by Penny McCall
“He didn’t tell me anything,” she said, thankful to hear her voice steady after the first couple of words. Dealing with men was like dealing with any other animal. If you showed them fear you could kiss your ass good-bye.
“What do you take us for, idiots?”
No, dangerous idiots. She kept that to herself, though. “Do you really think he would tell me his secrets and take a chance I’d head out on my own?”
Okay, maybe not complete idiots, since the logic of that appeared to be working its way past the steroids and testosterone to somehow find the few operating brain cells they possessed. They conducted a short, whispered conversation that Alex didn’t try to overhear since she was busy attempting to slip away while they weren’t paying strict attention to her.
“Hey!” Garlic-breath finally clued in and slammed a hand against the brick wall next to her head. “You’ll have to come with us,” he said. “Donovan wants you to guide him for a reason.”
“So you’re going to force me to guide you instead? Without Donovan’s alleged information? And what happens if we don’t find the treasure?”
“You better hope we find it.”
“We’re not going to actually hurt her, are we?” the other guy wanted to know.
“She wouldn’t be much good as a guide if she was hurt.”
Alex was happy to hear that, but there was no way she’d let these two morons drag her out of town. She ducked under the arm and aimed a kick at its owner’s kneecap. He shifted aside, trying to block the blow, and instead took it right in the crotch.
He went down, wheezing every molecule of air out of his lungs, leaving the alley smelling like an Italian restaurant, and flattening his partner underneath him. Some of the businesses along the main drag were still open, pandering to the population boom. There was enough light from the window of the shop across the street for Alex to see the two of them rolling around in a tangle of arms and legs, Garlic-breath on top, trying to curl into the fetal position and completely pinning his partner down.
“Jeez, Mick,” he moaned, “you said nobody was gonna get hurt. And by nobody I mean me.”
“Shit, Franky, can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
“I kinda forgot when she kicked me in the balls.”
“Get off me, dammit, she’s gonna get away.”
Alex knew she should do exactly that, but really, watching the two of them was like comic relief. Definitely made it difficult to take them as a serious threat. There was the chance she’d learn something, too, but entertainment was her primary goal.
“I’m in agony here,” Franky groaned. “I think she permanently ruined my chances of fatherhood.”
“I’m sure the female half of the human race will thank me,” Alex said.
“There’s no reason to get mean about it,” Franky said. He tried to lift himself off his smaller partner and wound up collapsing on top of him again.
All the air whooshed out of Mick’s lungs, and Alex decided to leave while they were both still incapacitated. She set off toward the bar, not taking her time, but careful to keep watch in case they recovered and came after her again.
She was so busy looking over her shoulder, she didn’t realize they’d circled around and come at her from the front until they grabbed her again and shoved her into another alley. “Jesus, Franky, give it up. I’m not guiding you.”
“You’re not guiding anybody,” a voice said—a voice that was all wrong. No garlic, for one thing. It didn’t sound like Mick or Franky, either, and whoever it was meant exactly what he said. The knife blade glinting in his hand made that perfectly clear.
Chapter Eight
ALEX WASN’T NORMALLY A SCREAMER, BUT THIS seemed like a good time to give it a try. She opened her mouth, but before she could work up a really excellent shriek there was a muffled thud and a lot of grunting that hadn’t come out of her mouth. Somebody slammed her into the wall, and she felt a burning pain in her leg. That got a verbal reaction from her, and it was a word no Miss USA ever would have uttered.
She clutched at her thigh and found a ragged tear in her jeans. There was something wet on her hand, obviously blood, but not a lot, and from what she could tell the wound wasn’t too drastic. It still hurt like hell.
Meanwhile, a scuffle was going on in the dirt at her feet. She couldn’t see much of anything, but she was hearing a lot, heavy breathing, more grunting, and some pretty inventive swearing. Almost as good as hers.
Something flew by her face and fell at the mouth of the alley, what little light there was glinting off the blade of a knife. Alex limped over and retrieved it, then didn’t have a clue what to do next Even if one of the scufflers had come to her rescue—
Okay, the guy who’d come to her rescue was almost definitely Tag—there was no getting around it, although his intentions seemed to be better than his follow-through And since he’d intervened so she could get away, she should probably beat a hasty retreat Unfortunately hasty wasn’t one of her gears at the moment Slow and steady was even stretching it.
She’d barely made it to the mouth of the alley when a hand fell heavy on her shoulder, spinning her around Reflex kicked in, the knife came up, and another hand clamped around her wrist.
“Jesus,” Tag said, “you trying to gut me like a fish?”
She’d been accosted, wounded, and threatened with death, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice that her heart pounded so hard she had to fight the urge to throw herself into his arms And then the aftermath of the adrenaline started to kick in.
“You okay?”
“No,” she said, grateful it was only her body shaking and not her voice “I’ve been stabbed.”
Tag took the knife out of her hand and towed her out to the street, where there was marginally more light “It’s only a scratch,” he said with his face about an inch away from her thigh The top of her thigh “Thanks to me.”
“Thanks to you?”
“You’re not going to start that lf-not for-you crap again I saved your life. That ought to make up for some of the other stuff.”
“You saved—” Alex threw her hands up and stomped off—or tried to. Hard to stomp really well when your leg is on fire “He said he was going to kill me so I didn’t guide you.”
“Oh Shit That’s not good.”
Alex halted, swung around, and got in his face “Does he work for Junior, or did your friends in the plane send him?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really. Either way it’s your fault.” She whipped back around and took off for her room again, anger getting her to at least second gear. “If they don’t want you looking for the treasure, why aren’t they coming after you?”
“Because you’re the easier target.”
“And if they succeed and take me out of the picture you’ll just find another guide, so again, what does that gain anyone?”
“I don’t know,” Tag shot back, pissed off and not bothering to hide it. “It doesn’t matter why they keep coming after you. As long as you’re a target, I’m your only hope.”
Alex racked her brain but she didn’t have a comeback for that. There was something wrong with his argument, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
Tag might be responsible for a lot of the mayhem and violence that had been directed at her lately, but he hadn’t personally perpetrated any of it. He’d shown up when she needed him most, too, and he hadn’t hesitated to jump in front of her. Sort of. She still didn’t know why he was so hell-bent on her cooperation, and that bothered her. A lot. But she couldn’t exactly call him an enemy. She wasn’t ready to call him a friend yet, either, or a partner. Not until she understood what was driving him.
At the moment it was probably a place to sleep. Tag dogged her steps all the way to the inn, waited for her while she stopped and got the first aid kit and a couple of beers from behind the bar, then took the stairs after her. “Maybe you should see a doctor,” he said.
“Sure, I’ll start out on Jac
kass in the morning. It’ll only take me two days to get to the nearest clinic.”
Tag rolled his eyes. “Borrow the cop car.”
“It’s not that bad.” She plopped down on the bed, swatting at his hand when he tried to peel back the ragged edges of denim around her wound. “I don’t need any help.”
“What’s that, your personal motto?”
“It is when you’re around.”
“You’d let that sheriff help you, right? I’ll bet he’s seen all there is to see.”
“He’s done more than see.” She stood and peeled off her jeans, holding his gaze the whole while. She’d gotten used to walking around in her underwear—and sometimes less—a long time ago. “What’s the big deal about seeing?”
A lot, Tag thought. Seeing, especially before you’d done anything, was pretty damn powerful. And judging by the way she was watching him, she knew that. And she was using it.
If he’d had any self-control he’d have kept his gaze level with hers, but the temptation was too much. And his imagination more than lived up to reality. Funny, he’d always considered himself a silk and lace man, but one look at her white cotton bikini panties and he was a goner. Breath shortening, pulse spiking, brains dropping into his crotch.
It took a Herculean effort, but he managed to control his lust. The long, bloody gash in her leg might have had somewhat of a sobering effect if he hadn’t made the mistake of kneeling on the floor beside her to take a closer look. Having his head six inches from her denim-clad thigh, on a pitch black public street, was a hell of a lot different than putting his face six inches away from a whole lot of smooth bare skin, only meagerly covered by all that pure white cotton.
Tag glanced up at her. Her cheeks were pink, and her upper lip was sweating. Maybe it was pain, maybe not, but he figured the pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat had something to do with him. “You’re not as cold as you want everyone to think,” he said quietly.
“I don’t want everyone to think I’m cold. Just you.”
“We’re stuck with each other, Alex.” And for a moment he regretted that, regretted putting her in a position where armed men were coming after her. But neither of them had a choice. “We might as well get used to it.”
She chewed on that for a minute. “Tell me about your new clue.”
Tag tried to hide his satisfaction. Judging by the way her expression went sour, he wasn’t all that successful.
“I’m not agreeing to anything until I see what you have.”
“You don’t have a choice. Somebody tried to kill you. You need me.”
“You’re smirking again,” she said, but without any real heat. “I can leave Casteel. I can leave North America if that’s what it takes.”
Tag lifted a shoulder. “You could, but you’re not the kind of woman who runs away.”
“That’s not what you said at my cabin.”
“I was wrong.”
Alex snorted.
“What? I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“You’re an opportunist. You don’t believe in right and wrong. The only important thing to you is the treasure, and you’ll say whatever it takes to get it.”
She was right about him being an opportunist, but she was wrong about his value system. Right and wrong were the ultimate motivations for him. Kind of hard to convince her of that when he couldn’t tell her the entire truth.
Alex got up and limped across the room to retrieve her satchel. She opened it and pulled out her maps, spreading them out on the small table under the window.
Tag joined her, having to squint to read the tiny, meticulously printed notations. “Even your handwriting is anal,” he muttered.
“This really isn’t about my handwriting.”
“True.” Tag settled in to hover over her shoulder. She was almost as uncomfortable as she’d been with his face practically in her crotch.
“This map is a lot more complete than the one I saw, obviously, but I think the treasure is somewhere in this area,” he said, reaching around her to point at the spot he meant.
Alex concentrated almost fanatically on the map so she wouldn’t notice the way his body curved around hers, a big, solid hunk of man who smelled faintly of cologne instead of beer and sweat and horses. He felt comforting and safe— if she didn’t notice the warmth of his chest against her back and the way his hips nestled up against her bottom. Her all but naked bottom.
Walking around in her panties had been something along the lines of a dare—to herself and to Tag. See how little you affect me? she was saying to him. Now prove you can keep your eye on the goal, and not the panties. He was doing pretty good ignoring them, but she was having major trouble thinking about anything else.
“The map I saw had a lot of old writing on it,” Tag said, his voice edged with something that rasped along her nerve endings, “and it had a little drawstring bag attached, so old it was practically falling apart. The bag was empty but it tested positive for gold dust.”
Alex slipped out from between him and the table, aiming for nonchalant and figuring she got the speed right if not the attitude. “The map you saw?” She picked up a beer and twisted the cap off, enjoying the way her question wiped the smirk off Tag’s face.
His eyes dropped to her panties and she forgot that he wasn’t answering. Escape seemed so much more important suddenly, and her wound provided the perfect solution to that problem. She went into the bathroom and wet a cloth so she could clean the knife slash. It hurt like hell, and that was good because a certain clarity of mind came along with pain—not to mention it crowded the other things she was feeling right out of her. “You told me you had the map.”
“Um… I may have exaggerated on that point.”
“Exaggerated? They call that something different in this part of the world.”
“You mean the land of the tall tales?” Tag came to the bathroom door, leaning against the jamb. “I don’t think they should be passing judgment on me.”
Alex met his eyes in the mirror. “You don’t think anyone should be passing judgment on you, which is why you keep lying to me.”
Tag clapped his hands to his head, like he was afraid it would explode. “Is it necessary to keep track?”
“Yes. It helps to know what’s the truth and what you’ve only told me—which isn’t the same thing.”
“Okay, so I lied to you about the map. There’s an upside.”
Alex crossed her arms and waited.
“If you know I’m not being strictly honest,” he explained, “you won’t trust what I tell you, and if you don’t trust what I tell you, you’ll check everything out for yourself. And while you’re checking my facts, maybe somewhere along the line you’ll pick up on something I missed.”
“It’s possible,” Alex said, “but it seems like a stupid way to operate.”
Tag agreed with her, at least privately. This assignment, not to mention his life, would be so much easier if he could just tell her the truth—the entire truth. But until he could pin down her role in this whole fiasco, he couldn’t take that chance. And it wasn’t just her. She didn’t trust a lot of people, but she wouldn’t hesitate to confide in those she did trust. If she told the wrong person and the truth got out, Tag could end up keeping his partner company in the hereafter. That didn’t hold a lot of appeal—although he could use the rest.
“You can get your hands on this map, right?” she said.
“Sure. Probably.”
“Not very reassuring, Donovan. At least tell me you memorized it.”
“No.”
“The area you pointed out is about six square inches on the map, but it’s a lot of real estate to cover in three dimensions. What you’re telling me is useless, so unless you can get your hands on the map, you might as well give up now.”
“Getting my hands on it will be kind of… problematic.”
“The way you say that gives me a bad feeling.”
Tag could see her racking her brain, and the a-ha
moment was written on her face, followed by disbelief. “Junior has it.”
“Yeah.” At least that would be his guess.
“He didn’t strike me as the type who’d share.”
“I don’t know him personally, but I don’t think ‘playing well with others’ is part of his repertoire. Dussaud will work for anyone as long as they pay him enough money.”
“And you’re in it for what? The adventure?”
“Among other things.”
Alex limped back into the main room, sat on the bed, and pulled the first aid kit over. “You’re sure the bag wasn’t a fake? Somebody salted it to get investors?”
“I didn’t invest anything. The guy who owns it isn’t hurting for cash, so if it was salted somebody did a hell of a job. And all the testing checks out. The paper is authentic, so’s the cloth of the bag, and it’s impregnated with gold dust that assays in line with the early Colorado strikes. Even the Spanish is authentic for the time period. The expert I consulted verified that much, but he had no way to match the names to the landmarks.”
“That’s where I come in,” Alex finished, putting the last bit of tape over her bandage. She retrieved her beer and sat back, taking a half-hearted sip.
She looked exhausted, like a woman who’d run out of options. Tag would have bet the call to her insurance agent hadn’t gone well. He already knew she was short of money and friends, and she was curious about the treasure—which added up to good news for him. Or maybe not, since he wasn’t the only game in town anymore.
“Junior doesn’t seem like the type of guy who chases wild geese,” she said after a moment.
“And I am?” Tag wanted to know.
She shrugged. “He has the equipment, he has the manpower. If one of you is going to find the Lost Spaniard, it seems to me he has the edge.”
Tag shoved away from the wall where he’d been leaning and picked up the second beer. “You’re easily convinced,” he said, taking a long drink that didn’t do much to clear the sour taste from his throat. “A couple of nice vehicles and a few muscle-bound goons and you’re ready to put your life in his hands.”