Midnight Sun

by Rachel Grant

  Relief hit Sienna in a rush. If the mask had been reported stolen, then she wasn’t a thief for taking it from the museum. She might survive this with her business intact. “Why did you refuse to take it, then?”

  “I couldn’t let you dump the mask and leave. I needed answers and wanted more time to question you. And I wanted to check in with Chuck so I’d know what I needed to ask. You were…unexpected. I’d only just arrived and hadn’t gotten the lay of the situation yet. I’d planned to come clean with you about my identity in the morning and question you then, possibly with an officer present.”

  That sent a chill of fear up her spine. “And you invited me to stay here so you wouldn’t lose track of me or the mask?” She couldn’t fault him for that, but still, the idea he’d planned her interrogation didn’t leave her with warm fuzzies either.

  “I’m not entirely sure—it was an impulsive offer.” He tapped his knee, deep in thought. “Was there anything else in the box at the museum? The one in which you’d found the mask?”

  “Yes, a half dozen items: a maul, a mortar and pestle, a labret, two baskets. The labret is also subject to NAGPRA. All the items are interesting, especially the baskets, but even those aren’t as striking as the mask.”

  “What’s a labret?”

  “Lip plug. Worn through a hole under the lower lip, this one is stone—polished jasper. Oval shaped, it’s large and thick. The size means it was worn by an elder—they start small and work their way up. It was a sign of high status.”

  “Do you have pictures of these items?”

  “I’ve got pictures of the mask on my phone, but the rest are on my laptop, which, because I carried the box with the mask on the plane, I had to check in my suitcase. But my bag was lost in Anchorage. I need to call the airline and see if they’ve found it.” It had been such an insane and stressful twenty-four hours, she hadn’t even begun to panic yet about losing her computer. “Do you know what else was stolen from the tribe?”

  “I haven’t seen the list yet. It’s at the tribal storage facility, not the office. It’s an incomplete list because he’d only just started to inventory when he got sick.”

  “What sort of records do they keep for artifacts in storage? How controlled is the facility?”

  “It’s old-school. No budget. They’re lucky to have climate control for the long-term storage at all.”

  “So anyone could walk in and take them?”

  “Anyone with a key and alarm code. Codes are tracked and individual, and they should match signatures in the logbook. According to the data, everything checked out—each time the facility was accessed in the last year, the logbook was signed with the corresponding signature. But it’s possible—even likely—artifacts had been taken several months—maybe even a full year—before Chuck noticed.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “His wife was terribly ill for months before her accident. It took her doctors forever to figure out what was wrong. She had Lyme disease, probably for well over a year. She tested negative early on, and the symptoms could have been so many different things. They finally ran the test again, and she got the treatment she needed. She’d just returned to work, when she lost control of her snow machine and it rolled over her, pinning her in a ditch.” Rhys let out a heavy sigh, showing he shared some of his cousin’s grief.

  “During her illness, Chuck admits he wasn’t vigilant over the tribal collections—and who could blame him? According to the log, aside from Chuck, only one other person accessed the storage facility in the last twelve months.”

  “And who is the other person?”

  “Chuck’s wife, Jana.”

  Chapter Four

  “Jana did work those last months.” Rhys tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling, remembering the pain in Chuck’s voice as he told Rhys about the thefts from his hospital bed. “To be clear, Chuck doesn’t believe she stole the artifacts. He thinks someone took advantage of her illness—and their distraction—and maybe got her code. In a few places, her signature was illegible, but she suffered from hand numbness, among other things, which sometimes made writing impossible.”

  “How horrible,” Sienna said, her expression reflecting her outrage. “Someone took advantage of her illness to steal from the tribe. I assume Jana worked for the tribal CRM office?”

  “Yes. She was the collections manager.” Rhys ran a hand over his face. His arousal had finally faded, leaving simple exhaustion in its wake. “I think I could use your help, actually. Later today—after we both get some sleep—could you go through the facility with me and look over the records? You might have some insight into what’s missing, see if there’s a pattern. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

  “Sure. That’s a good starting point. I’d like to find proof the mask belongs to the tribe, so I can cram it down Adam Helvig’s throat. It would be really nice to not have just tanked my career and company. Helvig will have a lot of uncomfortable questions to answer.”

  “What’s your vibe on him? Do you think he bought stolen goods for the museum?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip again. “I think so. I don’t understand why he’d do it, though. He’d never be able to display the mask without proper provenance, and museums have to adhere to higher standards than most. Plus, the museum is sometimes used as a neutral storage facility. Stolen goods would end that practice in a nanosecond.”

  “What’s a neutral storage facility?”

  “When there’s a dispute over the disposition of artifacts, sometimes opposing sides—government agencies and tribes, for example—will sign memoranda of agreement stating that the artifacts will be stored at a neutral facility until the dispute is resolved. The museum collects rent from government agencies for providing storage. Trafficking in stolen artifacts would end that income stream.”

  “Were you examining disputed items in your NAGPRA evaluation?”

  “No. My contract was to audit the museum’s own substantial holdings. When he freaked about me opening the storage box containing the mask, he said he feared I’d opened a box under dispute and there would be legal repercussions for him if I had.”

  “Sounds like I need to have your curator investigated. I’ll make some calls later this morning.”

  She nodded. “I suppose we should call the police now.”

  He stood and went to the kitchen to make the call. The department dispatcher told him that if it wasn’t an emergency, they would have to wait until after nine for an officer to investigate the broken window, which was fine with Rhys.

  He was dead on his feet by the time he faced Sienna again. “I’m wiped, and you look just as exhausted. We both need at least three hours of uninterrupted rack time. You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  She started to argue, so he scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom and dropped her on the large bed. The simple act of touching her reignited all his banked desire, and seeing her sprawled on the bed with matching heat in her eyes only made him burn more. It took all his willpower to turn his back to her and head for the door.

  He paused in the doorway with his hand on the knob. “Lock this. To keep me out if we dream again.”

  Sienna’s sleep was deep and dreamless—her first such sleep in two months—and she woke after four hours feeling rested and reenergized. She was strangely disappointed to find herself alone in the locked bedroom.

  The sound of running water told her Rhys was showering. She closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the spray cascading down his firm body, and imagined stepping into the shower with him and sliding her hands over his thick muscles, which would be slick with soap and warm from the steamy water.

  She could do it. Right now. She had no doubt he’d welcome her intrusion.

  Her body hummed with need. Desire. She wanted him, with a heretofore unknown intensity, especially for a man she’d only just met.

  She couldn’t trust the desire wasn’t artificial because of that abnormal intensity. It coul
d be the mask’s influence and nothing more. But it was also possible the desire was genuine. After all, Rhys Vaughan was hot as hell. Maybe the mask had merely jump-started her libido?

  She rubbed her eyes, having convinced herself—for now—to stay out of Rhys’s shower. She dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the kitchen, smiling to see a full pot of coffee with a mug set out for her. She grabbed her clothes from the dryer and quickly dressed, and had settled on the couch with a mug by the time he exited the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Damn, his abs were as cut in real life as they’d been in the dream.

  His eyes warmed at the sight of her. “I’m glad you’re up. The police called. The officer will be here in about ten minutes. I’ll throw on some clothes.” He ducked into the bedroom. Minutes later, he stepped out, his short, light hair towel dried and curling at the ends. He’d dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt. Business causal but Alaska formal. “When we talk to the officer, I don’t want to bring up Chuck’s poisoning or any connection the break-in may have to that. They’ve blown off the investigation, and I’d like to do some looking of my own, without them warning me off.”

  He paused, then said, “It would also be best if you don’t mention the mask—if you admit you have one of the artifacts stolen from the tribe, he might arrest you and let the courts sort it out. I need your help at the storage facility. Maybe there we can find something solid to prevent you from being arrested later.”

  At the first mention of arrest, she felt the blood drain from her face. She’d known being arrested was a possibility—she’d stolen the mask from a museum, after all—but she hadn’t figured on it happening at this end. Mentally she’d prepared to be arrested when she returned to Washington. “My lips are sealed.”

  The officer arrived a few minutes later. He shook Rhys’s hand first. “I’m Officer Tourney. Sorry to hear about Chuck. He’s your cousin?”

  Rhys nodded. The officer entered the house and studied Sienna. “I wasn’t aware you had company.”

  “This is my girlfriend, Sienna Aubrey.” She kept her face blank at his blatant lie, even though she was surprised by it. But then, how else could they explain her presence in Chuck’s house? They couldn’t exactly mention how they’d met.

  The man nodded and shook her hand. “Since you’re a witness, I’ll need your address.”

  She gave him her Gig Harbor, Washington, address and phone number. Then he turned to Rhys. “I understand you work for the Western Washington US Attorney’s Office?”

  “Yes.” Rhys then gave a Seattle address.

  Strange to think he lived just across Puget Sound from her. Claiming she was his girlfriend didn’t even sound far-fetched given where they lived.

  “Okay, walk me through the break-in. Where you were, time, everything.”

  “It was during the sunset—around three a.m.—I got a glimpse of him as he rounded the corner. I didn’t see anything distinguishable, but I’m fairly certain it was a man,” Sienna said.

  “You were awake?”

  Rhys gave a polite cough. “Yes. We were both awake, in the bedroom.”

  Sienna felt her cheeks redden and had to remind herself the officer believed they were a couple. Not that it was any of his business either way.

  The interview was mercifully short, culminating in an examination of the ground outside the window for footprints, finding nothing. Rhys draped an arm around her shoulders as he said good-bye to the officer, and they were alone again. “I’m taking you to breakfast,” he said. “Then we’ll check out the storage facility. We should probably go grocery shopping too. There’s hardly anything here.”

  She grabbed her purse. “If there’s a store that sells clothing, I should grab a few items, if I’m going to be here for a few days.” Would she be here for a few days?

  If it meant finding a way to avoid being arrested? Absolutely.

  Itqaklut’s only diner was busy at ten a.m. on the first day of the Midnight Sun Festival. They were lucky to get a booth. The waitress, a young Iñupiat woman with glossy black hair and lovely, wide brown eyes, looked curiously at Rhys. Sienna felt a rise of possessiveness, the desire to let the woman know he was taken.

  But of course, he wasn’t.

  Even if the dream counted as far as sex was concerned, Sienna had established the rules when she’d declared it consequence free.

  “You’re Chuck’s cousin, right?” the woman asked. Her question set Sienna’s jealousy to rest. She’d stared because she recognized him.

  “Yes,” Rhys answered.

  “How is he?”

  “Better, but still not well. He’s on dialysis.”

  The woman frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I like Chuck. Jana too. It was awful when she died.”

  “I’ll let him know you asked about him.”

  “Please do. Tell him everyone in town is pulling for him.”

  Sienna was touched by the genuine concern in the woman’s tone. In a community the size of Itqaklut—slightly over three thousand, seventy percent of which were tribal members—Chuck was likely related to many of his neighbors. After the waitress left, she leaned over the table, closer to Rhys, and spoke just above a whisper. “It’s strange to think a fellow member of the Itqaklut Corporation—many of whom could be distant cousins—would have poisoned him.”

  He shrugged. “It could be anyone.” He sat across from her in the small booth, and his gaze fixed on her mouth. He smiled and rubbed his thumb over the freckle on her bottom lip. He wasn’t the first man to do that. And given that this was a consequence free… whatever it was… he probably wouldn’t be the last.

  “Have you ever…had something like this happen to you before?” She dropped her voice even lower, whispering now. “Ghosts or… visions?”

  “Never. Chuck talked to me about ancestors and shamans when we were kids. He explained all his beliefs, but I was never really on board with it. You?”

  “None personally, but there was this one time… Years ago, my mom’s friend’s son went missing. He disappeared in woods that people said were haunted. Supposedly there were strange lights, things like that. Some said the woods had taken him. Maybe you heard of it, if you lived in Washington at the time? He lived in a small town near Leavenworth—Jamesville. It happened nine or ten years ago.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar, but then, I was deployed in Iraq around then.”

  His words were a reminder of how different their backgrounds were, she with her hippy parents and upbringing, while he’d been a soldier. She found it hard to believe he’d be interested in her if it weren’t for the mask. She shrugged off the doubt and continued, “I joined the search party for Jamie—the seven-year-old who’d gone missing—and walked those woods. I’d been dig bumming for a year with my sister and spent a lot of time in various forests around the Pacific Northwest, and I can say with authority, those woods were the same as any other. I figured everyone who said the woods were haunted was nuts. My mom was one of the believers, but you know artist types… Now, after what’s happened with the mask, it seems plausible. Maybe I just didn’t see it, feel it, whatever it was. I figure I need to reconsider my relationship with my mom.”

  “Yeah. I’ve got apologies to make to Chuck too.”

  She smiled. Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, a soft press of warm lips. Casual. Sweet. Intimate. He whispered in her ear, his mouth brushing against the lobe softly, like a lover. “There’s a man sitting at a table behind you. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you from the moment we walked in. I’m going to take his picture. Tell me if you recognize him.”

  She nodded.

  He nipped her neck, and she didn’t have to fake the frisson that passed through her. She liked Rhys. A lot.

  Too bad he was just playing a role right now. What would it be like to have a man like him truly interested in her?

  He leaned back against the booth. His eyes were warm, intent
. He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. His eyes shifted from gazing at her face to over her shoulder. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and tapped the touchscreen with his thumb. “We promised your mom we’d send pictures of you in the land of the Midnight Sun,” he said. He held up the smartphone and snapped a picture, then handed her the cell. “You can post it on Facebook.”

  She studied the image. “It’s not really my best side,” she said. The only part of her in the picture was her ear.

  He laughed.

  He’d zoomed in, and the image was sharp and clear. She’d never seen the man before. She shrugged.

  Several minutes later, Rhys leaned forward and said, “He’s gone.”

  After breakfast, they strolled down Itqaklut’s main street, holding hands, trying to look like a carefree couple in town for the festival. The street was three blocks long, with Kotzebue Sound on one side and shops on the other. They were halfway down the block when Rhys pulled her into a doorway alcove and settled his hands on her hips, like a lover who couldn’t wait another minute to kiss her.

  His lips hovered above hers, and her heart began to hammer. In spite of the dream, this would be their true first kiss.

  His blue eyes held heat but something else too, and his lips barely moved as he whispered, “I think we’re being followed. I’m going to kiss you, but you should know it won’t be my best work, since I’ll be watching the street.”

  She felt a slight stab of disappointment that this too wasn’t real, but confidence that came from somewhere unknown gave her the courage to say, “As long as you promise to make up for it later.”

  “Give me the green light when we’re alone, and I’ll happily show you exactly what I can do.”

  The invitation caused a giddy heat to rush straight to her center.

  His mouth touched hers, but, true to his word, he held back from sliding his tongue between her lips as he gazed through slitted eyes out toward the road.

  She figured it was her duty to make the kiss look good and pressed her hips against him as she ran her fingers through his hair. In a way, this was another freebie. It didn’t mean anything.