But Vincent wasn’t a person who was driven by fear. She would swerve to encounter it, not dodge it. It was like an aphrodisiac to her, a drug providing a high like no other.
And she had the means and power to live life like that. She didn’t worry about being handed over to the law. She didn’t quake in trepidation of the justice system. She would have them killed to protect the find and to keep it hers. With no one to contest her, she’d be free to flaunt the greatest discovery of the twenty-first century to the world. No one even needed know that Matthew—or Gideon Barnes—and his friends had been the ones who’d actually found it.
Still, Vincent didn’t do things for the glory. Although she’d never turn away from the limelight, she did things for money, for cold hard cash. It didn’t matter if her riches were bloodstained. It was all currency whether in the form of electronic digits or wads of bills. That was Vincent’s motivation in life. She was in love with money, and it had been her greed that had almost cost him his life years ago.
“Matt?” Robyn called out to him.
He was so lost in his thoughts that it was possible she’d said his name more than once. Given the emphasis and pitch to her voice, he’d guess that had been the case.
“What?”
She curled her finger to draw him closer. When he reached her side, she leaned in and whispered, “He’s going to kill us.”
“I know.” As he heard himself respond, he wasn’t so sure that he was as good at keeping quiet as she was.
The finger she pressed to her pursed lips confirmed his suspicion. She lowered her hand. “We have to get his gun somehow.”
He gestured with his hands and arms as if playing a game of charades, filling in the odd word. “Tonight…asleep.”
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Chapter 74
KEVIN HAD OWED HER A call days ago. What could have possibly happened for him not to follow through on his orders? He was someone who she trusted to carry out everything to the letter. He wasn’t prone to giving in to independent thought. Unlike that Ian Bridges fool. But mistakes could be remedied and smoothed over. In fact, it was already arranged. Kevin would be the only one returning from Bolivia.
While she regretted Matthew’s loss, it was unavoidable. He surely wouldn’t give up the City of Gold as easily as he’d led her to believe. As a man of both principle and archaeology, he made that outcome unlikely. He was probably working things behind the scenes to get away with both the woman and the find. But no, Vincent was not going to let that happen. It wasn’t even a remote possibility. Not if she had anything to say about it. And she most certainly did.
Her phone rang and she answered. It was as if the dead were talking from beyond the grave. “Ian, where’s Kevin?” she asked, despite the bad feeling in her gut.
“He’s dead,” Ian replied without fanfare. “Listen, everything went sideways.”
“You’re damn straight it did. Ever since I hired you, I’ve been a glorified babysitter.” What she didn’t say was that because of him, her best man was dead. To continue her rant struck her as pouting, and she wasn’t going to be reduced to that. She had people who righted wrongs, and while Ian might make it back to Canada, he wasn’t going to return to the life he’d had before her. No way in hell. She’d never let that happen. In fact, it was his fault Kevin was dead. If Ian hadn’t kidnapped that girl, they wouldn’t even be in this mess. “Aren’t you going to say anything? Defend yourself?”
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
Oh, you keep thinking that, was what she wanted to say, but she realized the prudence of biting her tongue this time. “When are you coming back?”
“I’ll call with an update on that.”
“An update? What the hell? Are you—”
“Yes, still in the damn jungle.”
She sighed. “Did you find the city?”
“Yes.”
Now, he had her attention. “Send me the coordinates.”
There was silence on his end.
“You don’t have them? Well, get them,” she huffed.
“I’ll call you when I’m ready for your plane.”
With that, he hung up. The silence of the dead line resonated through her. This man could have been her undoing, but at least the City of Gold was real. That was something to celebrate. But first, she had things that needed taking care of.
“Don.” She snapped her fingers. He was loyal, and as Kevin had been, he was reliable because he wasn’t an independent thinker. She didn’t pay her people to think. She paid them for results. The results she wanted.
He sauntered over to her, his head slightly lowered in a display of submission. She smirked at the power she held over him. Here he was, bulky at six foot four, and she was all of five foot six and trim. He could have snapped her like a twig, and that wasn’t even considering the fact he was also armed.
“I’m leaving,” she told him. “This is over.”
“I’ll wipe the place down. What about the girl?”
She laid her hand on Don’s cheek, the way a passionate lover would, sending him affection and receiving deepened loyalty from him in return. “Ah, that’s the best part, my dear… Kill her.”
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Chapter 75
SOPHIE DIDN’T LIKE THE ENERGY swirling around her—nervous, excited, unpredictable. Something had happened, and it was hard to tell whether it was in her favor or not.
She hadn’t harmed physically, except for when Vincent had slapped her days ago, but Sophie wouldn’t put murder past either of them. The baboon who guarded her door was carrying, and she was sure the woman was, too.
She heard Vincent’s heels clacking against the wood flooring outside the bedroom door. She’d been talking away and then paused before speaking again. She must have been on the phone. What she was saying sounded promising one minute and dire the next, further mixing up the signals Sophie was getting.
If she had to guess, there wasn’t anger in Vincent’s words so much as disappointment. Sophie tended to believe she heard from her contact about Matthew and everyone’s progress.
The footsteps stopped.
“I’ll wipe the place down. What about the girl?” This came from the man.
Sophie didn’t hear the woman’s response. She must have lowered her voice, but Sophie felt the implication. Regardless of what had or hadn’t happened in Bolivia, it meant the same result for her. They were going to kill her.
She bucked against the restraint that secured her to the bedframe. Right now she didn’t care if she ripped her hand from her wrist. If she didn’t get out of here and find a way to defend herself, she’d be meeting her grandma in heaven.
Vincent’s heels started clacking against the floor again. They were getting quieter, heading for the condo door. She was leaving her goon to do the dirty work.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
The zip tie cut into her flesh, the hard plastic burrowing its way toward bone.
Then the handle on the bedroom door twisted…
-
Chapter 76
DETECTIVE FULLER WAS IN FRONT of Ian’s condo building and looked inside a lobby window. He should be standing back and letting the ETF handle everything, but he wasn’t a wait-and-see type of person.
The officers inside recognized him and some shook their heads, while others motioned for him to leave.
His cell phone rang, and he knew who it would be. Call it a sixth sense, intuition, whatever, but Brody based his guess on a calculated likelihood. “Tucker, I will stay out of the way when the time comes.”
“That time is now. Damn it, Fuller.”
“Sorry, Tucker, you’re breaking up.” Brody didn’t bother making fake static. He just hung up. Tucker was probably cursing him right now, but he must have also called his men off. One of them opened the building’s door for Brody, a smug smirk in place. Brody sensed respect comin
g from him. Someone had stood up to Tucker and survived.
Brody entered the building, noticing immediately that the concierge desk and security guard posts were already vacated. Instead, there was an officer stationed just inside the front doors, another toward the back of the space, and by the way he was standing there, it was likely where they were routing anyone who came down the elevator. There was another officer in front of the elevator bank.
Brody looked past the officers and at the space itself. This place was posh. Everything was dark wood and chromes, slick lines and modern touches. It was easy to understand, from the lobby alone, how the place was able to garner millions for each living space the size of a postage stamp. For Brody, this cemented his suspicions about Ian being involved with illegal activities, possibly even being a hit man.
A small ping indicated the arrival of an elevator. The unmarked silver doors parted and revealed a woman of striking beauty. She wore a white fur coat—it was definitely not faux, which was ballsy these days—and she carried herself like royalty. Her long red hair flowed in loose curls over her shoulders, and she smiled demurely at the officer who greeted her. It was her eyes that struck Brody. They had a way of looking through him. Combining this quality with her showy wardrobe and silky hair, given where she was in, she fit in. He watched as she walked across the lobby. Brody wasn’t sure why he was so fixated on her. It had to be her looks. He could certainly imagine the toned body beneath that coat.
As if she’d sensed his eyes on her, she smiled at him. Her smile lacked the innocence of the one given to the other officer. This one carried a predatory hunger. She let it linger, even turning her head to look back over her shoulder as the officer directed her down the side hallway. The officer there gestured for her to go into the room. Their gaze only broke when she exited Brody’s line of sight.
If he were Spider-Man, his Spidey sense would be tingling. When most people were confronted with a police presence, they retreated either from fabricated guilt or fear. Some made eye contact to portray their innocence, as it was generally accepted that looking someone in the eye demonstrated forthrightness. But this woman was overcompensating. She had fixed her gaze on him too strongly.
He’d question her personally.
-
Chapter 77
MATTHEW CHOSE THE DWELLING CLOSEST to the temple’s entrance on the lower level. Cal had hopped up the tiers of the structure, and Robyn went past the one Matthew had taken to explore another on her own.
He paused at the entrance, as if hesitating. He had already been in the temple, but felt as if going inside what had been someone’s living space would cement the fact that he didn’t belong here, that Paititi should have remained lost. Yet, the discoverer in him wouldn’t accept that.
Still, did he have the right to breach this private dwelling? The debate only lasted a few seconds, possibly a minute, before he could no longer resist the temptation. A discovery of this magnitude should be appreciated, should be shared with the world.
The windows and doorways yawned before him, the darkness within haunting, and he took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold. Almost as if someone had just gone out for the afternoon, the articles inside seemed mostly untouched by the passage of time. The only indication was the thick layers of dust on everything. And he wouldn’t tempt fate by sitting on any of the furniture or touching any of the fabric.
It was a one-room dwelling and there was a bed against the wall ahead of him. A quilt that lay over it was handwoven in bright colors and a bold pattern. There was a leather storage chest at the end of the bed with Inca drawings carved into the leather. Its latch was gold.
In another corner of the room was a small round table with four stools. While the Incas were small people, he imagined that even they would be squished around this table. A wooden vase was placed in the corner of the room, painted with bright colors in Navaho-like patterns.
On the wall hung a quipu. Unbelievable. He had read about such things in literature and only seen them in museums. While the Incas never developed a written language, they used these to record numbers. Also nicknamed “talking knots,” a quipu was an accounting device made of ropes and knots.
Depending on the placement of the knots on the string, it either signified units of 1, 10, 100, 1,000, or more. With the one in front of him, following the string from the top to the bottom, the knots were in groups of three, two, nine, and four. This was a four-digit number, therefore, 3,294.
He walked closer to it, allowing his fingers to hover over the string, feeling it through its energy and nothing more. Again, he feared touching it in case the oils from his hand damaged it after all this time.
He did, however, carefully run his hand across the top of the leather trunk, clearing it of dust, and then he lifted the lid, unable to fight the compulsion. Inside were several wooden pots and another quilt. He didn’t pick up anything, again, afraid that his touch possessed the ability to turn it to ash. But just being in this room, this close to an ancient people, was surreal. A mixture of emotion swirled through him, ranging from excitement and awe to something that made his eyes mist with tears.
He knew that he needed to find a way out of this city, but his legs remained frozen in place. As much as he considered himself a trespasser, he also felt at home, as though he belonged here. He didn’t want to leave, but unfortunately, life had different plans for this trip.
Ian had afforded them the time to explore and probe each corner of the dwellings, but it was a means to an end for him. At some point, his patience, his leniency, would expire, and he’d press to leave. But it wasn’t Ian who made Matthew feel any true urgency. It was Sophie. The longer they were here, the longer she was being held against her will.
They had to go. He placed his hand on the dwelling’s wall and took a longing look back on the room before setting out to gather the others.
-
Chapter 78
THE CONFERENCE ROOM COULD SEAT TWENTY to thirty people. Currently, only seven sat around the dark oak table. Similar in tone to the lobby, this room was opulent, from its marble flooring to the three oval chandeliers that hung over the table. Ten fabric-covered chairs lined the table’s flanks—five on each side—and there was one on each end. Along one wall was a long bench upholstered in material that matched the chairs. It would accommodate another ten bodies easily.
Brody analyzed the small crowd as he entered the room. It was easy to pick out the concierge and security guard. The others would have come from the higher floors.
Two women were casually dressed in jeans, their hair pulled back into ponytails and they smelled of cleaner. Brody sized them up as hired help leaving for the day.
Even though it was early evening, most of the people who lived here were likely still at their corporate jobs earning the money necessary to pay their mortgages, maintenance fees, and property taxes.
The two other men could have been models for GQ Magazine with their trendy slacks and designer jackets. Despite the differences in the coloring and styles of their clothing, the men struck Brody as identical.
Both men were attentive to the last person—the redhead. She was the only one Brody had any interest in, but he had a very different agenda. Maybe if he had met her at a bar and warning bells hadn’t been going off all over the place, he’d be able to see her from a strictly male point of view. She wasn’t paying the models any attention, though. Her gaze had been on Brody from the second he’d entered the room. Maybe the badge had something to offer in its favor after all.
She crossed her legs as he approached. He knew her type. She was too young to categorize as a cougar, but she was nonetheless carnivorous, preying on a man’s attraction to manipulate him to her advantage. Brody imagined that when she did succumb to their advances, it was always her choice.
“Detective,” she purred.
“Good instinct.”
She slightl
y ticked her head to the right. “I know men.”
He had no doubt that she did.
She gestured to the chair on her left. “Why don’t you sit down? Get comfortable?”
Brody took off his jacket, laid it over the back of a chair, and got comfortable, per the lady’s suggestion. The shirt he wore accented his muscular frame well. Two could play the game of sexual prowess, and he was not one to back down. His daily fitness regimen gave his body the form of a man ten years younger than he was, and his healthy diet, combined with no filthy habits, kept him in peak physical condition. Ever since he hit the big three-oh six years ago, he had promised never to let himself go. Too many people used that excuse, as if assigning their level of fitness—or lack thereof—to a number mattered at all.
His move seemed to work as he caught her giving him the once-over. The corner of her mouth lifted when their gazes met, and she narrowed her eyes.
“My name is Brody Fuller.”
“Nice to meet you, Detective Brody Fuller.” She extended her hand. Her long fingers were adorned with jewelry, and her nails were manicured.
He noticed that she didn’t offer her name. “Sorry to inconvenience you like this,” he said.
“Things happen.” She was cool and calm. Maybe too composed. Most people didn’t care for interruptions in their days, and she was acting as if it was no problem at all.
This combined with the steady eye contact made his suspicions ratchet up. He didn’t have any real basis for these hunches, except for these small indicators.
“Do you live in the building or are you visiting?” he asked her.
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