday had been successful. After she’d left the office, he’d used her ID to hack into the Bethesda server and create a network client that couldn’t be traced to him. He hadn’t been able to access the Iraq project files, but he’d evaluated the security. It would take him a few days to break through the firewall. Less if Erica would stop dragging him along on these annoying field trips.
Erica’s dark sandals made a steady tapping sound as she crossed the parking lot. He liked the way her knee-length black skirt and tight-fitting burgundy blouse clung to her hips and breasts. Too bad she hadn’t been wearing this outfit when she draped herself over the pool table. He could appreciate her looks and enjoy their verbal sparring, but he couldn’t lose sight of the fact that his sexy supervisor was a prime suspect for stateside conspirator in an international artifact smuggling ring.
Questions simmered in his mind, but he’d pushed his cover to the limit yesterday and knew it would be a serious mistake to ask her about her password today. She was only a few feet away, so he started their first argument of the day. “You’re late.”
Her tentative smile was replaced by a look of annoyance and she glanced at her watch. “It’s nine thirty. I’m right on time.”
“The archives opened at eight forty-five.”
“You told me the archives opened at nine thirty.”
“No, I said the first pull was at nine thirty.” What he’d really said was a very carefully phrased, “We can begin researching at nine thirty,” because arriving ahead of her gave him a chance to show his ID and get his researcher badge without her seeing his driver’s license and discovering his real age.
“What does ‘first pull’ mean?”
“The archivists only pull records at certain times. If you’d been here on time, we could have submitted our records requests for the first pull. Since you’re late, we won’t be able to get any documents until the next pull, which is at ten thirty.”
“Dammit, Lee! You didn’t say anything about pull times. And what the hell have you been doing since eight forty-five? You could have submitted a records request without me.”
“I don’t know what records you want to request.”
She stared at him in obvious frustration but didn’t say a word. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of Mylanta from her purse and popped two tablets into her mouth.
Each time her teeth crunched on the antacid tablets, guilt stabbed him in the gut.
She sighed. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Guilt was the last thing he felt after hours of sitting in the bright, climate-controlled, camera-monitored room, surrounded by dozens of silent researchers hunkered over boxes. Next to their table was the last cartload of Fort Belmont archive boxes. Another hour and they’d be done. He opened yet another box full of brittle, musty papers and muttered under his breath, “This is the most boring day of my life.”
Erica glanced at him over her shoulder and gave him a half smile. “Not Indiana Jones enough for you?”
He bit his cheek to keep from smiling. “Indy never spent hours in an archive getting paper cuts.”
“He did. It just happened off scene.”
“Do you really do this kind of thing all the time?”
“No. Today is special.”
He expected to see a teasing smile, but she was serious. “You’re enjoying this?”
“This is my first time at the National Archives, and we’re looking through boxes that were classified until a few years ago. Who knows what we’ll find?” Her eyes revealed enthusiasm that told him much about her. He had to respect her dedication to her work.
“I know what we’ll find. Papers that are old, musty, and full of military acronyms.” He decided to mess with her. “What’s the acronym we’re supposed to be looking for, again?”
She glanced at the half-dozen boxes he’d just gone through, her eyes wide with alarm. “It’s called ERDL, Lee. E-R-D-L. It stands for Engineer Research and Development Laboratory.”
He kept his face blank. “And why do we care about them, again?”
“The lab was on Fort Belmont, and Thermo-Con might have been invented by ERDL engineers.” She spoke to him as if he were slow, which he totally deserved. Her voice went up an octave. “Do I need to go through those boxes again?”
A woman two tables away made a shushing sound.
He grinned and whispered, “Gotcha.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “I so do not deserve this.”
He spoke in a quiet voice. “True. But teasing you is more fun than looking through box after box of ERDL research papers. As far as I’ve seen, ERDL engineers only worked on camouflage and amphibious vessels.”
“Have you seen anything to indicate they experimented with concrete?” she asked.
“No. Have you?”
“No.” She shook her head, clearly disappointed, and he knew one thing about Erica Kesling for certain: she did want to find out the history of the Thermo-Con house. He didn’t know if her drive came from her desire to please her client, or if she was really intrigued by the house’s mysterious origins.
Hell, it was just a house. Odd looking and made out of yeasty concrete, but still, a house.
Her neatly printed list of research questions lay on the table next to a sharpened orange No. 2 pencil. Neither the pencil nor the paper had been touched since they cracked open the first box several hours ago. The day was a total bust for them both. He should be in the office hacking into the network, not here. Tomorrow, he decided, he’d act completely incompetent so she wouldn’t take him along on any more field trips.
“This is strange,” she said.
“Did you find something?”
“Not about Thermo-Con. But look.” She handed him a notebook. “That’s the 1952 logbook for Fort Belmont. Someone recorded every event on the army post—ice-cream socials, softball games, that sort of thing—but look at November twenty-eighth.”
Lee read aloud, “‘Mrs. Claudio Guerrero and son, Ricky, were reported missing today.’ So?”
“It’s just odd. A missing woman and child got the same one-sentence treatment as the colonel’s luau-themed birthday party,” she said. “Why not include a note about where they might have gone or if the police were investigating? And where was the husband, Claudio Guerrero? Was he a soldier stationed at Fort Belmont?”
“I know Thermo-Con is boring, but I think we should finish that research before you go off on some mystery-solving tangent.”
“I said I thought it was odd, not that I was going to try to solve it.”
She reached for the book, but he held it away from her, reading some of the log entries. He turned the page, and a word jumped out at him. “I found Thermo-Con!”
Several people shushed him while Erica tried to snatch the book from his hand. He used the need for quiet as an excuse to scoot closer to her, then wondered if that was a mistake. Her subtle, sexy perfume had been tormenting him all day.
He held the book between them so she could see the important log entry. “November 29, 1952: Construction of a Higgins Thermo-Con house was begun today.”
“One page,” she muttered. “After spending six hours looking for the words ‘Thermo-Con,’ I handed the book to you one page—one log entry—too soon.”
She was cute when frustrated.
“Well, it’s not like we learn
ed anything. It’s only one sentence.”
She playfully punched him in the arm. “Don’t try to placate me. First you make me late, then you steal my moment of discovery. You owe me.”
His lips tickled her ear as he whispered, “Shortcake, anytime you want to collect, I’m ready.” Shit. Yesterday, he’d hit on her to annoy her, but this…this he’d done without thought or intention. This had come naturally, a teasing flirtation because he’d enjoyed her wit and company. This was a complication he didn’t need.
Her pupils dilated, and he felt the shiver that ran through her. She was interested too, which only compounded the problem.
She scooted away. “Behave,” she said. That she didn’t react with outrage after her intern hit on her—again—was telling. She dropped her gaze to the book and cleared her throat. “Look at this: Higgins. I wonder if Higgins is a style or manufacturer?” She picked up the pencil and wrote the logbook’s exact entry on the notepaper. If she were a computer, he’d say she was running in Safe Mode.
She finished reading the logbook and replaced it in the archive box. They went through the remaining boxes and found no more mention of Thermo-Con. At six o’clock, they left the archives. All they had to show for their day was one sentence that linked Thermo-Con with the name Higgins.
He stuck his hands in his pockets as they crossed the lot. “Can I buy you dinner?”
She stopped midstride and faced him. “That isn’t a good idea.”
“Why?”
“You’re an intern and only here for six weeks. Let’s keep things simple.”
“Friendship isn’t simple?”
“For me it’s not.” She looked away and sighed. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired. I’m going home.”
Where did her sudden melancholy come from? He had the urge to press her against her car and kiss her. If he did that, would he find himself in the sexual-harassment workshop she’d threatened yesterday, or would she open up and let him meet the woman she’d locked inside?
He let the urge pass and instead watched as she climbed into her car.
