“How do you know it was a club?” Matthew smirked.
“A lucky guess.”
“Well, this time your guy’s right, Matthew,” Daniel stated matter-of-factly.
Matthew had nothing to say to that. But he did like Daniel’s fresh take on Paititi being underground. “Where exactly were these pictures taken?”
Daniel rattled off the coordinates. “Basically, the heart of Bolivia, in what was the fourth Inca Empire. It was the central location in the Inca Empire and far from Cusco. Even if the capital city was conquered, the gold would remain safe.” Daniel rose and indicated the file he had left on the table. “There are more pictures in there. You let me know which way you’re leaning with this. I’ll bring you the research binder tomorrow, but I have to get back downstairs.” With that, he left the room.
The ability to change the world was tempting, but was it at too high a cost? At what point did one decline and leave a discovery for others to make? Explorers and archaeologists had searched for the City of Gold for centuries with no success. What made him believe he’d have better luck? It was ludicrous to even consider that they would meet with a different outcome. But these photographs certainly made him curious. Maybe it was worth checking things out in person.
“What are you thinking, Matthew?” Robyn asked.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“Riches beyond imagination,” she said.
He recognized the irony in the trap she’d lain before him. She knew he wasn’t materialistic. “You know that’s not what this is about for me.”
“Yes, but can you imagine being the man who discovered the legendary City of Gold? That would be beyond incredible.”
“Assuming we find it.”
“And if we did, would a fictional archaeologist receive the credit?”
He glared at her. “I know you don’t like the alias, but it’s necessary.”
“I think it’s time to come clean with your dad. It would make all our lives easier. Wouldn’t it, Cal?”
He didn’t respond, and Matthew and Robyn turned to him.
“What is it?” Robyn asked.
“In this day and age, I still can’t believe the man hates me because I’m black.”
Robyn laughed. “Don’t be crazy, Cal, it has nothing to do with that.”
-
Chapter 6
MATTHEW’S FEET BEAT THE SIDEWALK mercilessly as he ran. Despite the chilly air, sweat dripped down his back and wet his face. It was the morning after the gala, and he had been at this for over an hour. His body fed on the adrenaline, and the burn in his muscles told him he was alive while his mind released stress and made way for clear thought.
Was he crazy for considering this quest? The city had been assigned legendary status for a reason. Its existence wasn’t certain, and as Cal had pointed out, it held a popular place in fiction. From a logical standpoint, going off in search of it was a ridiculous notion. But isn’t that what he did? Seek out the unlikely?
He’d set out around the world before, often propelled by nothing more than a notion and a glimmer of faith. But the City of Gold? Was he being sucked into a fairy tale? If so, nothing good would come of it. What came after the happily-ever-afters was never written: the ones where star-crossed lovers broke each other’s hearts or the hero died at the hand of a nemesis who’d risen from the ashes were. Sadly, all people wanted was a sweet ending, and that rarely existed in the real world.
Besides, Paititi had been lost in the sixteenth century. Maybe it was supposed to remain that way.
He punched in the security code at the mansion’s front gate and the wrought iron gates swung open. He jogged slowly in place for a few minutes to bring his heart rate down and was full of despondency that always came at the end of his runs. He’d keep going if it were possible.
Was he seriously thinking about doing this? He’d have to see if Robyn or Cal were up for the adventure. Even if they were, was he willing to risk their lives again after their quest for the Pandu statue?
His mouth lifted in a smirk. The looks on their faces when he’d pushed them over that ravine had been priceless. Did it make him a bad guy that the memory made him chuckle? Everything had turned out all right.
William’s burgundy Jaguar XJR was in the drive, boasting another materialistic achievement for his old man. Matthew was surprised he was still home. At ten in the morning, he should be at his downtown office.
Matthew’s sneakers squeaked on the marble entry, and he pulled them off.
“Matthew?” His father wore a designer business suit, which meant he was getting ready to leave. Maybe his late start was due to last night’s indulgence in whiskey and cigars.
“Hi.”
“How long are you home this time?”
By the way William settled into his stance, Matthew wasn’t going to get away with a quick, slingshot answer. “There’s another opportunity. This time in Rome.” Out of habit, he provided a location for a real archaeological dig. It was best for his father to think him there as opposed to where he really was, should Matthew pursue Paititi. It also created a separation between him and Gideon Barnes, making their meeting up impossible. Matthew hated the lies and deception. What he really didn’t care for, though, was the mental knot that came with thinking of, and referring to, himself in third person.
“And what’s in Rome?”
Good question. The specifics were fuzzy, but he had remembered reading about it in Archaeologist Worldwide. It was a magazine devoted to ongoing and upcoming digs around the globe. They stuck to proven historical finds, not catering to people like him who preferred to chase after legends and folklore.
William intensified his glare and jutted out his jaw. The man had little patience, and it was hard to say which he disliked more, waiting or being ignored. Matthew would say the latter.
“What’s in Rome?” Matthew repeated his father’s question.
“That’s what I asked. I mean, unless you’re making it all up.” William paused for a beat. “You know, sometimes I wonder where in the hell you run off to.”
Matthew’s eyes snapped to his father’s. He suddenly felt like a teenager. Maybe it was time to move out. “Why? I tell you every time I leave.”
William shook his head. “It just doesn’t sit well with me.”
“You miss me.” Matthew smiled, hoping it would come across as lighthearted and even somewhat sincere, but it faltered part way through. Hiding his true feelings wasn’t one of his strengths.
“Do you know Gideon Barnes?” William asked, instead of playing along.
“You’ve asked me that before.”
“Yes, and before you said no. I’m asking you again.”
Matthew forced himself to keep eye contact. “The answer is still no.”
“Hmm. Yet you approached me and zealously requested that I fund his expeditions.” William paused a moment, then continued, “One day we’re going to sit down and really talk.” He took a step toward the door, signaling the end of the conversation.
“Why start now?” The retort came out automatically. If he tried to take it back, his father would deem it a weakness. Besides, Matthew didn’t regret it. William’s last statement carried a promise that would never see fulfillment. Father and son bonding? In this household? It was hard to imagine. They were more suited to parting ways.
William spun around. “You like to play the victim, don’t you, son? I’ve never been a good enough father for you. Excuse me if I’ve always valued keeping a roof over your head and food in your belly over long chats about our feelings. Hell, if that makes me a bad father—and a horrible human being—well, then you’ll have to suck it up and accept it. Things are the way they are.”
“Why would I expect you’d say any different?”
“Like I said, things are the way they are.”
William sl
ammed the front door behind him, and instead of Matthew steaming over their recent conflict, he considered his father’s inquiry about Gideon. Was it possible he suspected Matthew was involved, or was it just the man’s bruised ego that Gideon didn’t grace him with his presence last night? It was harder to shake the possible implications than it was to brush off another William Connor confrontation.
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Chapter 7
IAN HAD FELT THE REDHEAD leave the hotel bed somewhere around two in the morning. When he woke up, she was gone, and he was relieved that he hadn’t been forced to give the speech he knew by heart by now. Not that it was so much a speech. It was really only two brief sentences: It was fun. Time to go.
Yes, he preferred to be sparse with his words. Why use twenty when six made the point? It wasn’t as if he ever gave any of the women he bedded a reason to believe their time together was more than a one-night stand. They both got what they wanted, and that was the end of it.
Beyond satisfying him sexually, being with a woman had a way of clearing his mind. Giving and receiving physical pleasure was instinctual, animalistic. There wasn’t time to analyze and contemplate. And that’s how his mind worked best. Diversions worked quite well to help him solve problems.
And the redhead had fit his needs perfectly. He wasn’t her first tryst. She was worldly, independent, and wealthy. He had sized her up in the first few minutes standing by that statue.
It wasn’t the expensive dress, her clutch purse, or even the way she carried herself. It was her hair. So many men failed to consider this attribute. They were too busy ogling women’s bodies and basking in the fact they actually might get laid that they were obtuse to the finer details.
Ian had been at this awhile, though. At forty-one, he no longer became caught up in the rapture of possibilities. He created his future. He didn’t act the victim or allow someone else to play his cards. No way in hell.
It led him to his chosen profession: a gun for hire. He reported to the highest payer and killed—or tortured—when required. After a job was complete, he moved on to another employer, another job.
But he wasn’t so confident about his current employer. They had contacted him through text messages sent from a phone originating in New York City. That and the letter V was all he had. And with a population of more than eight million, not to mention more than fifty million in tourists yearly, this did little to narrow things down.
He’d normally reject a job if he didn’t have enough information about who was hiring him. This time he’d let himself go in blind. Whoever it was had appealed to his ego, saying he was the man for the job because both he and it were in Toronto. That alone should have sent him running. Working outside of the city made it less likely that things would be tied back to him.
Another tip-off should have been that killing wasn’t a requirement of the job. That was what most people paid him to do. He had deceived himself into thinking that not having to kill might be any easy way to earn a wad of cash.
All these signs that something was off, and he had ignored every one of them.
He was entrapped by the seeming simplicity of the job. All he had to do was obtain a stupid Indian statue. When he’d accepted the advance, however, he hadn’t known it involved the mayor’s son. He also hadn’t known that by the time he tracked down the statue, it would be on display behind plate glass. He’d handled home security systems before, but he wasn’t egotistical enough to believe he could tackle one at a museum.
His expertise wasn’t in breaking and entering. His skill was pulling a trigger. And while killing may not be a requirement with this job, he’d gladly throw it in if necessary to acquire the statue. He considered his options and all the seeming dead ends. And just as he was feeling blocked, clarity came to him. He would have the idol brought to him, and he finally realized how he could manipulate the mayor’s son into doing just that. After all, he wasn’t paid to try, he was paid to succeed.
-
Chapter 8
WILLIAM CONNOR SAT IN HIS OFFICE doing his best to get through this report. But he’d read the same two sentences at least five times. His mind wasn’t on his mayoral responsibilities. It wasn’t on the bitter face-to-face he’d had with his son, either. Even though he detested Matthew’s utter and apparent disrespect.
No, he dwelled on his doubts about Gideon Barnes’s existence. He was credited with many great finds, but was he flesh and blood or an alias? William had never met the man, yet every month he shelled out six figures to fund his expeditions. In repayment, Barnes had never shown his face—not in person, at least. He had seen the pictures, but that didn’t mean anything these days. But to dismiss his existence didn’t make sense, either. In that case, where did the finds come from?
Barnes’s disgusting lack of gratitude was only trumped by the resulting hit William took in the public forum. That was unacceptable. And if the man wasn’t real, where was William’s money going? Though bleeding money didn’t affect him as much as the personal insult.
His phone buzzed, his assistant trying to reach him. He pressed the intercom button on the telephone console. “What is it, Ashlynn?”
“I have Nicholas Hartman on the phone for you, sir.”
Hartman was ruthless, and if William had his way, they wouldn’t ever speak. But he was a terrific asset to have on a guest list.
“Patch him through.” He tossed the report on his desk.
“Certainly. Right away.”
Ashlynn’s eagerness to please never failed to make him smile. Why couldn’t his own son respect him as much? He’d never given him cause to hate him. He was faithful to his wife, Matthew’s mother, throughout their entire marriage. The morals of most men—or lack thereof—disgusted him, and it was the one thing, he supposed, that tied him to the standards of a past century. Yet, he’d rather be considered old-fashioned than have a sexually transmitted disease.
He heard the subtle click on the line indicating the transfer went through. “Good morning, Nicholas. To what do I owe this honor?”
“Nicholas? Nick to you, and stuff it, Bill. You’re better than all that BS repartee.”
The man was a breed all his own. Smiling, William said, “All right, then. What do you want?”
“You sound all too pleased, to phrase it directly.”
“Can you blame a man?”
“I can, but I won’t. I’m just calling because I wanted to tell you that last night was an enjoyable evening. That woman, Robyn Garcia, is quite a gem.”
Leave it to Nick to hone in on one woman who’d never succumb to his charms—if that’s how one wanted to see them. The only thing charming about the man was the thickness of his wallet. It was what kept William around. “You know she’s like a daughter to me.”
“Yes, I know.”
There was a rare second of hesitation on Nick’s end, but William let it ride. After all, Nick had called him and he was certain it had to do with more than bedding Robyn.
“The gala last night was superb,” Nick continued.
Superb wasn’t exactly the way William would have described it. An outright disaster, really. A display of public humiliation.
“I must say, however, that I was disappointed Gideon Barnes was a no-show. It’s such a shame. Everything was lovely except for that.”
William’s mood soured with the demotion from superb to lovely. He cooled his temper through a breathing exercise he’d learned awhile back. It was a necessity for survival in his line of work. Emotions in the political arena led to career suicide. The previous mayor’s run testified to this. His had spiraled out of control, leading to drug abuse in the media spotlight, making him more the punch line in a joke than the lead.
“I take it by your silence that you’re thinking the same thing.”
Another measured inhale followed by a paced exhale. William’s heart rate began to slow, and he put on his most di
plomatic air. “I agree that it was disappointing the man didn’t attend.”
“And it wasn’t the first time.”
Nick had already punctured William’s pride, but now he wielded the bloody knife and threatened the jugular. He must not realize with whom he was dealing. It was time to pull out the semiautomatic.
“Yet I managed to pull off the rest of the evening, now, didn’t I, Nick? I don’t believe I’ve ever attended one of these galas at your home.”
You told me to speak bluntly with you. Well, screw you, Nick.
It may not have been a bullet, but it was a shot to the gut for a man who valued public opinion more than his own sanity.
“I see that we’ve taken the gloves off.”
Well, you threw the first punch…
Childhood banter paraded in William’s mind.
“Maybe the next time it will be at my home and Mr. Barnes will be in attendance,” Nick said.
“Please be sure to invite me.” The words, easily subject to sarcasm, came out with a detached professionalism. “Now, if that will be all, I really need to get back to work. The city does need me.”
“Yes, I’m sure in your mind, it does.”
“Tsk. Now who isn’t playing nice?”
“You can handle it.” With that, the detestable defense attorney terminated the call.
William sat there holding the receiver, his knuckles turning white from his tightening grip. Of all the people to call him out on Gideon’s no-show… Who did that man think he was? Regrettably, he wasn’t alone in noticing Barnes’s absence from the event. It began with Jacob shouting out at the gala. How many more of these calls could he expect?
He stared at the buttons on the phone, considering the slew of people with whom he was associated. Surely one would be willing to help him track down the man…
He dialed his own home number and the phone rang three times before Lauren answered.
“What have I told you, Miss Hale? The phone is to be answered in two rings.”
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