Covert Evidence

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by Rachel Grant


  “There was some confusion as to its provenance,” she continued, “but my research indicates it belongs to your tribe. I mean, corporation. Er, village.” She shook her head to brush off the verbal stumble, thankful, at least, that her voice wasn’t shaking. No way could she let Chuck Vaughan see her nervousness. “As such, it’s my duty to return it.”

  She set the mask on the man’s clear desktop, more than eager to let it go. Her fingers tingled every time she touched it. Not an unpleasant sensation, but still, unsettling. The cedar box was the only vessel she’d found that blocked the feeling.

  From inside the box, she plucked the handwritten delivery receipt she’d drawn up during the flight and set it on the desk before the cultural resources manager. “If you’ll just sign here that you’ve received the mask, I’ll be on my way.”

  He leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. For the first time, his eyes showed a hint of life, no longer an icy blue. It occurred to her that he was rather hot, something she hadn’t noticed in her flustered, eager-to-unload-the-artifact state.

  “No,” he said.

  The force of her heartbeat increased as her body flushed with adrenaline. He had to take the artifact. She’d risked her career for this, not to mention her sanity. If he didn’t take it, how would she get the nightmares to stop? She couldn’t go on like this. She doubted she’d last another day. “No?”

  “No.”

  The man conserved words like they were a finite resource. She found the trait irritating. “Why not?” Admittedly, the receipt was a cheap ploy to defend herself from prosecution should the museum claim she stole the artifact—which she had—and tried to sell it—which she would never, ever do. The cultural resource manager’s signature would at least show she’d returned the artifact to its rightful owner, and that no money had changed hands.

  “You can’t just walk in here, drop off a priceless artifact, ask me to sign a release for it, and leave.”

  Priceless? Since when did tribal cultural resource managers think in terms of worth when it came to artifacts? Usually they assiduously avoided all references to monetary value when it came to artifacts of cultural heritage—especially artifacts subject to NAGPRA. And this mask almost certainly had been grave goods. Odds were, it had been buried with a powerful tribal leader—a shaman, who, Sienna believed, still inhabited the annoying relic. “Are you…” She wanted to say kidding me? but stopped herself and instead said, “Mr. Vaughan?” managing to erase all snark from her tone.

  “Yes.”

  The single word sat alone in the air as she waited for him to offer some sort of explanation for his refusal. What Tribal Historic Preservation Officer—or rather, THPO equivalent—didn’t want to receive an obviously old and dear piece of his tribe’s cultural history?

  But, true to form, the man said nothing. He merely stared at her, waiting for her to hang herself. She had a feeling he visualized handing her the rope. Which made her wonder if he knew exactly what she’d risked in bringing the mask home, and why he refused to help her.

  She stood, slowly, feeling an ache in her belly and in her heart as she realized how badly she’d miscalculated. If he wouldn’t take the mask, she really had stolen it. She’d already lost her client, but now she might lose her business. She could even go to jail. But the worst part was her sister—co-owner of Aubrey Sisters Heritage Preservation—was going to kill her.

  But Larkspur had been in Hawaii for the last two months and didn’t know what was going on with Sienna and their museum client. Larkspur had no idea the mask had taken over. Or that maybe Sienna had gone insane. One or the other.

  But the mask being possessed by a spirit was the preferred option.

  “The mask is yours. Why refuse it? I’ve never met a tribal cultural resources manager who wasn’t eager to reclaim a piece of their tribe’s cultural heritage.”

  “You show up here after hours, drop an ancient mask on the desk, and expect me to sign a scribbled delivery receipt when you haven’t even shown me so much as a business card? We may be out in the Alaskan boonies, Ms. Aubrey, but that doesn’t make me ignorant. I recognize when something is off. And you are definitely off.”

  She stiffened her spine, hating that he was right but ready to defend herself anyway. “I was supposed to arrive much earlier, but my flight from Seattle was late into Anchorage, plus they lost my bag, so I missed the ten thirty flight to Itqaklut and had to catch the four o’clock. Then I got a flat tire on the way here. It took me almost forty-five minutes to get the bolts off. I had a seat on the nine o’clock flight back to Anchorage tonight. Without the flat, I might have made it.”

  The man cocked his head. “What if I hadn’t been here? Was your plan to dump the mask on the front steps and leave?”

  “Heavens, no! I would never be so negligent with an artifact! I’m a curation specialist.” She sighed and sat back in her seat. “I didn’t expect you to be here, but it was worth a shot. I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. With the Midnight Sun Festival this week, there isn’t a hotel room or bed and breakfast with a bed available—which was why I’d booked a flight back to Anchorage tonight. So it was either drive here and see if I could catch you, and maybe even catch the return flight, or sit in the airport until morning and then drive here.”

  If she were less desperate, she’d never have risked getting on the flight from Anchorage in the first place. She’d known the odds of catching the return flight were slim, but the idea of spending even one more night with the demon mask was too much. She’d had to try to get rid of it.

  She dug around in her purse and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my card. I’m legit. Please, sign the release so I can get to one of the restaurants in Itqaklut before they close. I haven’t eaten since before my six a.m. flight from Seattle this morning. I’m exhausted, hungry, and I’ve got a long night ahead of me without a bed in my future.”

  Vaughan stared at her, his face blank and those blue, blue eyes unreadable. Finally he said, “I won’t sign the release, but I can offer you dinner and a bed.”

  Want to read more? You can find links to purchase Midnight Sun here. For more information on Midnight Sun and my other books, please visit my website at www.Rachel-Grant.net.

  Books by Rachel Grant

  Evidence Series (all books stand alone)

  Evidence Series Box Set Volume 1: Books 1-3

  Concrete Evidence (#1)

  Body of Evidence (#2)

  Withholding Evidence (#3)

  Incriminating Evidence (#4)

  Covert Evidence (#5)

  Grave Danger

  Midnight Sun

  About the Author

  Four-time Golden Heart® finalist Rachel Grant worked for over a decade as a professional archaeologist and mines her experiences for storylines and settings, which are as diverse as excavating a cemetery underneath an historic art museum in San Francisco, survey and excavation of many prehistoric Native American sites in the Pacific Northwest, researching an historic concrete house in Virginia, and mapping a seventeenth century Spanish and Dutch fort on the island of Sint Maarten in the Netherlands Antilles.

  She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and children and can be found on the web at www.Rachel-Grant.net.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter
Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Toni Anderson’s Cold Fear

  Midnight Sun Excerpt

  Books by Rachel Grant

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Toni Anderson’s Cold Fear

  Midnight Sun Excerpt

  Books by Rachel Grant

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

 

 

 


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