by Jackson, Pam
She welcomed the warmth of Clay’s body, which penetrated her goose down jacket. Her arms wrapped snugly around his waist, and even with gloved hands, she could feel the edge of the worn denim that fit perfectly around his rock-solid hips.
Snap out of it, you fool. Be professional. Remember to be calm and cool, Andie—not, ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’ He’s here to help you, not date you.
And there it was, that gnawing feeling at the base of her skull, that awful little voice telling her that she was alone in this world and always would be. It was better that way; she wanted to believe and trust in someone or something, but broken hearts didn’t always heal the way they did in Hollywood movies.
She swallowed hard and tightened her grip around his waist, and she felt his abdominal muscles stiffen under her hold. His body was amazing. She wanted to reach up under his thermal shirt and feel every ripple and carved angle of his torso.
Never had she ever felt this kind of lust for a stranger. Even when she’d met Roger, she hadn’t wanted to bed him; she’d just needed to flirt a bit to get her way. But he’d soon become a comfortable fit for her, like a favorite sweater or flannel sheets on an icy winter morning. With Clay, her skin tingled with just a glance from those deep, chocolaty eyes—dark and dangerous, inviting her in for a roll in the hay. His eyes had history inside them, too. A window to a much older soul, and somehow she had a distinct déjà vu feeling with every glance and quick touch. Lost souls who had made a pact with the devil to return to each other one day, rejoicing with open-mouthed kisses. Her stomach tightened with that butterfly feeling again—this time souped up on steroids.
The sun was strong, and she imagined that it would feel great on her face if she didn’t have this ridiculous helmet and face shield on her head like a giant piece of bubble wrap. She looked behind her, checking to see if her backpack was still fastened securely to the small cargo rack behind the seat. Before they had left the house that morning, Clay had tightly fastened both their packs to the snowmobile. Everything she now owned was in that backpack: a small amount of clothing, climbing ropes, heavy reference books—probably a stark difference from the deadly contents of Clay’s pack. She kept her phone, Katherine’s diary, and Uncle Owen’s map safely tucked away inside the breast pocket of her coat. She was pleasantly surprised that Clay hadn’t asked for the map back.
The snowmobile was made to carry two people, but Clay was larger than your average Joe. Andie sat snugly behind him, fully aware that her breasts were pressing tightly against his V-shaped back—and secretly hoping he was enjoying it.
She eyed the Colt 1911 attached to his right leg with a thigh holster. Growing up with guns, she had always had a great deal of respect—as well as a healthy fear—for a weapon that could tear a hole as big as a grapefruit through soft human flesh. He held his left leg slightly away from the vibrating engine, and she realized he might be experiencing some pain from the healing wound in his thigh. She knew damn well he would not complain about it.
They had spent the last hour plowing through deep, wet snow and cutting passes through dense pine groves strewn with enormous boulders. There was no one in sight, and the only sound was the engine of the snowmobile that was sure to send any small creature scurrying down a hole or fleeing from a warm nest.
Andie could feel the drag of the heavy machine as they came to a stop at the edge of a semi-cleared field with a boggy area near it. Sickly green moss carpeted the split and decayed trunks of elms and hollowed-out white pine trees. Heavy branches from unmistakably old cedar trees intertwined like complex spider webs. Even the white of the snow couldn’t mask the gloom hovering over this lifeless acreage. Tall foxtail reeds enclosed most of the open space between the dead trees, and only a narrow, snow-covered path led through the middle of this dreaded place. Andie couldn’t help but think about Hansel and Gretel and the trail that led them to the witch’s house. It was a place of death amongst the tall, green pines and the scrub that surrounded this space. Nearby, a dark shadow was cast against the vegetation by a high rock wall, giving this place the feeling of dusk even on this sunny day. A feeling of dread washed over Andie, and she felt the cold breeze penetrate her down jacket for the first time since leaving Clay’s house that morning.
Andie flipped up the visor on her helmet. “What is this place, Clay?”
“Black Tar Swamp,” he replied. “We’ll go around it.” He removed his designer sunglasses as his laser-like stare pierced this impenetrable and most wicked place.
“Why? Can’t we just ride on that path that cuts through the swamp? There’s probably solid dirt under the snow.” Andie was referring to her Hansel and Gretel path, secretly hoping that the hungry witch was out of town. She pulled her helmet off and shook out the long, blonde hair that had been jammed tightly under the hard shell. She shielded her eyes with her hand, more for drama than necessity since it was shady in this lifeless gully. But instead of eyeing the trail, Clay was staring at her with inquisitive eyes.
“No, it’s better if we go around. And put your helmet back on. I don’t need to be cleaning up your brains out here if we take a spill.” The no-shit, irritated Clay she’d first met yesterday was back.
“I guess you don’t like wearing one, huh?” She lifted her helmet toward him. A playful laugh emerged from Andie, breaking up the doom and gloom that was curling like oily, black smoke between them. “I see. You’re the type of guy that likes the breeze blowing through his hair. Maybe you should be on the cover of a romance novel—all tough and brawny on the outside, but sweet and sensitive on the inside. I’ve got your number, Mr. Clayton.” She purred the words like a sweet kitten. And then there it was—that crooked and cute half grin she’d seen on him back at the house. Then he forced it back so he could be an ultra-cool character.
She was breaking down his defenses. Something inside of him was dying to break free, she could feel it in his stare. Something was all bottled up—all he needed was one big shake, and like a liter of soda stuck in a Tilt-a-Whirl, it would all come out. What secrets do you have, Clay?
“How are your hands?” he asked.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she said. Her tone was still playful, but it was less provocative now as she remembered why she was here and the challenges that lay ahead. She swallowed hard and glared at her gloved hands. “They’re much better, thanks. I’m glad you put Band-Aids on them today rather than the bulky gauze and medical tape.” Now she changed the subject, hoping to leave the memory of her foolishness at the cliff behind. “So, explain to me why we can’t cut through this clearing if we need to get to the other side of this swamp? We’ll be wasting time if we go around it.”
“Going around is much safer. Trust me, Andie.”
“But Clay, that’s firm ground. It’s a deer trail, and most of the mud and dirt is probably still frozen from the snow. We can make it through in a few minutes.”
“NO!” he growled. He remained still and stared deep into the heavy growth of the swamp, as though he were waiting for something or someone to emerge from the tree line.
She noticed the wide angle of his powerful jaw grinding and clenching, ready to tear through barbed wire. Okay! Way to piss him off again, girl. She was beginning to realize that his agitation ebbed and flowed like the tides. It was better not to provoke him during high tide, so she took a different approach.
“Clay, please tell me what this place is and why you look like you’re about to kick someone’s ass. Remember, I need to trust you, too. Right?” She spoke softly and looked up into his face.
He blinked rapidly, as though he were waking from a dream. “This place is cursed, Andie. The Native Americans used this place for secret ceremonies for their dead, and trust me when I tell you this place is evil. See that deer trail that looks so inviting?” He pointed at the trail that she was dead set on traveling. “Well, after the first ten or so feet, it’s water. But after that, it’s mud, thick as tar, and it never freezes, even on the colde
st of days. The water in the swamp is deep and cold. It’s hard to tell where the mud ends and the water begins—it constantly shifts. There’s some kind of underground current or spring that feeds it.”
He blew out a quiet curse, and she removed her gloves and reached for his hand. His eyes shifted toward her with surprise, but he didn’t remove his hand.
“My cousin Sean died in this swamp. We were kids, and it was my winter break. We decided to hike up in the snow to see if the swamp was frozen or not. My uncle warned us plenty of times to stay away from the swamp, but saying no, well ... that just ignites curiosity for young boys. The next thing I know, Sean is heading out onto the icy path. He’s bragging about how tough he was and how I was a big Mary because I wouldn’t walk out into the swamp with him. I tried to stop him, but he was much bigger and stronger than me. I watched him step off the path and get stuck in the mud. At first, I thought he was mocking me—flailing his arms around and calling for me ... but then I realized he was in trouble. He kept backing up, trying to get out of the thick mud, and with one quick step, he broke through the thin ice and was in the water. His head popped up once, and then he went under.” Clay squinted his eyes into narrow slits—his glare was a laser beam penetrating deep into the swamp. “I was ten and too afraid to save my own cousin. I vowed never to be that scared again. I couldn’t even look at my aunt and uncle at the funeral.”
“Clay, look at me,” she insisted. She watched as he slowly turned to her, his eyes focusing on her face. “You can’t blame yourself. It was an accident. Terrible things happen to people, even children. It’s awful, but you can’t live with that guilt. You must let it go.” She felt like such a hypocrite. These words of wisdom were coming from a woman who had trust and abandonment issues. She herself had lied to the only man who had ever loved her, and he blew his brains out with a gun when he discovered her treachery. “Okay, let’s go around. We’re burning daylight. Right?” She shot him a playful grin to try to alleviate the awful dread that was obviously weighing heavy on his heart.
She placed the clunky helmet back on her head, and once again they were zooming and pushing through the snow, circumventing the stagnant swamp.
Chapter 9
As they approached the sycamore grove, Andie was awestruck by the massive size and girth of these amazing trees. She was familiar with giant redwoods and sequoias from Northern California and had always been fascinated with the height of the great ceiba trees that grew in the rainforests of Central America. But she had never known about the beauty and majesty of this beautiful forest that was just an hour away from the crowded city streets of Manhattan.
“Clay, this is amazing.” Her neck was beginning to ache as she arched back to see the canopy. She was thankful that spring had arrived late this year so the foliage that topped these giant trees was sparse. A full canopy of leaves would leave little light in this place.
“Yeah, it’s pretty stunning up here. This is an old growth forest; it’s never been logged. Not many people even know it exists.” A broad smile beamed across his face. Andie thought he was probably happiest outdoors—and alone.
She pulled the map from the inside of her jacket and carefully unfolded it, exposing only the sketch of the tree and the hidden hatch to Claudius’s cave. She didn’t want this beautiful relief damaged any further from unnecessary exposure to the elements—it was bad enough that it had been sitting above a blazing fireplace for the past several years, protected only by a cheap glass frame. They moved deeper into the grove, and without speaking a word, they systematically began checking the wide and gnarled bases of the trees.
Andie ran her fingers across the curling gray bark of one of these giants and pressed hard against the softer, yellow-green flesh that had recently been exposed to crisp air. Huge, wart-like bumps grew around the trunks, and swollen nodules as big as cantaloupes scarred the places where limbs had once grown.
She thought how ridiculous this must look—the two of them pushing and kicking at the trees, searching for a secret passage. In a tree? Or maybe Uncle Owen had meant by a tree? But which one? This could take days, or weeks. She checked the map again, holding it so close it was almost touching her nose. She inhaled a faint hint of something sweet. Was it the scent of the parchment? And the texture of the paper was off—something was wrong. Her thin brows knitted together inquisitively. She tried recalling how she knew this type of paper. Her mind opened like an enormous file cabinet, but she couldn’t place it. She felt Clay slide up behind her, his warm breath creating goose bumps on her neck as he lowered his head to look over her shoulder and read the map. His lips were just a hair away from her petite, pink earlobe, and he sank his head lower and closer to her neckline to get a better view of the map. She could feel the heat rising from his chiseled face as she heard him inhale slowly with a low, agreeable groan. She hoped that the scent of her body wash was still faintly present from the day before. She needed a shower.
Ah, a shower. Her thoughts flashed to warm water and steam—and then to an erotic vision of Clay. His strong, wet chest pushing against her bare back. His slick hands reaching between her soapy thighs to find her sensitive clit pulsing with anticipation. What the hell, Andie? What are you doing? Read the map and concentrate!
She wanted to stop thinking about him, especially now, when her focus should be on finding the Atros Fallis and then hightailing her ass out of the country. Too late. She heard him inhale again; an unmistakable electric current of arousal was traveling fast through Andie’s tense muscles. Her thoughts wandered as she imagined her legs wrapped tightly around Clay’s hips as he slowly worked into her. She swallowed hard to erase any images of Clay’s magnificent pelvis between her thighs, spreading her wide as his smooth shaft found her slick, ready and hot. She forced herself to blink so she could concentrate on the map and not on the orgasm she could probably have right here in the great outdoors, without even a touch from Clay’s long, masculine fingers.
“I think we have to come to terms with the thought that my uncle might’ve been given some bad intel on the location of the cave,” he said, exhaling. “Andie, I told you he was obsessed with this myth. He was too blinded by his own personal convictions to realize the truth. He wanted to believe that it existed, but honestly, there is nothing up here that even remotely resembles an opening to a cave or a mineshaft. I know what your books and your research say, but it simply doesn’t exist.” He sighed and paused briefly. “Claudius was notorious for inventing tales, especially those that made him appear larger than life. And as for Katherine ... well, she was mistaken. Maybe she even made it up.”
Andie turned to face Clay with the fury of a category four hurricane. She tried to stand on her toes to go nose to nose with him, but her body swayed awkwardly in the deep snow. Hell, even if she’d been wearing four-inch stiletto heels, she wouldn’t have been able to go nose to nose with him. She was angry—”pissed off” couldn’t describe what she was feeling. Her blood boiled, and she thought for a moment about kicking him in the shins, but she wouldn’t sink to that level. She watched as a tiny smirk appeared on Clay’s face. She knew he was enjoying her pathetic attempt to intimidate him, but her anger was turning to embarrassment. How could she have been so stupid? She put her trust in him, lulled by the security he offered. She’d even been mortified by her visions of making love with him. She felt deceived by his lack of enthusiasm after his brief search of this mountainside. They had hardly walked through the massive grove, and she knew it would soon be easier to find any type of anomaly hidden in the ground or trees because the strong April sun was melting the snow at a rapid pace.
She wanted to scream at him, shake him, beg him to keep going. She searched for the words to make him move, but none came. Her eyes were trapped in his dark and lovely stare. Please, Clay. Help me. Her mind pleaded with him, but still no words came to her. He opened his mouth and leaned toward her lips, but then he suddenly jerked his head back and looked out into the dense brush beyond the grove. His eyes slit to
narrow fissures, and he turned his head like a guard dog on alert.
“Clay. What is it?” Andie asked in a croaking whisper. Her anger was replaced by fear.
“Shh.” He placed a finger against her lips, never breaking his cold stare beyond the grove. She knew not to ask any more questions.
“Fuck, no! Andie, get down!” He pulled hard on her arm, forcing her into the snow and shielding her with his body.
She heard the distinct whizzing sound of bullets passing within a few feet of them as the shots sprayed the trees and ground. Her mind was a blur as she lay face down in the cold, slushy snow. She felt Clay pull at her hard, tugging her behind the cover of the nearest tree. She was thankful that it was a wide sycamore shielding them from the burst of bullets and not the flimsy birch trees that grew sporadically in between these giants.
Her head was against Clay’s chest, buried within the thick folds of his open down jacket. His back was positioned so that it was protected by the wide tree trunk. His chest was rising and falling evenly and calmly, but she could hear his heart pounding with such intensity that it almost drowned out the sound of the automatic gunfire. Her eyes shifted to Clay’s face, and she noticed every muscle ticking repeatedly along his strong jawline and high cheekbones. His weapon was drawn and raised beside the tree. She knew he was waiting for the moment when it would be safe to squeeze off a few rounds so they could somehow escape without harm.
The pungent smell of mud and freshly chopped wood surged through her nostrils as she realized in horror that the rapid spray of hot metal was puncturing the trees and the earth around them. She tried to block out the sudden vision of her own soft flesh being torn apart by the speeding projectiles, and she decided that staying close to Clay and the ground was in her best interest.
