by Molly E. Lee
Rain took the pack from my hands and tucked it between her and the wall of the booth as she sat back down. She resumed eating before I’d rejoined her, my mouth hanging half open. She’d been bold as a girl, and wicked observant, noticing details in situations I never did . . . but this? She could run with Sherlock.
She glanced over my shoulder as she took another bite of steak. “Please, for the love of God, tell me you never even hinted at the location when you two were together.”
“No,” I said, thinking back.
“Easton.”
“I didn’t. No more than a general idea of the location being in a cave in Israel. You do realize there are thousands of caves here, and no way for her to know which one.”
Rain chewed over the piece of intel, the gears turning behind her eyes. It was sexy as hell to watch. “She wanted you stalled. She has to know something, if she’s trying to get the jump on you.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “What’s to say she wasn’t acting out of jealousy?”
Rain snorted, finishing her second glass of wine. “Cocky as ever.”
“Is it so hard to believe?”
“No. She was jealous, just not enough to inflict that kind of hurt. This was bigger than that. She must be smarter than I gave her credit for.”
I sighed. “She does have a rep for stealing credit, but she’s got what it takes to figure it out on her own, if she put her mind to it.”
Rain arched an eyebrow.
“But not Harrison’s cave.”
She flinched at her father’s name.
“Sorry, it’s what I call it in my head.” I reached out, placing my hand on top of hers.
She pulled it away. “You two, you and Corrine. Was that serious?”
A bit of fire flared behind her eyes. Now who looked jealous? She couldn’t be, though. We hadn’t been anything for so long.
You know better.
Every time I even thought about Rain with another guy my gut went sour.
“No.”
She leaned back in the booth. “Couldn’t imagine how crazy that one was.”
“You have no idea.” Corrine had been certifiable—cunning, conniving, and just a bit wild in the sack. It had been, at the time, an irresistible combination.
“I’m really hoping I don’t ever have to find out, but seeing her determination to harm a perfectly good stranger like that . . . risking them being taken prisoner . . .” She shook her head. “I’m sure it isn’t the last we’ve seen of her.”
I rubbed my palms over my face. One more thing to worry about and adjust plans for.
This time Rain reached for me and gripped my fingers. “Don’t worry, Compass. I’ve got eyes like a hawk, remember? I’ll watch your back.”
A chuckle ripped from my mouth. This woman was every bit the girl I’d fallen in love with and more—way too good for me, and yet my match in every way.
“I feel loads better.”
“You should. Now,” she said, grabbing the bottle and pouring herself another drink, “logistics. Spill. I operate better with a plan.”
Rain
AFTER ONE SHARED bottle of wine and an hour’s worth of expedition prep, Easton led the way back to our hotel room. The alcohol had successfully loosened the tension in my shoulders that had been present since the second I’d heard Easton’s voice in South Africa, but it did little to ease my worries.
We’d barely started the journey and already we’d had two mishaps with people who wanted us gone—either by plane or more threatening means, if necessary. The image of Corrine, in all of her exotic and gorgeous beauty, flared an unreasonable amount of jealousy in my chest. It stung, more powerful than I would’ve believed possible, and it was completely unmerited. Easton hadn’t been mine to claim for years. He was free to sleep through half of Israel if he wanted.
I couldn’t convince my heart of that, though.
Her presence fueled more anxieties than that of involuntarily picturing the two of them together. She had teeth, and wouldn’t hesitate to strike if we showed any hint of weakness. That was why I went on the offense earlier. Normally I would’ve sat in respectful silence in the presence of a stranger who had history with Easton.
Not with her, though. She was after the treasure my father had sought, the treasure he’d found, according to Easton. We had to get there first. Not only to save the career Easton had come to depend on—which was clear in the desperate look in his eyes every time he spoke about it—but because I needed this. For Dad.
If I could get there, lay eyes on something he’d spent half his life searching for, then it would give me a piece of him back. And my heart desperately needed something that was missing since he’d passed.
Easton held open the door to our room, allowing me to enter first.
I froze the second I flicked on the light.
“What the hell?” I gasped.
Our luggage was strewn across the room, clothes shamelessly tossed like a tornado had barreled through them.
Easton shoved past me, instantly searching for the few cameras we’d brought. “They’re here.”
I sighed at his words, digging through my bags, noticing all my clothes, toiletries, and the surplus of MREs I’d packed were all accounted for.
“What the hell were they looking for?” Easton snapped, shoving his clothes back in his bag without bothering to fold them.
I raked my hands through my hair, slipping my pack off my shoulders. I sank my arm into it, elbow deep, gripping the book and pulling it out. I held the small, leather-bound journal out to him. “This.”
He took it, unraveling the worn string that wrapped around the book three times. “This was Harrison’s.”
I nodded.
“I thought he kept this on him at all times. I thought it was lost with—” He stopped short, and I crossed the distance between us.
“What happened that day?” I asked for the second time tonight, knowing he’d been so close to finally opening up to me before Corinne made her grand entrance.
He shook his head, as if forcing a memory out of his mind. “When did he give this to you?”
My shoulders dropped, and the hope I’d had in the restaurant shriveled. I didn’t have a shot in hell. He’d never talk to me. Not now. We weren’t kids in love anymore. Now we were . . . nothing. Partners for a week or so. Then why does half of me feel like there is more to us than a job?
“The day before you two set out.”
Easton handed the journal back to me quickly, like it’d burn him if he held it too long.
“Everything he ever learned, thought, or discovered about King Solomon’s treasure is in here. Some of it is just ramblings to me, but . . .” I clutched the book to my chest. “I cherish it. It’s always in my pack, which I never leave anywhere except by my bedside as I sleep.”
Easton cocked an eyebrow, and I chuckled, the tension of the moment popping. “It’s my lucky pack. It’s not weird!”
“It’s a little weird.” He grinned.
“Whatever. It paid off tonight.” I held my arms out, encompassing the mess that was our room. “Clearly.”
He nodded. “You were right. She’s more determined than I thought. That’s what Frank was going after. Not your passport. The journal. How did she know?”
“Someone had to announce to Calev’s whole bar I was Harrison Walker’s daughter. Do you know how many historians and archeologists have offered to buy this from me?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Hundreds. If I’m ever destitute I’ll know right where my meal ticket is.”
Easton closed the distance between us. The warmth from his body radiated onto my skin, and his scent filled my nose. Good God, the man smelled delicious, and my thighs clenched with how close he was. He pushed some of my hair away from my face, cupping my cheek. I told my body to move in the opposite direction, or at least to push him away, but I was a statue soaking up the way he made me feel. The same way he’d made me feel before . . . brea
thless, anxious, like standing on the edge of a cliff with nothing but pure, crystal-blue water waiting to catch me at the bottom.
“We both know you’d starve before you’d sell his journal.” His voice was softer now, reaching down and swirling my chest with all kinds of longing.
I leaned into his palm. I didn’t know what I wanted from him. The truth about whatever he was hiding, the reason behind his abrupt departure from my life, or a silent, stolen moment of passion in the bed that waited not twenty feet from us. The strong hit of need that pulsed through my core was enough to shake some sense into me.
He ripped your heart out and never looked back.
Somehow, I found the courage to step backward, just as he leaned his head down closer to mine. The motion was so quick his hand still hung in the air in the same place he’d held my face. He slowly let it drop and sighed.
“We should go to bed,” I said and snapped my eyes shut. “We should sleep. Not go to . . .” The words wouldn’t straighten out in my mind, which was coated in red wine and the desire for his body over mine.
“You’re right. We’ve got a long journey tomorrow, and with the heat that is already on us”—he looked around the chaotic room—“we’ll have to be twenty times more careful.”
I nodded, afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d crack. The man said we needed to be careful, and I completely agreed, but in a much different way than he spoke of. If I didn’t keep my heart protected, I might just be stupid enough to let Easton claim it again.
“You spoke to the owner already? About leaving the car here?” I asked as we rechecked our gear outside of the four by four in the hotel’s parking lot.
“Yes. As long as I’m paying for the room, it won’t be towed or searched or anything like that.” Easton fastened one of the GoPro harnesses around the center of his hat before slipping it and the camera on.
The sable fedora was one my father had given him many years ago. It was stained and well-loved. I was shocked he still had the thing. When he’d left, I assumed he’d gotten rid of everything from our time together—looked like it was just me he didn’t hang on to. And now, as a grown man with sculpted muscles and a dusting of scruff on his chin, he looked a little too much like Indiana Jones for my liking. The movies were a staple in my home growing up, and I hadn’t been able to watch them since my father died. It had hurt too much.
“And I’ve booked the room for two weeks solid,” Easton continued, rummaging through his pack.
“Explain to me again why we couldn’t have rented a car for that easy two-hour trip up here?”
He cut his eyes to me. “Because it isn’t always that easy of a drive. The traffic was low and activity was at a minimum. If it’d been more crowded on the way up here?” He whistled. “This village is so close to the cease-fire lines and the Syrain border . . . if we’d broken down, drawn unnecessary attention to ourselves, it would have at best delayed us. At worst?”
I held up my hand, not needing him to explain further. One of the risks working in as many countries, continents, and secluded areas as we did was the cultural and governmental policies we had to be careful of. And with the heated tensions between Israel and Syria, which were barely contained by the thin invisible lines that separated them, it was definitely smart to spring for the fully-functional vehicle.
“Will it take a full two weeks?” I asked after he’d started packing his gear again.
He shook his head. “Not if everything goes accordingly.”
“How often does it do that?”
“That’s why I booked extra time as a precaution.”
After triple checking the contents of my pack, which was perfectly organized to hold the essentials—like the six MREs I’d managed to cram inside, ten water bottles, the handheld camera, several pairs of dry socks, and just a few non-essentials I always took with me on long treks into unknown terrain—I slipped it on, letting the familiar weight settle over my shoulders.
I had more MREs in the room, but I couldn’t risk the weight since I had my tent secured to the bottom of the pack, which added extra pounds that could easily burn more energy than either of them were worth. If it came down to it, I knew I could survive off one MRE a day, and if things got extremely bleak, I could follow Easton’s lead and live off whatever we happened to cross paths with.
“Where are you storing the permits to film, just in case I need to get to them and you’re occupied?” I asked, adjusting the angle of the GoPro fastened to my wide-brimmed hat that was less Indiana Jones and more Dr. Grant.
Easton’s eyes focused a bit too intently on the zipper of his pack before he slung it over his back.
“Easton?”
He sighed. “I don’t have one.”
“What?”
He shrugged.
“Why didn’t your production company acquire one?”
“Complications. It doesn’t matter. No one knows this location like I do. We won’t get caught.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “At least tell me where the permit to dig and extract is.”
He pressed his lips together.
“If we get caught, they’ll confiscate the footage, the treasure, everything.” I popped my hands on my hips like the motion would make him understand the risk more accurately.
“We won’t. And after we find it, I’ll contact the IAA and set everything straight. This trip was such short notice; I didn’t have time to wait the three to six month period to get approval.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. This was dangerous, and had Easton written all over it. I looked into his eyes, noting the hint of desperation and the extreme need for me to trust him. I suppose I should give him some credit. He could’ve easily lied to me about the permits.
I gazed out past the red, tiny, triangular-shaped houses that served as hotel rooms and then to the mountainside that rested just beyond. From this angle it was as breathtaking as it was intimidating.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” I said, holding out my fingers to tick off the facts. “You want us to, one, explore Israel’s mountainside without permission; two, excavate a cave in said mountainside with a high probability of containing King Solomon’s treasure—one of the most sought-after treasures of all time—without permission; and three, you want me film each step of our very illegal activity, all while you operate under the guise of surviving the environment in order to show your viewers what they should do if they ever found themselves stranded in this kind of terrain.”
“Yes,” he said easily, like I’d asked if he wanted sugar in his coffee.
“Not to mention the need of staying on this side of the cease-fire line, because if we accidentally cross the border into Syria, which hugs this entire mountain range, we’ll be taken prisoner . . . and that’d be the best-case scenario if caught on the wrong side of the line.”
“Don’t forget staying out of sight of the numerous Israeli military patrols that line the border,” he added, and his nonchalant attitude dropped as his sharp, determined eyes tried to surmise if that fact was one too many. I could see his fear of me bailing written all over his face. He was mentally prepping himself for my departure. Guess he didn’t remember me as well as I’d thought. I never backed down from a challenge where the odds were stacked against me, and especially not when the prize was as sweet as entering the last place my father had been alive. I needed the closure on his death almost as desperately as I needed it for what had happened between Easton and I.
“All right. How long is the hike?”
Easton’s eyes popped, the shock I’d agreed to the dangerous endeavor evident in them. He quickly smoothed out his reaction. “It’s roughly twelve miles if we set a northeast course, but it’s more of a climb than a hike. We’ll have to stay sharp about footholds and be careful where to make camp.”
“And do it invisibly.”
“Precisely.”
“Brilliant.” I gripped the straps of my pack, my eyes set on the mountain. “I’m ready when you are.”<
br />
Easton
“SHIT,” I SAID, tugging gently on Rain’s pack, forcing her to duck behind a crop of trees. “We’ve got company.”
From her crouched position, Rain scanned the area where I focused. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered.
“You got the bitch part right.”
“I should’ve put her on our growing list of obstacles we discussed in the parking lot.” Rain looked to me for a plan.
That list had left a sour taste in my mouth. When Rain had pointed out the risks so blatantly as she had, it made me feel like an even bigger asshole for putting her in that kind of danger. I was confident that together we were capable of overcoming anything thrown our way, but it didn’t make me feel like less of a jerk for making this such a hard reunion. When I had allowed myself to fantasize about seeing Rain again, about making amends and starting over, this was not what I’d pictured at all.
We’d only been on the journey an hour before I’d caught a faint whiff of vanilla, which had set my nerves on alert. Corrine and her crew kept a reasonable distance back, and if I hadn’t smelled her perfume, I may not have noticed they followed our tracks.
“What’s the plan?” Rain whispered.
I hung my head and clenched my fists, resisting the urge to punch the bark of the tree concealing me. I didn’t have time for this, but I couldn’t have Corrine’s team anywhere near Harrison’s cave, either.
“We have to throw them off our trail.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Put them on the wrong one.”
Rain glanced upward where the GoPro was harnessed around her hat, catching the perfect angle of my plotting face. She raised her eyebrows and swung her hand in a churning motion, signaling me to keep talking.
For the first time since I’d tracked Rain down in South Africa, I remembered the reason why I’d insisted no one could do this job better than her. I looked straight at the camera, keeping my voice low.
“As you can see,” I pointed toward where Corrine’s team moved slowly up the path Rain and I had taken half an hour ago, our higher vantage point leaving them fully exposed. Rain turned her head to get a good shot of them before returning the focus to me. “It’s not always the wildlife or shifting terrain you have to worry about on the mountainside. Sometimes you’re forced to survive threats from unscrupulous people. For myself, this is a competitor treasure-hunting team, and they’re hell-bent on stealing whatever I may discover on this expedition. If you yourself aren’t a digger, then it could just as easily be a set of hostile locals, vicious poachers, or even a skilled band of thieves. If ever you find yourself stranded and come across a group who gives you a bad feeling, don’t approach them. It may seem like the exact opposite of survival, hiding from another human who could offer you salvation, but that is when your judgment has to be sharp. If the people are in fact hostile, do not cross paths. You’ve got better chances of surviving off the land until you can get to a populated area, where the odds of finding real help are better.”
