Uncharted

by Robyn Nyx

  Chase’s stomach grumbled for her attention, outstripping the need for anything else. “I’m starving. I’ll eat anything other than pork, thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Rayne’s response was immediate, and Chase wondered if she’d read something into nothing. Rayne could have any woman she liked. She wouldn’t bother with…Chase looked down at her body. She was no longer the chunky woman Rayne teased mercilessly. She had rips and bumps, muscles instead of a shapeless form. Chase wasn’t anywhere near the size of Rayne’s two shadow mountains—she didn’t want to be—but she had more confidence in her body than she’d ever had before.

  She put the distracting thoughts aside and lathered up, wanting to wash away the whole experience. She’d figure out how to get home later, but right now all she wanted to do was eat and sleep for a few hours. Hopefully, this suite had two bedrooms.

  * * *

  Chase wrapped the silk bathrobe around her, folded up the arms, and shoved them over the elbows. She looked in the mirror and shook her head. There was no way to butch up this robe at all. Another knock on the bathroom door made her jump.

  “Your clothes, madam. Fully laundered.”

  Chase opened the door to a young woman in a service uniform holding a neatly pressed pile of her clothes. “Thank God…thank you.” There was no sign of Rayne, and Chase couldn’t offer a tip so she just smiled in what she hoped would convey her apology and closed the door slowly. She stripped out of the offensive garment and redressed. When she emerged from the bathroom again, the dining table was covered in a whole range of dishes and Rayne was seated at the head of the table with her two bodyguards on the opposite side, facing her. Neither of them looked up from their food to acknowledge her so she figured that a deadly battle didn’t make them civil acquaintances. Rayne smiled and motioned for Chase to join them.

  She poured herself a coffee and sat beside Rayne. It all felt strangely normal considering they were being shot at a few hours ago.

  “My client says they’re a direct descendant of Cleopatra, just like Zenobia,” Rayne said after a swallow of orange juice. “Her genetic material has had a lot of years to get around, so I’m not questioning the validity of their claim.”

  Straight to business then, which reminded Chase that her scan was only two-thirds complete. Was Rayne having an attack of conscience and felt the need to justify her actions? “Okay. And you’re telling me this, why?”

  “My client has agreed to let you complete your laser scan and take as many photos as you wish, on the understanding that you never reveal the fate of the tomb, particularly to your employers. As far as anyone is concerned, the casket was left beneath the city, most likely to be destroyed by ISIS.” She waved toward her muscle mountains. “And we were never there.”

  Agreed to? Meaning Rayne must have asked on Chase’s behalf. That was unexpected. Had a close shave with death finally given Rayne the principles Chase hoped she’d one day discover?

  “G&T have put your equipment in the ballroom, along with Zenobia’s tomb.” Rayne pushed a keycard along the table toward Chase. “It’s perfectly secure. You have until noon before we move it.”

  Chase reached for the keycard, and Rayne put her hand over Chase’s.

  “As a favor to me, my client has offered that you can visit the tomb to conduct further tests for your own purposes only…if you can prove you can keep your mouth shut.”

  Chase’s hand tingled beneath Rayne’s soft touch, and she shivered. Rayne looked amused by her reaction but didn’t say anything. Tonyck stopped eating long enough to glare at her. Was she being protective or was there some deeper attraction to her boss? Chase suspected it might well be both. Unless she was straight, which Chase unapologetically doubted, how could Tonyck not be attracted to Rayne? And if Tonyck was, Chase expected her twin sister would be too.

  Rayne withdrew her hand, and Chase checked her watch. It was just before nine a.m. If she wolfed down a quick breakfast, she’d have two and a half hours to conduct her scan and take as many photographs as she needed. The natural lighting would make them far superior and less grainy than the ones she’d managed in the tomb and they wouldn’t have the scaffolding in the way if she shot them first before setting up the laser scanner. “I don’t know what to say, Rayne.”

  “Thank you would be a damned good start,” Ginn said before she shoveled another forkful of food in her mouth.

  Rayne shook her head. “With our history, I expect that’s not a phrase Chase will find easy to say to me.”

  History. Trust. Chase remembered how much she’d enjoyed working with Rayne on that joint expedition in the Florida Keys almost a decade ago. It could’ve been the beginning of an unstoppable pairing. Their skills complemented each other perfectly, but Rayne had screwed her, and Chase had worked solo ever since. Was this about second chances? Did saving her life mean the slate should be wiped clean, or was it simply a hiatus in hostilities? An armistice of sorts? And once Chase left this idyllic island, should she expect normal service to resume?

  “I’m sorry. I am grateful.” Chase shifted in her chair to face Rayne, trying to ignore the tank twins’ presence. She wouldn’t have chosen to do this in front of them, but she pressed on regardless. “Thanks for getting me out of Syria alive.” If the patrol was coincidental and not entirely your fault. “And thank you for the opportunity to complete my scan. You know how much this period of history means to me, and I’d love to spend more time studying Zenobia’s tomb…but you’re asking me to lie to get what I want.”

  Chase leaned back in her chair and ran her hand across the back of her head. She tried to read Rayne’s expression, but it was like the shutters had come down over her soul the moment Chase had said “but.” This was such an impossible situation. “I believe in everyone having access to our world history. Not just the ones who can afford to hire the best grave robbers in the business.” Rayne’s jaw clenched at the description, but as far as Chase was concerned, it was a title well-earned. “You’re offering me something that I’ve wanted since I was an undergrad. But to take it, I’d have to abandon the morals I’ve built my life and reputation around.” Voicing the thought diminished her appetite considerably, and Chase pushed away the plate of food that had been prepared for her. “I’m not like you. I just can’t do that.”

  Rayne shrugged, and any emotion or reaction she had to Chase’s words weren’t visible.

  “Your loss. I didn’t think it would be so easy for you to surrender your life’s passion.” Rayne swirled the juice in her glass as she spoke. “Would your morals prefer it if we’d left her casket for ISIS to desecrate?”

  Rayne drummed her manicured, painted nails on the table. Her face might not have given anything away, but her words and body language gave away at least some of what she was feeling. Her indignation was misplaced. Rayne had no right to get up on a horse of any height. She was a thief in every other walk of life.

  “I’d prefer it if you let me take the tomb to Stanford and then on to a suitable museum for everyone to appreciate. I’d prefer it if you didn’t take it to one ridiculously rich person who thinks they’re a long distant relative of two great queens when in fact, they’re probably a nobody trying desperately to be a somebody.”

  The twins stopped eating. They dropped their cutlery to the table noisily and glared at Chase. She’d been rude considering Rayne’s hospitality, but running her mouth off had always been a problem that got her into trouble. She might be able to hold one off long enough to sprint away, but she didn’t like her chances with both of them bearing down on her. Surely Rayne wouldn’t let them put a beating on her just because Chase had told her how she felt.

  “I think you’ve outworn your welcome, Stinsen.”

  The words came from the one that might or might not have been Ginn. Chase hadn’t been interested enough to study them to tell them apart. Rayne held up her hand, presumably to stop her from speaking on Rayne’s behalf. She tapped her expensive watch, a Tag Heuer Chase rec
ognized from a billboard ad. Chase glanced down at her own Casio. Their worlds were so far apart, they might as well live on different planets. She’d been stupid to think that Rayne could possibly have changed.

  “You’d better make the most of the time you’ve got left with your precious Zenobia then.” Rayne pointed to the door. “Tonyck will take you down.”

  Chase looked at Rayne’s heavies and didn’t like the sneer that played on their faces with Rayne’s final phrase. It felt like they were itching to knock her around and the only thing stopping them was a lack of tacit permission from their boss. Chase pushed her chair from the table and stood. She wanted to say something else to Rayne but wasn’t sure what, and she didn’t want to offend her further in case Rayne was tempted to sic her dogs on her. Rayne had focused her gaze through the floor to ceiling windows. She was otherwise enchanted with the glorious view of the Mediterranean Sea. More likely she was just done with Chase.

  Tonyck was already at the door, but Chase shook her head as she walked toward it. “I don’t need an escort. I can find my own way, thanks.”

  She didn’t move and looked beyond Chase for further instruction from Rayne. Chase turned to see Rayne shrug and wave her away dismissively. It shouldn’t have surprised her. It certainly shouldn’t have hurt her. And yet, an inexplicable cattle prod-like stun to Chase’s chest got her attention. She exited the room and closed the door quietly behind her before she said or did anything she might regret.

  Chapter Four

  New York

  Rayne relaxed into the director’s chair in the corner of her seventieth-floor office. From here, she could see the horses at Central Park and the long line of shivering tourists desperate to hitch up and be wrapped in a heavy fur blanket, just like they’d seen in the movies. From this distance, they looked like Monopoly pieces and the park was the game board. On the corner, a tiny dot in a booth was selling five-dollar cups of hot chocolate for the ride. No doubt he would be doubling the price today. Tourists were known to pay any price for something toasty when temperatures hit minus double figures in the city. The memory of meeting Jack in a dirty street in India’s Orissa district made an appearance in the movie theater of her brain. He’d helped her out of a sticky bartering situation that, without his linguistic skills, would probably have seen her exchanging her freedom for the artifact. In return, she’d flown him over to her city. She’d helped him become a US citizen and start his own catering business. Getting his papers had been difficult. The current president’s xenophobia was at an historically dangerous level, but Rayne’s considerable connections were able to slice through the bureaucracy and make Jack’s American dream a reality.

  “Ginn and Tonyck are here, Ms. Marcellus. Shall I send them through?”

  Her receptionist’s voice cut into Rayne’s peaceful memories. Rayne smiled. Hearing someone else introduce her team still made her laugh. She pressed the intercom on the table beside her chair. “Thanks, Jenny. Please do.”

  G&T came through the doors looking extremely pleased with themselves. “Hey, lady boss.”

  “You both look very fresh considering you’ve just done a round trip to LA in twenty-four hours. Get yourselves a drink and tell me everything.”

  Tonyck grabbed two bottles of mineral water before they both flopped down onto the sofa opposite Rayne. She shifted her position to look at them and grinned. “You got more than money on your trip, didn’t you?” Rayne asked, suspecting she already knew exactly what kind of extras they got from one of her favorite clients, Kera Espinosa.

  Ginn cracked her bottle open and nodded. “She was very grateful for the African ruby. She said she was disappointed you didn’t deliver it because she would’ve liked to have thanked you personally.”

  “But you softened her disappointment considerably, yes?” Rayne winked. Kera had a notoriety for loving women that blew Rayne’s reputation for ephemeral dalliances out of the water, but she wasn’t certain Kera would go for the twins. She was known for her love of femmes.

  Tonyck laughed. “She said she’d been thinking about a ‘sister sandwich’ since you hired us. Wanted to know what it might feel like crushed between two walls of muscle.”

  Rayne raised her eyebrows. She’d wondered exactly the same thing, but a sense of professionalism had stopped her from finding out. She’d probably drop Kera a line for a more vivid description from her perspective. Kera’s skills as a raconteur all but matched her almost god-like ability between the sheets. Rayne was slightly sorry for missing out, but she’d promised the twins a special bonus on top of tripling their cash for the Syria debacle, and they seemed particularly grateful.

  Rayne couldn’t stop her train of thought from barreling along the tracks to Chase Stinsen. Not that she’d expected to, but Rayne hadn’t heard from Chase since they loaded Zenobia’s tomb onto her client’s private jet and left her on Cyprus to find her own way home. Rayne knew she should’ve offered her passage from the island, but she’d still been smarting from Chase’s complete destruction of her character and profession. And the knockback was something she wasn’t used to and wasn’t inclined to get used to either. They’d had a brush with death. Rayne thought it was completely natural to celebrate their escape with a few hours of life-affirming, break-the-bed, head-exploding sex. But Ms. Morals was having none of it. If she wouldn’t share her bed, she wasn’t getting the chance to share her plane.

  And the twins had made their feelings on Chase very clear. They would have rather fucked her up for her disrespect to Rayne than share any more oxygen with her on a luxury jet. They weren’t just her employees. They’d become her friends, and she valued their opinion. She somehow felt they would’ve been disappointed with her if she’d offered Chase a seat on their flight after the way she’d spoken to Rayne.

  So she didn’t. Nor did she make any effort to say good-bye or speak to her at all after Chase had left their breakfast table. She sent G&T down at noon to transport the tomb to the waiting jet. She’d given them strict instructions not to engage further with Chase and not to touch any of her equipment unless it obstructed movement of the tomb. They’d looked disappointed. Rayne knew they would do anything for her, and if she’d asked them to take Chase outside and teach her a brutal lesson in respect, they would have. And, she suspected, they would’ve enjoyed doing it a little too much.

  Rayne looked at her desk. This month’s issue of Archeology Today teased its readers with the promise of a “Zenobia: The Warrior Queen special feature” in its next release. She had no way of knowing if Chase would reveal everything that transpired that night, despite Rayne asking her not to. Rayne had alerted her lawyer, and she was on the case, demanding to see the article before it went to print if Rayne or her team were mentioned at all. Act now and save yourself an expensive lawsuit, her lawyer had warned the publication. Rayne had considered calling Chase to ask her outright, but her lawyer vetoed the idea. “No fraternizing with the enemy,” she’d said with the dramatic flair she was known for in the courtroom. When had Chase become the enemy and not just healthy competition? Whatever, now it was just a waiting game.

  “Rayne?”

  She returned her focus to Ginn and had an unfamiliar rush of gratitude for the twins having crossed her path. Her parents wouldn’t have been impressed with the strange gust of emotion. Every relationship is just another business transaction. It was an odd code to begin teaching a child at eleven years old, but she learned her lesson well and for the most part, it had stuck.

  “You guys should take a vacation.” Rayne leaned forward and tapped them both on their knees. “You’ve earned a break.”

  Tonyck looked puzzled. “We only just got back from Africa.”

  “That was work. You need to relax.” Rayne got up and faced the city she loved so much. It was a city with an insular population that made her parents’ code very easy to live by.

  “We spent a week in a five-star spa hotel, getting massages and mud baths. I couldn’t be more relaxed.” Tonyck joined Rayn
e at the window and put her arm over Rayne’s shoulders. “Do you need a break?”

  The softness in Tonyck’s voice belied her rock-like appearance. Beneath their gruff and impressively built exterior, the twins had a quiet emotional intelligence they kept hidden from everyone but Rayne. “Maybe.” Rayne patted Tonyck’s hand and moved from beneath the considerable weight of her arm. They were close, but that kind of intimate physical touch—more intimate than a kiss in many ways—still made Rayne a little twitchy. She sat behind the safe barrier of her solid oak desk and picked up the email Jenny had printed off for her earlier this morning. A man named Stan Turner wouldn’t stop calling, insisting that he had the opportunity of a lifetime for her. Jenny heard that a lot, and thus far, it’d never been true. And neither she nor Rayne had ever heard of a Stan Turner, so the likelihood of his claim being true was less than minimal. He said he’d send her proof and that Rayne would definitely take the meeting as soon as she saw it.

  She studied his proof again. Ancient Mayan symbols decorated what looked like part of a map. The colorful trio of images in the top was what had captured, and now held, Rayne’s attention. Legends, myths, and lore surrounded the existence of the Golden Trinity, but that’s all there had ever been. A treasure hoard to dwarf all treasure hoards. A career-defining find. Something to make Rayne more than just a “glorified grave digger,” as Chase was fond of calling her.

  She moved a piece of hair from over her eye that was bothering her. Just like Chase Stinsen. Chase’s near-constant presence in her mind was becoming distracting and irritating. Why she kept thinking about Chase was beyond her and beyond frustration. Sure, Rayne would’ve enjoyed a couple of hours in the sack with her, but it didn’t happen. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Had she gotten so used to women throwing themselves at her that “no” was a word alien to her comprehension? Deep down, in a place she buried all the things that she couldn’t control or understand, a place her parents had encouraged her to cultivate and hide from everyone, often including herself. In that place, she knew this was all about Florida. Young and hungry, Rayne had thought and hesitated too little when the decision to capitalize on their work at Chase’s expense had presented itself. Her head had been too easily turned by the lure of a fast fortune, and Rayne had known that Chase’s moral compass wouldn’t allow the sale of their find, even just a third of it, to a private collector. Lauren Young was fifteen years older than Rayne and had everything Rayne wanted: fortune, fame, and the ability to charm anyone and everyone out of anything and everything. Lauren promised she could mold Rayne so that she could have it all too. All she had to do was double-cross her partner.