by Anna Hackett
“Oliver, look.”
There was a collapsed entrance leading into the rock, with Incan carvings around it. It had to be the entrance to the mine.
Oliver grabbed her hand, grinning. “We did it! We found the Lost Emerald Mine of the Inca.”
She smiled back at him. “Well, it’s not lost anymore.”
Chapter Seven
Oliver felt a surge of exhilaration. His job was usually made up of small wins and discoveries. But this…this was huge.
He absolutely understood what had attracted Percy to being a treasure hunter. The never-ending thrill of the chase, and then discovering something like this—something that had been lost to time for so long.
He studied the classic Incan carvings, trying to memorize all the details. There was a part of him that liked these just as much. The record of a people who’d once thrived here, with a rich, vibrant history. For him, the small things, even ones that weren’t so shiny, were exciting, too.
“Looks like the mine caved in a long time ago,” Oliver said. “The Emerald Tear could be buried.”
Percy frowned, but shook her head. “The diary says that the Tear and Butterfly were kept on statues outside the mine. That’s how the Butterfly went missing and ended up in the hands of the Spanish.”
Oliver moved some vines, keeping a wary eye out for snakes. He discovered more statues, and together they checked each one. There was no sign of precious jewels.
Then he spied a crumbling stone archway that led away from the mine entrance. “Look.”
With the machete, he hacked away at the plants, and they saw another stone path, partly buried in the mud.
Percy stepped up beside him. “Let’s check it out.”
Together, they followed the trail. The path soon veered uphill, heading up above the mine.
“There’s another statue,” she said. “Wow. Oliver, check this out!”
He watched as she cleared the vines away from the carved stone. He sucked in a breath. The statue’s chest was dotted with small, uncut emeralds. “Incredible.” Each precious gem was the size of his thumbnail.
Percy circled the statue and pulled a face. “No Emerald Tear.”
He didn’t think she sounded too upset. Something told him that she was just as excited as he was as finding the mine.
A sudden burst of gunfire shattered the quiet. Oliver dove at Percy, and saw bullets hitting the dirt nearby. They both crashed to the ground.
Shit. They were stuck on this narrow path, halfway up a hillside. He turned, and watched as armed bandits appeared, all wearing fatigues and cradling weapons.
A man wearing a khaki shirt tucked into dark-green trousers, and shiny, brown boots appeared. He was fit and lean, and looked to be about forty years old. His blond hair gleamed, and he smiled at them like they were old friends. He waved at the gunmen.
Oliver and Percy were jerked to their knees, and a man ripped the machete out of Oliver’s hands. A second later, he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one digging into Percy’s, as well. His gut tightened. Dammit to hell.
“I was having some trouble deciphering the clues,” the man said, in a crisp, British accent. “But you two made it a lot easier for me. We practically followed you all the way here.”
“Who the hell are you?” Percy snapped.
The stranger tipped his bush hat at them. “Forgive me. Where are my manners? I’m Henry Acton. I’m the man who’s going to make a fortune selling the Emerald Tear.”
“Treasure hunter,” Oliver spat. “No respect for history.”
The man raised his blond brows. “And yet you’re fucking one, Dr. Ward.” His dark gaze moved to Percy. “She might be prettier than me, but do you really think you can trust her?”
“The Emerald Tear isn’t here,” Oliver said.
The man’s pleasant smile slipped into something ugly. The man pulled a large knife off his belt. “I beg to differ, Dr. Ward.”
Acton moved closer to Percy and Oliver felt his heart start pounding. She lifted her chin defiantly.
“Little Persephone knows where it is, don’t you, darling?” the man drawled.
Oliver looked at her. Her face was blank and she was watching the man steadily.
What the hell was the asshole talking about?
“See, Persephone here is like me,” Acton said silkily. “She doesn’t show all her cards, and she trusts no one. Even the man sharing her bed.”
Oliver’s stomach hardened. “No.” He was sure she’d been starting to trust him.
He saw Percy flinch and her head turned his way. Her eyes were pleading. “Oliver—”
“Tell us the final clue, Ms. Blake. The one you didn’t share with Mr. Ward. The one that the old, cunning dealer Sosa gave you and refused to tell me.”
“No,” she said.
Acton lifted the knife, bringing it close to her throat. “Even when I tortured Sosa quite creatively, he wouldn’t tell me. I wonder how long you’ll last.”
Shit. Oliver watched Percy’s face go pale.
“I have nothing to tell you, asshole,” she snapped.
Acton pressed the knife against her cheek. “Really?”
She glared at him. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me, I won’t tell you anything.”
“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to you.” The man spun and suddenly stabbed the knife into Oliver’s shoulder.
Burning pain spiked through him, and Oliver grunted. Fucking bastard. He stared at the blade piercing his skin.
Percy cried out. Acton yanked the knife out and stabbed Oliver’s shoulder again.
Oliver gritted his teeth against the pain. Blood bloomed on his shirt.
“Talk,” Acton said. “Or I’ll make you watch him bleed to death right here in the mud.”
Panic poured through Persephone like acid in her veins.
She stared at the bright, red blood soaking into Oliver’s shirt. Good, smart, handsome Oliver Ward. He was far too good for her.
Acton lifted the knife again. Persephone tasted bile in her throat, and felt like she was going to vomit. “Stop!”
Acton lowered the knife and smiled at her. Oliver was refusing to look at her. His gaze was on the ground, one hand pressed to his wounds.
“I’ll tell you,” she said. “Stop hurting him and I’ll tell you.”
“So disappointing, Ms. Blake. I was sure you were the perfect, cold-hearted bitch.”
She glared at the man.
Acton tilted his head back and laughed. “God, I think it’s worse than I thought. You’re in love with him.”
She jerked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oliver’s head snap up, but she couldn’t look at him. She felt exposed.
“Tell me the final clue,” Acton demanded.
Dragging in a shuddering breath, she told him, “The emeralds rest with a bird’s-eye view of the mine.”
The man nodded. “So, they’re up on the cliffs somewhere.” He jerked his head at one of the guards and suddenly a man yanked Persephone to her feet and shoved her forward. Another guard grabbed the back of Oliver’s shirt and dragged him up.
They moved in single file up the path. It got steeper and rockier, as well as muddier and more slippery. More weathered statues dotted the vegetation. She kept glancing at Oliver. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, but she could see he was in pain. Blood stained his shirt and the hand he was holding over the wounds.
I’m so sorry, Oliver.
They paused on a flat ledge, and Persephone turned her head. From here, they had a beautiful view over the river below. The mine entrance was hidden somewhere in the jungle beneath them.
She was shoved forward again, and ahead, two guards slashed at the vegetation with machetes. Not long after, the jungle gave way to a wide, stone platform.
She sucked in an awed breath. It was clearly manmade, and in the center, perched two huge stone statues.
Both statues wore elaborat
e half-circle headdresses. One had large, circular earrings that she could see were made of a mass of small emeralds and gold. In the center of the headdress was a large, irregular-shaped, empty space.
Where a butterfly-shaped emerald had probably once sat.
On the other statue, right in the center of the headdress, was a huge, tear-shaped emerald.
Murmurs broke out. Instantly, Persephone imagined the Incas standing here, honoring their traditions and beliefs. A sense of history descended on her, and she understood what drove Oliver’s passion for his discipline.
She looked up. Above the platform, the Inca had done some simple masonry and earthwork to keep rocks and mud from sliding into their sacred place. But over the years, layers of dirt and mud had built up, and it now all perched perilously on the cliff ledge above.
She looked at Oliver and saw that he wasn’t looking at the statues. He was looking at her, his face unreadable.
Yes, Acton was right. She was falling in love with Oliver Ward. It was foolish, but she didn’t know how to stop herself.
What she did know, however, was that she wasn’t letting Acton take the Emerald Tear, no matter what. And she sure as hell wasn’t letting the bastard hurt Oliver again.
She glanced up and watched as Acton climbed up the base of the sculpture. Using his knife, he pried the Emerald Tear out of the statue. He stood there grinning, holding the magnificent stone in his hand.
It should be in a museum. More than just this asshole deserved to see it.
She glanced around. There were four armed men. The odds sucked, but she’d always enjoyed a risk or two.
Still, she didn’t want to risk Oliver’s life. Think, Persephone, think.
“Acton?” she called out. “What about the very final clue?”
The man frowned. “What?”
“Sosa didn’t tell you there was another emerald?” She hoped her tone sounded seductive.
“No.”
Shrugging off her guard, she sauntered close to Acton. “I’ll tell you, but you have to let me in on the deal.”
She felt Oliver watching her, his gaze boring right between her shoulder blades. She was certain that he hated her right now. But she was getting him out of here alive, whatever it took.
She glanced at him, trying to pour everything she was thinking and feeling into her gaze. Then she focused back on Acton, seemingly paying no attention to the nearby guards.
“I’m listening, but you must talk fast.” The man’s gaze narrowed at her. “I’m just about done with the two of you.”
“There’s an emerald even bigger than this one, not far from here…”
Persephone took one more step forward, then, in a lightning-quick move, she reached over and grabbed the guard’s pistol from his holster. She lifted it and fired at the guard. He fell backward into the vegetation.
Swiveling, she crouched and fired at the next guard, and the one beside him.
She heard Acton shouting and turned back. Acton was charging down from the statue.
“Kill her!” he screamed.
But the fourth guard had headed back down the path, searching for cover, and tugging Oliver with him.
“Percy!” Oliver yelled. He struggled against the guard, and she saw the man’s gun go flying into the bushes.
Acton slipped and fell onto his knees, but he jumped back up, his gaze zeroed in on the path down the hillside.
He was going to get away with the emerald. Hell, no. Percy looked up where the rocks and mud sat above the platform—years of accumulation. She took aim and fired.
She kept firing. Nothing happened.
Dammit, come on. Forcing her hands to stay steady, she pulled the trigger again.
Several small rocks tumbled down the side of the hill, and pinged off the stone platform. More followed, and the ground vibrated beneath them.
“You’ll kill us all,” Acton yelled, slipping as he tried to get back to the path.
One injured guard was up on his knees, holding his wounded chest and staring in horror. A large boulder broke free and started to roll down the hill, straight toward them, rapidly gathering speed.
Oh, shit. Persephone dodged. The giant rock rushed by her, slammed into the guard, and took him over the edge of the cliff. He screamed as he fell.
Acton was running, clutching the emerald. Persephone chased after him. Smaller rocks were rolling across the ground, making her progress difficult. She leaped over them, trying to stay on her feet.
Then the ground started to rumble. A deep-throated roar grew around them.
She glanced up and her eyes widened. Holy hell, the entire side of the mountain was coming loose. Mudslide.
The mass slowly shifted, oozing downward and gathering speed. Coming right at her.
“Percy!”
Oliver’s shout made her turn. He was standing pressed against the side of the cliff, in a small alcove, near the carved steps. He was out of the path of the mudslide. He held a hand outstretched to her.
She raced toward him, slipping on the small rocks littering the space. The final guard was still standing there, frozen in shock. There was no sign of Acton.
The mud rushed closer. She looked back and saw the slide was almost on her. It swallowed the guard and swept him away.
She wasn’t going to make it.
Despair filled her. She was going to die here.
Her gaze locked on Oliver’s and then her eyes widened. “No.”
He was charging toward her.
“No!” she yelled at him.
His strong arms wrapped around her, and he picked her up like she was a football. He sprinted back toward the alcove. The mud was rushing at them, no more than a meter away.
Oliver tightened his grip on her and jumped.
They slammed into the rock face, safe, both of them grunting and scrabbling for purchase on the rocky surface. The mud rushed past, pouring over the cliff and down the hill.
Chapter Eight
“Thanks.”
Percy’s voice was shaky. Oliver kept them pressed against the rock. The mudslide was slowing now, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
He looked down. Percy was staring at her muddy boots.
“Did you think I was going to let you fucking die?” Anger flooded him.
Her head snapped up. “You could have been killed! You shouldn’t have rushed into the path of a mudslide.”
He gripped her shoulders, ignoring the sharp sting of his stab wounds. “Stay safe and let you get killed?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Your life is worth way more than mine.”
His anger flared. “I never want to hear you say that again. If you think I couldn’t see that you were lying to that asshole to get us out of there, then you aren’t as clever as I thought you were.”
Percy swallowed. “I didn’t tell you everything, though. I’m not a good person, Oliver. I’m not like you.”
“I’m not some damn saint, Percy. And you’re not the devil.” He shook his head. “We all have shades of gray. We can always do better and make better choices.” He reached out and pulled her close. He needed her close.
She pressed her face to his shirt, and he slid a hand into her hair. She was alive. That was all that mattered.
“You should forget about me,” she whispered. “Find some well-read, educated woman who suits you.”
“Who’ll cook me a nice meal every night and bring me my slippers? Is that what you think I want?”
She shrugged her shoulder again.
“I beg to differ. I like getting muddy, and hacking through the jungle, and making love under a waterfall.”
She looked up at him and her chest hitched.
“I’m falling for you, Persephone Blake.”
Shock crossed her face. “What? No. I…” She pressed her lips together, opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Oliver kind of enjoyed watching her stumble over herself. “Persephone Blake, speechless?”
It was amusing, b
ut he also felt a hollow sensation carving him out inside. Percy felt like the wind. Something wild and free, and impossible to hold in his hands.
“We need to stop Acton getting away with the emerald.” She straightened. “We don’t have time for this right now.”
Oliver sighed. “Agreed.” His hands tightened on her. “But we will talk about this.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the path. They climbed down the mud-drenched trail as quickly as they dared. He wondered how far ahead Acton was. Had he been caught by the slide? Did the bastard have transport close by?
Suddenly, a dark shape leaped out from a tree and slammed into Oliver. They skidded through the dirt, and pain roared through Oliver’s injuries. Nausea rose, and he struggled to push it back and fight.
He rolled over…just in time to see Acton aiming a punch at him. Fuck. Oliver jerked his body, and they rolled again.
They wrestled in the undergrowth, the mud sticking to their clothes. Something sharp jabbed Oliver’s back, and his wounds were bleeding again.
Percy appeared above them, holding a huge stick. She whacked it down on Acton’s back. The man let out a roar.
Oliver got one knee beneath him. Acton rolled and pulled out a pistol. He aimed it at Oliver’s chest.
Oliver jammed his arms against the man’s arm, straining to push the gun upward.
Then Percy jumped on Acton, ramming her fingers into the man’s eyes.
Acton let out a high scream.
“That’s for Roberto, asshole.” She pushed harder. “And for stabbing Oliver.”
Oliver managed to get the gun pushed up above their heads. Acton thrashed wildly and the three of them rolled. Oliver felt empty space under one shoulder and turned his head.
His blood turned to ice. They were right at the edge of the cliff. He got a glimpse of the river down below. Far below. Shit.
One more push and they’d all tip over the edge.
“Percy!”
She turned, saw the cliff, and her eyes widened. With a lunge, she reached for the emerald in Acton’s hand.
“No!” Acton struggled.
Oliver pulled back and saw Acton’s lower body slide over the cliff. His eyes went wide, the whites of his eyes showing.