Barefoot in the Dark

by Suzanne Enoch

  She tapped her gloved finger on the rectangle with the cross in the middle. The church. It met all the requirements, plus that choice had some irony attached to it. After all, Will Dawkin’s grandfather had been a pastor. Yep, her money was on Saint Andrew’s. Of course since she’d just agreed to give up the hunt it didn’t matter, but it would have been like putting together a puzzle except for the very last piece. At least now she felt like she could declare the mystery solved, with or without a hundred percent proof.

  Well, mostly solved, anyway.

  19

  Monday, 2:23 p.m.

  As Richard crested the hill in the jeep, he caught sight of Samantha straightening from a crouch, a large sheet of paper in her hands. He saw her grimace, swiftly wiped away, and he kept his own expression neutral as he stopped beside her.

  Leaving a business rival to sweat didn’t trouble him in the least, whatever the stakes, but just the idea of not settling an argument with Samantha left him queasy. She’d said she was with him to stay, but he’d messed up a marriage once before. In addition, Sam could just vanish, in an efficient-enough way that he, even with his money and means, might not be able to find her. But they had to remain equal partners. It was, he was discovering, a tricky balancing act. “Need a lift?”

  “I’m still cooling off,” she returned, folding the paper and shoving it into her pocket.

  Dammit all, what was she up to, now? “Rob, take the jeep back,” he said, and the driver popped up from the back seat.

  Richard climbed out, watching as Rob clambered into the front seat. The jeep did a four- or five-point turn, then vanished over the rise. “There,” he said, crossing the road to where Samantha stood gazing at him.

  “Cooling off because I’m mad at you. Did I not clarify?”

  “Yes, well, Tom said if I couldn’t live with the first part of your life, I shouldn’t have suggested I share the second part.”

  “Donner said that?” She adjusted the wool cap on her head, the auburn hair sticking out from beneath it adorably disheveled. He was glad she’d been letting her hair grow out; he loved the color of it, the way it couldn’t quite decide whether it wanted to be red or brown or gold and so had just gone with all three.

  “I think he meant to imply that I shouldn’t have proposed, but I chose not to interpret it that way.”

  “Mm hm. In my opinion you can ask your cousin not to steal things even if I used to steal things. It’s not really hypocrisy, because you kind of expect me to toe the line now.”

  “Yes, I know. I was…frustrated. I enjoy philanthropy. I do not enjoy having to buy people off, especially when it’s saving them from themselves.”

  She continued looking at him, green eyes almost hazel in the waning daylight. “And?” she finally prompted.

  Ah. “I’m not apologizing. Your former career does on occasion complicate things.”

  With a slight nod, as if she wasn’t surprised, she started up the road, thankfully in the direction of the house. “Okay. Don’t expect me to tell you what the paper I put in my pocket is, then.”

  He caught up to her. How the devil… “What paper?”

  “The one you saw me put away. Don’t deny it, because you glanced at my pocket like twelve times while you were talking.”

  “It was three times at most. But don’t tell me. You already gave your word you’d stop pursuing the treasure.”

  Samantha kept walking, her gloved hands in her pockets – no doubt so he wouldn’t be able to hold her hand. Or get to that paper. Their arguing had actually improved quite a bit, since now she was more likely to stand her ground as opposed to disappearing – or threatening to disappear – into the night. Neither of them had to hunt so diligently for the correct words to use or not to use, and while her…confidence in the staying power of the two of them meant that he lost more often, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that was a bad thing. Few people in the world argued with him, and even fewer about something other than money.

  “What you found about Will Dawkin and his cache, especially given your limited time and resources, was remarkable,” he said, since she continued to be the Great Wall of China.

  “We criminals all think alike, don’t you know.”

  He glanced sideways at her. “I never said or implied anything of the sort. At fifteen when I figured it out, I’d already been working on it for three years. With the map and all those books, plus my mother’s knowledge of the area to assist me.”

  “How did you end up with the map, anyway? And why didn’t the villagers take it from you?”

  That was a positive sign; questions rather than pointed quips and sarcasm. “Reg and I were digging through the wreck of the old library one dreary day, and I spotted it behind a broken bookcase. It was framed, so I traced it. The original never left the house. I have no idea how long it might have been there; the estate came from my mother’s side of the family, and she claimed to have never seen it before.” Richard smiled a little as he recalled the conversation. “For a time, I thought she might have drawn it up and planted it there herself, to give us something less destructive to do with ourselves.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about your mom without wincing.” She sidestepped a little, nudging his shoulder with hers.

  And that made him wince. “I didn’t handle her illness well. But you know, I was fifteen. The world was supposed to be about me. No one knew more or felt things more deeply. Then cancer mucked everything up, made it about her, and then took her away from my happy little world.”

  “I remember being fifteen. Everybody was a sucker, and if I could take something from them, it was because they deserved it.”

  Christ, what different lives they’d led. It was something of a miracle, or fate, that their paths had ever crossed at all. No wonder literal explosions had been involved.

  But the point was she’d been raised first by a self-absorbed cat burglar, and then by a fence. They’d set the direction of her life – an eight-year-old did as her elders dictated and accepted that was simply the way things were. It was adult Samantha who’d risked her life to save his, risked her freedom to prove that while she was an exceptional thief, she wasn’t a killer. And it was that Sam who’d given up everything she knew so she could remain in his world. “I changed my mind,” he said. “I apologize. Your past has nothing to do with Reg and his sudden, selfish greed.”

  She kicked an exposed pebble. “It hit close to home, though, didn’t it? You not being a hypocrite and all.”

  For a moment he flashed back to an argument he’d had with his ex-wife. Patricia had wanted them to host a Christmas party in London, with all the guests requested to wear red, gold, or green. Reg had shown up in a bright yellow jumper, and when Richard had suggested there was nothing wrong with wearing a nearly gold color, Patricia had stopped speaking to him for a week. It had seemed petty at the time, and it had left him angry. Compared to the daily challenges of his life now, it would have been laughable.

  He linked his arm with Samantha’s and stuffed his hand back into his own pocket. “I imagine we’ll have more arguments,” he said, shortening his stride to match hers. “Just promise me that we won’t stop talking.”

  “Okay,” she said without hesitation. “I’m not really a stew-in-silence gal, anyway.”

  “Good.” He stopped, their linked arms forcing her to halt beside him. “Want to come up to my place and take a look at a really old map?”

  Samantha pulled her hands from her pockets and slid them around his chest in a bear hug. “You are so boss. Will you be my boyfriend?”

  “Well, I’m already engaged to someone, but very well.” Leaning his head down, he caught her mouth in a kiss.

  That kiss warmed him to his toes. She’d instigated it, and she’d suggested a connection between them. They already had one, yes, but he was the one generally pushing to move forward. It was a boost to his ego and a boon to his heart when Samantha Jellicoe made it clear that she wanted him as
much as he wanted her.

  She backed off a little. “You’re still going to have to have a chat with Reggie,” she pointed out.

  Richard sighed. “Yes. Map first. As far as I know he’s still digging through the ruins for it, but I think I’d feel better if I handed the map over to you for safekeeping.”

  “Wow. You do trust me.” She kissed him again, softly. “Thanks.”

  With a chuckle he took her hand and continued on to Canniebrae with her. “Of course I trust you. You being sneaky is just a bonus.”

  “Cool.”

  In the foyer they shed their coats and hats and gloves. Feeling five pounds lighter inside and out, he led the way upstairs to the library. His aunt snoozed in the chair nearest the fireplace, but the room was otherwise empty of houseguests.

  “You hid it in here?” Samantha whispered.

  “I like irony,” he said, shrugging. “And Reg announced that I’d kept the map secret and hidden it from him out of spite.” Richard moved over to the bookcase nearest the window, shifted an antique globe and its pedestal out of the way, and stuck his fingers behind the bookcase. Heavy oak, wall plaster – and nothing in between.

  Stretching, he reached in as far as he could. There should have been a thin wooden frame covered by glass. Instead he touched nothing but air. Fuck.

  From somewhere close behind him, Samantha cleared her throat. “If it helps, the first place I looked for those books you hid was other shelves in the library.”

  He jabbed a finger at her. “That does not help.”

  “It was clever to put it there, actually,” she went on anyway. “I would guess Reggie got so frustrated with not finding the map in the old library where he thought it should be, that he gave up and went to the new library for clues.”

  “My plan was too clever, then,” he said, eyeing her and torn between feeling mollified and even more annoyed.

  “Yep. Which leaves you with a problem.”

  “Yes. Reg has the damned map.” Straightening, he shoved the globe back into its place with less care than it deserved.

  His aunt snorted and sat upright. “I’m sorry, my dear, what did you say? I must have drifted off.”

  “I was just wondering if you happen to know where Reg is,” Richard improvised, when he would much rather have been swearing and throwing things.

  “Oh. He and Eerika were in here earlier. I’m not certain where they went. The attic, perhaps?”

  “Thank you, Aunt Mercia.” He kissed her on the cheek, because God knew none of this was her fault – except for her reservations about Samantha, which Sam seemed to have managed all on her own – then headed out and up the hallway toward the attic stairs.

  “Rick.”

  Richard stopped, looking behind him at Samantha. “I need to talk to him before he does something we’ll all regret.”

  “Yeah. But you should talk to him. Without me, and without Norway.”

  Sighing, he nodded. “Where will you be?”

  “In the kitchen. I was promised more soup. I do not turn down soup.”

  While he appreciated the attempt at humor – and the advice – it didn’t help. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. Hell, he’d hidden things and lied about their existence just to avoid it.

  Of course only Walter was in the attic, a magnifying glass in his hand and one enormous brown eye fixed on the brass pull of a mahogany wardrobe. “It’s brass; not gold,” Richard informed him, leaning against the simple wooden bannister at the top of the stairs.

  “Furniture’s below my pay grade,” Barstone returned, straightening. “I thought the knob would be hand-shaped. It’s from a mold, though. Explains the uniformity.”

  “I thought you knew every salable point about everything.”

  “Nah. Seventy-five percent of everything, at best. Sam’s not up here. I think she went for a walk.”

  If Richard hadn’t known that Walter and Samantha had conversed via walkie-talkie, he would have believed the old fence wasn’t sure of her whereabouts. “I gave her a ride back here. I’m actually looking for my cousin. Yule thought he might be up here.”

  “Just me. I’m helping with inventory.”

  “And you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Walter tilted his bald head. “You win Japan, then?”

  “Nearly enough.”

  With a nod, Walter half turned to make a notation in the notebook Samantha had been using for her attic inventory. “You know, eventually you’re going to have to ask yourself why you think keeping Sam away from me is the key to keeping her honest. By the time I first met her she was pulling jobs guys three times her age couldn’t manage. All I do is try to keep her safe. Because I’ve for damn sure never been able to make her do anything she didn’t want to do.”

  The idea that no one could influence Samantha but Samantha was one Richard didn’t want to contemplate, especially at the moment. “And yet, you’re still leaving tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going to complain about being somewhere with electricity and sunshine.” He glanced up. “Your cousin and the blonde were up here earlier. They saw me and retreated. Said something about one of them forgetting gloves. That was about an hour ago.”

  “Thank you.” With a curt nod he headed back into the main part of the house. The memory of the last time he’d interrupted Reg and Miss Nyland still scarred into his brain, he made a fist and rapped on the door of the bedchamber they shared.

  “Enter,” Eerika called, with that high-pitched trill that made his teeth clench.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed down the old brass handle and stepped into the room. The two of them sat on the bed, the framed map between them. Fuck. “A word, Reg?”

  His cousin stood, shoulders squared as if he expected a fight. Richard would give it to him, though he preferred a more reasonable and logical resolution. “What?”

  “In the hallway, if you please.”

  If he’d needed any more proof about which of the two of them led the team, the way Reg glanced at Eerika and only moved after she offered a slight nod would have provided it. In a business negotiation he would have sat Reg aside to speak directly with the woman making the decisions. As usual, family made things more complicated.

  When Reg joined him, Richard pulled the door closed and moved down to one of the upstairs sitting rooms. “So you want to chat now that I have proof you’re a liar?” his cousin said stiffly. “That doesn’t precisely leave you standing on the high moral ground, does it?”

  “That depends on what you mean to do next, I suppose. Care to enlighten me?” He shut the door, closing them into the sitting room.

  Reg looked at him. “Why hide the bloody map?”

  Perhaps this wasn’t as dire as he’d thought. “Because what it represents isn’t mine.”

  “The treasure, you mean? That’s the beauty of it, Ricky. Every bit of that treasure is statute free. It belongs to whomever gets hold of it.”

  “As a collector of antiquities, I can tell you it’s not quite that straightforward. The government likes to know when old things get found, so they can tax them and collect a share of the rarest bits. In addition, if it’s on Canniebrae land, it’s mine.”

  “Disputably. There is still treasure, then. Why?”

  “I didn’t say there was treasure. I said finding and claiming treasure isn’t as simple as you seem to think it is.”

  “Fine. You’ve given me a piece of your boundless wisdom. Was there something else?” Reg folded his arms over his chest, clearly assuming there was something else.

  And he was correct about that. “For my own set of reasons, I would like to gift you with a sum of money. In exchange, I will require your word that you will leave off treasure hunting. In writing.”

  “I’m one of those sticky problems you buy off, then. How much money?”

  Richard clenched his jaw. It wasn’t that… Unless that was what it had become. “First I’d like to be certain this isn’t going to become our new way of relating –
you throwing tantrums until I throw money at you to shut you up.”

  His arms still folded, Reg turned his back and stalked over to the sitting room’s window. “For argument’s sake let’s say there is a highwayman’s stash of gold and jewels at the end of that map. When you say things like you feel the need to throw money at me so you can exert some kind of control over a situation, or of me, it makes me want to punch you in the face.”

  “While you act like a greedy infant despite having the money to do just about whatever you want,” Richard retorted, warming to the argument, “do not attempt to claim that moral high ground you seem to cherish so much.”

  “I think we’re finished here.”

  As Reg stomped for the door, Richard sidestepped to block the exit. “How much do you want? Name the amount that would cause you to let go of this snipe hunt.”

  “How much are you willing to part with, Ricky? I’d prefer not to be the next relations to cross you, as we all remember what you did to Patricia, but the fact is that whether you have a claim on Will Dawkin’s gold or not, this is the kind of publicity you can’t buy. Yet you seem as determined to steer clear of it as I am to find it.”

  “Half a million.” He didn’t like putting a figure in the air first, damn it all, but this argument was beginning to circle back on itself.

  “Pounds, Euros, or American dollars?”

  “American dollars.”

  “Hmm.”

  Richard rolled his shoulders. “That’s not precisely an answer.”

  To his surprise, Reg chuckled. “This must be driving you mad. You, unable to solve a problem by buying it off.”

  “That remains to be seen. Half a million, Reg. How much higher do you need me to go?”

  “How much is in the cache? Because honestly a season or two of a reality show based on us recovering a treasure and becoming unexpected celebrities is worth more than that. We even have a name for the series. Booty Queen.”