Twelfth Sun

by Mae Clair

  He hadn’t been done with her. He’d taken his time, exploring her body with his tongue. When he’d lowered his head between her legs, she’d locked her fingers in the long loose curls of his hair and let him work her into frenzy until she cried out in exquisite release. She should have been exhausted the way he used her, but she’d climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and rocking against him until she drove him to need all over again. There was desperation in their lovemaking as if each knew tomorrow would bring challenge and change, but there was unspoken commitment too.

  Would he continue to love her when Brody’s secret spilled out?

  She snuggled against his chest. Trapped in the haze of sleep, he wrapped his arm around her and brushed his lips against her temple. Reagan took it as a promise.

  She closed her eyes and waited for dawn.

  * * * *

  “So.” Pellar steepled his fingers, a smug ringmaster about to unleash the greatest show on Earth. “One clue remaining, three players comprising two teams.” He indicated the sea-green crystal bowl Clarice had wheeled into the solarium on its customary cart. “Dr. Cross, Mr. Tarvick, if you please.

  Reagan watched, biting her lip. The entire treasure hunt group had gathered to witness the final drawing. Given what she’d learned last night, their expressions were curious. Tarvick looked grimly determined–no surprise there–Livy and Alan anxious, and Monica intrigued. Brody avoided her eyes, but his usually smooth demeanor was underscored by an air of disquiet. In her opinion, it was far too late for the true ringmaster to be having second thoughts.

  Elijah drew his clue and, as usual, tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. They wouldn’t look at it until they reached the Soda Shack where they could study it together. Brody’s wife had been certain Elijah would connect the dots when he read it.

  She’d wait and see. She’d promised the woman she’d reserve judgment, but if push came to shove, her loyalty was to Elijah.

  “As usual, you have until eight o’clock to solve your clue,” Pellar continued with the same imperious air. “I’m sure I don’t have to reiterate the stakes are high, and that the winner will walk away with Jeremiah Rook’s journal. I hope you all appreciate the opportunity Mr. Sothern has given you with this treasure hunt. For those no longer in the running, you can always plead your case to the winner and try to purchase it outright once the victor has been determined.”

  Tarvick snorted. “I already know who the victor will be, and I’ll tell the rest of you now–get in line and ante up. I’m not selling it cheap.”

  Reagan knew bravado when she heard it, a psyche game played to intimidate an opponent. She glanced to Elijah, expecting him to toss off a retort to Tarvick’s verbal gauntlet, but he yawned, unfazed by the bald man’s boasting. He shifted his attention to Pellar.

  “So is the illustrious Mr. Sothern finally going to grace us with his presence tonight?”

  Pellar’s mouth puckered like he’d swallowed a lemon. “I told you, Dr. Cross. Mr. Sothern is out of town.”

  “So you say. But after the time he must have invested devising an elaborate treasure hunt, I thought he’d want to see the finish.”

  Pellar blinked and pressed his lips into a flat line. He blinked again. “Perhaps he will. In any event, I suggest you concentrate on winning the treasure hunt and not fret about Mr. Sothern’s whereabouts.”

  Elijah grinned. “Unless the two are related.”

  Reagan felt her heart drop. Brody gave an involuntary start, coughing into his hand in an effort to cover his reaction. Just what the heck was going through Elijah’s head? He didn’t wait for Pellar to answer, but strolled from the room as if he had all the time in the world.

  She trailed on his heels. “Tarvick was sure of himself.”

  “Tarvick is a dickwad.”

  She giggled, immediately put at ease by his flippant response. “Is that established knowledge or an intellectual opinion, Doctor?”

  His lips curled in a crooked grin. “A pragmatic observation gleaned from years of personal study. I’ve known Tarvick almost as long as Brody and there’s no mistake. The guy’s a douche bag.”

  “I thought he was a dickwad?”

  “That too.” Elijah held the front door for her and they stepped onto the porch. It was going to be a cloudless day, judging from the clear sky. The sun gleamed like a buttery yolk overhead, warming her face as she followed Elijah down the walkway to his Jeep. She wished she’d been able to steal a few moments with Brody, but was certain his wife would have brought him up to speed regarding her knowledge of their plan. Did that make her an accomplice, she wondered as she climbed inside the rugged vehicle?

  Elijah was surprisingly relaxed given the culmination of the treasure hunt, and the awarding of Rook’s journal, was less than twelve hours away. After all they’d been through, whittling down the clues, she expected him to be edgy, anticipating the prize.

  “It’s been an interesting game.” He steered the Jeep toward Serenity Harbor. “What do you think about Sothern?”

  A loaded question. “Such as?”

  “His absence.”

  “Strange.” Would that be enough to get her off the hook, at least until he read the final clue? “What will you do when this is over?” It was something they’d avoided talking about, but it would steer the conversation away from the path he’d taken. He made his home in Rhode Island, a location not dreadfully far from Baltimore but one that seemed insurmountable given they would no longer share the same bed. “Lecturing?”

  He shrugged. “I have a few on the books and a dive with a research vessel next month.” He sent her a glance, his eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “Did you ever consider vacationing on a boat with a bunch of science geeks?”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “Engraved with a plea. It would give us another fourteen days together.”

  She swallowed uneasily. “I don’t know, Elijah. I have a business to run. Can I get a rain check?”

  “On me or the vacation?”

  She balked, startled.

  “Sorry.” He looked away, his gaze sidling back to the road. “That was insecure. I’m worried you’ll meet some guy closer to your age, while I’m off playing with water dredges and proton magnetometers.”

  “Whatever gibberish you just said made no sense. Including the part about meeting some jerk closer to my age.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “He’ll be a jerk?”

  “Guaranteed. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “You’re a quick-thinker.”

  She smiled. “I have to be. My guy is brilliant.”

  “So I’m your guy?”

  She gave an exasperated huff. “Yes, you idiot. And we’ll work something out when this is over. I’m not letting you go that easy.”

  “Can’t get enough of me, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Elijah.”

  He grinned. “Hold that thought.”

  * * * *

  They reached the Soda Shack in record time. Elijah ordered his usual grape soda and snagged a cup of chai tea for Reagan. They found a table in the corner, away from the bustle of the service counter, and studied the clue together. Elijah pushed the paper to the center of the table, the computer-generated type plainly visible and spelled out in italic script:

  To reach the end, return to the beginning.

  “Looks like we’ve moved past rhymes,” Reagan commented.

  He grunted, lost in thought. The whole thing was starting to feel like an elaborate message. Ever since clue three had netted a copy of John Feather and the Southern Cross, he’d been turning the coincidences over in his head. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to know the odds were against so many flukes.

  “The beginning of what?” Reagan brushed her fingers over the paper, a crease forming on her brow. “The treasure hunt?”

  His eyes flashed to her face, drinking in her features. She was nervous about something, unconsciously biting her
bottom lip. The sight made him think of how they’d spent last night, wrapped in each other’s arms, her body spooned against his after a marathon session of lovemaking. No question he had it bad. He’d told her that he loved her, setting himself up for one hell of a fall, but she’d confessed to feeling the same. Had she meant it? Could a woman as vibrant, beautiful and exciting as her love an intellectual geek who spent the bulk of his time poking around shipwrecks and lecture halls?

  He dug his glasses from his pocket and shoved the untouched soda aside. Time to concentrate on the treasure hunt. Secretly, he wished the damn thing were over. He wasn’t an idiot, he was a flipping PhD. When was he going to stop pretending and admit the hunt had never been about Rook’s journal? He’d felt it from the start when the answer to the first clue had been addressed to a ‘blue-eyed child’.

  How plain could it be? If he hadn’t been so distracted by his feelings for Reagan, he might have acknowledged the obvious sooner. It felt surreal. At the same time, irritating. He wasn’t sure whether he was intrigued, flattered or pissed.

  To reach the end, return to the beginning.

  “Do you have paper and a pen?”

  Stupid question. Of course she did. Didn’t all women carry that stuff in their purses?

  Reagan dug until she located a ballpoint pen and a small tablet. Sliding them across the table, she nodded to the clue. “Maybe it refers to Jeremiah Rook and the start of the Twelfth Sun’s journey.”

  “A good guess, but it’s more in depth than that.” As in, someone’s played me for a fool.

  “What do you mean?”

  Across the crowded soda shop a man laughed loudly and clapped his companion on the back as if sharing a joke. The din of conversation competed with the ringtones of several cell phones and the hum of passing traffic, heard whenever anyone opened the front door. Elijah tuned it out. He scribbled on the tablet, using a form of shorthand he’d developed as a teen.

  “I think the clues are related. Like puzzle pieces that fit together to form a larger picture. They don’t have anything to do with the Twelfth Sun or Jeremiah Rook’s journal.” He spun the tablet around so she could see what he’d written. Using the tip of the pen as a pointer, he went down the list, explaining each indecipherable scribble.

  “Clue number one related to the number twenty and time. According to the note attached to the watch, it was written for a blue-eyed child.” He blundered ahead, going with gut instinct before logic tripped him up.

  “My sister was twenty when she walked out on my father and me. I’m the only member of the family with blue eyes. When she left, I would have been a child.”

  Reagan tensed. “Elijah–”

  “Clue number two was about remorse,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He kept his eyes downcast, his fingers tightening on the pen. “If the clues are meant to tie together, then we’re left to assume the person writing them regrets something they’ve done. Probably to the blue-eyed child.”

  A ripple of anger coursed through him, and his mouth thinned in a white line. Did Eden even know their father had died?

  “Clue three led us to a copy of John Feather and the Southern Cross, and clue four to a blackbird. Coincidentally, Blackbird was the name of Captain Feather’s boat. For the final clue, we’re told to go back to the beginning–which is exactly what John Feather did when he used the Southern Cross to navigate home. This isn’t about Rook’s journal. It’s about me.” His eyes snapped to her face. “It’s a message from my sister. The whole fucking thing has been a hoax.”

  His voice rose on the last sentence, prompting a middle-aged woman at the next table to shoot him a chastising glance. Realizing his voice had carried, he exhaled and slumped in his seat. “I don’t get it. Pretty freaking stupid, huh?” Disgusted, he webbed a hand over his face.

  “Maybe not.”

  Elijah looked through his fingers. He’d expected her to react with shock or patronizing double-talk like he’d gone off the deep end and needed to check into the nearest asylum. Instead her expression was intent, almost as if she’d expected him to come to the ludicrous conclusion.

  “We’ve known something has been off since the start of the treasure hunt,” she said carefully. “Eric Sothern’s absence…the way no one in town has ever seen him. All that strange stuff with Brody and Pellar. And you mentioned several times how the clues felt personal.”

  He folded his arms over his chest waiting for her to say something more, but she only studied him with those mesmerizing green eyes. “The beginning leads back to Eden,” he said at last.

  “Your sister? You think she’s behind all of this?”

  “I know it sounds crazy.”

  “Not necessarily.” She shifted, and tucked a strand of cinnamon-colored hair behind her ear. “John Feather followed the Southern Cross to get home. To go back to the beginning.”

  “Reagan, the Southern Cross is on the other side of the globe.”

  “And in Eric Sothern’s planetarium. For that matter, don’t you find his last name coincidental?”

  He had, but convinced himself his imagination was at fault. The treasure hunt was intricate and contrived. To view it as a sham was mind-boggling and yet…

  “You think my sister is Eric Sothern?”

  Reagan was silent, but her gaze dropped to the table and a flush crept over her cheeks. He did his own calculations, refuting the logic.

  “She was broke, doing drugs. She was a mess when she left. Even if she managed to put her life back together, how could she possibly afford an estate like Sothern’s?”

  Unless she’d married someone wealthy.

  Pellar had been calling the shots from the moment they’d arrived. Could he be Eric Sothern, playing the role of staff manager to appease his wife, who wanted to reconnect with her long-lost brother?

  “She would have had to marry someone with money.” He raised a brow. “Pellar?”

  Reagan bit her lip. “Or St. Croix.”

  * * * *

  Reagan drew a breath. It felt like everything was coming unglued and pieced together at the same time. She could almost see the wheels spinning in Elijah’s head as he worked through the obstacles and connected the dots. He was close to unraveling the knot. She couldn’t pretend any longer. If anything, maybe she could ease the sting. He was too important to risk losing over something his sister had done. Everything would tumble out in a few hours anyway.

  “I met your sister last night.”

  He lurched forward, leaning into the table. Anger flared in his eyes, fierce and sudden like a blaze of lightning. “You didn’t tell me?”

  “She asked me not to. She wanted you to make the connection on your own. Elijah, she’s changed.”

  “Yeah.” The word was bitter, tangled up with ten years of resentment. “I guess so, if she married St. Croix.”

  Reagan drew a breath. Why did she have to be the one doling out the details? She should have left the whole mess to Eden, but doubted Elijah would sit still long enough to hear her out. She bit her lip. “It’s more complex than that.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you and my sister plan this together?”

  “No!” How could he think such a thing? She felt him withdraw emotionally and cursed herself for ever venturing outside last night. If she’d stayed in the circular dining room instead of searching for the mysterious woman on the beach, she’d be in the dark every bit as much as he. “Elijah, I met her last night for the first time. When I left the dining room. I saw someone from the window and went outside to investigate. That’s when she confessed everything: how she and her husband had planned the treasure hunt to bring you here. She knew you’d never listen to her if she contacted you directly, so she and her husband created Eric Sothern.”

  “And Rook’s journal? St. Croix had it all along?”

  She shut her eyes, and her throat grew tight. He would hate her for telling him the truth. They all would. “Oh, Elijah, don’t you understand? St. Croix doesn’t exist anymore th
an Sothern does. He never has. Brody is St. Croix. Brody married your sister.”

  Chapter 18

  Elijah shoved his way outside and strode for his Jeep, deaf to the cries of gulls circling overhead and the light touch of a breeze across his face. Brody had played him like a fool. When he got back to Sothern’s posh, obnoxious estate, he was going to deck the bastard. All these years and Brody was actually St. Croix. No wonder no one had ever seen or spoken to the antiquities collector. He didn’t fucking exist! Brody had created him solely so he could move freely on the bidding circuit pretending to be a buyer.

  “Damn, I’m so fucking stupid!” he spat.

  “Elijah.” Reagan caught up to him as he reached his Jeep, ready to climb inside. She gripped his arm and he swung around to face her, his temper on a hair trigger.

  “Please don’t be angry,” she pleaded.

  What did she expect? A horn blared in the distance, and the shrill sound knocked him down a peg. The fear in her eyes had nothing to do with Eden or Brody. He blew out a breath and fought to think rationally. “I’m not angry with you.”

  She searched his face, eyes wide and worried. “I should have told you last night.”

  Last night she’d done things to him that still had the power to turn him inside out when he thought about it. Whatever Eden’s game, whatever Brody’s duplicity, none of it involved her or the way he felt about her. “It’s alright.”

  Was it? He ripped a hand through his hair and paced to the front of the Wrangler.

  “You didn’t ask to be involved in this sham any more than I did.” He turned to face her, an unwanted thought slumbering awake. “But your uncle…” Would Gavin set him up like that?