Stolen Fury (2 page)
“He’s been here a while.” She fought the excitement, tried to think rationally. This was probably nothing more than an unlucky caver. But something in her gut said it might be more.
Simeon crouched next to her on the rocks, a wary look in his eye. “Bad spirits in this cave.” He glanced around. “Not good to disturb the dead.”
Barely hearing him, she lifted the front pouch of the sack and extracted a worn wallet. She opened the leather folder. “Donald Ramsey. Born in 1946. ID reissued in 1982.”
Simeon glanced at the license in her hand. “He been down here close to twenty years.”
“That’d be my guess.” She looked up and around again. “If he was caving alone and tumbled in here like I did, he never could have gotten out.”
And that was the reason a sane person never went caving alone.
Lisa pawed through the front pouch some more and pulled out a worn map and a few sheets of yellow paper. “Looks like the guy was a treasure hunter.” She showed Simeon the frayed map. “There’s even an
X
on that one.”
A smile twisted Simeon’s dark face. “
X
marks the spot.”
“Yeah, right,” she said with a slight grin. “Only in Hollywood.”
But her smile faded as she took a closer look at the aged papers. They detailed the location of a sunken Spanish galleon off the coast of Jamaica.
Her heart thumped against her ribs.
Fingers shaking, she opened the top pouch of the pack and peered inside. And her pulse beat frantically as she drew out a rectangular piece of marble roughly nine inches tall by twelve inches wide. When she turned it, the relief on the opposite side came into view, and she drew in a sharp breath.
The marble depicted a woman dressed in a Greek toga. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her gaze was fixed down toward her feet. Bare toes peeked out from beneath the robe, her bent knee indicating her weight was perched on one foot. Small wings jutted out of her back, and through her hair, snakes encircled her head like a wreath.
“Holy Mother o’God,” Simeon mumbled, looking toward the relief.
The cold of the cave slipped to the back of Lisa’s mind. “Trust me, this isn’t the Virgin Mary.”
She turned the relief in her hands, ran her fingers along the smooth back. The number one was carved into the bottom right side.
“It looks like there are cutouts on the side,” Simeon said. “Like it fits together with another piece.”
Perspiration tickled Lisa’s skin in the damp air, and she swallowed. Six trips to the Jamaican caves over the past
fifteen years, and she’d never found a single trace of the Greek goddess now in front of her. And today she’d simply stumbled across it when the floor had caved beneath her.
“Two other pieces,” she said quietly. “It’s one of three.”
“Three? Where are the other two?”
Definitely not here.
Ignoring the question, Lisa shrugged out of her pack, extracted a thick piece of black fabric and wrapped it carefully around the relief. She slid the marble inside, latched the flap and stood as she slung the knapsack onto her shoulder. “It’s time to go.”
Wide-eyed, Simeon rose. He didn’t question her, simply let her step past him and move toward the rope. She was paying him enough to keep quiet about their little excursion and not ask questions, and he knew that.
With the pack secured to her back, she strapped on the harness and started her ascent to the top of the waterfall. Simeon controlled the rope from the bottom. At the top, she waited while he scaled the wall of water, the pack heavy on her back. Heavier than one small marble relief should feel.
She pushed aside the thought as they silently made their way back through the cascade of water, careful to keep their feet wide to avoid slipping. Twice Lisa lost her balance, and the strong Jamaican stopped her from sliding back down the tunnel.
Okay, so he’d more than earned his pay. She’d have to give him a nice tip and a good recommendation.
When they reached the spot where the floor had given out beneath her, Simeon’s hand covered her arm. Lisa flashed him an annoyed look, but paused when he held a finger to his lips. “Shh.” He lifted his hand and flipped off his lantern. Hearing movement above, Lisa did the same.
Voices echoed from the vast room—thick Jamaican Creole she couldn’t understand, followed by a softer voice speaking English. She strained to listen, could barely hear the tones, but couldn’t make out any of the words.
With a firm hand, Simeon pressed her back against the wall of the tunnel. “No sound,” he whispered.
Two voices. Maybe three. Male. Angry.
Crap, they’d found the Jeep parked outside in the brush. She thought they’d hidden it well enough to avoid a run-in.
Simeon tugged her back down the wet tunnel. For once, she didn’t argue and try to take control.
He pushed her into a small tunnel to her right. She dropped to her hands and knees. The pack hit the roof of the cave, and she paused, wiggling out of the straps. Rolling to her side, she shoved the pack in front of her and slithered through the tunnel. Without light, she had absolutely no clue if the tunnel was getting bigger or smaller, or even where the heck they were headed.
Simeon’s breathing at her back was all she could hear. That and the pounding of her heart echoing through her head.
The tunnel took a sharp right turn, and Lisa curved her body to mold to the space. The walls closed in tighter. The oxygen level dropped as the tube grew smaller. Her helmet hit the ceiling, both shoulders brushed the walls, and she stopped, fearing she was at the end of the line.
“Keep going,” Simeon whispered from behind.
“I can’t. It’s too tight.”
“This tunnel goes through. I checked the map before we came down.”
He
had
to be kidding. No way she was purposely turning into a sardine without seeing the map or tunnel for herself.
“I’m going to turn on my lantern.”
“No!” he whispered sharply. “They still back there. Go.”
Holy crap. She didn’t want to spend the next ten years in a Jamaican clink, or worse, wind up dead. She’d been warned—in no uncertain terms—not to trespass on private property again. And obviously, she hadn’t listened. But then, she didn’t exactly take kindly to unsolicited advice.
Drawing in a deep breath, she peered into the blackness
ahead, contemplating her choices. This was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
Before she could change her mind, she kicked over onto her side, dropped her head against the floor of the tunnel and wriggled deeper into the tube. The walls pressed in on her, front and back. She couldn’t lift her head more than an inch off the ground. With the pack in front of her, she tried to slither through the shrinking space.
The tunnel took a sharp turn to the left. She folded her torso around the corner. This was it. She was going to get stuck in here and die, with the first of the Furies in her grasp.
No way. She wasn’t giving up.
Blowing out all the oxygen in her lungs, she kicked her legs and gave one last thrust into the tunnel. Her chest burned, every muscle ached, and just when she thought she was a goner, the cave widened.
Warm, sweet air filled her lungs. The steadily rising ceiling allowed her enough room to lift her head. Just ahead, the soft flicker of light shone through the darkness.
She suppressed the glee rolling through her and kept moving forward, slithering until the tunnel widened enough so she could push herself up to her hands and knees, then finally stand when the ceiling took a sharp rise.
Hands braced on her thighs, she bent over at the waist and drew in large gulps of musty air. She could hear Simeon still struggling in the cave. If she’d been stuck, he had to be in serious trouble. The man was at least twice her size.
She crouched in the darkness, calling out to him softly.
“Almost there,” he croaked. Metal scraped against rock, and then she heard him scrambling across the tunnel floor toward her.
Lisa grappled in the darkness and reached out, wrapping her fingers around his thick arms. Mud covered every part of their bodies. She helped him to his feet. His muffled coughing filled the space.
“How the hell did you get through there?” she asked in a whisper. “I barely made it myself.”
White teeth flashed in the darkness as he straightened. “I pray to Olorun to make me small as a snake to slither through the cave. He answer my prayer.”
Lisa frowned and let his answer roll right off her. She wasn’t going to get into a religious debate with him, and there was no way she was touching that one.
She slung the knapsack over her shoulder, turned and headed for the crack of light ahead. “Come on. Let’s get out of here while we can.”
“Your goddess pull you through that tunnel?”
Was he serious? She suppressed a laugh. Sheer female determination had saved her ass, as always. “No.”
“She will,” he said behind her. “You let her, and she’ll pull you to the light.”
Lisa glanced over her shoulder. In the dim light she could just make out his serious expression. “Thanks.” She shifted forward and kept walking, feeling the need to put as much distance between her and this cave as possible. “But I think I’ve got all the light I need.”
“You think that, but you don’t. You in the dark, Dr. Maxwell. Pitch dark. But things change. You see.”
Her guide had lost some serious oxygen in that tunnel, but he was right about one thing—something had definitely changed. She finally had what she’d been seeking for nearly fifteen years. With a little luck she’d be on her way to the second of the three Furies real soon. And she knew just where to start looking.
Dr. Lisa Maxwell wasn’t what he’d expected.
Sitting in the back row of the massive auditorium, Rafe Sullivan adjusted his nonprescription glasses, shifted in the uncomfortable charcoal suit and leaned forward to get a better view of the speaker. The redhead wore a short black skirt and fitted blazer, and kept pointing to a map of ancient Persia. He tried to listen to her words, but that husky siren voice of hers kept throwing him off, and those sinful legs were the biggest distraction God had ever created.
No way this woman spent her life digging in the dirt, searching for artifacts worth less than the Rolex on his wrist. Though he did enjoy the image of that lean body coated in mud as she wrestled for a broken scrap of history only a handful of nerds could possibly be interested in.
Rafe hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, leaned back in his seat. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what the woman was jabbering about, but he needed to pay attention if he was going to get close to her once this boring lecture was over. And the only way to do that was to close his eyes so he’d stop fantasizing about seeing her naked.
Just as he was thinking her droning lecture would never end, sharp applause echoed through the hall. He glanced around the emptying auditorium and sat up, stretching his sore back and rolling stiff shoulders.
Showtime.
Briefcase in hand, he wandered up the side aisle past exiting attendees, taking a careful sweep of those left in the auditorium. A few people lingered near the back of the room. Dr. Maxwell stood just in front of the stage near the center aisle, talking with a small group of men and women.
Brown-nosers. Rafe frowned.
He checked his watch, bit back the impatience. He couldn’t make his move until she was alone, and he wanted to get this over with so he didn’t miss his flight.
A guy with a bad comb-over at Dr. Maxwell’s right kept cutting into the conversation. She flicked him an irritated glance, then angled her body toward the round, middle-aged man to her left. Pudgy seemed to be rattling off a dissertation about the Middle East and barely noticed her uncomfortable stance. Dr. Maxwell feigned interest, but she couldn’t hide her irritation at being trapped between the two men, or the fact she didn’t have any interest in talking with Comb-over, who continued to tap her on the shoulder in an attempt to dominate the conversation. There was no sign of the blonde assistant who’d brought Dr. Maxwell water and anything else she’d requested during her presentation.
Jaw clenching, she brushed Comb-over’s hand away and took a step toward Pudgy. The small circle broke up, and Pudgy handed her a business card, thanked her with an arm-pumping handshake, then turned and walked up the center aisle, leaving Comb-over alone with the sexy doctor. His eyes took on an excited gleam. Hers screamed
Get me the hell out of here.
And watching, Rafe knew he’d just been given his in. He stepped forward.
“Your discussion of the great city of Susa fascinates me.” Comb-over followed Dr. Maxwell up the steps and onto the stage. “I would very much like to continue the conversation, say, over dinner?” She stopped at the table and busied herself by stacking papers in a box at her left, but the guy didn’t take the hint. “Your insight into Darius the Great’s rebuilding of the city is riveting.”
With her back to Comb-over, Dr. Maxwell rolled her eyes. She darted a quick look around, as if searching for an escape. “That’s a very nice offer, Mr. Menlo, but I simply can’t. I already have…plans.”
A smile crept across Rafe’s face. Definitely his in.
He walked quickly up the steps, his dress shoes clicking across the shiny floor. They both turned his way at the sound.
“
Querida
, there you are. I thought you said you’d be done an hour ago.” He poured on the Spanish accent, dropped his briefcase at his feet and slipped his arm around Dr. Maxwell’s shoulders.
She looked up with a startled expression.
He pulled her against his chest and slid his other hand around her back. Man, the woman was small. Five-four, if she was lucky, but all muscle underneath. And she smelled like fresh gardenias. That was an unexpected treat.
Her body tensed in his arms. Her hand pressed against his chest, warming the skin under his cotton dress shirt. When her mouth opened in protest, he leaned close to her ear so only she could hear him. “Do you want to get away from this guy?”