Hunter's Hope

by M. J. O'Shea

  His mother was in the kitchen with her usual book of puzzles, a hot cocoa, and a pen.

  “Hey, Ma.”

  Alo was treated to a smile and an absentminded gesture at the oven. “I made you some eggs and bacon. They’re in the oven, staying warm.”

  “Thanks. I think I need it.” Alo reached into the oven gratefully and grabbed his breakfast and a glass from the cabinet for juice.

  “How was the party last night? Meet any exciting boys?”

  Of course she’d ask that. “A man,” Alo grumbled.

  “Oooh. What was his name?”

  “Jonathan Harrington Watson,” he deadpanned.

  His mother had heard of Alo’s weirder-than-weird phone call with Watson back in the fall when he’d decided he felt bad keeping it from his parents. She’d been impressed by the name if not the conversation itself.

  “Oh my God. You have to tell me about him. Was he like Bruce Wayne or something?”

  Alo chuckled. “More like Dr. Evil. The guy seriously creeped me out.”

  “I didn’t think PhD students said things like ‘creeped me out,’” she said with a smile.

  “Well then he was, like, hella weird.” Alo smirked at her. Charlotte Green simply rolled her eyes.

  “I’m going to need more than creepy and hella weird, please,” she said. “And please don’t say ‘hella’ ever again. It was unsettling.”

  Alo chuckled, then shrugged. “I really don’t know how to describe it. Outwardly, he was just as you’d expect—rich, fancy looking, well taken care of. I just got the oddest vibe from him. Like all that nice crust was barely hiding something really... not right. Scary even.”

  “You’ve never been one for paying attention to vibes.” Alo was quite famous in the family for paying attention to nothing outside of whatever he was interested in at the moment—usually the inside of a book.

  “I know. I just got it so strong off of him that it was hard to ignore. I wanted to go wash my hands when I was done talking to him. He kept asking about Ira’s letters and about this one amulet that he’s convinced Ira stole from Goering and hid.”

  “An amulet?” Charlotte stilled.

  She’d been very unimpressed by Alo’s decision to publish the fact that he had a stack of letters that supposedly led to hidden treasure. She’d been less impressed when he’d confessed to her that strange things had been happening since.

  “How can he possibly know if there’s an amulet among the things Ira hid?”

  Alo shrugged. Probably the same way he’d known that Alo had the letters before he even had them, or that they existed in the first place. Alo wouldn’t be surprised if he had some seriously deep connections. Or superpowers. Definitely superpowers.

  “Watson said something about Hathor, the dual goddess. Some Egyptian thing. Antiquities aren’t really my specialty.” Alo had taken a few classes in ancient civilizations back in undergrad, and it was all quite interesting, but he wouldn’t call himself an expert by any means.

  “Have you heard of this amulet?”

  “No, but I figured I’d try to run an Internet search and see if it pops up. He refused to tell me what made him think Ira had it. Even if he had given me a story, there’s no way of telling if it’s true.”

  “And what does he want from you?”

  “The letters, of course. Or access to them. He wants to fund a treasure hunt. It’s ridiculous.”

  And scary. Alo didn’t say that part out loud, but he had little interest in what could happen to him and his family if he ever found any of the stuff Ira had hidden.

  “Wouldn’t you like to prove to all of those people that you were right?” his mother asked.

  “Well sure.” Alo hadn’t had a fun month since the paper was published. “But I know you’ve noticed just as much as I have that things have been increasingly uncomfortable around here ever since the paper was published. Do you want to make it worse? If we find that stuff, it’s going to hit national news. International. I, for one, am tired of having the spotlight on me. I want to make it go away.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” Very. “Besides. I’m telling you the guy gives me the creeps. Even if I wanted to find Ira’s stuff and be all over the news, if Watson is my ticket to everywhere in Europe I’d need to go to get to the bottom of this mess... I’d rather sit my ass in New York.”

  His mother nodded placidly and went back to her hot cocoa. She’d never been all that enthusiastic about him publishing the paper to begin with. Writing, sure. Turning it in to his professor, maybe. Getting it published in a magazine? She’d asked Alo more than once if he was sure he wanted to. Obviously, she’d been correct to do so.

  “What are you up to today?” Alo asked.

  He needed to get to his computer to look into the amulet thing that Watson was after, but he was so tired and out of sorts that he wanted to go upstairs and crawl back into bed.

  “I have yoga. Then I was going to bake some cookies for the neighbors. Their daughter just had a baby, and they’ve been very busy.”

  His mom knew everyone in the neighborhood. Alo had spent most of his life in his room alone working on projects, or in the living room working on projects with his father. His mother had been the neighborhood socialite for their entire family.

  “Wish them well for me. I think I’m going to lie low today. I might be coming down with something.”

  “Oh, sweetie. Do you want me to make you some tea? Soup?”

  Alo shrugged. Nothing really sounded very good. “Maybe later. Thanks, Ma. I think I’ll probably just head back up for a little while. I was going to try to get to the library one last time before classes get out for break, but I’m not feeling up to it today. I’ll get the work done on Monday, I guess.”

  Charlotte gave Alo an alarmed look. The last time Alo had skipped out on coursework—even when there were only a few days left before the holidays—he’d come down with a flu that lasted nearly a month. It wasn’t his style. He didn’t have much energy to worry about his mother, so he just waved and walked toward the stairs. The three floors up to his bedroom was enough to make him want to cry, but he managed to drag himself up and pass out on his bed. By the time he woke up, it was nearly dinner.

  Alo still wasn’t sure what had made him agree to a meeting with... he looked down at his phone—Jack Hunter. Right. What a name. How could he forget?

  He blamed his short-lived fever. Or the way Jack Hunter—Alo still snorted at the name—had sounded all growly and sexy on the phone. So maybe it was his latent horniness. Or the fever. Whatever it was, Alo was seriously regretting his decision by the time he was halfway to the coffee shop where they were supposed to get together to “talk.”

  It was going to be another Jonathan Harrington Watson situation, obviously. Someone who wanted Lord knows what, with something he thought Ira had... someone who was going to use Alo, exploit the treasure, and probably get him in trouble. Or killed.

  Still, Alo had promised to meet him in a moment of weakness, so he would. He didn’t like to break his word. He had buttoned up his coat, wound his scarf around his neck, and called good-bye to his mother. He was planning to meet Jack at Daily Bean, a coffee shop only about ten blocks from home. It was biting cold, and Alo was tempted to wuss out and try to find a cab, but he decided a walk would be good for him. Clear his head. He’d spent the first few days of break in bed anyway. It was good to get out.

  Alo turned right on West 73rd and headed toward the park. At least he’d get some good coffee out of it. He loved the Bean’s lattes, and near Christmas they always had a peppermint crunch loaf that sounded repulsive but was one of the best things in the entire world. He hoped they hadn’t already run out for the day—and that nobody told his mother that he liked a certain baked good more than one of hers.

  Alo was running a few minutes late by the time he got to the café. He’d underestimated the amount of time it would take him to walk there, even though he did it all the time. He probabl
y was still a little run down from whatever he’d caught at the history department mixer.

  In the far corner sat a man in obviously expensive jeans, a perfectly cut navy blue henley, and Converse. His shiny golden-blond hair was tied in a thick stubby ponytail with a few shoulder-length wisps that had escaped around his face. He was a little too big for the rickety wooden chair and tiny bistro table. Had to be at least six four, with broad, muscled shoulders and a presence about him.

  And yeah. He was hot. There was that too.

  A few people in the café stared and Alo didn’t blame them. The man had to be Jack Hunter. He had that whole tanned adventure-guy look. Alo fought the instinct to roll his eyes at the same time as he had to clear his suddenly tight throat. More than once.

  He’d heard of Jack Hunter, vaguely. Hell, the guy had been on TV since Alo was twelve. He’d never watched the show, though. The premise alone seemed like a bunch of bullshit smoke and mirrors to get ratings. Lots of buildup, but no payoff. No real research. That wasn’t something Alo could get interested in. Apparently Jack wanted something for his show that was more than smoke and mirrors—at least that was the gist of what he’d said on the phone. Hottie in the corner stood.

  He knows it’s me. Someone really did do his research this time.

  Alo wasn’t used to feeling short. At six feet he towered over quite a few people. But Jack Hunter made him feel small. He engulfed Alo’s hand with his own, big and warm, when they shook. Alo shivered at the touch, and bristled, annoyed with himself, before he sat, forcing Jack to do the same.

  It wasn’t quite as intimidating if they were both seated. Alo immediately felt better—enough that he took off his jacket. It was getting awfully hot in the café anyway. Plus, when they were on opposite sides of the table, Alo didn’t have to notice how good Jack Hunter smelled. Alo didn’t want to notice things like that. He pushed the thought away.

  “Listen, I want to tell you right away, my great-grandpa’s letters aren’t for sale. If you came here to convince me to sell them, you can call a cab right now.” Alo knew his voice sounded pinched, but after dealing with intensely kooky billionaire Watson, he wasn’t interested in inhaling more snake oil.

  “That’s not what I’d like to discuss with you,” Jack said. His voice was exactly how Alo remembered it on the phone—smoky and a little deep. Exactly the kind of voice that would have bored housewives tuning in week after week to swoon. Even if all his show ever delivered was a hunk in tight khakis.

  “Please, enlighten me.” Alo sighed and squeezed his forehead. He felt a headache coming on.

  “Listen, the paper you wrote piqued my interest.” Jack Hunter looked a bit uncomfortable. Not something that Alo would usually notice, but maybe his intuition skills were getting a little bit better. Maybe he made Jack Hunter uncomfortable. It wasn’t exactly an unwelcome thought. “What we’d be interested in is working with you to find your grandfather’s lost treasure.”

  Yes. I’ve heard this before. The question is why?

  “Great-grandfather. Maybe you should’ve read my paper a bit more closely.” Alo went to stand. It was Watson in a different outfit. The guy was very attractive but somehow repellant at the same time—perhaps it was the blatant need rolling off him. He needed something from Alo, and Alo didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Him or anyone else. “I don’t wish to pursue this. I’d like to let sleeping dogs lie, so to say. It’s caused me and my family enough embarrassment already, and I don’t want to dig up any more—certainly not in front of a television audience.”

  “I think we can help you, though. My associate—”

  “You mean your producer?”

  “No. Assistant, actually. She was the one who found your paper. We were both fascinated by the idea, and we thought it would be fantastic if we not only found the items your great-grandfather hid away, but you got to learn a bit about your family history at the same time, maybe even your great-grandfather’s fate. It would be a lovely human angle.”

  Did Jack Hunter just say lovely? Someone’s been coached.

  “Listen. I already have a... benefactor, so to speak, who wants to fund my search for Ira’s hidden treasure, and he doesn’t want to make a fool out of me on cable.”

  “We don’t either. We want to make sure everyone knows that your paper was right, that you knew exactly what you were talking about. My assistant and I believe that you did. We want to help you.”

  “No, you don’t. Let’s have some reality here,” Alo grumbled. “What do you really want?”

  Jack shrugged. “To be honest? A good story. You could use us and our production money to find Ira’s treasure, no strings attached. We need you and your great-grandfather to be the story that saves our show.”

  So he didn’t have his eye on any piece of the rumored treasure. Interesting. Still didn’t mean he was anything but a user. “You’re tanking?”

  Jack nodded. “Hard-core.”

  At least he didn’t pretend everything was rosy. Alo had a grudging respect for that level of honesty when the option was saving face.

  “I see where you’re going with this. One problem.” Alo shrugged back into his coat. “I don’t need you. I have other offers, and even if I didn’t, I still don’t want to go after the treasure. I want this whole thing to go away.”

  “You can’t honestly mean that.” Jack Hunter looked baffled. Alo supposed that made sense. Most people in Jack Hunter’s world would probably never choose to leave the treasure alone.

  “I can and I do. Even more, I wish I could go back in time to this fall when I got the asinine idea to investigate the code in Ira Greenblatt’s letters and decide not to do it at all.”

  Alo cringed every time he thought of the taunts, the weird people, the requests, the e-mails from one nutcase after another, all obsessed with Nazi treasure, all suddenly obsessed with him. Even his family had been incessant. They’d called over and over, wanting to talk about what he’d found. Alo had talked to his grandfather about it, of course. After he’d published the paper. It might have been a good idea to do it beforehand, but Alo hadn’t ever been very good at impulse control. His grandpa had been relieved to be right, but wary of getting involved with the treasure just like he was. He had zero doubt that Ira’s letters were for real. He had a good idea about how many of the items were probably still there based on construction and remodeling. He also had no desire to make things worse than they already were.

  “Can I give you my card in case you change your mind?”

  Alo took the card. He had zero intentions of using it. “Thank you for being polite, Mr. Hunter. I do believe that I’m going to go now. I have a chilly walk back home, and I’d like to have dinner before I get started on my research. I have real papers to write that are due before the end of the year. It’s better that I do that than worry about this any longer.”

  “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” Jack Hunter looked worried. More than worried. He looked like he was about to lose his dinner all over the café table. Alo felt sorry for a moment, but then he remembered the trouble this whole mess had already gotten him in. Yes. He was sure. Somebody else could save Jack’s ass. It wasn’t Alo’s responsibility.

  Alo stuck out his hand to Jack. “Good night. It was nice to meet you.”

  He shrugged his coat on and walked to the steamed-up door of the café. He couldn’t wait to tell Watson to suck it, in the nicest, most diplomatic way possible, and get on with his life. Put the letters behind him and hope that the crazy treasure hunting community lost interest in him and his potential millions worth of hidden treasure. Not likely, but a nice dream.

  The night air was chilly compared to the humid heat of the café, and the sidewalk was glittering with a thin coating of frost. Alo wrapped his scarf around his neck and pulled up the collar of his wool peacoat. He just wanted to get home. Quickly. He heard the café door open behind him, but in case it was Jack Hunter, he didn’t turn. Alo was finished discussing the damn letters. He was fi
nished with the whole thing. He started walking down the block toward his turn, when out of goddamn nowhere, something wrapped around his neck. He felt a weight on his back as whoever grabbed him jumped, trying to push him to the ground.

  “What the hell!” Alo tried to turn and buck them off. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, could only see a black jacket sleeve and a glove, but they were strong, whoever they were. And they were slowly making it harder and harder to breathe. He shoved back with his elbow and met bone and flesh. His assailant grunted, but didn’t let go.

  “I’ll give you my wallet, asshole. Let me go,” Alo wheezed. His heart raced, beat hard and thick against his chest. Alo didn’t want to die. Not over the twenty that he had in his wallet and a couple of maxed-out credit cards.

  “The letters. Where are the letters?” he growled in Alo’s ear. Definitely a he. Alo started to panic. His oxygen was nearly gone, and despite a lifetime in New York, he’d never been so scared. He tried to elbow the man again, but other than a grunt, he got no reaction.

  “I don’t have the damn letters.”

  “I’ll go to your house. I’ll find them. Maybe I’ll find your family while I’m at it.” The man squeezed tighter.

  All of a sudden, there was a solid thud and the man was gone, the pressure and the weight lifted from Alo’s neck, and he heard footsteps, sprinting toward the alley. Alo leaned over and breathed deeply, trying to drag air into his lungs.

  “You okay?” Jack Hunter. Of course.

  “Yeah, fu—” He cut himself off.

  “You can swear,” Jack said. “Hell, if it was me, I’d be doing a lot more of it.”

  “That was fucking scary.” Alo breathed.

  “Mugging?”

  Alo shook his head. “You didn’t hear him? He was after the letters.”

  “Jesus,” Jack breathed.

  “Exactly.”

  Alo felt another hand on his shoulder and flinched. It was gentle, though, comforting. “Why don’t you come with me for a little while? My place is close, and I think you need to take a deep breath.”