The Midas Trap

by Sharron McClellan

  She’d never done that before.

  Correction. It was never premeditated before.

  Except for Michael’s home, and she didn’t consider that a felony or wrong in any sense of the word.

  It was justice.

  They zipped out of the Piazza and toward Via dei Serpenti, a district in the heart of Rome, where they had reservations at the Hotel Apollo.

  She pushed her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose and leaned into the leather seat, letting the sun warm her face.

  “Where did you stay the last time you were here?” Simon asked.

  Veronica didn’t open her eyes. “I rented an apartment for a month. Much easier than a hotel.” She yawned with the inevitable jetlag that came with traveling to Europe. “Have you ever been here before?”

  “My honeymoon a few years back.”

  “Hmm. How long were you married?” She asked, then almost bit her tongue. He hadn’t told her he was divorced. She only knew it from Rebecca’s background check. Unfortunately, that was about all her assistant had found out. It seemed that Dr. Owens was a bit of a mystery. He graduated high school in Seattle, then disappeared for twelve years. Resurfacing when he got his master’s in an archaeological investigation of Colletière, a medieval site that was beneath the waters of Paladru Lake in France.

  Then the stint at Columbia University, where she met him and he earned his doctorate.

  All his degrees were completed in record time, and according to Rebecca’s background check, he had just finished excavating the site in France where he had found the golden mouse. So, his story checked out in that regard.

  But what had he done for those previous twelve years? Studied to be a monk? Doubtful. Military? With his muscled physique, possibly. Missionary? No. He wasn’t the type. Somehow, she couldn’t envision those decadent lips chanting a prayer.

  Who was Dr. Simon Owens? She wanted to know, and unfortunately, Rebecca had found nothing. Whatever he was hiding, it was a professional scrub job. Otherwise, Rebecca would have uncovered more.

  She yawned again, reminding herself that she’d have time to find out all about him. She’d simply watch him. Be careful. Whatever he was, he was her partner unless he proved he wasn’t trustworthy.

  But had her partner noticed her slip? She gave him a sideways glance.

  “Two years,” Simon replied. His tanned hands were relaxed as he guided the car through traffic. There was no indication of suspicion in his tone or actions.

  Relieved, Veronica settled back again just as Simon whipped the car around a corner, catching her off guard. She grabbed the side of the seat before she fell into his lap. “Jeez, a warning would be nice,” she growled.

  “You and my ex are a lot alike,” Simon continued, seemingly oblivious to her comment. “You’d get along quite well.”

  Wonderful. Grappling with the seat belt, she pulled herself back. She reminded him of his ex-wife. Was he being sarcastic or genuine? As always, his expression was unreadable. “Is that going to be a problem?” Veronica asked.

  “What?”

  “Me being like your ex?”

  Simon gave her a sideways glance, his eyes unreadable beneath his black sunglasses. “No. Sam’s great.”

  “Then why the breakup?” Veronica asked, curiosity popping the question out of her mouth before she could wonder what he might think of her asking something so intimate.

  Simon shrugged, broad shoulders stretching the buttery-soft cotton of his T-shirt. “The usual. Distance. Work.”

  The silence stretched. It wasn’t much of an answer, but she sensed it was all she’d get. He was nothing if not closemouthed. Well, he got points for not verbally slamming the woman.

  The light ahead turned red, and traffic came to a stop. “How about you?” Simon asked. “Ever married or come close?”

  Veronica stiffened. Was he as uninterested as he sounded? His tone was nonchalant, but his left foot tapped a soft rhythm against the floorboard of the car. Did he know about Michael and Brazil? She’d run a check on him. It was possible he’d run one on her and was playing her, trying to see what she’d reveal.

  Peeking at him through her lashes, she could see he looked relaxed, but that left foot told her otherwise.

  Did he know about Michael and what happened? She couldn’t ask without giving her secrets away. She glanced at his foot again. He wanted to play?

  Then so could she.

  “No.”

  He didn’t comment, but his foot stilled. Veronica relaxed an iota. If he wanted to know more, he could ask. For now, she’d put her concerns about Simon’s suspicions on the backburner.

  Traffic moved, and they crept along the northern edge of the Piazza Venezia and finally into the Via dei Serpenti district.

  They rounded another corner, and the Hotel Apollo came into view. Constructed of redbrick and with twenty-four private rooms, it was smaller than most hotels in the area. But it was only a few blocks from the secret entrance to the Vatican.

  Simon pulled up to the front of the hotel and cut the engine.

  “Break a leg,” she murmured, preparing herself for their “act.” She’d insisted on going undercover while in Rome—which was why it had taken so long to get their travel documents. In today’s tightened security, false documents were difficult to come by. Considering they were here to steal the rest of the codex that she’d worked on, it seemed best if they were incognito. Simon had thought her paranoid, but he hadn’t seen the suspicion and annoyance on the Vatican guard’s faces when they’d escorted her off the premises or the way they’d touched the weapons at their sides when she tried to return.

  If the Vatican knew she was in town, she would be the first person pegged as a suspect once they discovered the codex was gone.

  It might have been her idea to go undercover, but it was Simon’s idea to pose as a couple. She had fought the idea at first, but relented after he pointed out that of all the personas she could assume—a happy honeymooner was the last one people would suspect.

  Besides, Rome was expensive and one room was much cheaper than two. So, they were checking into the Hotel Apollo as Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell. Honeymooners.

  He opened his car door. “Ready, Mrs. Blackwell?”

  She took a deep breath and plastered an “I love this man so much I could just eat him up” smile on her lips and gazed into Simon’s eyes with what she hoped was adoration.

  They carried their backpacks while the bellman retrieved their small amount of luggage. Simon took her hand in his as they entered the lobby. His strong fingers and broad palm were warm and not the least bit sweaty.

  They waited at the counter, and Simon wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him. He smelled of clean sweat, cotton warmed by the sun and just a hint of cologne. Damn him.

  The clerk came out to greet them. Small but voluptuous, she was a pre-Raphaelite beauty. Her blond hair was styled into a French twist and her hips swayed beneath her short skirt.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Simon Blackwell checking in,” Simon said, pulling her closer and putting his hand up the back of her shirt.

  The clerk gave a nod and punched their name into the computer. “Ah. The newlyweds.”

  Leaning down, Simon gave Veronica a peck on the lips, taking a moment to gaze into her eyes with adoration. “That’s us,” he murmured. He kissed her again. This time, it was longer. His mouth was firm. Hot. His tongue pushed against her mouth, parting her lips.

  It’s just the charade, she reminded herself. It meant nothing.

  But her every nerve vibrated with unexpected need. It had been too long since a man had touched her, and she didn’t care if the kiss was real. She only cared that it continued.

  With a sigh, she leaned into him, her hands resting on his hips. Her body remembered his taste. His touch.

  With a groan, he cupped her face with his hands and held her captive. It was brief but fierce.

  “Ahem,” the clerk said.

  They pushed away from e
ach other like charged magnets, both breathing heavy, chests heaving. Veronica touched her mouth with her fingertips, wondering if he made love with the same intensity.

  She shook herself. What was she thinking? He could be another Michael for all she knew. The kiss was definitely a mistake. And not a small mistake. This was the mountain variety, since it woke up the libido she thought was asleep, if not deceased. He didn’t know it, but at this rate, he’d sleep on the floor.

  The clerk placed the keys in Simon’s hand. “Enjoy the suite, but do not forget to take time for the city. Even newlyweds must eat.”

  Veronica’s cheeks blazed. Oh, yes. A big mistake.

  “We’ll try to remember,” Simon replied, fingers closing around the key. He kissed the curve of Veronica’s neck and she shuddered as a shiver shot down to her toes. “No promises though, right, Mrs. Blackwell?”

  “Uh, right,” Veronica replied unsteadily. Another kiss like that and she’d be pulling back the sheets and patting the mattress.

  Exiling him to the floor wasn’t far enough.

  She needed a different room.

  The honeymoon suite was small but a fairy-tale room, and Veronica was almost sorry she and Simon weren’t really newlyweds. Floor-to-ceiling windows were framed by lush, dark blue velvet curtains. Antique mirrors on the wall and gilded picture frames reflected Old World beauty. A small cherry table was opposite the bathroom door.

  A king-size bed dominated the far end of the room. The headboard and footboard matched the cherry table and were as equally polished.

  On top of the overstuffed mattress were two FedEx boxes. One was an elongated tube.

  Lily.

  Dropping her pack at the door, Veronica almost sprinted to her weapon.

  “Out of curiosity…” Simon locked the door and brought both their packs over to the bed, dropping them on the mattress with a thunk. “How did you get her into the country?”

  Sitting down, Veronica picked up the long box and yanked the tab to open it. “Private courier. I try not to depend on the postal service. Have you seen what can happen? I got a fruit-cake once that looked like it was thrown against a wall and beaten to a pulp, and I thought those things were indestructible.”

  Covered in bubble wrap, Lily slid out of the box and onto her lap. Veronica ripped the plastic off. Perfect and pristine, the short-barreled shotgun shone in the overhead light. A note taped to the black stock caught Veronica’s attention. There was a familiar happy face drawn on the outside of it. Rebecca. She flipped the violet-scented paper open. Told you she’d be fine.

  “Don’t you worry what will happen if the shipping company found out what you were shipping?” Simon asked.

  “If they x-rayed everything, yes. But they don’t.” He didn’t look convinced, but Veronica didn’t care. She hugged Lily to her chest. Lily might be stiff, cold and dangerous, but she was also the best security blanket Veronica had ever owned.

  “I hate to break up the reunion,” Simon said, clearly disturbed by her showing of emotion. “But isn’t that taking a big chance? What if the ammunition went off?”

  “If it were dangerous shipping either her or the ammunition, I wouldn’t do it.”

  She stroked the shotgun’s black barrel. “Besides, I’m more comfortable with Lily. I know what she can do, and if it comes down to it that—” she shrugged with an indifference she didn’t feel “—then I want to be prepared.”

  Simon sat down, the bed sinking under his weight. “Fine. For now.”

  For always, but she didn’t voice the thought. Between the kiss and jet lag, she wasn’t in the mood to fight.

  Simon shifted until his back pressed against the headboard. Stretching his long, muscular legs out, he held back a yawn. “Why did you name her Lily?”

  Setting her weapon on the bed, Veronica peeled away the tape that sealed the smaller package. “We lived in Africa for two years when I was about ten. There was a small village nearby, and my mom hired a woman to watch us. She took care of us. Even killed a snake once when it came too close. We couldn’t pronounce her real name, but Lily was close.” She upended the box and three small cartons of shells fell out and into her hand. “So when I got Lily, it seemed somehow appropriate.”

  “Do you plan on taking her with you to the Vatican?”

  She knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking the same thing. Lily was insurance against any unforeseen problems, but despite her comment, if they were caught, she wasn’t even sure she would use Lily against another person—other than maybe Michael. She’d used the shotgun as a threat a few times when she was on some of the more remote digs, but generally, the sound of a shell ratcheting into the chamber was enough to drive away potential thieves. She’d never had to actually fire the weapon in defense of herself or a dig.

  The question was, would the sound of a chambered shell work as well on Vatican security guards?

  “I’m not sure,” she sighed. “But she’s saved my life on more than one occasion, and I’m getting the feeling that this might be another one of them.”

  Standing in a deserted alley a few blocks from the Vatican, Veronica tugged at the Lycra tank top that stuck to the small of her back and yanked her leggings upward. It had rained the rest of the day, and though the summer storm had passed, the night air was damp and warm as a result. Her clothes made the perfect outfit for robbing, but felt tight and sticky in the humid air.

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim light that filtered in from the streetlights until she could make out Simon’s large frame. Dressed in form-fitting black cotton chinos and a black T-shirt, chosen from his endless supply of black T-shirts, he looked sexy, relaxed and annoyingly comfortable. But there was also caution and curiosity in his steady gaze.

  She frowned and tugged at the Lycra one last time. Next time, she’d wear cotton. She set her backpack on the damp ground. It didn’t contain much—Lily, a crowbar, gloves, plastic bags, Rebecca’s code-breaker and two pairs of goggles for viewing lasers. Her hands pressed against the small of her back, she gave one last stretch and surveyed the lights coming down from the surrounding buildings. Rome resembled New York in that it never truly slept, but after midnight, it did calm down. She and Simon only had to be careful of the apartment houses that bordered either side of the alley. Most of the people were asleep, since tomorrow was a workday, so as long as she and Simon were quiet, she didn’t think anyone would bother to look out their windows.

  Veronica tightened the rubber band that held her dark hair in its braid. Then they both slipped on black leather gloves, completing their ensemble.

  Unzipping the duffel bag, Veronica hesitated. “You sure you’re up to this? This is almost the point of no return.”

  “Completely.”

  She pulled the crowbar out from underneath Lily and handed it to Simon. “Enjoy.”

  Using it, he lifted the edge of the sewer cap, got his fingers under it, picked it up and set it aside. It made a clink against the cement, but otherwise, all was silent.

  The round black hole looked like it could go forever and to anywhere. Veronica shuddered. As safe as she knew the sewer system and catacombs were, she hated going underground. Especially at night. Granted, it was dark in the tunnels no matter what the time was, but at night, her imagination ran overtime, and she invented giant rats and reptiles akin to the legendary alligators of the New York sewer system.

  “Just catacombs,” she murmured.

  Looping the handles of the duffel over her shoulders, she let the bag rest against her back like a long backpack. “Let’s do it.”

  She searched for the ladder with her foot and found metal rungs in the wall. Lowering herself into the hole, she climbed down ten feet, her feet landing on rough cement covered by a half inch of water.

  The air was dank. Wet. There was the faint smell of plant decay but nothing too horrible.

  Simon followed, stopping long enough to pull the sewer cap back over the hole.

  Veronica clicked on her flashlight.


  The sewer was surprisingly clean. Other than the water and the occasional soda can, it was devoid of debris.

  A rat ran past her, and she yelped before clamping her hand over her mouth. Even though she encountered them on almost every dig, she hated the creepy little rodents.

  “As long as there aren’t any alligators,” Simon said, pulling the sewer cap back on before coming to stand beside her.

  She grinned, glad to discover she wasn’t the only one with an overactive imagination.

  Simon clicked on his flashlight, running the beam up the modern cement walls. “These are the catacombs?”

  “No. This is the sewer system. It connects to the catacombs if you know what to watch for.”

  After the Vatican fired Sylvia from her position as an ancient relic curator, she had told Veronica about the secret catacombs one afternoon. She’d never blamed Veronica for getting her fired. She blamed the Vatican and its rigid patriarchal ideals.

  The Vatican catacombs were an anomaly within Rome. During early Christian times, Roman law made it illegal to bury Christians within the walls of the city, so the catacombs that were constructed prior to the Roman law were abandoned and forgotten until they became fodder for the tourist trade.

  With the exception of this one. Apparently, the Vatican was exempt from the rules that applied to everyone else since these catacombs contained bodies and were used by the Vatican as recently as the early 1700s. According to Sylvia, these tunnels were known only by a few Vatican officials.

  Veronica ran a beam of light over the walls. She’d considered contacting Sylvia to ask for her assistance but decided against it. She’d taken a chance showing Veronica the hidden catacombs. If she and Simon were caught, it was better to involve as few people as possible.

  So it was up to her and years-old memories. Luckily, she’d been fascinated at the time of her tour and thought she knew where to go. She started walking in the direction of the Vatican.

  Simon followed, his feet sloshing through the water. If she remembered right, it wasn’t far. Perhaps ten minutes to the catacombs, then they’d be right under the Vatican.