Dagger of Lust

by Alexandra Maxwell

  There’s something to be said about California sunshine. Tara drinks it in with the rays shining through the terminal’s glass structure. She nearly forgets the reason why she’s in Los Angeles in the first place.

  “No fun in the sun,” she mumbled to herself, “Just get it and get back. Save your job. Transport the artifacts. Save the museum and then, pause for dramatic effect, the world.”

  Laughter escaped her lips, garnering a few odd looks from strangers walking by.

  “Well, maybe not the world, but at least, getting back into everyone’s good graces is enough to make this trip worthwhile.”

  She got a few more looks before opting to stop talking to herself and made her way toward baggage claim. With her arms folded across her chest and messenger bag crossing her torso, Tara stood in front of the carousel, waiting for it to turn on. A loud buzzer sounded, the belt started, and bags started flopping out of the magic hole to slide down in front of the hundred or so people waiting with the hope their luggage made it to the same destination as their flight.

  A giant suitcase, black with wheels and handles, was the first to slide onto the belt. It seemed to be the number one choice of travelers as eight people hovered around it, trying to distinguish it from the three others that followed it. Two women shoved by Tara to fetch their bags when she overheard them.

  “Lid! Lid! Lidia! Look at this guy! Look at him! He’s drop-dead, seriously!”

  Lidia, apparently, responded with irritation, “Aaw, Cindy, what?!”

  “Look at him,” Lidia motioned toward a man headed in their direction, “He’s like sex on a stick.”

  Tara didn’t want to look in the direction where they were speaking, but she couldn’t help it. There were very audible gasps and elbows pointing at the epitome of sexiness walking toward her. A black T-shirt hugged every bulging inch of his muscular torso, a leather bomber jacket slung over his shoulder, a duffle bag by his side, and a pair of dark denim jeans over black boots. His black cropped hair, square jaw, and eyes that appeared to zero in on Tara.

  “He’s coming this way,” the girls whispered and giggled to themselves. Tara shook her head with absolute certainty that the man identified as sex on a stick wasn’t coming toward them, let alone to her. She turned her back to him, spotting her suitcase among the hoards of others.

  As she reached for the silver behemoth of a bag that could probably crush her flat, a strong hand and deep voice reached from behind her, "Why don’t you let me grab that for you, Miss Samuels?”

  “Um, yeah,” she hesitated, “sure, but, who are you?”

  “Sex on a stick, apparently,” he quipped with a dodging look to the women behind her who cringed very noticeably. “Ben Reynolds with Whitestone Security. I have your itinerary and a few rental cars for you to choose from so we can get out of here.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Reynolds,” Tara smiled, shaking his hand while he made light work of grabbing her suitcase off of the carousel. She tossed a smirk to the women eating crow behind her and walked away with her self-esteem seeping back in. It didn’t take her long to notice the amount of attention Ben attracted, she couldn’t help but comment, “Is it like this everywhere you go? I feel like I’m walking beside a celebrity or something.”

  “It’s only like this now because I'm the only person here who looks like me. Put me in a room full of my buddies and colleagues, and believe me, I’m the short end of the sex stick.”

  Tara laughed and tried her best not to let Ben’s good looks distract her. She’d distracted herself enough and needed to focus on the task at hand. So, she changed the subject, “Do you know your way around the city? Oh, and what about Mr. Mallard? Have you spoken with him today?”

  “I confirmed your appointment with Mr. Mallard and touched base with his security team for the logistics of the transfer. Let's grab the rental, and we can head on over."

  “Are we close to his office?” she wondered with a peek to her phone for the time.

  “We’re about an hour or so away. I’d rather grab this sword and hit the road. The longer we stay out here, the higher the risk of someone finding out it’s no longer in Mallard’s possession.”

  “It’s a dagger,” Tara corrected, “And I agree with you. The sooner we can hit the road, the sooner I can save my job.”

  Ben looked at her like he wanted to press her for more information behind that statement. Instead, he led her toward the rental car counter. Tara didn’t have any problems whipping out the corporate credit card. While she wanted to snag a convertible, they weren’t there to enjoy the California sun.

  “I’ll take your most economical model,” Tara said to the rental agent.

  “Now, wait a minute,” Ben snickered as he placed his hand on top of hers, making her blush. He locked eyes with her, “Let’s not do that. Remember, we’re going to be cooped up in this thing for several hours a day. I need some legroom and would rather not have to drive from the back seat.”

  “Well, we don’t need a monster truck either,” Tara countered with a scrutinizing glare over the selection in front of them. Her eyes landed on the heavy-duty black pickup truck next to the two-door coupe, “I don’t want to spend a fortune on gas either.”

  Ben leaned against a small SUV with his arm propped against the door, “How about this? Decent on gas and plenty of space. We gotta have room for your things, too, not to mention the cargo we'll have with us."

  Tara conceded and found herself imagining what this cross-country road trip was going to be like with someone as commanding and attractive as Benjamin Reynolds. They left the airport with Ben behind the wheel, and Tara doing her best to freshen up from the passenger's seat. She didn't think this trip through, believing she'd be able to check into a hotel or something before she meets with Mr. Mallard. She should have been in more contact with the agency, than drowning her woes in a bottle of bourbon with Danielle.

  Dr. Barrett’s voice echoed in her thoughts. She didn’t need to impress Mr. Mallard, she only needed to concern herself with the dagger, its scabbard, and ensuring its safe journey back to MoVA.

  “You okay, Miss Samuels?”

  "Please call me Tara, and I'm fine," she forced herself to tell him. The scenery drew her attention out of the window where traffic and city sights shifted to the beachfront property as they drove further from LAX.

  “Alright, Tara, we’ll be there soon enough.”

  The coldness sat between them like an iceberg. Every possible situation that could go wrong played in her mind, which only enforced the distance wedging itself between her and the handsome bodyguard. A part of her wished she could ogle and objectify him like those women in the airport, but at the moment, she just didn’t care. She opted for silence instead, with the occasional tune or commentary from the radio interrupting her thoughts.

  When they pulled up to Mr. Mallard’s sprawling estate, there were bronze duck statues mounted on top of ten foot high stone posts at the front gate. A gold monogram stared at them from the center of the wrought iron bars while a guard approached the car.

  "Names?" the guard asked, leaning toward the window to see if there were any other people inside.

  "Ben Reynolds, Whitestone Security." He handed the guard a business card and a driver's license. "And, this is Miss Tara Samuels with the Museum of Vintage Arts. We're here to retrieve a package from Mr. Mallard."

  The guard nodded before disappearing behind a column with continuous glances toward the vehicle. A minute or so later, the gates opened for them to enter the grounds. Tara couldn't hide her amazement at the property. A plush green lawn with pine trees lining the perimeter of the iron fence. The driveway brought them up the middle and wrapped around a koi pond. Gold accents on the windows and siding sparkled in the afternoon sun.

  “This is so lavish and quite over the top.” The words spilled from Tara’s lips as Mr. Mallard greeted them from the front door. He stood a portly few inches shy of six feet. His dark strands sparsely placed in a horseshoe combove
r made him appear as eccentric as the bronze ducks placed around the lawn.

  “Afternoon, you two, I wasn’t expecting you until this evening,” Mr. Mallard held his hand out for Tara and Ben to enter his home.

  “Sorry about that,” Ben told him as they followed the odd man into the house. “I didn’t want to hold you up any more than we already have.”

  The inside seemed to match the out as a three-foot-tall duck statue balancing a tray on its head stood beside the door. It freaked Tara out. Eccentric is one thing, but an obsession is another.

  “I’ll need your identification,” Mr. Mallard stated, leading them into a library off to the side of the entrance. “Forgive me for not providing the tour, but I realize that you probably want to get on your way.”

  “Yes, Sir, we do,” Ben told him with an inquisitive glare surveying the entrance.

  “Mr. Reynolds, Miss Samuels, if you’ll follow me, you can verify the authenticity of the items, and I'll have my security team verify your identity. We can get you two on your way back to New York straight away."

  Mr. Mallard led them through a library, a set of French doors, and into a study tucked away behind the library. On top of the desk sat a large black metal case with clasps and combination locks. Mr. Mallard leaned against it, waiting for his security team to finish verifying his visitors. Once they did, he went through the lengthy process of opening the case. It was everything Tara hoped for, and more.

  4

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Ben gasped at the sight before him. “The pictures don’t do this thing justice.”

  “I know,” Tara echoed while opening her messenger bag. She tiptoed toward the piece like a thief with the Mona Lisa in their sights. It made him chuckle as the world seemed to disappear around her.

  Ben took a step away from the case to let Mr. Mallard and Tara work with the pieces. A deep burgundy velvet lined the inside of the metal case, which opened lengthwise. The dagger and its sheath were positioned inside of a thick plastic case. He watched the two slip on pairs of white cotton gloves.

  “What are you going to do to it?” Ben asked.

  In her element, Tara’s confidence beamed. She took a leather case from her bag that held an assortment of vials and tools. “I’m running simple tests to verify the gold. I’ll have to send samples to MoVA and a lab for them to run some tests to date the samples. All of this has been done, but I'm still running a 10-point analysis. Speaking of which, I have to get a few people on the phone for this. May I have your Wi-Fi password, Mr. Mallard?"

  Ben watched her work and video conference with three other people. He only recognized Dr. Barrett from his photo in the original dossier. While they conversed at length with Mr. Mallard about the Egyptian pieces, he decided to take a step out of the room. Something didn’t sit well with him. It nagged at his gut. He didn't want to think there was any danger to what they were doing, but anything involving gold and what others consider treasure brings to it folks who like to steal such items.

  His eyes kept wandering to the various men walking around the home. He could tell they were Mr. Mallard’s security team, even though they wore suits. He hated the presidential look. Wearing a suit on the job always got in his way. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Ben refused to ignore his gut. Something was off.

  After taking another look around, especially taking mental notes of the men in suits, Ben made his way back into the study at the back of the library. He wished he hadn’t left his sidearm in the car, but he didn’t want to bring his gun to an art exchange.

  "Are you about done here?" Ben asked Tara in a hurried tone. He noticed everything was packed up, and the case sealed shut. She held yet another bronze duck in her hand. It was about the size of a paperweight. The smile on her face made him relax, but only for a minute as he recognized that tingling sensation refusing to leave him. Tara finished packing her bag before heading over to him and grabbing him by the hand.

  An immediate shock of surprise and lust practically knocked him back. He snatched his hand away from Tara unexpectedly like she’d scalded him.

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled, stepping away from him, "Sorry, Ben. I just wanted to show you where to grab the case, so it doesn't jostle the contents as you lift it off of the desk.”

  “Yeah, sorry, sure,” he flexed his fingers in and out before following her to the desk. He could kick himself for the look in her eyes. Mr. Mallard missed the exchange entirely as he fussed around with the duck figurines lining the shelves along the back wall.

  “Watch your fingers around that hinge, it might pinch,” she told him with her voice and demeanor continuing to shrink away from him.

  Ben wanted to tell her he hadn’t been touched by a woman in months, over a year, if he were counting. But, he didn’t know her. Tara didn’t deserve an explanation, and still, he wanted to give her one. First, however, he needed to get her out of the house. He grabbed the case where she’d told him to and followed her outside to their rental. He watched Tara go out of her way to avoid touching him as she opened the hatch for the trunk space. The trunk’s net cover and bungee cord let him secure the case next to Tara’s luggage. The sound of the trunk slamming shut in unison with Tara’s door, made him pause outside of the car. Someone or something was watching them as his eyes surveyed the land.

  Ben forced himself to get inside the car, willing himself to rein in his emotions and drive away from the weird mansion decorated with bronze ducks. The minute they were out of the front gate, he let out a sigh of relief.

  “Are you okay, Ben?” Tara asked him with concern in her eyes.

  “I think that house and all of the ducks were just getting to me. Let’s get on the road. I can drive the entire way if you'd like, or we can take turns. We'd probably cover a lot more ground taking shifts, but I wasn't given an exact date as to when you wanted to be back."

  He was rambling. He didn’t ramble unless he was nervous. Ben’s dark brown eyes cut to Tara, whose eyes were fixed out of the window. It made him wonder how a woman he didn't know made him nervous, a gorgeous woman who peaked his curiosity. The way her pale blue eyes ignited with excitement when she got her hands on the artifacts made him smile. Right now, she was ignoring him.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Can we start over here?”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for,” she told him with her gaze glued to the scenery passing by. “No reason to start over or anything. We can take turns driving. I don’t know what I was expecting.”

  "Probably to enjoy LA for more than the two hours it took for you to go over your checklist. You spent more time on the plane than enjoying this city. You should take some time off and come back," he replied.

  She scoffed, “That’s exactly why I’m on this grunt’s errand in the first place, some much needed time off, well, time away from the museum. I’m sure if I didn’t take this gig, I’d be out on some sort of forced leave or fired. Things got weird back home.”

  “Weird, how? Weird like the house we just left or a guy who’s in love with bronze ducks for no reason whatsoever?”

  Tara laughed, making Ben crave the sound. She turned toward him, “It’s not exactly for no reason. His last name is Mallard.”

  “So what’s a guy named Mallard, who’s obsessed with ducks,” Ben rolled his eyes, “Doing with a dagger from Egypt?”

  “Mr. Mallard’s tastes are a tad unique, but he uses the pieces to promote fundraising efforts. If he doesn’t have something already in his collection, or he’s into a rare piece like the dagger, he’ll borrow them to drive up his donations. His dinners are pretty legendary in the industry.”

  “So does he serve duck at these dinners?” A boyish smirk warmed his face.

  Tara would have spit out water if she were drinking anything. Her laughter filled the car with lightness to help the earlier tension fade away, “Goodness, I hope not. Speaking of dinner, I sure can eat.”

  “You’re right, we went straight from the airport to M
r. Mallard. Why don’t we check in somewhere and grab a bite?”

  “That sounds great.”

  The rest of the drive passed by with polite conversation sprinkled with jokes about the ducks. They’d only been on the road for over an hour when they decided to pull into a hotel along the interstate. Tara’s face sank nearly as fast as the sun.

  “This isn’t,” she hesitated.

  He nodded, “I know, it’s not the greatest place, but it’s the closest three-starred review to the highway. The reviews said it was clean, there’s hot water, and there’s a vault in the manager’s office.”

  “A vault?”

  Ben nodded as he worked on his phone, “Yeah, we can’t leave the artifacts in the car, right?”

  “I didn’t think about that either,” Tara’s eyes darted around the parking lot.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah?!” she snapped as if he pulled her out of a dream.

  “How prepared are you for this trip?”

  “I’m kind of winging it,” she bit her bottom lip as it quivered with reality setting in. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what to do. I spent the last two days drunk at my best friend's bar, hoping that this wasn't happening, or that it would happen successfully and I'd be able to come back home and have everything feel normal again!”

  “Why don’t we do this?” Ben walked to her, taking her hand into his. He could see the surprise on her face and tipped his head gently to let her know it was okay. “Let’s go get our rooms. We can order food and plan out the rest of this trip. The hardest part is done, Tara. We have the artifacts. We can figure the rest out.”

  5