by Jackson, Pam
Clay removed himself from the sofa and walked to the hearth, where he placed a split chunk of wood on the dwindling fire.
Andie watched as he gently stoked the embers. The flames began to rage fiercely, sending a radiant warmth throughout the room. The only sound was the hissing and popping of the dried wood being consumed as bright orange flames licked at the fieldstone walls of the fireplace.
She wanted to say something, anything that would break the hard silence in the room, but she could see he was mulling over this whole story.
Why should he believe her?
It was a crazy story, but she knew that the years of research and the countless hours of fact checking all added up. The Atros Fallis was here, she could feel it in her bones. It haunted her, and she could feel its power calling out to her very soul. She was fighting the urge to grab her gear, snatch the map from the table and run into the cold chill of the early morning to start her search again. She was going to do this with or without Clay. He couldn’t keep her here, she wasn’t his prisoner, but her heart ached for his answer to be yes, he would help her.
He was strong and powerful, and together they could find this sacred relic. They could find it before Tivoli began his own search. And this time, Andie knew better than to delete her files and sabotage her computer. Hopefully, it would take Tivoli a few more days to discover her location. She was wasting time sitting here; watching Clay contemplate her unbelievable story put her on edge. She knew he was trying to figure out a way to notify the police so they would lock her up and he’d be done with her craziness.
Just leave, get up and go! She was coming apart, and confusion was fogging her ability to make a rational decision. Even if she were able to find the Atros Fallis, what would she do with it when she had it in her possession? Would she send it back to Turkey in the care of her friend, Dr. Samuel Nassir, from the museum? Would he hide it—or maybe, better yet, destroy it? And what if he couldn’t be trusted, either? Money and greed corrupt all who aren’t truly worthy or honorable.
“Why is this so important to you, Andie? It’s just an old book.” Clay spoke with a soft tone, never lifting his eyes from the fire. “Is it worth your life?”
“Yes, it’s worth my life, and others,” she said, her voice small and sad. “There is more at stake here than just recovering an ancient book. Tivoli’s client, I suspect, is working for a terrorist organization.”
Clay snapped his head up and glared at Andie. “What do you mean, a terrorist organization? Do you have proof?”
“Nothing on paper. Tivoli is much too smart to create a paper trail, but the other night I overheard a very disturbing phone call.”
“Go on.” Clay walked back over to Andie and took a seat next to her on the sofa.
“Well, it started the night before I set out for the Harriman Mountains. Tivoli took me to dinner. He was trying to ease my concerns over the repercussions of unearthing the Atros Fallis and letting its so-called alchemical powers loose to the highest bidder.” Andie described to Clay an incident that took place in her office, in which an intimidating Latino had demanded that all of her files on Claudius Smith be turned over to him. She knew he wasn’t another antiquarian searching for the same find—he was the client. And it looked like he was losing his patience with Tivoli.
“Did this Latino man hurt you?” Clay snapped. He sounded like iron, and a sharp flare of anger sparked in his eyes.
“No. He just scared the hell out of me. He never left his name while he was in my office, but ranted something in Spanish to one of his goons as they were leaving. Anyway, later that evening, after dinner, I decided to put in some extra hours at the office. I was in Tivoli’s personal library looking up some information when I heard him enter his office and make a phone call. Tivoli didn’t realize I was in the small library alcove near his desk, and he placed the call on speaker. He spoke Spanish to the man on the other end of the call, and since my Spanish is a bit rusty and I was hidden against thick walls of old paper and vellum, I could only make out a few phrases and words. However, Tivoli did tell him, in English, that we were close to finding the Atros Fallis.”
“What else? Did you hear anything about shipments or money?”
“Yes, actually, I did. Tivoli did recognize that he had already been paid for delivery of the Atros Fallis, but he wanted to make sure he would have a clear sail through customs in South America for as many antiquities as he wished—legal or illegal. The Latino man agreed, and I heard Tivoli say, in English, that he couldn’t care less about the fate of the United States or any other country that was fighting terrorism. It was not his fight.”
“Anything else? Can you remember any of the words that were said in Spanish?” Clay reached out to touch her arm. His long fingers gently rubbed small circles on her warm skin.
“That’s it, Clay. I was terrified that Tivoli would find me hiding in the small library and realize that I had just overheard his plans to screw over the fate of the free world for some Incan artifacts. I sat quietly until I heard him leave, and that’s when I decided to find the Atros Fallis before he did. I reviewed all of my information and set out. I swear, that’s all of it.”
She pulled away from his touch and buried her head in her hands. She was sick to her stomach after listening to herself recall the absurdity of this whole mess. What the hell was she doing? She had run right into a hornet’s nest without thinking any of her actions through. She could feel warm tears flooding the edges of her eyelids, but she fought back her own personal pity party.
She looked up to meet Clay’s unyielding stare. “That night, I deleted my files on Claudius and packed up some outdoor gear. I headed out at first light. All I had was the diary and a copy of a survey map of Claudius’s Den from the revolution. From my research, that abandoned mineshaft off the edge of the cliff where you so gallantly rescued me fit the description of a secondary air shaft to Claudius’s cave. One of his men described it during testimony at his trial. But according to your uncle’s map, I’m dead wrong.”
“Yeah, you would’ve died for a mineshaft full of old iron tailings and some pissed off bats.” His tone held concern rather than his usual gruff agitation. “Andie, let’s just suppose for one moment that the Atros Fallis is up here in a cave or abandoned mineshaft. Do you really think gold can be made from a formula written down in some old books?”
“I know it sounds like a fantastic tale, and believe me, I’ve even doubted my own research and scoffed here and there at some of the historical documents. But in all my years of working with Giovanni Tivoli, I’ve never seen him so completely driven on any one project. And to tell you the truth, I didn’t care if the formula worked or not, but then ...” She didn’t continue, and the feeling of a phantom, icy finger ran along the curve of her neck as if she had walked through a cobweb. She shook off the chill, recalling the dark, malicious eyes of the man who had ranted his evil words in Spanish that day in her office. “Can you imagine if the formula does work, and Tivoli sells it to a client who is supporting a terrorist organization?” She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the thought that she had a hand in all of this mess. “They would have unlimited amounts of wealth and bankrupt any government or military that opposes them. Men and women, like my dad and yourself—or my sister’s husband, my brother-in-law, Zachary, who is stationed in Germany and is awaiting his new orders for reassignment—these brave men and women would place their lives in harm’s way, but without an end and without any chance for peace. I’m not willing to live with that weighing heavily on my conscience. Are you?”
“Why wouldn’t Tivoli just keep it for himself? Gold is a hot commodity now,” Clay asked.
“It’s not his style. I know that sounds ridiculous because he could become the wealthiest man in the universe, but he gets his kicks from collecting. Art, books, antiquities—and of course, women.”
Clay stared at the raging fire. He was silent, and Andie noticed the fine lines around his eyes growing deeper with his thoughts. He l
ooked to be in his mid-thirties, but the harsh conditions faced by soldiers in the field sometimes weathered them beyond their years. Damn, the way her stress level was skyrocketing lately, she was going to age well beyond her thirty-two years at any moment. She could only imagine how many gray hairs had sprouted from her flaxen mane within the last week.
Suddenly, he stood from the sofa and walked down a dark hallway leading off of the living room. Andie was becoming anxious; she could feel her heart speeding up in her chest, and the hair on her arms and neck prickled.
What the hell is he doing?
She couldn’t stay here any longer, and she knew his silent retreat meant he wasn’t going to help her. She collected her books and returned them to her backpack. For a long moment, she eyed Uncle Owen’s map sitting invitingly on the coffee table. Should she just take it and run from the house? She knew Clay would be on her in seconds flat.
“My camera phone!” she exclaimed. Praying that Clay hadn’t heard her shriek in elation, she pulled her phone from her pack and began snapping pictures of the map, making sure to zoom in on the details surrounding Claudius’s Den.
“Don’t worry about taking pictures, Andie. Against my better judgment, the map and I are coming with you,” Clay said. He was standing at the edge of the living room holding a navy blue duffel bag in his hand.
Andie’s mouth hung open. She was still trying to process her plan to run from the house and find the Atros Fallis alone, but now he would be there with her. Her fear of the unknown was gradually lifting.
“Wow, speechless. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that to a woman.” He flashed one of his drop-dead smiles at her and placed the duffel bag on the smaller sofa next to the coffee table. “Do you know how to use one of these?” He reached into the bag and pulled out a blue-finished semiautomatic pistol. He removed the magazine, checked it, and then reinserted it fully loaded.
Of course he had already known the pistol was loaded; he’d been looking for her reaction as he handled the firearm. Firearms made people nervous, and if he was planning to carry a weapon like that, he was most definitely prepared to use it.
Perhaps this was his way of intimidating her—a scare tactic to make her reconsider her search. Not a chance. She smiled seductively at him and said with a teasing Southern accent, one that she used when necessary, “C’mon now, Clay, darlin’. My daddy had three girls, Andrea, Samantha and Barbara. He raised us to be women, but he trained us like soldiers. Sam, Bobby and I learned how to shoot long before we knew how to ride a bike.” She emphasized her sisters’ names, blatantly conveying to him that the colonel had wished for boys to carry on his military legacy. He’d settled for giving his three bullheaded girls versatile, masculine names.
She reached up and ran her slender fingers along the charcoal blue slide of the weapon. “May I?” she asked, once again using her polite Southern drawl.
She gently removed it from Clay’s hand and gripped the pistol with ease. She shot another seductive glance at Clay before she handed it back to him. She discarded her accent and returned to her cool and calculated tone. “A Colt 1911, a beautiful yet deadly weapon. A .45 makes a big hole—you’re a man who means business. Hmm, damn, tritium sights, too.” Her lips curled with a Cheshire Cat grin, her pulse racing under his magnetic stare, her eyes riveted on his. She knew he was turned on.
Powerful men lived to be the protector, but they also loved strong women who could handle themselves. Under normal circumstances, she might have enjoyed his hungry gaze that made her feel desired once again, but there was no time to relish such pleasures. Besides, seductive Andie was not the woman she wished to be any longer—she was done with that. Unfortunately, she’d been that woman for a very long time, and finding herself again would be more of a challenge than finding that damned book.
“Okay, good.” He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I got a SIG 228 in the duffel bag, but you are only to use it if your life is in danger. Understand?” He nodded to confirm that he was in charge and she’d better agree to his demands, or the deal was off. “We have protein bars and two canteens of water. It should get us through the day, and we’ll come back here tonight. Hopefully, Uncle Owen’s map is right, and by tomorrow you’ll be filing that restraining order against Tivoli. Did you pack any other clothes to keep you warm?”
He seemed concerned for her safety, and she knew he didn’t want to hear her complain about freezing her ass off.
“I’ll be fine, I’m warm enough. Besides, didn’t you say that these spring snowstorms usually melt off quickly? Maybe most of the snow cover will melt away, at least by tomorrow. It would sure make it easier to locate the opening to the cave, especially from the details of your uncle’s map and Katherine’s description of the entrance. It seems like the iron hatch is sitting next to an old tree, maybe at ground level. It’s definitely not a typical adit opening for a man-made shaft.” Andie looked at the map, noticing its remarkable details. The ink was rusted red to make it look older than it was. “Claudius evidently wanted this cave well hidden. Do you think it’s possible the entrance can be in an old tree trunk or stump?”
“Possibly,” he said, lifting the map from the table and glancing at it briefly. “It might be a little difficult to find with the snow cover, but I think this diagram of the tree might represent an old sycamore grove not far from here.”
He looked her up and down, doing a quick survey to see if she would be ready to leave soon. His eyes were slightly hooded with desire, but with a quick blink of his dark lashes, GI Joe was back in action. “Take the battery out of your phone. I don’t need anyone tracking our location with your GPS signal. If you need to take care of any last minute details, do it now. Use the bathroom and get your stuff together. I’ll make some Kona coffee, like I promised you, and a quick breakfast.”
“What about Paul Krause? He’s coming up this morning with a plow truck.”
“I’m on it. I’ll call him now, just go and get ready. We’re burning daylight, woman.”
Andie agreed and walked down the hall to the bathroom. She was warmed by a feeling of relaxation and trust she had not felt with a man since Roger. Those stone walls she had built around her were beginning to crumble, and although she was trying to fight the urge to be tender and intimate with Clay, she knew she was fighting a battle already lost.
# # #
Clay picked up the telephone receiver and glanced toward the living room to make sure Andie was not within earshot. He dialed and then waited for the man’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, man, it’s me. Look, change of plans. I’ve got her, but I’ll bring her in tomorrow. It’s fine—there will be no problems. Yes, I’m positive, she trusts me. Just tell your boss I’m bringing her in tomorrow.” He was becoming angry. “Seriously!? Have I ever let you down? Yeah, that’s right, so fucking trust me. She will not leave my side. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Clay hung up the receiver and began to make breakfast. He caught his reflection in the polished stainless steel frying pan hanging from the pot rack above. He stared long and hard at himself and sighed out a curse.
You’d better know what you’re doing, his dogged internal voice admonished him. Keep it together and do what you’re paid for—and nothing else.
Chapter 8
For Andie, “blue” was always just another word. It might describe a mood, or perhaps a ribbon for a first prize accomplishment. But today, it struck her with awe. A deep blue, velvety sky stretched across the tops of tall, green pine trees. Beautiful, she thought, a perfect day; a day she might have spent relaxing with a walk in the park sipping on a vanilla latte. Or she might have spent it sitting on her balcony, listening to the din of the traffic below her as she combed over old books and obscure Internet sites to find the next big cache of antiquities for Tivoli. But now that life was gone. The moment she had maneuvered her Mini Cooper through the streets of Manhattan and crossed the George Washington Bridge, life as she knew it was over. She wo
uld most likely have to change her name—she’d need her own little witness protection program to keep from becoming a statistic on a missing persons website. She was ready to kick herself for not thinking this through, this a terrible plan she’d devised in about an hour. What was she going to do after she found the Atros Fallis? Where could she go? She would be in hiding forever from the wrath of Tivoli and his abusive client.
You’re an idiot, Andie!
She could never go back home again.
What did it matter, anyway? The woman she once was didn’t exist anymore. She had played the role of Lady Macbeth for too long, losing herself as her ego grew by the minute. She was an accomplice to Tivoli’s crooked deals, ruining innocent lives and lining the pockets of corrupt men just so Tivoli’s business could grow until it monopolized every corner of the antiquities and auction market. She was ass deep in quicksand with no way out—tough and confident on the outside, but sniveling and scared on the inside.
Andie had been bewitched by Tivoli’s charm and praise, but somehow she was never physically attracted to him. She was aware of his desire for her; she could feel it in his stare—cold and calculating, with a hint of lust as his eyes moved up her lean legs to the hem of her business skirts. He collected women like he did artifacts, and when he was done with them, he would toss them aside like broken shards of ancient pottery. He was intelligent, with aristocratic good looks—a serpent wearing Anderson & Sheppard suits from Savile Row. But Andie had stayed because he always knew just what to say when she was most vulnerable. He had monopolized her time with his projects and research and had led her to believe it was all in the name of historical conservation. Bullshit! And deep down, she had known it, too. It was all very clear to her now. She was just afraid of rejection.
The high-pitched roar from the snowmobile’s powerful motor vibrated throughout her body. Strangely enough, she found the incessant whir and hum relaxing. Or maybe it was just the comfort of knowing that Clay was with her. Maybe his protective presence was allowing her to let her defenses down just enough so that her head wasn’t spinning like a top with fear and confusion.
