Twelve Shades of Midnight:

by Liliana Hart

  “No,” he said.

  The force of her heartbeat increased as her body flushed with adrenaline. He had to take the artifact. She’d risked her career for this, not to mention her sanity. If he didn’t take it, how would she get the nightmares to stop? She couldn’t go on like this. She doubted she’d last another day. “No?”

  “No.”

  The man conserved words like they were a finite resource. She found the trait irritating. “Why not?” Admittedly, the receipt was a cheap ploy to defend herself from prosecution should the museum claim she stole the artifact—which she had—and tried to sell it—which she would never, ever do. The cultural resource manager’s signature would at least show she’d returned the artifact to its rightful owner, and that no money had changed hands.

  “You can’t just walk in here, drop off a priceless artifact, ask me to sign a release for it, and leave.”

  Priceless? Since when did tribal cultural resource managers think in terms of worth when it came to artifacts? Usually they assiduously avoided all references to monetary value when it came to artifacts of cultural heritage—especially artifacts subject to NAGPRA. And this mask almost certainly had been grave goods. Odds were, it had been buried with a powerful tribal leader—a shaman, who, Sienna believed, still inhabited the annoying relic. “Are you…” She wanted to say kidding me? but stopped herself and instead said, “Mr. Vaughan?” managing to erase all snark from her tone.

  “Yes.”

  The single word sat alone in the air as she waited for him to offer some sort of explanation for his refusal. What Tribal Historic Preservation Officer—or rather, THPO equivalent—didn’t want to receive an obviously old and dear piece of his tribe’s cultural history?

  But, true to form, the man said nothing. He merely stared at her, waiting for her to hang herself. She had a feeling he visualized handing her the rope. Which made her wonder if he knew exactly what she’d risked in bringing the mask home, and why he refused to help her.

  She stood, slowly, feeling an ache in her belly and in her heart as she realized how badly she’d miscalculated. If he wouldn’t take the mask, she really had stolen it. She’d already lost her client, but now she might lose her business. She could even go to jail. But the worst part was her sister—co-owner of Aubrey Sisters Heritage Preservation—was going to kill her.

  But Larkspur had been in Hawaii for the last two months and didn’t know what was going on with Sienna and their museum client. Larkspur had no idea the mask had taken over. Or that maybe Sienna had gone insane. One or the other.

  But the mask being possessed by a spirit was the preferred option.

  “The mask is yours. Why refuse it? I’ve never met a tribal cultural resources manager who wasn’t eager to reclaim a piece of their tribe’s cultural heritage.”

  “You show up here after hours, drop an ancient mask on the desk, and expect me to sign a scribbled delivery receipt when you haven’t even shown me so much as a business card? We may be out in the Alaskan boonies, Ms. Aubrey, but that doesn’t make me ignorant. I recognize when something is off. And you are definitely off.”

  She straightened in her chair, hating that he was right but ready to defend herself anyway. “I was supposed to arrive much earlier, but my flight from Seattle was late into Anchorage, plus they lost my bag, so I missed the ten thirty flight to Itqaklut and had to catch the four o’clock. Then I got a flat tire on the way here. It took me almost forty-five minutes to get the bolts off. I had a seat on the nine o’clock flight back to Anchorage tonight. Without the flat, I might have made it.”

  The man cocked his head. “What if I hadn’t been here? Was your plan to dump the mask on the front steps and leave?”

  “Heavens, no! I would never be so negligent with an artifact! I’m a curation specialist.” She sighed and sat back in her seat. “I didn’t expect you to be here, but it was worth a shot. I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. With the Midnight Sun Festival this week, there isn’t a hotel room or bed and breakfast with a bed available—which was why I’d booked a flight back to Anchorage tonight. So it was either drive here and see if I could catch you, and maybe even catch the return flight, or sit in the airport until morning and then drive here.”

  If she were less desperate, she’d never have risked getting on the flight from Anchorage in the first place. She’d known the odds of catching the return flight were slim, but the idea of spending even one more night with the demon mask was too much. She’d had to try to get rid of it.

  She dug around in her purse and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my card. I’m legit. Please, sign the release so I can get to one of the restaurants in Itqaklut before they close. I haven’t eaten since before my six a.m. flight from Seattle this morning. I’m exhausted, hungry, and I’ve got a long night ahead of me without a bed in my future.”

  Vaughan stared at her, his face blank and those blue, blue eyes unreadable. Finally he said, “I won’t sign the release, but I can offer you dinner and a bed.”

  Rhys Vaughan wondered how desperate Sienna Aubrey was. Would she agree to his impulsive offer? A dozen different emotions played across her face, not the least of which was annoyance at his refusal to sign her bogus form. At least, he assumed, from the way she tapped her foot and her gaze dropped every time she mentioned the form, that it was bogus. But the duties and practices of a cultural resources manager were completely lost on him.

  All he knew was the mask had been stolen from the tribal corporation sometime in the last year. Now here she was, trying to dump it on him, late on the eve of Itqaklut’s biggest celebration, so she could slink back to wherever she came from? Not just no, but hell, no. He needed answers.

  To get those answers, he needed to call his cousin in the hospital and ask him if this woman was legit and what to do about the mask—the very artifact that might be the reason someone had tried to kill Chuck.

  Finally, her pretty features—wide hazel eyes, pert nose, and round face with an ever-so-slightly indented chin—settled on relief. She was going to accept, meaning he’d have at least one night to look into her story and figure out how she was connected to the thefts and poisoning that had sent Chuck to the hospital.

  “It feels really strange to accept an offer like this from a total stranger, but I’d be grateful for a place to stay. Plus my sister will be pleased to know I’m staying with the Itqaklut CRM. She’s worked extensively with Alaska’s State Historic Preservation Officer and told me the SHPO has always spoken of you with great respect.”

  Rhys smiled. Smooth, the way she made it clear she’d inform someone of where she’d be staying, while also naming important people in Chuck’s field who could be called upon should something happen to her. Sienna Aubrey might be up to no good, but she was no dummy. And it wasn’t foolish of her to accept his offer. It was damn prudent given that the tiny coastal village was indeed packed for the coming Midnight Sun Festival. According to Chuck, the only grocery store closed at seven sharp, and if he remembered correctly, the restaurants all closed at nine. She’d have been out of luck trying to find food in Itqaklut tonight, and for all he knew, the airport locked the doors after the last outbound flight left for the night.

  He wasn’t certain, because he’d only just arrived in town himself—in fact, they’d arrived on the same flight. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed her on the small, twenty-four-seat airplane, but then his concern about Chuck overrode everything—even pausing to admire a pretty face. He considered telling her she’d made a mistake in assuming he was his cousin, but that would likely scare her off, and he wanted to know how she’d obtained the mask and why she had the look of desperation in her eye.

  He rose, plucking Chuck’s keys from the desktop. “Let’s go, then.” He hoped he could remember the way to Chuck’s house. The roads were twisty across the tundra and rarely marked with signs.

  “Do you mind… Can I leave the mask here?”

  He frowned. There was definitely something up with that ma
sk. The look on her face when she touched it… It was a strange mixture of aversion and elation. A pleasure-and-pain thing. The woman was a strange puzzle, and not at all what he expected to find when he came to search Chuck’s office for clues as to who’d poisoned him and why. “No,” he said, simply because leaving the mask here seemed to be the thing she wanted most, and until he knew exactly why, he had no intention of giving her what she wanted.

  She frowned and huffed out a sigh, seeming reluctant to touch the thing. But then she did, and again her face expressed the strangest mixture of pleasure and pain. It was almost sexual, the way her eyes hooded and jaw clenched, triggering an unwelcome jolt of desire that sent blood rushing to his cock.

  He clenched his jaw against the unwanted reaction. She was a stranger, and odds were she had something to do with Chuck’s near-death experience. He reminded himself he’d likely experience a similar low-grade erection if he saw an arousing photo of a half-naked woman, especially one with Sienna’s soft curves.

  It wasn’t personal, just physiological.

  But still, he didn’t like that the seed of attraction—however biological—had been planted.

  She placed the mask in the large carved wooden box, sealing it with the attached leather strap, which she anchored with a carved stick—or maybe it was bone. He itched to ask questions about both artifact and container, but it would be increasingly obvious he knew nothing about artifacts or his cousin’s Iñupiat heritage.

  She reached down to lift the box and strained, as if it were Thor’s hammer. She muttered a curse and tried again, this time bending at the knees. But the box didn’t budge.

  He could swear her effort was real and her grip on the box solid. He nudged her aside. “I’ll get it.”

  She shot him a glance that was almost a challenge. As if she were handing him a pickle jar with a stuck lid, and it was time to see how tough he was. Prior to law school, he’d served two tours as an explosive ordnance disposal specialist in Iraq. He wasn’t intimidated.

  He bent down and lifted the box easily. It practically floated, it was so damn light. Her jaw dropped.

  He felt as if he’d pulled Excalibur from the stone and tossed her a skeptical look. “You feeling okay? This is even lighter than it looks.”

  Her face flushed, and she muttered, “Damn thing is determined to embarrass me.”

  Okay. Maybe she was just a nutcase. In which case he was wasting his time here. He was tempted to toss the box into her arms and be done, but something about the desperation in her wide hazel eyes stopped him. Well, that and the fact that the box held the mask.

  He could call the police right now. Chuck had reported the mask stolen, but he didn’t like the idea of passing this off to the cops just yet.

  Was he being a sucker because she had pretty eyes?

  He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t particularly like what that said about him. He suppressed a sigh and led her out of the office, locking Chuck’s suite and the front door to the building on the way out. In the parking lot, he walked with her to her rental sedan. She opened the trunk with the fob, and he set the lightweight box inside. “The roads aren’t marked, making directions complicated; it’ll be easier if you follow me.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. It’s very kind of you to take me in like this.”

  He shrugged. “This is what people do in Alaska. It’s either be neighborly or let people freeze to death.” He knew this to be true, even though he’d never lived here. He’d grown up in Oregon but had visited Chuck over the years. His two most recent visits were five years ago for Chuck and Jana’s wedding, and six months ago for Jana’s funeral.

  In the months since Jana’s death, Rhys and Chuck spoke on the phone every few days, so it had been quite a shock when he got the call that his bereaved but otherwise healthy cousin had gone into kidney failure. Chuck had been transported to Anchorage as soon as he was stable, and now it was a matter of waiting to see if he was one of the lucky few who would recover after a few dialysis treatments, or if he’d eventually need a kidney transplant. If Chuck needed a kidney, Rhys hoped he was a donor match.

  Chuck was certain his illness wasn’t a case of accidently eating a poisonous mushroom, but the tiny local police department wasn’t exactly investigating. Chuck had recently discovered artifacts—including one ancient carved wooden mask—had gone missing from the cultural department’s off-site storage facility. The day he started asking questions, he was poisoned.

  Itqaklut police had conducted a cursory investigation of the poisoning, then declared the poisoning accidental and Chuck paranoid, case closed. Itqaklut’s finest were used to investigating assaults, drunk driving, and the occasional theft. Attempted murder was too far outside their expertise. It didn’t help that the officer assigned to the investigation dated Jana once upon a time and still resented Chuck.

  When Chuck begged Rhys to use the investigative skills he’d honed working his way up to assistant US attorney in the Seattle District US Attorney’s Office to figure out who’d poisoned him and why, Rhys found he couldn’t say no. Particularly because he believed Chuck, when no one else did.

  He might not be a private investigator, but he’d worked with enough PIs and FBI agents to know how they operated, and he was determined to find the proof needed to convince the police to conduct a real investigation. He’d gone straight to Chuck’s office from the airport so he could search the suite and get started.

  Rhys dialed Chuck’s hospital the moment he was alone in the car. The nurse said he was sleeping. Finally. Rest had been hard to come by for his cousin. He couldn’t ask Chuck about Sienna Aubrey tonight. He’d let her assume he was the tribal CRM guy for the rest of the night. She was clearly exhausted. Hopefully she’d want to go right to bed.

  Bed. That was a loaded word given his reaction to her. He’d set her up in Chuck’s guest bedroom and be done.

  Luckily, he remembered the route to Chuck’s house, on the farthest outskirts of the sprawling arctic settlement, without taking any wrong turns, and parked in the deeply rutted driveway as she pulled up behind him. He hesitated for a moment, realizing he couldn’t get his suitcase from the trunk. Not in front of her. Instead he grabbed his leather satchel and met her by her rental car.

  She popped the trunk and frowned at the contents. Was she going to pretend she couldn't lift it again? “What’s it saying?” he asked as a joke.

  She met his gaze and said in a completely serious voice, “It wants to go inside.”

  He’d made a huge mistake inviting her here. She was a total nutcase. But there was no backing out now. He let out a heavy sigh and reached into the trunk to lift the box with one hand.

  It didn’t budge.

  He tried two hands.

  Nothing.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was bolted to the trunk. He could deadlift well over three hundred pounds, and this box didn’t so much as wiggle when he touched it.

  She glared at the box as though it were a misbehaving child and brushed him aside, muttering, “It’s a damn nuisance.” She lifted the box easily—as he’d done in the office not ten minutes ago.

  What the hell?

  She shrugged apologetically but didn't say a word. What could she say that would make sense? Welcome to my crazy world?

  He had the distinct feeling that was exactly what she was thinking. He led her up the front walkway, an uneven brick path that shifted and moved instead of cracking with repeated freezing and thawing, and unlocked the door to Chuck’s home.

  Inside, he looked at her pointedly. “Is there a place the box wants to go?”

  Her gaze focused inward as if she were again taking his flippant question seriously. Finally she said, “The bedroom?” Her cheeks turned pink the moment the words slipped from her mouth.

  What the hell was her game?

  He shrugged and led her to the guest bedroom. No way was he letting her use the box as an invitation into the master bedroom. “This way.” He pushed open the guest
-bedroom door and stopped short.

  It wasn’t a guest bedroom anymore. Chuck had converted it into a home office. Shit. The house only had one bed—and now he had no choice but to offer it to her. “This can be the artifact’s room,” he said. Great. Now he sounded as crazy as she was, but he’d say anything to cover the fact that he was clueless about the house. “There, uh, is no guest bedroom. But you can sleep in the master bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”

  She set the box in the center of the carpet without arguing that it wasn’t the bedroom that the artifact had wanted. She brushed off her hands and said, “I couldn’t possibly take your bed. The couch would be wonderful, and it’s more than I could have hoped considering I expected to sleep in the rental car.” Her smile was gracious and genuine. And, if he were being honest, it was also pretty.

  They returned to the living room, where he invited her to take a seat. “Would you like something to drink?” Too late he realized he had no idea what was on hand. “Let me check and see what’s here.”

  “Thank you. I’ll call my sister.”

  He stepped into the adjacent kitchen and quickly searched the fridge and cupboards, taking stock of the food situation and organization. It wouldn’t do to have him searching for the silverware in front of her. Bad enough to be caught off guard by the guest room that wasn’t a guest room anymore.

  He scanned the contents of the fridge. There wasn’t much, because the police had collected all open containers and leftovers to test for the toxin orellanine. They were still awaiting the results. A six-pack of bottled beer, a tub of cream cheese, a package of bacon, and a few other items in vacuum-sealed jars were all that remained.

  Shifting to the freezer, he found a frozen pizza in a sealed box. It would do for tonight.

  Murmurs from the living room got his attention. Was she talking to the wooden box or her sister? He glanced at the clock. Nearly ten p.m. An hour later in Seattle, if that was where her sister was. From her tone, he guessed she was speaking with her sister, and she wasn’t happy.