Trove (The Katie Walsh Mysteries)

by KJ Montgomery

  He leaned away from Alec. “There may be another option. However, this one isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Easy, what the hell is easy? Seems that word doesn’t exist in my vocabulary anymore.”

  “Well, it would involve the Nordstrom Institute.”

  “I thought you said that they don’t take outside research requests.”

  “They don’t.” Robert rested his interlaced fingers on his slight paunch and explained, “However, employees have access to the databases and in-house experts for research.”

  “How does that help me?”

  “Currently the Institute is in the process of creating a new division, Celtic Lore to be exact.”

  Alec stood, strode to the credenza, and poured himself another whiskey. “Celtic Lore? Who’s heading it? Lucy Millar?”

  “No one yet. The lead candidate is Dr. Katie Walsh. She holds a doctorate in Nordic and Celtic mythology.”

  “Not seeing the correlation, Robert. How does that help me?”

  “While researching and writing her thesis, she became a de facto expert in runes, particularly Anglo-Saxon runes. She actually has a substantial portfolio of runic translations. The Institute is close to awarding her the position as head of the new division.”

  “Is it a done deal, or will they consider additional candidates?” Alec asked.

  “They’ve informed her that she is the leading and, at this time, the only candidate.”

  “So what’s the hold-up? I mean why not just make it official. Is it that she’s not really qualified and the offer is more to satisfy a quota?”

  “Well,” Robert started, “Katie, Dr. Walsh, is not your staid, stereotypical academic. She’s no shrinking violet. Some on the board find her no-nonsense attitude suited more for an operational role and not a division head. She’d never accept a quota job. She’s worked hard and earned her reputation by producing viable results. She’s developed a methodology to peel back the layers of time, culture, and changes in language to get to the origins of some of the ancient Celtic and Nordic myths. It was painstakingly slow work most times, but she kept at it and the results, which will soon begin the vetting process, were worth her and the Institute’s investment.”

  “Then exactly what the hell is her problem? Why hasn’t she locked down the position?”

  “You have to understand where this is coming from, Alec, but Katie is a dear friend of mine. However, I admit that she doesn’t… doesn’t play well with others. Not that she’s mean or vindictive. She just doesn’t play with others, so to speak.”

  ”Don’t tell me she’s one of those people whose life is their job?” Alec interrupted, shaking his head. “That’s why I find most female academics dry, frustrating, and uninteresting. They have a chip on their shoulder bigger than this room.”

  “Look, she works hard and long hours, but I don’t think she lives for the job. It’s just that for now, it’s all she has. Other groups in the Institute will hound the division head for access to the translations and help applying them in their work. The role will, by its very nature, be mostly about appeasing and stroking egos. That’s not Katie’s strong suit.”

  Alec laughed. “Sounds like a real wildcat. You sound like you know this creature really well.” He peered closely at Robert’s face.

  “I do. As I said she is a very dear friend and don’t refer to her as a creature. She’s actually quite charming. And why the hell are you looking at me like a specimen under a microscope, Alec?”

  “Just checking for cat scratches,” Alec joked. “Ok, so if I understand you, I can apply for the division head. With my project management background and your help, I have an excellent shot at gaining access to the Institute’s resources.”

  “If you’re hired, you’ll need Katie’s support. She’s working on a big project right now. But in all probability she’ll be the only one who can decipher Josh’s runes. But I won’t help you in securing the position. I’ve already thrown my support behind her. You’re on your own in obtaining this job.”

  Alec studied his brother’s face intensely. “Does this Dr. Walsh mean anything to you, I mean, on a personal basis? I’m not sure if I’ll end up damaging any relationship you may have.”

  “I told you, she is a very dear friend.”

  “And that’s all?”

  Robert inhaled. “She’s a very dear friend.” He exhaled loudly. “Don’t make her into collateral damage in your search for justice. And whatever you do, don’t call her ‘little one.’ She goes ballistic when guys call her that."

  ****

  Katie Walsh, investigative mythologist at the Nordstrom Institute in Boston, arrived in London twelve hours after she’d checked in for her nonstop flight from Boston. What normally would’ve been a five-hour trip had turned into a half-day ordeal. They’d departed nearly three hours late due to crew problems. The rumor spreading through the gate much like the incoming tide surrounding Boston’s Logan Airport had the co-pilot suffering the aftereffects of a liquid dinner and the airline waiting for a substitute to arrive. The delay was compounded when they landed. It seemed as if Customs was carefully screening almost every passenger from every flight. Katie just wanted to grab a quick nap before the conference began, but it was already late afternoon by the time she checked into the hotel.

  After a quick shower, she turned to check herself out in the full-length mirror. Definitely holding up well for thirty-five, she thought as she slipped into her favorite red silk dress. She did a quick twirl, loving how the sensuous material flowed around her lower body and layered gentle, teasing folds against her legs. She smiled, satisfied with her appearance, and left her room, ready for a drink at the meet-and-greet social. Once she downed a drink or two, she was sure she could smile warmly at her colleagues as they regaled each other with their daring exploits in the research stacks. She had to admit that every once in a while she’d hear an intriguing snippet of information that she’d tuck away for future reference. But that didn’t happen often.

  Checking in at the reception table, she found herself raised off the floor in the vise-like grip of two linebacker-sized arms. A deep baritone laugh enveloped her, rumbling through the arms holding her then coursing through her body like the remnants of distant thunder. “Katie, my Little One, when are you going to grow taller so I can look you in the eyes without lifting you high in the air?”

  “Eric the Red,” she said between breathy giggles. “How I’ve missed you. Do you know how special you are? You’re the only one that I let call me ‘Little One.’ Anyone else tries to call me that and I’ll—”

  “Aye.” He laughed as he set her back down. “I remember when Greg Wilson tried that. You slapped him so hard his face wore your hand imprint for two days.”

  “Can’t say he didn’t deserve that. He actually grabbed my butt as he said it, like he was playing with a toy. And that was after I gave him fair warning.”

  “Katie,” he said, smiling, “you are many things, but you are not a toy. A plaything maybe, but not a toy.”

  Eric Murray was a beefy, copper-haired Scotsman standing a shade under six feet and weighing about two hundred and thirty pounds, almost all of it muscle. He was a formidable foe when it came to the caber toss, and though he could speak the Queen’s English, he would revert to his Scot’s accent at any moment and particularly after a few drinks.

  She shot him a withering look, which quickly morphed into a grin. “I need a drink. Join me?”

  “Aye, absolutely, mae wee bairn.”

  ****

  Alec MacGowan watched the woman and the interplay with the red-haired male, appreciating the genuine warmth he detected in their greeting. The affection between them suggested more than friends. Lovers perhaps? She was exactly as Robert had described her: petite, about five feet tall without the killer heels, chestnut hair, sparkling eyes that were noticeable even behind her glasses or maybe because of them. His appreciation of her grew as he noted that she had curves in all the right places, though R
obert neglected to mention that. She had a woman’s figure, something to hold onto, sink his fingers into. He hated the way modern women tried to deny the luscious curves that nature endowed them with.

  He noted that she was not a staid academic as most PhDs he’d dealt with seemed to be. She was not one to hide behind the academic uniform of dark man-tailored suits. She was wearing a red dress that accented her figure, hugging and folding against her body suggestively, while the other females were dressed in variations of their unspoken dress code. Most researchers were rather bookish or totally obnoxious and angry at the world, though he had to concede that the research profession was very cutthroat. Competent people were forced to fight each other to grab their piece of a finite amount of financing. But she… she seemed alive. Robert was right, though. She didn’t look like a pushover. She was definitely in charge of the huge man with her, or was it more that he was protective of her, indulging her, but protecting her?

  He watched her as she headed toward the bar and him. As she neared, he started towards them and then froze. No, it can’t be her. It couldn’t be KitKat, the woman with whom he spent the night five years ago.

  His anonymous lover had a name and her name was Dr. Katie Walsh. Damn, this makes everything more complicated.

  He exhaled, steadied himself, and stepped in front of her, effectively and totally blocking her path as she neared the bar with the red-headed male in her wake.

  “Excuse me, but aren’t you Dr. Katie Walsh of the Nordstrom Institute?”

  She halted, forced to stop abruptly. She teetered in her high heels, grabbing the red-haired man’s arm to avoid ending up in a heap on the floor. She raised her head and scowled. He watched her closely as she scanned his face for recognition. He mused that it may have been difficult since her glasses had slid down from the bridge of her little nose and were now resting on the tip of it, clearly in danger of continuing their downward path.

  “Yes, I am. I’m sorry, but do I know you? You look somewhat familiar, but I can’t seem to recall your name.”

  “We have a mutual acquaintance, Robert Baines.”

  “Really?” she said, tilting her head slightly, releasing her scowl at the mention of Robert. “How do you know Robert?”

  “Actually, he’s my half-brother.” He added, “My older half-brother by three years. I’m Dr. Alec MacGowan, archaeologist.” He reached over, and with his forefinger, he gently pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose then nodded his head slightly. “At your service.”

  ****

  Stepping back, Katie studied his face. What incredible grey eyes, she thought before she continued the perusal. Smoky grey eyes, almost black, silky straight hair touched with grey at the temples, high cheekbones, and a body that exuded masculinity… My God, she wanted to scream, it can’t be him. She swallowed, trying to maintain her control as visions of his long body draped over hers flashed before her. Concentrate, Katie, concentrate. He was dressed in a navy suit and a pale blue oxford shirt, his tie loose at the neck. He looked every bit the sexy “love ‘em and leave ‘em type,” straight out of a Hollywood film. Yet that’s exactly what she did five years ago. She’d picked him up, loved him and left him in the pre-dawn light after that wickedly delicious night. Oh my God, it is him, she moaned inwardly as she forced herself to listen to what he was saying while her heart raced and her breath tried to keep time.

  She reached up and tucked her hair behind her right ear as she subconsciously licked her lips. “I can see a physical resemblance around the mouth and I think you have the same nose.”

  But Robert didn’t have a brother, did he? He’d never mentioned it in the almost seven years they’d been friends. Surely he would’ve mentioned a brother, even if it was only a half-brother. “So, Dr. MacGowan, how is Bobby?”

  “He’s fine. He asked me to remind you that he still owes you a dinner. Oh, and by the way, Dr. Walsh, you know as well as I do that no one, and I mean no one, calls him Bobby. If you want to call him and verify my identity be my guest. Actually…” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone, giving Katie a glimpse of the muscled chest straining against the confining material, the chest she had explored, caressed, kissed for one night of unbridled, decadent passion. Her fingers itched to wind themselves in the dark hair she knew was hidden under the shirt, to revel in its silkiness. “Allow me.”

  The heat spread across her face like wildfire. Was it because he was calling her out for testing him, or was it because she was remembering how his body felt pressed intimately against hers? Hopefully, in the subdued lighting he wouldn’t notice. She reached for his cell phone, the call already connecting. “Hello, Robert?”

  “Katie. So he’s found you.”

  Her free hand rested on her hip. “Yes. I’m standing here with this guy, and he claims to be your brother. Dark hair, grey eyes, about six-three I’m guessing.”

  “Half-brother,” Alec corrected, his elbow propped casually against the high, free-standing cocktail table.

  “Excuse me, your half-brother. Who is he?”

  “He’s my half-brother Alec MacGowan. He’s an archaeologist.”

  “Mm, a digger,” she murmured. “So he’s safe to be around? You know how I feel about diggers. I mean, he’s not a modern day Jack the Ripper-type is he?” Why, oh why, did he have to be a digger?

  Robert’s laugh was clearly audible as her eyes swept from Eric to Alec. Eric looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from his left to his right foot. Alec wore a smug grin.

  “No, Katie, he’s safe to be around. You have my word on that.”

  She wished she could believe him. She wanted to ask him why he neglected to tell her, his very close friend, that he had a brother. But this wasn’t the time or place. She sighed. “Thanks. I’ll see you when I get back to Boston.” She ended the call and thrust the phone at him, letting her other hand drop from her hip. “Seems like you’re legit.”

  He winked. “Yep, got all my papers in order and I’m housebroken too.”

  She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips slightly.

  “I’ll order the drinks,” Eric offered, interrupting the rising tension between them. “Katie, what would you like?”

  “Eric, forgive me. Dr. Alec MacGowan, this is Dr. Eric Murray, geologist.”

  Eric extended his hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you, Dr. MacGowan.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dr. Murray, and please, call me Alec.”

  “Fine and call me Eric. May I get you a drink?”

  “Yes, thanks,” he replied. “Glenlivet neat.”

  Eric grinned. “A man I can respect.” He turned and headed off to the bar, calling back, “Katie, the usual?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll take a vodka ginger ale this time,” she called out as he continued to the bar.

  “I’ve noticed most of the women here are drinking wine. I can respect a woman who drinks something more robust,” Alec said as he moved to her side of the high-standing table. “And vodka is still your preferred choice.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wine,” she replied, moving to stand opposite him at the table. “It just gets into my system too quickly. I can have a vodka drink and not notice any effect, but one glass of wine and I’m tottering in my heels.” She looked up at him.

  He leaned over, captured her gaze, and said in a seductively low voice, “May I say, it’s quite refreshing to see that you’re still capable of blushing.” His eyes drifted to her lips, searing them with just his look. She wet her lips in a reflexive response. He raised his eyes, reconnecting with hers. “I would’ve thought that after our night together five years ago you’d never blush again.”

  She closed her eyes as she inhaled sharply, almost choking on the air, and swallowed, then met his gaze. “Please, we agreed to go our separate ways and forget about that night. Don’t bring it up,” she implored, her eyes wide, “ever.”

  “As I recall, KitKat, we did agree to go our separate ways, which was rather easy conside
ring we didn’t even know each other’s names. But,” he said as he lowered his voice, still holding her gaze, “I’ve never forgotten that night.” He finished just as Eric returned and handed out the drinks.

  “Thanks, Eric,” Alec said. “I’ll get the next round.”

  “Thanks, Eric. I really need this,” she said as she took a quick sip before setting the glass down, her hands trembling slightly. She locked her eyes on Alec’s hands, willing herself to avoid getting lost in the depths of his steamy grey eyes and long ago memories.

  “Katie… may I call you Katie?” Alec asked, his drink nestled between his hands, his thumbs caressing the rim moving slowly back and forth.

  She shivered, feeling as if he was caressing her, remembering how well he did it that night five years ago, remembering how his fingers burned her skin and stoked embers that she thought long died out. “Yes, please do,” she practically begged, afraid he’d call her KitKat again. “I don’t usually stand on ceremony. I generally don’t let people address me as ‘doctor’ for very long. It’s a bit pretentious for my tastes,” she said before lifting her glass, taking a couple of quick sips, and returning it to the table.

  “Thanks. My brother talked about your work at the Nordstrom Institute. Actually, he talked about your work to the point where I secured a copy of your doctoral thesis on Celtic and Nordic Mythology. I was really impressed.”

  She gripped her glass tighter, trying to calm her nerves. This was a nightmare, she thought. If she could just pinch herself, she could end it. “Thanks. I love working at the Institute. Unlike many research organizations, the Nordstrom Institute has deep pockets thanks to very generous benefactors. Plus, employees are encouraged to think outside the box. That’s how I ended up developing my software program.”

  She watched him as he casually sipped his scotch. Her nose captured a hint of the rich, earthy aroma as he set his drink on the table. Her senses were heightened, on alert.

  “I was intrigued with your premise that, forgive me, but to quote you ‘myths, though shrouded through the mists of time, are based in fact. The challenge lay in determining the basis of the myths.’”