Twelve Shades of Midnight:

by Liliana Hart

  “You followed in your mother’s footsteps?” he asked.

  She cradled her coffee mug in her hands. This felt strangely like a first-date conversation, sharing their backgrounds. Forget the fact that it was four a.m., and she’d just had the most erotic experience of her life with him. “Sort of. I have an undergraduate degree in anthropology. I’ve done my share of dig bumming, but Larkspur is the one with a master’s degree in archaeology. I have an MA in museology. My specialty is curation and care of museum collections.”

  “And you work for a museum?”

  “Larkspur and I have a full-service cultural resources management consulting firm. She handles the archaeology, fieldwork, and reporting, and I manage artifact analysis and collections. I have several museums as clients. One of my jobs is to audit collections and flag items subject to repatriation under NAGPRA.” She smiled, remembering how he’d covered his cluelessness about NAGPRA in Chuck’s office.

  “After you determine an artifact is subject to repatriation, what happens?” he asked.

  “I research the artifact’s origins. Frequently, I’ll consult with multiple tribes that have competing claims. It can get dicey trying to find a solution that makes all parties happy.”

  “What makes an artifact subject to repatriation?”

  “Aside from human remains, I identify grave goods—anything that might have been buried in association with human remains. But an artifact doesn’t have to be grave goods to be sacred. Any type of funerary purpose is protected under NAGPRA.”

  “And the mask, you think it was a grave good?”

  “Most likely. Masks are sacred, regardless. They were highly valued in Iñupiat culture. As with this mask, often the shaman’s real hair was used. Hundreds of years later, we have the DNA of the owner of the mask. DNA is a slam dunk for repatriation.”

  “Did you run a DNA test on the hair?”

  “The museum curator wouldn’t let me. After I returned it to the tribe—to your cousin—I’d planned to request he run a test to prove I’d done the right thing in returning it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My client, Adam Helvig, freaked when I flagged the mask during my NAGPRA inventory. He said it wasn’t subject to NAGPRA because it was a replica—which was bullshit. He was pissed I’d even opened the storage box. He accused me of all sorts of vile things until I showed him the paperwork for the box. The number was part of the sequence I was contractually obligated to inventory. If I hadn’t opened it, I’d have been negligent in fulfilling my contract.”

  “If it was part of your inventory, why did he put up a fuss?”

  She shrugged. “He said it was numbered wrong. He even accused me of changing the number at one point. He flat out forbade me from including it with the other items subject to repatriation.”

  “Yet here you are, with the mask.”

  If anyone could possibly understand the choice she’d made, it was Rhys. “I, um, stole it.” She glared at him, daring him to judge her. “You know why I had to.”

  He studied her in silence.

  Crap. Hadn’t he said he was an assistant US attorney? Does that mean he has to report me?

  Finally, he said, “Don’t worry. I get it. Just trying to figure out how we should handle this.” After a long silence, he asked, “In general, how does it…communicate with you?”

  “Dreams—nightmares—for the most part. But also little games—like when it was too heavy to lift, or really light at other times. When I’m doing what it wants, it…this will sound crazy…but it sort of…hums. A slight pleasurable vibration.”

  His brows drew together. “Is it—the vibration, I mean—is it sexual?”

  It was a fair question, given what had occurred between them. “No. There was never anything sexual about it, not until you came along.”

  There was something about the satisfaction in his smile that both amused and irked her. The damn mask had manipulated them into bed together. It had entered the most private spaces of her mind and pulled Rhys in with it.

  She felt vulnerable. Exposed. And, yes, aroused. Even desperate. “I just wish I knew how much of this”—she waved her arm between them to encompass the magnetic pull she felt toward him even now—“is real, and what can be attributed to the mask playing matchmaker.”

  “I’ll admit I’m wondering the same thing.” His deep, quiet voice was—like everything else about him—a powerful turn-on. “I think I can feel that hum you’re talking about. For me, it started when we were talking in Chuck’s office.” He curled his hands into fists and added with a grimace, “And with every heartbeat, I’m fighting the most intense need to drag you onto my lap and make you come.”

  Her breath hitched.

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to push you. I’m just being honest.”

  She nodded. “I know that.”

  He gave her a soft smile of friendship, not seduction, and she realized she would very much like his friendship. “So what about the curator? Did you have a plan for returning the mask that would leave you with your reputation and business intact?”

  She held the coffee mug to her nose and took a deep breath, thankful for the comforting aroma, which she’d denied herself for the last two months. “About twenty-four hours ago, I reached my breaking point. Or the mask did. I’m not sure. All I know is, it yanked me out of bed in the middle of the night, demanding I grab it and bring it here.” She shook her head. “So I picked it up from the museum—I have keys and the security codes—and went straight to SeaTac. I spent a fortune on a last-minute flight to Itqaklut. And here we are. I’d hoped that if Chuck signed the receipt, I could use it to show I’m not a thief. If he’d agree to the DNA test, I could prove I’d returned it to the rightful owner—however illegally. If I were lucky, it would get sorted out through NAGPRA and I’d be proven right, that the curator’s claims were bogus.”

  “What does your sister think about all this?”

  She bit her lip. “I, uh, haven’t told her. She’s been in Hawaii for the last two months, dealing with a pain-in-the ass military contract she never should have bid on.” She rolled her shoulders, a feeble effort to shrug off her concerns. “Your turn. I want to know about Chuck, what you’re doing here, and why you lied.”

  She fixed him with a stare that dared him to claim he hadn’t lied again. To his credit, he just dipped his head in acknowledgment. “We think Chuck ingested Cortinarius rubellus, also known as deadly webcap—a wild mushroom. Within twenty-four hours of the first symptom, he was in the emergency room due to renal failure. His blood tested positive for the toxin orellanine.

  “The day before he got sick, he discovered several key artifacts had gone missing and ordered a full accounting of the tribal collection. The police have written it off as an accidental poisoning, but Chuck doesn’t think it was a coincidence that deadly webcap somehow got into his food the same day he discovered the tribe had been robbed.”

  “Is the mask one of the missing artifacts?”

  “There is a mask among the missing items, yes. I haven’t seen photos, so I’m not certain if the missing mask is the one you have.”

  Relief hit Sienna in a rush. If the mask had been reported stolen, then she wasn’t a thief for taking it from the museum. She might survive this with her business intact. “Why did you refuse to take it, then?”

  “I couldn’t let you dump the mask and leave. I needed answers and wanted more time to question you. And I wanted to check in with Chuck so I’d know what I needed to ask. You were…unexpected. I’d only just arrived and hadn’t gotten the lay of the situation yet. I’d planned to come clean with you about my identity in the morning and question you then, possibly with an officer present.”

  That sent a chill of fear up her spine. “And you invited me to stay here so you wouldn’t lose track of me or the mask?” She couldn’t fault him for that, but still, the idea he’d planned her interrogation didn’t leave her with warm fuzzies either.

  “I’m not entirel
y sure—it was an impulsive offer.” He tapped his knee, deep in thought. “Was there anything else in the box at the museum? The one in which you’d found the mask?”

  “Yes, a half dozen items: a maul, a mortar and pestle, a labret, two baskets. The labret is also subject to NAGPRA. All the items are interesting, especially the baskets, but even those aren’t as striking as the mask.”

  “What’s a labret?”

  “Lip plug. Worn through a hole under the lower lip, this one is stone—polished jasper. Oval shaped, it’s large and thick. The size means it was worn by an elder—they start small and work their way up. It was a sign of high status.”

  “Do you have pictures of these items?”

  “I’ve got pictures of the mask on my phone, but the rest are on my laptop, which, because I carried the box with the mask on the plane, I had to check in my suitcase. But my bag was lost in Anchorage. I need to call the airline and see if they’ve found it.” It had been such an insane and stressful twenty-four hours, she hadn’t even begun to panic yet about losing her computer. “Do you know what else was stolen from the tribe?”

  “I haven’t seen the list yet. It’s at the tribal storage facility, not the office. It’s an incomplete list because he’d only just started to inventory when he got sick.”

  “What sort of records do they keep for artifacts in storage? How controlled is the facility?”

  “It’s old-school. No budget. They’re lucky to have climate control for the long-term storage at all.”

  “So anyone could walk in and take them?”

  “Anyone with a key and alarm code. Codes are tracked and individual, and they should match signatures in the logbook. According to the data, everything checked out—each time the facility was accessed in the last year, the logbook was signed with the corresponding signature. But it’s possible—even likely—artifacts had been taken several months—maybe even a full year—before Chuck noticed.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “His wife was terribly ill for months before her accident. It took her doctors forever to figure out what was wrong. She had Lyme disease, probably for well over a year. She tested negative early on, and the symptoms could have been so many different things. They finally ran the test again, and she got the treatment she needed. She’d just returned to work, when she lost control of her snow machine and it rolled over her, pinning her in a ditch.” Rhys let out a heavy sigh, showing he shared some of his cousin’s grief.

  “During her illness, Chuck admits he wasn’t vigilant over the tribal collections—and who could blame him? According to the log, aside from Chuck, only one other person accessed the storage facility in the last twelve months.”

  “And who is the other person?”

  “Chuck’s wife, Jana.”

  Chapter Four

  “Jana did work those last months.” Rhys tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling, remembering the pain in Chuck’s voice as he told Rhys about the thefts from his hospital bed. “To be clear, Chuck doesn’t believe she stole the artifacts. He thinks someone took advantage of her illness—and their distraction—and maybe got her code. In a few places, her signature was illegible, but she suffered from hand numbness, among other things, which sometimes made writing impossible.”

  “How horrible,” Sienna said, her expression reflecting her outrage. “Someone took advantage of her illness to steal from the tribe. I assume Jana worked for the tribal CRM office?”

  “Yes. She was the collections manager.” Rhys ran a hand over his face. His arousal had finally faded, leaving simple exhaustion in its wake. “I think I could use your help, actually. Later today—after we both get some sleep—could you go through the facility with me and look over the records? You might have some insight into what’s missing, see if there’s a pattern. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

  “Sure. That’s a good starting point. I’d like to find proof the mask belongs to the tribe, so I can cram it down Adam Helvig’s throat. It would be really nice to not have just tanked my career and company. Helvig will have a lot of uncomfortable questions to answer.”

  “What’s your vibe on him? Do you think he bought stolen goods for the museum?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip again. “I think so. I don’t understand why he’d do it, though. He’d never be able to display the mask without proper provenance, and museums have to adhere to higher standards than most. Plus, the museum is sometimes used as a neutral storage facility. Stolen goods would end that practice in a nanosecond.”

  “What’s a neutral storage facility?”

  “When there’s a dispute over the disposition of artifacts, sometimes opposing sides—government agencies and tribes, for example—will sign memoranda of agreement stating that the artifacts will be stored at a neutral facility until the dispute is resolved. The museum collects rent from government agencies for providing storage. Trafficking in stolen artifacts would end that income stream.”

  “Were you examining disputed items in your NAGPRA evaluation?”

  “No. My contract was to audit the museum’s own substantial holdings. When he freaked about me opening the storage box containing the mask, he said he feared I’d opened a box under dispute and there would be legal repercussions for him if I had.”

  “Sounds like I need to have your curator investigated. I’ll make some calls later this morning.”

  She nodded. “I suppose we should call the police now.”

  He stood and went to the kitchen to make the call. The department dispatcher told him that if it wasn’t an emergency, they would have to wait until after nine for an officer to investigate the broken window, which was fine with Rhys.

  He was dead on his feet by the time he faced Sienna again. “I’m wiped, and you look just as exhausted. We both need at least three hours of uninterrupted rack time. You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She started to argue, so he scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom and dropped her on the large bed. The simple act of touching her reignited all his banked desire, and seeing her sprawled on the bed with matching heat in her eyes only made him burn more. It took all his willpower to turn his back to her and head for the door.

  He paused in the doorway with his hand on the knob. “Lock this. To keep me out if we dream again.”

  Sienna’s sleep was deep and dreamless—her first such sleep in two months—and she woke after four hours feeling rested and reenergized. She was strangely disappointed to find herself alone in the locked bedroom.

  The sound of running water told her Rhys was showering. She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the spray cascading down his firm body, and imagined stepping into the shower with him and sliding her hands over his thick muscles, which would be slick with soap and warm from the steamy water.

  She could do it. Right now. She had no doubt he’d welcome her intrusion.

  Her body hummed with need. Desire. She wanted him, with a heretofore unknown intensity, especially for a man she’d only just met.

  She couldn’t trust the desire wasn’t artificial because of that abnormal intensity. It could be the mask’s influence and nothing more. But it was also possible the desire was genuine. After all, Rhys Vaughan was hot as hell. Maybe the mask had merely jump-started her libido?

  She rubbed her eyes, having convinced herself—for now—to stay out of Rhys’s shower. She dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the kitchen, smiling to see a full pot of coffee with a mug set out for her. She grabbed her clothes from the dryer and quickly dressed, and had settled on the couch with a mug by the time he exited the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Damn, his abs were as cut in real life as they’d been in the dream.

  His eyes warmed at the sight of her. “I’m glad you’re up. The police called. The officer will be here in about ten minutes. I’ll throw on some clothes.” He ducked into the bedroom. Minutes later, he stepped out, his short, light hair towel dried and curling at t
he ends. He’d dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. Business causal but Alaska formal. “When we talk to the officer, I don’t want to bring up Chuck’s poisoning or any connection the break-in may have to that. They’ve blown off the investigation, and I’d like to do some looking of my own, without them warning me off.”

  He paused, then said, “It would also be best if you don’t mention the mask—if you admit you have one of the artifacts stolen from the tribe, he might arrest you and let the courts sort it out. I need your help at the storage facility. Maybe there we can find something solid to prevent you from being arrested later.”

  At the first mention of arrest, she felt the blood drain from her face. She’d known being arrested was a possibility—she’d stolen the mask from a museum, after all—but she hadn’t figured on it happening at this end. Mentally she’d prepared to be arrested when she returned to Washington. “My lips are sealed.”

  The officer arrived a few minutes later. He shook Rhys’s hand first. “I’m Officer Tourney. Sorry to hear about Chuck. He’s your cousin?”

  Rhys nodded. The officer entered the house and studied Sienna. “I wasn’t aware you had company.”

  “This is my girlfriend, Sienna Aubrey.” She kept her face blank at his blatant lie, even though she was surprised by it. But then, how else could they explain her presence in Chuck’s house? They couldn’t exactly mention how they’d met.

  The man nodded and shook her hand. “Since you’re a witness, I’ll need your address.”

  She gave him her Gig Harbor, Washington, address and phone number. Then he turned to Rhys. “I understand you work for the Western Washington US Attorney’s Office?”

  “Yes.” Rhys then gave a Seattle address.

  Strange to think he lived just across Puget Sound from her. Claiming she was his girlfriend didn’t even sound far-fetched given where they lived.

  “Okay, walk me through the break-in. Where you were, time, everything.”