Alyssa always did.
Until he caved, she’d keep her eyes and ears open. In the meantime, they’d come to an understanding of sorts. Perhaps even a quasi-trust despite his secret past.
She stretched her legs out in front of her and bounced her heels on the cracked linoleum to work the circulation back into her thighs. “I don’t know if I can take another twenty-four hours stuck in this hole. It seems more like twenty-four days.”
“You can always tell me about Michael.”
Veronica sucked in air. What brought that on? The last thing she wanted to talk about was her ex-lover. What was she supposed to tell him? That he broke her heart? “There isn’t anything to say. Besides, you won’t talk about your past. Why would I tell you about mine?”
Simon rolled over onto his side to face her, leaning his head on his hand, his loose hair falling forward to brush his cheek. “I’m not asking where you went to dinner or if he was any good in bed. What’s he like as an adversary?”
“Oh.” She pressed her hands into her lap. Of course that was what he wanted to know. Even deserved to know if they planned to reach the Midas Stone before Michael. “Every decision Michael makes is based on self-indulgence. He lives an expensive lifestyle and uses his archaeological expertise to maintain it.” She used to love his mansion. She’d caress the fine objets d’art and marvel over Michael’s fiscal prowess, which gave him the money to afford such objects of beauty.
If only she’d known where he’d gotten his funding.
She continued. “Art. Cars. You name it. He has it, and it’s all the best. Unfortunately, he sold God knows what artifacts on the black market to buy it all.”
“And you dated this guy?” Simon asked, curiosity and surprise in his question.
She shrugged. “I told you, I grew up with him. What was there not to trust? Once I found out what he was up to, I walked away.”
“He was a fool,” Simon said without hesitation.
She smiled with pleasure, not sure if he spoke about Michael’s black-market activities or losing her. Maybe both. “Thanks.”
He rolled back over, his face hidden from view from her vantage on the floor. “Do I need to worry about getting shot?” Simon asked.
“I don’t think so. He doesn’t carry weapons. He steals, makes good connections and runs when he has to. As long as you’re not his partner, you should be safe.” Even she didn’t miss the bitter tinge to her voice.
“Fair enough,” Simon said, his hands behind his head.
That Simon didn’t pursue the more obvious line of questioning was interesting but not surprising. One thing she noticed was that Simon’s need for privacy spilled out onto other people.
In this case, she was grateful. The last thing she wanted Simon to know about was Brazil. It was embarrassing.
“Veronica?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
Her pulse sped up. Was he going to break their unspoken covenant of silence on their personal lives?
“If it came down to me or Michael, would you pull the trigger?”
Her mouth dropped open. She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted or flattered that he even considered her capable, but remembering how close she’d come when she broke into Michael’s home and he’d confronted her, it was a fair question. “I don’t know,” she whispered. It wasn’t a great answer, but it was the truth.
“Have you ever come close to pulling the trigger?”
Was he psychic? “Why?” she asked, suspicious at the line of questioning.
Simon rolled back to his side again, his expression enigmatic. “I think it’s important to know how far you’re willing to go to get the Stone.”
Her suspicions regarding how much he knew about her past faded but didn’t die. She drew her knees back into her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Even if he meant nothing by asking, she didn’t like this line of questioning. It delved too deep into places she’d rather not go, but as her partner, he deserved to know the answer. “Yes, I have come close to pulling the trigger, but I didn’t.” She ran scenarios through her mind, projecting her reactions. “If it were just me being threatened, I don’t think I could unless I truly thought my life was in danger, and even then, I think I’d hesitate. Now, if it were someone I cared for?” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to voice aloud one of her traits that she never talked about—her quasi-bloodthirsty nature. “Yeah. No hesitation. I’d do what was necessary to protect someone I cared for.”
“So, if it came down to me or Michael?”
She may not have known the answer before, but she did now. “I’d pull the trigger for a partner.”
“You sure?” he asked, staring at her as if he could see into her very thoughts.
She set her chin. “Yes.”
Seemingly satisfied, he rolled back once again. “Good. Me, too.”
Veronica shut her eyes. They’d have to work on getting him a gun.
If she was right, it was twelve hours until they reached Istanbul. Veronica was frozen in the Nataraja yoga pose, her leg curved behind her and her left foot almost touching the back of her head, while Simon lay on the bed reading an old Sports Illustrated magazine that he found stuffed under the mattress.
The door creaked open, and they both reacted. In a split second, Simon sat up and was grabbing for the shotgun under the pillow while Veronica dropped her leg and braced herself for attack.
In the doorway stood their host, Captain Armand Garcia. They had met him when they came on board, but it had been dark. He didn’t say much then, but when he spoke, his accent was Castilian. Now, in the daylight, she couldn’t help but notice he also had the dark eyes and curly hair that went with his Spanish heritage.
She took a deep breath. He seemed harmless enough. No weapon at his side. She glanced at Simon. Lily was already hidden back under the thin pillow.
Thomas had paid enough money to ensure the captain’s trust—but Veronica had her doubts. Something told her that this man was more on par with Michael. If he thought he could make a profit by dumping them on some deserted island, he’d leave them to rot.
Sticking out her hand, she smiled broadly and with, what she hoped, was sincerity. “Captain Garcia, how pleased we are to see you again.”
The captain returned the expression, showing yellowed teeth, and stepped forward, shaking Veronica’s hand.
Simon’s hands rested on his thighs, fingers splayed, but Veronica didn’t miss the tension in his arms. “What can we help you with, captain?” he asked.
Garcia addressed Simon. “We are making good time and will be getting into Istanbul a few hours early. I thought you might want to know, as I am sure the trip has been neither exciting nor comfortable.”
“We’re making do,” Veronica replied, keeping her tone light. “But thank you for being so considerate.”
“My pleasure.” He gave a twitch. “I do have a few questions before I let you leave this ship. I have known Thomas for a long time, but in this profession, one learns that trust is best left to others. So I need to know, what is your business in Istanbul?”
Veronica glanced at Simon. Where was this line of questioning coming from?
“Does it matter?” Simon’s eyes narrowed.
“In today’s political environment, yes.” He rubbed his jaw. “If you are terrorists, I do not want any part of your conspiracy.”
“You can’t believe we’re terrorists, can you?” Veronica asked. Terrorists? She’d seen what fanatics could do. She’d been in New York when the twin towers fell. “Look at us.” She ran a hand over her dirty hair and her wrinkled clothes. “Would any terrorists put up with this? They’d take over the ship. We’re scientists, for pity’s sake.”
“Scientists?”
Veronica bit her tongue, realizing what she’d revealed. Why couldn’t she have said missionaries? Their captain probably didn’t care about missionaries. It was obvious that scientists proved otherwise. “Uh, yes.�
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“What kind?”
Simon glared at her as if he wanted to smack her. She knew if he could speak, he’d be shouting shut up!
She swallowed hard. With the partial truth out there, it seemed best to stick to it as close as possible to avoid confusion. “We’re archaeologists. There’s a dig we’re supposed to be on. A very important dig concerning a possible settlement off the coast. Our passports were stolen, and the caravan leaves tomorrow. We couldn’t wait for replacements.” The story sounded weak, even to her. To a layman, it might be enough. Maybe. Please, let it be enough.
“I understand.” He took a step toward her, invading her personal space, and she held her breath. His blue denim shirt might appear clean but it smelled like rancid cabbage. “Please forgive my suspicions. You must understand that in today’s political environment—”
“Everyone is suspect,” she finished.
“Exactly.” The captain glanced at his watch. “Now, I must return to work. It has been a pleasure.”
He shut the door behind him without a glance.
“What were you thinking?” Simon asked as soon as the captain’s footsteps faded away.
Veronica crossed her arms over her chest, angry at herself and wishing she could take it all back. “I don’t know. He caught me off guard and I was ticked that he even considered the possibility that we were terrorists. The archaeologist part slipped out.” She sat down on the twin bed next to Simon, letting herself fall backward into the thin mattress. “Do you think he bought the rest?”
Simon sighed. “Let’s hope so.”
She covered her eyes with her forearm. She was a fool, and if the captain found out the Vatican wanted them for the theft of the codex, they were dead.
The container ship glided into the Bosporus Strait and past Leander’s Tower, signaling their arrival into Istanbul. Veronica motioned Simon over to the porthole, and both crowded to see the tower, which was situated at the entrance of the waterway. “It’s twelfth century. Erected by Emperor Manuel Komnenos,” Veronica explained.
“Byzantine? Right?” Simon asked, edging her over for a better view.
“You’ve been studying?” Veronica said, surprised.
“I know a little,” Simon replied.
She suspected he knew more than he was letting on—he seemed too overly prepared to be otherwise. “I have a friend who is a guide there. Too bad we don’t have time, he’d take us on a tour that most tourists don’t see.”
The tower passed to their left, and Simon went back to packing what little gear they carried. Knowing they’d be on the move, they’d left their suitcases and the majority of their clothes with Sylvia.
They were down to Lily, the codex locked in a water-tight Tupperware container Sylvia had given them, a change of clothes, the code-breaker and money. Not much, but plenty if they ended up on the run. He put the codex into his pack. “Is there any country where you don’t have a good friend?” Simon asked as he slipped off his rank T-shirt.
Veronica bit her lip. Damn, he really did look good.
Despite two days of not bathing, he somehow managed to look amazing. Flat abs rippled as he moved and his skin gleamed, making her want to reach out and skim her fingers along the tanned surface. He turned away, giving her a view of his well-defined back. She flexed her hands and shivered, wondering what those muscles would feel like beneath her palms.
Casually, he wadded up the shirt and pitched it toward a corner.
She wondered what he’d do if she asked him to whirl the shirt over his head like a stripper. She tried not to giggle at the absurd image, but her lips turned upward of their own accord.
“What?” he asked, tugging a wrinkled but fresher shirt over his head.
“Nothing.” She sighed and sat on her hands. “Anyway, yes, there are countries where I don’t know a soul. South America. Australia. Antarctica.”
“Funny.” His mouth quirked up in a small smile.
“But my parents traveled all over the Mediterranean when I was growing up, and now this is my stomping grounds for research. Of course I know a lot of people.”
Simon pulled the string on his small backpack, sealing it closed. “I’ve been traveling through Europe and know a few locals, but none that would sneak me aboard a ship or help me break into a mansion.”
Veronica wondered if she should change her shirt as well, not that her spare was much better. “You haven’t met the right people, that’s all.”
“Too much of a Boy Scout, I suppose,” Simon replied.
“Nice try. I don’t believe that.”
“Really? Why not?”
She hesitated. He’d avoided her questions before, but now he gave the opening. There wouldn’t be a better time. “I watched you pick a lock in record time. Boy Scouts can’t do that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And what was with the weird hand thing in the Vatican? Where you pumped your fist up and down? My guess is that it’s some kind of military code. Care to tell me about those particular merit badges, Simon?”
Simon raked a hand through his hair. “I surf the Net.”
She didn’t believe it for an instant. It was too easy. Too glib. And if that were the case, then why try to hide it? She leaned toward him. “You’ve asked me to be honest with you, and I have. Now give me the same courtesy. Is there something about your past I need to know?”
The engines groaned and the ship began to slow. Simon sat down next to her, the tiny bed creaking under their combined weight. “Nothing that affects what we’re doing. I’m an archaeologist. A damned good one. That’s enough.”
But it wasn’t enough. What was he before he was an archaeologist?
She’d been patient, but now that she’d started this line of questioning, her patience was gone and only curiosity remained. “Tell me the rest.”
He took a deep breath. “I would, but then I’d have to kill you.”
She pursed her lips. “This isn’t funny. I mean it.”
“So do I,” he said, scowling.
There was a sudden jolt as the ship rammed the dock bumpers, and Veronica fell sideways, catching herself before she fell into Simon.
He continued, “Any more questioning will have to wait. I think we’re here.”
She grabbed his knee, trying to hold him down. “No, you can’t—”
As if on cue, a knock sounded and the thin wooden door swung open. It was the captain. “Time to go.”
He glanced at her hand, and she reluctantly let Simon go.
“Later, then,” Veronica agreed, frustrated. What the hell had he meant? What was he before he became an archaeologist? Was it legal? Illegal? Or one of those jobs that treaded the line in between?
He rose, grabbed his pack and followed the captain. Veronica grabbed her own bag plus Lily’s cloth-wrapped form and jogged up the narrow hallway to catch up.
They walked onto the deck. After spending two days with nothing but a patch of sun filtered through a porthole, Simon and Veronica blinked at the blinding brightness.
Eyes tearing, Veronica fumbled for her sunglasses, her hands searching for the black plastic. Finding them, she slipped them on. “Much better.”
Simon wore his as well. “Amazing.”
Over the railing, and on the far side of the waterway, was Europe. To her immediate left and at the end of the gangplank was Turkey. If one had never been to Istanbul, a city that spanned two continents, it was a remarkable sight. Modern ships dwarfed the surrounding buildings—loading and unloading amid historical buildings generations old.
People were everywhere. Filling the streets and sidewalks. Tourists. Businessmen. Workers. The city teemed with life.
She loved it. The energy. The excitement. Couldn’t get enough of it when she was here.
“You have everything you need?” Garcia asked.
“Yes,” Simon replied. “We didn’t bring much.”
The captain’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Then it will only take me a moment to go
through it.”
“Excuse me?” Veronica asked, dread roiling through her gut.
Garcia gestured at her pack while his other hand touched the butt of the gun that was tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “Time to go through your things. I researched you on the Internet. There aren’t that many women archaeologists, Ms. Bright. Especially ones with your reputation.”
Veronica winced, wishing she were a little less well known.
Garcia continued. “Your exploits are fascinating. You are a woman of many talents who uncovers the most interesting artifacts.” His grin broadened. “You must be carrying something of great value if you would choose to sneak into this country instead of entering like a normal tourists. I’d like to have it.”
“I told you, we’re late for a dig,” Veronica said through clenched teeth.
“I seriously doubt that.” His fake smile never faltered as his gun went from his waistband to his hand. “Now, let’s not make this unpleasant.”
Simon stepped forward. “We have nothing. If we had anything of value, we’d be sneaking out. Not in.”
“Then you do not mind me going through your belongings, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do mind,” Simon replied.
Veronica laid her hand on his arm. A muscle flexed at her touch. The codex might not look like much, but they couldn’t take a chance on Garcia taking it from them.
“The shotgun first,” Garcia said, holding his free hand out.
Veronica bristled. She didn’t want to give up Lily, but this man wasn’t Michael, and she was sure that shooting her would not trouble his conscience. She set the shotgun on the deck and unwound her from the bright cloth that barely disguised her shape. “You can’t have her, but I’ll unload her.”
Keeping her hands in plain sight, Veronica picked Lily up and pulled back the bolt, showing Garcia the empty barrel and the shell that was ready to be ratcheted into the barrel at a moment’s notice. She tipped the weapon upside down and the shell fell to the deck, rolling to a stop against Simon’s shoe.
The Midas Trap Page 14