Hidden Sins

by Selena Montgomery

  Nevertheless, the lady was on her turf. Gamesmanship required that she maintain the upper hand, and cordiality often lulled the unsuspecting far better than direct assault. With an internal sigh, she turned. “So, um, have a good flight?”

  “So so.” Lesley accepted that this stranger, this interloper, sought to put her at ease. With a thin, brittle smile, she added, “Takeoff was fine, but landing has been a bitch.”

  The gutter phrase startled a laugh from Mara. “That’s one way to put it.” At a loss for her next words, she circled the counter island, tugged open the refrigerator and buried her head inside. Taking a quick survey, she asked, “Thirsty? We’ve got—I mean Ethan’s got—juice, water…I think I saw a beer in here somewhere.”

  “Water would be fine.” Lesley absently toed off Italian leather that cost a month’s salary for most of her colleagues and wriggled her toes in emancipated bliss. “Oh, and one more thing?”

  “Sure.” Mara poked her head around the stainless steel door. Swigging from the last Coke in the box, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “Tell me if you and Ethan are sleeping together or if it’s just been adventitious foreplay.”

  Mara wheezed as soda slid down the wrong pipe and the can slipped gracelessly to the linoleum. “What?” she sputtered. “I’m not even sure what adventitious means.”

  “It means casual, almost accidental.” Lesley pinned her with an appraising look. “I prefer to know where I stand at the outset. Obviously, you and Ethan have a history. One that still binds you together. Given that you are not unattractive and mortal danger can be sexy as hell, it’s not out of the question.”

  Heat suffused Mara’s skin, mortification and shock mingled into a nice burning sensation that portended hell. Desperately, she cast a glance at the door, which remained stubbornly closed. “Don’t you think you should be asking Ethan these rather impertinent questions?” Impertinent was the right word, she thought worriedly.

  “Ethan is conveniently absent. Otherwise, I would likely hold my tongue. But when opportunity presents itself…”

  Mara nodded shortly. One of her personal credos. She couldn’t fault the lady, probably would have taken the offensive herself, had she thought about it. She snagged a juice and a bottled water from the fridge and a can of chips from the pantry. Calmly, she stepped over the puddle of caffeine and sugar drying on the floor. Ethan could clean up the mess. Joining Lesley, she declined an invitation to sit, and handed her the water. “Here you go.”

  “You haven’t answered my question, Mara.” Lesley twisted the cap off the bottle and gingerly removed the blue ring that remained. Laying it beside the discarded cap, she explained, “I don’t care for the thought of putting my mouth where another’s hands have been. Quite apropos, don’t you think?”

  Smooth, Mara thought admiringly. Class and cojones. Devastating combination. But she hadn’t seduced a prince by looks alone. “Absolutely. However, you may find it difficult to avoid the possibility.” She sipped at her apple juice slowly, the tart bite strangely soothing. Charm and disarm, her approach with royalty. Should work on the haughty as well, she mused. Coolly, she explained, “I’ve known Ethan for a long time. In fact, I’ve been in love with him longer than I’ve not.”

  The pronouncement caught Lesley off guard. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “You love him?”

  “Yes,” Mara confirmed evenly. “Have since I was sixteen. Since the first time he saved me.”

  Regaining her composure, Lesley probed with a steely look she’d perfected over the years, “Do you make it a habit of needing rescue?”

  Nice return, she thought. But too far off the mark to sting. Her relationship with Ethan wasn’t about saviors. It was about redemption. More information than Dr. Baxter was entitled to yet. “Not really. I’m remarkably self-sufficient. But when I need him, he’s always there.” Sociably, she offered the chips. When Lesley silently demurred, she removed a couple and nibbled, musing. “Ethan has a hero complex, I’d wager. So afraid he’s destined to be boring, he hunts for excitement.”

  “Usually in the safest places possible,” Lesley concurred.

  “Until now.” Until me.

  Lesley heard the words, though they were unspoken. Doubt pricked at her ego, but the jealousy she would have expected failed to materialize. She was curious, though. Apparently, Ethan had a weakness for kleptomaniacal waifs.

  Regret quickly transformed itself into indignation. The nerve of the man, inviting her to Kiev under false pretenses. She had traveled on a crop duster from Austin on the vain assumption that years of flirtation were about to result in a declarative statement. Only to be met by police officers and his paramour. A scream of annoyance rose in her throat, but she forced back the display. The Boston Baxters did not engage in emotional outbursts. Or in petty tantrums.

  Deliberately, Lesley shifted to face Mara. “Since I’m joining the trio, why don’t you fill me in?”

  “All right.” Mara munched on a chip, ordering her thoughts. Catching Lesley eyeing the can, she tipped it forward. “Sure you’re not hungry?”

  The scent of salt and fried potatoes drifted close, and Lesley damned her perpetual diet. She deserved a break. “God, Pringles. It’s been years,” she exclaimed as she dipped into the can greedily.

  Ethan flung open the door, nearly panting. Given his druthers, Mara and Lesley wouldn’t know each other’s names, heaven forbid spend time alone together. He’d shown Linda the layout and where he intended to place the charges. After trying one final time to dissuade him, she’d reluctantly taken her leave. Then he rushed up the stairs, expecting chaos or worse.

  He hadn’t expected to hear them giggling over snack food.

  “Oreos. Especially the new ones with the yellow cookies,” Mara was saying. “Once, while I was casing a mark, I ate an entire bag in one sitting. Combined with chocolate milk, those cookies are lethal.” She balanced on the arm of the futon, her bare feet propped up behind Lesley. Garish pink polish blazed beneath the fluorescent lights, particularly when she wiggled her toes.

  Catching sight of Ethan, Lesley returned the red chip can to Mara. “The arsonist has returned.”

  “Hurrah.” Mara swung her legs around and dropped onto an open space near Lesley. With a quick look of confirmation at Lesley, she announced, “We’ve got an idea.”

  Wary, almost frightened, Ethan cut his gaze between the two of them. Matching expressions of contrived innocence had his blood pressure rising. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

  “Long enough,” Lesley responded silkily. “Mara and I have had a chance to talk. She’s filled me in on our friends downstairs and your visit this afternoon.”

  Ethan narrowed his eyes, the black pupils laser-sharp and focused. “I don’t want you involved in this, Lesley. Once we get clear of the warehouse, you’re on the next flight to Austin.”

  “Not if you want my help with the coordinates. Or the location of the safe.” She reached behind her and pulled out Fool’s Paradise and the sketch Mara had made of the coordinates. “Ingenious design, by the way. Weaving together history and topography into a quilt.”

  Mara preened. “My grandmother is a brilliant lady.”

  “I’d love to meet her. I participate in a quilt circle myself.” At Mara’s skeptical expression, she explained, “I find the sewing relaxing, and academically significant. The preservation of a cultural normative through the domestic arts.”

  Distracted, fascinated, Mara asked, “I thought you were a geologist?”

  “I am. But I studied history in undergrad. A hobby of mine.” Lesley smiled at a bewildered Ethan. “I do have layers, darling. Most women do.”

  “So I’m learning,” grumbled Ethan. “But to return to the subject. We’re not taking you with us on a harebrained expedition without any guarantee for your safety.”

  “I don’t mind.” Mara rose from the futon and began to collect their debris. “I’m okay with maps, but these coordinates are
approximations. Without Lesley, we could lose time. And give Conroy a chance to catch up with us.”

  “Plus, you’re not the only one who has a streak of adventure.” Rising to her feet, Lesley continued, “I didn’t become a geologist in order to while away my years in an ivory tower, reading about discovery. I came here to satisfy myself, and that will happen. One way or another.”

  Ethan didn’t miss the admonition or the spark of temper. He’d definitely been in the warehouse too long. As a man well-versed in the study of culture, his training demanded that he accurately assess a community or a group. Based on his observations of the women in the room, he would hazard a guess that regardless of his intentions, he had no say in the matter any longer. Chauvinism urged him to continue his useless arguments, but time was fast slipping away.

  “If you’re a part of this expedition, so be it. It’s your funeral.”

  Mara snorted inelegantly. “That’s the spirit, O Fearless Leader.”

  The title brought a sly grin to his face and presented him with the best moment of the night. “No, no, Mara. After I get us on the road, this is your mission. O Fearless Leader.”

  Without waiting for her reaction, Ethan began to issue orders. “Lesley, you should change clothes now. Once we’ve set the charges, we’ll need to move fast and be prepared for anything.”

  Mara hurried to the closet. “I’ll get you packed up while you break down your equipment. Do you plan to bring everything?” Throwing open his suitcase on the bed, she haphazardly bundled pants and shirts and tossed them inside.

  Ethan opened his mouth to caution her about wrinkles, until the absurdity struck him. He walked to the desk and disassembled the laptop and accessories, neatly placing each item inside its carrying case. He wouldn’t chastise Mara, but sloppy packing just wasn’t in him. “We’ll take as much as we can fit into the car. The trunk is pretty roomy.”

  “You’ve got an extra passenger,” she reminded him.

  “She can ride up front. There’s plenty of space.”

  Mara refrained from comment. Instead, she stuffed the rest of the contents of his closet into the green American Tourister and slammed the case shut. White T-shirts and blue oxfords spilled out of cracks. Vainly, she poked at the errant cloth, opening and reclosing the lid. Finally, she forced the top down and clambered atop. Grunting with the effort, she managed to latch the suitcase, despite the seeping clothes.

  Ethan watched the spectacle with gruesome fascination. “Um, Mara? I’ll take care of my books. Why don’t you take the suitcase down to the car?” Otherwise, he thought grimly, Dickens would soon be shoved cheek by jowl with Sneed and Walker.

  With a shrug, she agreed. “Suit yourself.”

  Soon, the warehouse had been emptied of most of Ethan’s belongings. Downstairs, charges were laid using his forensic equipment and two semesters of graduate chemistry. A delay had been set for the loudest of the miniexplosives, the one whose sound effects would add drama to the show and alert the men outside. An accelerant trail led up from the almost flame-retardant warehouse space to the more fire-friendly loft. Once the hungry flames reached the door he’d set ajar, it would devour the notes and papers, magazines and newspapers, strategically strewn across the living area. To feed the fire as it traveled and gutted the building.

  Ethan leaned into the convertible at the driver’s side, arms draped along the door frame, elbow on the hood. The white canvas top stretched taut overhead, containing the items there hadn’t been time to pack. Lesley squeezed in on the long bench beside Mara, who sat behind the wheel. Ahead, the iron grate lifted slowly on a mechanical pulley. The tunnel would lead up and emerge onto a side street nearly a mile away, close to the lake. From there they’d hop onto the county road and aim west. Assuming the fire behaved as expected.

  “All set?” Mara checked.

  “Ready.” Ethan gave the utility lighter a test, the flame shooting out strong and bright. “I’ll ignite the leads I’ve put near the lab tables and watch from the tunnels to be sure they’re working. The second lead will direct the fire to the loft.”

  “You’re sure there’s enough time to seal the tunnel and run?” Mara tore her eyes away from the vicious flame to catch Ethan’s. Worry flickered and caught hold, but she saw no companion concern in the steady black depths. Which alarmed her even more. A good criminal maintained an edge of fear, a natural adrenaline to keep her on her guard. Alert, ready to move. Without it, she grew too comfortable and got sloppy. A fatal mistake. “We can still back out, Ethan. Call Linda and tell her the whole thing’s off.”

  “Absolutely,” Lesley joined, strain evident in the tight tones. “This is a felony. You—We—could go to prison.”

  “Or we could pretend to be dead and instead hunt for treasure.” He exhaled a short, pent-up breath. “But say the word and I call it off.”

  Lesley hesitated, ready to quit. But Mara shoved the key in the ignition and slammed the car door with a determined thud. “Go.”

  With a cocksure grin, Ethan sprinted down the black tunnel. He dashed inside the entryway, moving to the first of the detonators. He flicked the lighter and set the flame against the accelerant. The intense burst of heat caught him off guard and he jerked away. Blue flame settled into a dull orange and ate across the cement floor in the direction of the far wall. Mesmerized, Ethan watched the glowing path.

  He’d done it. Almost. Movements sharp and tense, he ignited the remaining charges and rushed to the tunnel exit. Once the fire began to lick across the stairs, feeding on debris left there for that purpose, Ethan rapidly punched buttons to seal the tunnel. He darted beneath the closing gate and sprinted for the car, ticking off the seconds. Ten…nine…eight…seven…

  Boom! The first of the concussion charges exploded.

  Six…five…four…

  Boom! Ethan slid into the car and Mara jammed the stick into gear. The convertible sped into the pitch-black, guided only by the bouncing headlights.

  Three…two…one…

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  In the warehouse behind them, concussive shocks like massive firecrackers echoed in the cavernous space. Flames shot high, feeding on oxygen and heat. The loft glowed magenta in the darkness, and Rabbe elbowed Guffin, waking him. “Look!”

  “Shit!” Guffin hurriedly straightened, befuddled by the sight before him. The bricked warehouse stood on the empty street, a macabre pumpkin with its windowed eyes awash in fire. He seized the cell phone laying on the dash. “I’ll call 911!”

  “Screw that!” shouted Rabbe, struggling to turn the engine over. Sweat beaded on his lip, pooled beneath his arms. “We’re getting the hell out of here! Cops find us anywhere near the place, and we’ll be in jail before we can say Miranda.”

  Because Guffin agreed, he dropped the phone without argument and latched his seat belt. The SUV peeled away from the curb, speeding along Gaul. As they careened onto Shahar, the first of the fire engines streamed past, sirens blaring. Like any good citizen, Rabbe swerved to the side of the road, giving the authorities wide berth. Then he swung the Expedition east and headed for the highway.

  Chapter 16

  “Ethan, grab Mara’s bag for me. I need to see her notes on Bailey.” Lesley marked the atlas splayed across her lap with a pink highlighter. Despite the predawn hour, she was wide-awake and eager to dig in. To do something that might break the tension. “And a bottle of water, if we’ve got any left.”

  Silently, Ethan reached into the backseat for the duffel bag wedged between his laptop and Lesley’s Coach valise. The faded army green provided a stark contrast, one he was in no mood to ponder. Snapping off a plastic bottle, he dropped the bundle in her lap and shut his eyes. “Here.”

  Lesley noted the taciturn response but said nothing. For nearly six hours they’d been driving across the state, staying off major interstates. At Mara’s suggestion, they stuck to county roads that twisted through piney woods thick with green, yielding to wide prairies dotted by interesting stuff. Waiting fo
r her turn at the wheel, she’d nodded off in staring at a bewildered deer gamboling across the road, and awoken to a field of cows grazing in a nearby pasture.

  Since speeding past Caldwell around three A.M., the speedometer had inched steadily higher and the taut silence had deepened. Though she wasn’t trained as a psychologist, Lesley understood enough of human dynamics to stay out of the figurative middle, even if she was presently wedged in the literal center.

  On the first leg out of Kiev, she’d attempted polite conversation, but terse monosyllabic responses led her to coldly requesting their notes on the treasure. The quick, almost relieved response from both had buried her in research and away from unwanted confrontation.

  Even their research notes were almost confrontational when compared to one another. Mara recounted the history of the stolen gold in a lyrical, melismatic style reminiscent of a camp-song legend. Ethan’s notes lacked the artistic bent, reading, she noticed, as a set of ordered observations. No mentions of personality or passion, simply a recitation of dates and actions. Spare, unsentimental. Intentionally distant.

  Together, the two sets of observations and assumptions painted an enthralling tale of cunning and guile, of derring-do and clever deception, with sufficient reality to bring the story to life. Add a quilt that resembled the nooks and crannies of Texas Hill Country, and Lesley was hooked.

  “Mara?” When she received a nearly inaudible grunt, Lesley continued, “Are you sure these journal entries are Bailey’s?”

  Mara nodded in assent. “Rabbe killed Bailey’s great-niece to get it. My grandmother verified that the symbols are identical to the ones she drew.”

  “This symbol here?” Lesley pointed to a circle with a short line extending down from the base. “I thought all the symbols were Greek letters?”

  “They are.” Mara swept a quick look down to the page Lesley held. “That’s the Greek letter qoppa.”