by Liliana Hart
“It’s where they kept the Ark of the Covenant,” Tess said. “Among other things.”
“You’re telling me that ring is a couple thousand years old?” Deacon asked, taking the ring from her so he could get a closer look.
“Yes, and it’s been passed down in my family from father to son since then.”
Deacon let out a long low whistle. “That’s a hell of a legacy you have from your family. Most people have trouble tracing back a few generations. You’re very fortunate.”
Miller felt the lump form in her throat. She didn’t feel fortunate. A lineage written on fragile paper didn’t bring her parents back.
Deacon turned the ring slowly under the light. The band of gold was wide and there were several small dings in the material. But it was the emerald-cut amethyst that caught the eye. It was the most beautiful shade of purple she’d ever seen—deep and rich and vibrant. And carved from beneath the stone was the seal of King Solomon, similar to the star of David, who was his father, but with only a slight change in the star’s design.
“This ring is supposed to have been in the temple?” Deacon asked.
“No,” Miller said, staring at the ring. “At least that’s not the story that was passed down through my family. What Justin and I were told was that Solomon made twelve rings, identical to the one in your hand. They represented the twelve tribes of Israel, and Solomon gave one ring to a prophet from each tribe before his death. God was angry at Solomon and told him that after his death, his kingdom would dissolve. After Solomon’s death, the united nation of Israel fell apart when they refused to swear allegiance to Solomon’s son, so they divided into twelve nations.”
“I didn’t know you were Jewish,” Elias said.
“By ancestry, yes,” she told him. “By practice, no. That’s not exactly something a teenage boy is going to teach his younger sister. If my parents ever practiced, they never spoke of it. But the Bible stories were the ones they read to us when they were home, so I’m familiar with my heritage.”
“How long since you’ve seen your brother?” Deacon asked.
“He joined the navy right out of high school,” she said, shrugging off the hurt of his abandonment. “He’d come home on occasion, but after he became a SEAL those visits became few and far between. I only see him at either Thanksgiving or Christmas, depending on his deployment. But he’s always sent letters, usually three or four a year. It’s always been our thing.”
“Your brother is a SEAL?” Deacon asked, his brow arched in surprise, and then he looked at Elias.
“He was,” Miller said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “In the last letter he sent me, he told me he’d retired from active duty. I haven’t heard from him since then.” And then she remembered the letter that had been in her stack of unopened mail. She’d left it at the house.
“I haven’t seen him since we were in high school,” Tess said. “He was always so serious. And built,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. “Those broad shoulders and dark eyes. All the girls at school had crushes on him.”
“All the girls?” Deacon asked, looking at his wife.
Tess grinned sheepishly. “I’ve always had a thing for brooding men with dark good looks.”
“It’s true,” Miller said. “She went through a Johnny Depp phase her junior year of college that bordered on unhealthy.”
“Shut up,” Tess said, shooting her a look.
Miller grinned, but it wobbled at the corners as she thought of her brother. “He was handsome. He looked so much like my dad it was almost like having him home.” She toyed with her wineglass but still couldn’t bring herself to drink it.
“His letters are always filled with the same story, different location. I lost my brother to the same obsession as I lost my parents. We both had to grieve and cope with their deaths in our own ways. I think he feels like if he keeps searching for Solomon’s treasures as they did, he’ll eventually find out what really happened to them. I’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to get as far away from the tales of King Solomon as I could.”
Except now she was writing her own story. Giving herself the same kind of closure Justin was looking for, but in her own way.
Deacon looked at the ring one last time and tried to pass it to Elias, but he shook his head. He was focused on the newspaper that had been crumpled in the box with the finger.
“The newspaper is in Spanish,” Elias said. “It’s dated four days ago.”
“You think he’s in Mexico?” Miller asked.
“Doubtful,” he said. “This is the Telegraph. It’s a South American newspaper.”
“And you’d know that how?” she asked him.
“I’m well traveled,” he said dryly. He began straightening out the crumpled newspaper and a white sheet of folded paper fell to the table.
Miller grabbed it before anyone else could and opened it up.
“What is it?” Tess asked, leaning over to see.
“Wow, that’s terrible handwriting,” Miller said, squinting at the words. “And it goes back and forth between English and Spanish.”
“Let me see,” Elias said, taking the letter right out of her hands.
Miller almost snatched it back, but he’d started to read it and she was curious. But boy, once he was finished she was going to give him a piece of her mind. He’d done nothing but wreak havoc in her life, and it was time he knew he had no right to her life and no place in her life.
“It’s signed by someone named Emilio Cordova,” he said, looking up at Deacon. “Sound familiar?”
“Not that I can recall, but it’s an easy enough search,” Deacon answered.
Elias read through the letter silently, and Miller tapped her fingers on the table impatiently.
“Cordova sounds like another treasure hunter,” he said. “Apparently, Justin stole a priceless artifact from him.”
“Because I’m sure this Emilio character got the artifact on the up-and-up,” Miller said, rolling her eyes.
“Hey, I didn’t write the letter,” Elias said. “I’m just reading it. If you’ll stop interrupting.”
“By all means,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Her anger was reaching volcanic eruption levels, and she noticed Tess kept pushing her wineglass toward her. Apparently, she had more pent-up anger at Elias than she’d thought, because she was really pissed.
He stared at her for a second out of those cool green eyes, but there was no shame or embarrassment over the way he’d treated her. There was certainly not the spark of interest that had been in his gaze only a couple of months before. He just sat there assessing her like she was a bug on a microscope slide.
He confused the hell out of her. He was brash and bold, good-natured. He had the kind of devil-may-care attitude she sometimes envied in those who never seemed to have any real responsibilities. If she had to categorize him, she’d say he’d probably been one of those boys in school who was always the center of attention. The kind of guy who was voted most popular and was probably the star jock. He had an easy smile for everyone, and that laid-back attitude that made him seem like he hadn’t a care in the world.
She wished she could get him out of her head. Get his kisses out of her head. The not knowing was driving her crazy. Their bodies would’ve fit perfectly together if he hadn’t stopped. Why had he stopped? She needed to put the whole mess behind her and move on, but it seemed that was easier said than done.
She’d had enough. The blood was pounding so hard in her ears from her anger she could barely hear, and she reached over to take the letter from him, but he began to read aloud.
My dearest Miller,
Your brother has taken something that is priceless to me. I’m sure you are familiar with the table of King Solomon. Your brother is most knowledgeable about that era. I knew your parents as well, so I can only assume that it is a family obsession that you share in.
Miller felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at his words, and she withdrew her hands to her
lap, lacing her fingers together tightly.
“How could he know my parents?” she asked.
“I’d think people with interests as specific as the treasures of King Solomon would run in a pretty small circle,” Tess said. “There’s only so much treasure to go around.”
“I can’t believe he’s claiming Justin was in possession of King Solomon’s table,” Miller said. “There’s no way. It’s one of those artifacts that’s the hope of treasure hunters worldwide. Like the Holy Grail.”
“Should I assume it’s more than a regular dining room table?” Deacon asked.
“It depends on who you ask,” she said. “There are plenty of legends about what actually happened to the treasures in Solomon’s temple after it was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar. But in the fifteenth century, when Spain held so much power and they were making conquests and sending out explorations, it’s said they conquered Muslim nations and took the majority of King Solomon’s treasure from them. If you ask the Muslim nations, however, you’ll hear it was them who conquered the Spanish and kept the treasure. The table is supposedly made of solid gold, encrusted with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls.”
“Sounds gaudy,” Tess said.
“Its beauty is supposedly breathtaking. The gold tabletop like a shimmering liquid pool. Its power is as coveted as the riches laid within the gold. Those who see their reflection in the gold tabletop see their true selves. They either see an inner beauty that is enhanced by looking at the table, so the viewer becomes goodness and light, more Christlike. Or they see an inner darkness that will multiply tenfold. You can imagine what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands.”
“And they think your brother has it,” Tess said. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Elias said. “That’s not good.”
“I can’t imagine Justin hauling a table around trying to get off an island,” Miller said. “And he’s missing a finger. It doesn’t make sense. The weight alone would take more than one man could handle. What else does the letter say?” she asked Elias.
I can only assume it’s a family obsession you share in. Justin was unwilling to compromise and tell us the location of the table when we finally crossed paths. I’m sure you’ll notice we sent you a trinket or two, so you know Justin is here in my presence.
Despite our best efforts, he’s remained silent, but while searching through his belongings we came across a photograph of you and a half-written letter, along with a single leg from the table. It is truly magnificent. But the power the table wields is useless unless it is whole.
Does your brother always send you clues to treasures he’s found in his letters? I bet he does. Just like in the one he was currently writing he was sending you clues to the location of your parents’ plane crash. I’ve confirmed this hunch by telling your brother exactly what we plan to do to you if you don’t help us find the treasure. He was most displeased, and he took out his anger on two of my best men. I’ve learned to never underestimate a SEAL. I believe he regrets the fact that he inadvertently involved you in this little quest for glory and riches.
Please accept our invitation to join us. A friend will meet you at the airport in Baltra. And from there, you’ll travel by boat to see your brother. We’re not unreasonable. We understand you’ll want to guarantee his safety before you lead us to the treasure. If you choose not to be our guest, I’ll unfortunately have to keep sending you packages in the mail until you can be convinced. Bring the ring.
“Ohmigod, I hate boats,” Miller said, taking the paper from Elias and reading the last part for herself. “This can’t be happening.”
“What?” Elias asked. “You mean your brother getting himself mixed up with the wrong people and then dragging his innocent sister into the pit of hell with him?”
“Listen, you …” Miller said, reaching her boiling point. But Tess interrupted before she could unleash her fury.
“Deacon,” Tess said, “why don’t you and Elias give us a few minutes so no one gets hurt and none of our furniture gets broken. Last time I saw Miller this mad, she drove her VW Bug right through Carl Jansen’s fence. She took the clothesline with it. His drawers were scattered all over town for days.”
Elias opened his mouth to say something, but Deacon clapped him on the shoulder. “Take your time,” he told his wife, kissing her on top of the head. He gathered the finger, the newspapers, and the box. “Let me know when we’re safe from flying furniture.” And then they both left.
It took Miller a second for the red haze of anger to fade before she realized what he’d done. “He took Justin’s finger. And the ring. Your husband is a dirty thief.”
Tess snorted out a laugh as Miller got up to follow after them. “He’s not a dirty thief,” she assured her, pulling her back down to her seat. “You know better than that. But he does have contacts and resources that might be valuable in finding Justin.”
“If you say so,” Miller said, wondering what kind of contacts a gravedigger and mortuary assistant could possibly have. “But if a picture of that finger shows up on Deacon’s Facebook page, we’re going to have a problem.”
“I think you’re safe on that front,” Tess said. “Now drink your wine for some liquid courage so you can tell me what the hell is going on between you and Elias. And then we need to decide what you’re going to do about this mess.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The wine helped. A lot.
They’d moved the wine and snacks into the parlor area of the funeral home. Tess had never been a big fan of the overly formal room done in shades of cream, but Miller had always liked it. She imagined the original lady of the house, corseted in her finery, serving tea to all the other ladies of Last Stop in front of the grand marble fireplace, ornate moldings, and stained glass. There was a story to be told in this room, and she always appreciated a place that had a story. She paced back and forth across the thick Persian rug, while Tess lounged back on the couch and waited patiently for her to get it all out. Her anger had only intensified since she’d left the kitchen, and she knew from experience she just had to let herself wind down. Her temper didn’t make itself known very often, but when it did it was best to steer clear of anyone who might become collateral damage.
She’d tried to go home to work off her mad on her StairMaster, but Tess had snatched her keys before she could walk out the door. Tess was tricky like that. Fortunately, she was also a good friend and Miller knew she could trust her with anything. She hadn’t had the courage to talk to Tess about Elias up until now because she was so damned embarrassed about the whole debacle.
“The nerve of that man,” she said, for probably the dozenth time. “How dare he just barge in here and butt himself into my personal business. And after what he did to me.”
“You still haven’t explained what that was,” Tess said, moving from the couch to start a fire. She stacked the logs neatly and lit the kindling beneath. Tess was always much better at getting a fire lit than she was. It probably had something to do with the fact that Tess was a hell of a lot more patient and methodical.
“I mean, how dare he insinuate that Justin’s caught up in dirty dealings,” Miller said, continuing her pacing. “He doesn’t even know Justin. And Justin wouldn’t purposefully put me in danger.”
“Baby, you have to admit it’s a bad situation,” Tess said softly. “Justin didn’t meet these guys at a church potluck. No one is perfect, and you said yourself that Justin was as obsessed as your parents were.”
“All I know is I’d trust Justin any day over someone like Elias Cole.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Tess said, “but a couple of months ago, you two were setting so many sparks off each other I thought you were going to catch fire. You went home with the man, and then wouldn’t mention him again. What happened?”
Miller paused in front of the fireplace and put her hands on her hips. “He didn’t want me,” she said.
“What?” Tess said, outraged, coming to her feet.
“What an idiot. There’s no way that man didn’t want you. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“I don’t know what happened.” She shrugged and continued her pacing. “We could barely keep our hands off each other the whole drive to the house, and then once we got there, who knows how long we went at each other in the front seat of my car. The neighbors probably got an eyeful.”
“You live next door to Betsy Danforth,” Tess said. “You know she can’t see once it gets dark, and she’s deaf as a doornail. You could’ve had the most cataclysmic orgasm of your life on your front lawn and she’d miss the whole thing. Mama has told her for years she needs to go get hearing aids.”
Tess’s mother, Theodora, had once owned the Clip n’ Curl hair salon in town, and she’d been considered the hub for gossip and bad advice. She’d recently turned over the running of the Clip n’ Curl to her protégé so she could go live with Tess’s grandmother in a fancy retirement community. The two of them hadn’t killed each other yet, much to everyone’s surprise.
“I guess it’s a good thing,” Miller agreed. “By the time he got me to the front porch I was half-naked and would’ve done anything that man had asked, because holy moly, he knew exactly what to do with his mouth. And then it was like someone flicked a light switch. He set me down and pushed me away. And then he turned his back and walked away without a word.”
“You’re kidding me,” Tess said, wide-eyed.
“I wish I were. I’m pretty sure no one in their right mind would make up a story like that.”
“He didn’t say anything? Not ‘goodbye,’ or ‘my house is on fire’? Nothing?”
“Nope. Not one single word. And he had to walk home because he’d been driving my car. I don’t know how he managed to walk three blocks with a hard-on the size of Nantucket.”
Tess giggled and slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with mirth. “That was going to be my next question. I was thinking maybe he couldn’t—”
“Oh no,” Miller said, arching a brow. “He most definitely could. But I’ve got my suspicions. I think he’s married and he had a change of conscience.”
