Between a Vamp and a Hard Place (33 page)

“Lindsey apartment in Venice,” he agreed, moving inside. His hand found mine and we twined our fingers. I loved the feel of his warm touch and let him take the lead.

In the few days Gemma had been in the apartment while I'd been traveling in Eastern Europe with Rand, she'd done a lot of cleaning. Gone was the utter carnage of boxes. The floors were swept clean of debris, and most of the furniture was gone. Two small, lonely boxes waited by the door to be shipped back home to Nebraska. To see the place so empty made me ache a little. Before, this apartment had been crammed full of life and memories. Now it was just barren, waiting to be filled again. I gave Rand's hand a little squeeze, thinking of how lucky we'd been to come out of this unscathed. I mean, my credit cards were maxed, but what was a little debt when I was holding the hand of the man I loved?

“There's a few things left here and there,” Gemma said, bustling past us into the near-empty apartment. “I guess the good thing was that those jerks came in and destroyed everything, because after that, it made cleanup a lot easier. I paid the lady downstairs, and she came and helped me toss most everything into the trash.”

“You did great, Gemma,” I told her. “Really great.”

She gave me a proud look over her shoulder and headed up the narrow stairs. “I'm going to check on a few things up here. Why don't you two peek into the kitchen and see what you can find for the bottomless pit there?”

I chuckled. “Will do.”

As if on cue, Rand's stomach rumbled. He rubbed it ruefully and looked over at me. “Lindsey, eat yes?”

“Absolutely,” I told him, and led him into the tiny kitchen. Ever since becoming human again, Rand's appetite was voracious. Gemma and I liked to joke that he was stockpiling to make up for all the years in which he'd only drank blood, because the man could definitely put away a plate, or two, or three. Not that I minded. Every little signal that he was human now just gave me even more pleasure. “I'm pretty sure we have some bacon in the fridge that probably hasn't gone bad yet. Maybe some eggs.”

The kitchen itself was mostly clean, too, with only a chipped plate and cup in the sink. The cabinets were bare, so I cleaned the dishes off and dried them with a scrap of a towel so Rand would have something to eat off of. I was pleased to see that the silverware was intact. I guess there was only so much destruction rampaging vampires could do. I made a mental note to pack it up and ship it home to sell. I found a skillet and set it on the stove as Rand hopped up on a counter to sit.

“Cross your fingers that there's something good in here, babe,” I told him as I opened the fridge to get the food. I peeked in to see the contents—

And stopped.

Blinked.

And screamed, “GEMMA!”

“Lindsey?” Rand asked.

“It's okay,” I told him, trembling. “I think.” And then I began to laugh hysterically.

Gemma came thundering down the stairs a minute later, her eyes wide. “What, what is it?”

I showed her the jars of pasta I'd pulled out of the fridge. They weren't pasta jars at all but delicately made Chinese ginger jars of the palest white. If I rubbed my fingers on the porcelain, I could feel the designs etched into them that would only be visible with the right lighting.

The gorgeous anhua jars that I thought were completely lost?

Two of them were currently holding what looked like fettuccine. “How is this possible?” I asked her, holding the jar with shaking hands. “How?”

Gemma blanched and bit her fingernail, looking sheepish. “So, like, you were gone, right? And I ordered pasta from that place we like, and they sent a double. And I thought it'd be silly to throw it all away when we had a perfectly good fridge, but I couldn't find a good container with a lid. And then I remembered the jars in the basement and thought, well, she'll never know, right? So I might have snagged two of them.” She held her hands up and moved forward. “But don't worry! I kept those little pieces of paper that were stuck inside them.”

“Little pieces of paper?” I asked blankly, still in shock. I'd thought all of the priceless porcelain down in the secret room had been completely and utterly destroyed. Smashed to bits. Gone forever.

“The bill of lading or whatever it was that got you so excited,” she said, moving past me to open the fridge. She plucked something from the shelf, and sure enough, there were the original receipts with the dates. The crucial papers that proved the jars had provenance.

I felt faint. “Fettuccine, Gemma? Really?”

She looked abashed. “I really thought you'd never know. And then the vampires showed up, and well . . .” She shrugged. “I guess they didn't look in the fridge.”

“I'm not mad,” I told her, gently setting the jar down on the counter. Oh God, she'd kept the receipts and the lids and everything. Once the jar was safe on the counter, I turned to Gemma and hugged her. “You are the bestest friend ever and I love you.”

She giggled and hugged me back. “I finally did something right, huh?”

“You are amazing,” I told her, awed. “I'd be lost without you, and I mean it. Those jars are going to pay for everything this trip has cost us, and more.”

She brightened. “So we're not broke?”

“Not by a long shot!”

“Good?” Rand said, interrupting our celebration.

I turned to him, beaming. “Very, very good!”

Y
ou're sure it's here?” I asked Rand, consulting the road map I'd bought at the last gas station.

“Yes, here,” Rand said, getting out of the passenger side of the car. Even five months after living in the “modern” world, there were things about cars that still confounded my lover. Coming to England and finding out that the steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car? He'd nearly lost his mind. “It is not right,” he'd told me, over and over again, all while I'd laughed and laughed.

Nearby people had looked at me like I was crazy, but I was getting used to that.

I pocketed the keys and got out of the parked car, following Rand up the grassy hill.

Automatically he waited, turning and offering his hand to me.

I took it with a smile and squeezed his hand. “Excited?”

“Not sure,” he told me. “Feels . . . strange. This place . . . I have not come in long, long time.”

I knew that feeling. “We can leave if you want to.”

“No, I want . . .” He struggled to find the right word. “Here.”

“Okay, babe,” I told him, and put a hand to my belly, where I carried our child. I'd gotten pregnant that night at the hospital. I'd figured it out a month or two later when we'd gotten settled back in Nebraska and I'd gotten sick every morning and had had massive cravings for peanut butter. Turned out that one time without a condom was enough after all.

We'd gotten married right away, and Rand had spent the next few months helping me expand the business (now called Gemma and Lindsey's Favorite Finds). We'd sold the anhua jars at Sotheby's for an amount that still made my head spin. Gemma and I had split the money from the precious jars into thirds—one-third for her, one-third for me, and one-third for the business. With my money, I'd bought a condo for myself and Rand, and we'd started a fund for the baby.

I knew the fact that Rand wasn't bringing money into our small family was bothering him. We'd been discussing things he could do for a living once he learned the language and became accustomed to modern society. He'd started taking jiujitsu and karate lessons at the local dojo and was utterly fascinated by all the combat forms. If nothing else, maybe he could learn enough to teach. I knew he enjoyed it.

Life was pretty perfect, overall. I was happier than I'd ever been. But I knew there was one thing in particular that still bugged Rand sometimes. So when my warlord had suggested we go look for his old stash in England, I'd agreed.

Why not?

It turned out that several place names had changed over time, as they were wont to do. So while we'd looked for a particular hill and what was left of a castle Rand remembered, he'd scoured guidebooks and pictures of scenery and Google Maps until he'd found the location that he'd sworn was the correct one. So we'd asked about it and gotten directions from locals. Half a day later, we'd found the place.

As we crested the hill, Rand was silent. I figured he was lost in memory, comparing this place to whatever it had been in his past. Not much of the settlement remained from six hundred years ago. A few rocky tumbles were all that was left to suggest the place had been something other than a sheep pasture. The place, according to the postcard, had suffered from a fire in 1450, and recurrences of plague and strife had emptied the village. The keep had never been rebuilt, the lands deeded to the king and then parceled away to random nobles over the years. Rand had wanted to claim it, but he'd backed down once I'd made him realize that no one was going to honor a six-hundred-year-old claim from someone who was the current age of about thirty. He'd understood, but he wasn't happy.

I think he wanted a legacy to pass to our baby. Legacies didn't matter to me, though; a happy family did. It was something that I'd never had growing up. No mother, no father, just the state home and Gemma, who was beside herself with excitement at the thought of a baby. She was even trying to wean herself off cussing as much so she could be a better influence.

“There,” Rand said, pointing in the distance. “The wall.”

I followed where he pointed, and sure enough, there was a bit of stone left between a few old trees. “You think that's the place?”

“I know it,” he said, and squeezed my hand. “Come.”

We got shovels out of the back of the rental car and crossed the hill. I kept an eye out for observers, because I didn't want to explain we were treasure hunting on someone else's property. That wouldn't go over well. Once we got to the wall, Rand closed his eyes and gestured. “There was a . . . how say . . . top?” He gestured. “Long? Tall?”

“A tower?” I asked.

“Yes, a tower,” he agreed, grinning and giving me another smacking kiss for filling in the word for him. “Treasure is three tens steps south of tower.”

Okay, thirty steps. I nodded and took the shovel from him as he moved to where he assumed the tower had been, then watched as he counted off steps. I might have gotten a little distracted, looking at his broad shoulders in the flannel henley he was wearing, which fit tight over his gorgeous body. Ever since getting pregnant, my already charged libido had been through the roof. Definitely needed to tackle me some of that when we got back to the hotel.

He counted off in his old language, then stopped near the center of the crumbling wall. Then, he turned and took two big steps outward. “Is here.”

It looked like nothing more than a patch of grass. “You're sure?”

He shrugged. “We dig and find out, yes?”

“All righty,” I said, and handed him his shovel. When I tried to help out, though, he protested and insisted I sit on the wall and watch him. He pressed a kiss to my slightly rounded belly, grinned at me, and returned to digging. I took a few photos of him on my cell phone and texted them to Gemma.

Me:
Treasure hunting with Rand.

Gemma:
Tell him I call dibs on any bling!

Me:
Not sure he knows the word bling yet.

Gemma:
Dammit thwarted again! Srsly tho, good luck you two!

I smiled and was just about to text her a message back when I heard Rand's shovel
clang
as it hit something metallic. I looked up just in time to see a huge grin cross his face.

“Is here!” he called out, kneeling down to the hole he'd dug. “God be pray!”

“Praised, baby. God be praised,” I corrected, and hopped off the wall to see what we'd found.

There was an old iron-covered box in the hole, and Rand had to spend several minutes clearing away more of the dirt to pull it free. Then he hefted it out of the hole with a grimace. “Heavier than I memory.”

I didn't even correct his English. I was too fascinated by the box itself. Part of me had thought we wouldn't truly find anything after six hundred years. Logic said it was a long shot.

Then again, when had logic ever played a part in our relationship?

Rand hopped out of the hole and sank to the ground next to the box. “Rusted,” he pronounced, and pulled out the knife he carried at his belt (a habit I couldn't break him of except in airports). He took the hilt and hammered at the crusted lock on the front until it broke away.

Then he pried the lid open.

“Holy crap,” I said, spotting the items inside.

The box was full. At first it looked like a bunch of moldy junk. It was clear that Medieval-Rand had tossed a bolt of silk into things, and it had rotted a while back. But under the scraps of fabric, there were small flasks, jeweled crosses, and a necklace with stones as big as chicken nuggets.

“My war spoils,” he told me, pulling out a flask. “This expensive . . . pepper? Red? I do not know word.”

“Spice?” I asked him, taking it from his fingers. The cork stopper was rotted, and I wrinkled my nose. “Probably didn't last the storage.”

He looked disappointed. “Cloth is gone. So is book.” He nudged something in the corner that looked like sludge.

“But look at this other stuff,” I exclaimed, leaning in. “Is that a cup of some kind?”

“For drinking,” he agreed, picking it up. It was tarnished, but I could see gems sticking out of the sides. In the bowl of the cup there were coins, all crusted together, and what looked like a few brooches. Holy jeez. Medieval coins. Gold. Jewels. “Is it good?”

I shook my head, scarcely believing it. When we'd sold the anhua jars for six figures, I'd been stunned. This stuff was worth so much more. “Baby, this is better than good. This is amazing.”