Tag, You're It! (13 page)

"She's okay," Alex said impatiently.

"What's this all about?" Dee asked.

"The Lost Spaniard."

Dee rolled her eyes. "That old chestnut."

"At least you didn't laugh at me," Tag said.

"Why would I laugh? The Lost Spaniard is serious business. Every few years some greenhorn thinks he can come out here with no experience and no common sense and stumble across a treasure smarter men have died trying to find. And when that greenhorn goes missing, I have to send all my men out looking for him. Waste of our time, waste of his life."

"Tag is this year's greenhorn," Alex said helpfully.

"And he thinks you can help him find it?"

"Fate thinks so," Tag said, and then he told Dee how they'd met. Alex filled in the rest of the story, including a detail or two that were new to Tag, namely Mick and Franky.

"Mick and Franky?" Tag said. "Mick and Franky tried to kidnap you before the guy with the knife? You never told me that."

"It was no big deal," Alex said. "They weren't from Casteel—Mick's accent was almost East Coast, now that I think about it. Probably a couple of gold-fever newcomers who wanted me to guide them. I handled it."

"You—" Tag slammed out of his chair and loomed across the table, brandishing his finger in her face. "I—" But none of the accusations that came to mind were valid. He hadn't been there, and she'd had no choice but to handle it. "Mick and Franky?"

"Frick and Frack," Dee put in.

Alex smiled but Tag wasn't amused.

"You're pretty cavalier about it," he said.

Alex shrugged. "They said they wouldn't hurt me."

"Right, they introduced themselves, asked you a question or two, and when you refused to answer they just let you go?"

"Not exactly." She bit back a smile. "They asked me what you'd told me, and when I refused to answer Franky got a little… testy. So I kicked him. In the balls."

"Jesus." Tag hunched, strictly in reflex.

"I was aiming for his knee, and he moved," Alex said, sounding defensive—and obviously resenting Tag for making her feel that way. "It was his own fault. Franky sort of let Mick's name slip—"

"While he was writhing on the ground in agony?"

"What the hell did you expect me to do? Let them kidnap me without putting up a fight?"

"Why didn't you run or scream? It's not against the law to ask for help."

"When you helped me I got stabbed."

"It's just a scratch."

"This is entertaining and all," Dee said to Tag, "but what makes you think you can do what hundreds have failed at—and I might point out most of those people were familiar with this country. A hell of a lot more familiar than you'd be."

"Tag has a map," Alex volunteered.

"
The
map."

"Well, haul it out here and let's have a gander at it."

There was no reason to hold back, and considering Dee's probable—and very flattering—reaction to him unhis shirt, he untucked it instead, retrieving the linen-wrapped map from the bottom.

They all bent over it, holding their breaths while he unwrapped it, then letting them out when they'd stared at the map for a bit and no light bulbs popped on over their heads.

"Not much to go on," Dee said.

There were six sites marked on the face of the map: Denver, Casteel, and four others, at least two of which were in Spanish. There was a notation at the far right and one at the top, again both in Spanish, but it didn't make sense that either of those would lead directly to the treasure.

"I can see where some of the geography resembles this area," Dee continued after a moment, "but nothing's jumpout at me."

"It's not a very good representation of the terrain," Alex agreed, "but look at this." She pointed to a section just to the right and below center. "If you assume that's my valley and work your way out from there, it makes more sense."

Dee nodded, but she didn't say anything, just straightened and walked away. When she came back she was unfolding a current map. She laid it next to the old one and the similarities were even more apparent. "You make any sense of these Spanish words yet?"

"We, uh, just acquired the map," Alex said. 'This is the first chance we've had to study it."

"I speak a little Spanish," Tag said. "Not enough to decipher something written a hundred and fifty years ago by a man trying to misdirect anyone who might get their hands on this without his permission." His Spanish ran more toward the modern, barrio version. He could curse like a gang leader, and he could threaten to kill somebody, but he couldn't order breakfast. "I can pick out a word here and there. That's east," he said, pointing at the right side of the map.

Dee stuck her hands on her hips, shook her head. "You plan to head out with nothing more than this to go on?"

"Nope." Alex sat back in her chair, her gaze settling on Tag. "There's no point in searching when we know so little. We'll have to go to Denver."

"Yeah."

"Maybe Junior will get tired of waiting and give up."

They locked gazes, both of them shaking their heads at the same time.

"Who's Junior?" Dee wondered into the silence.

"Trust me," Alex said, "you don't want to know."

THE SHEETS WERE CLEAN, SO WAS ALEX, AND SO WERE her clothes. She'd eaten three square meals—all in the one day—luxuriated in a hot bath, dosed herself up with painkillers, and somebody owed her a couple nights' worth of sleep.

She'd been in bed long enough to recoup a decent chunk of those lost hours—and she knew exactly how many pine boards made up the ceiling. She'd sung "99 Bottles of Beer" all the way through, counted sheep, and done a lot of pillow rolling to find the cool side. What she really needed to do was shut off her brain—or at least banish Tag Donovan from it.

Okay, to be completely fair and honest, it was waking up cradled in his arms that she couldn't forget. Nestled against him, with his arm warm around her waist and his chest hard under her cheek. And not just his chest had been hard, either. And all right, it wasn't only her brain she couldn't seem to turn off. But at least her brain was making more noise than her body. Maybe it had to yell to be heard, but it only had to shout one word and she got the message.

Fool.

He only wanted one thing from her—okay, two things. But his main goal was the Lost Spaniard. If he could get some side benefits along the way he'd go for it. Problem was, to him it would only be sex. She'd adopted a lot of the male approach to life, mostly out of self-defense, but she'd never mastered the art of disconnecting her libido from her emotions.

She'd used the time she'd spent tending the horses to get her priorities straight again. Fate and circumstances— and Tag Donovan—had contrived to sucker her into a treasure hunt. If she let herself get involved emotionally that would be her own fault.

A board creaked in the hall and she went still, except that her heart jumped so high in her throat it felt like it was bouncing between her eardrums. It was probably just the house settling, she told herself. The fact that it came from the direction of Tag's room next door didn't mean anything.

The scuff of a booted foot outside her door was a lot less open to interpretation. The creep was coming to her room. And she had two choices.

There was her body, screaming at her to just stay put and see what he wanted. As if she didn't know what he wanted. And there was her mind, telling her to get up and show him what happened to a man who tried to sneak into her bed in the middle of the night. Both choices could be so satisfying, but she had a feeling sleeping with Tag wouldn't result in any actual sleeping. Before or after. It would only lead to more confusion.

So she went with her head.

All she had on was a pair of panties and one of Dee's T-shirts—and Dee was a good six inches shorter than her. But then Tag had already seen her panties; it was the possibility she'd tear them off herself to spare him the trouble that was worrisome.

She made a mad dash for the door, ending up behind it just as it began to open. Dee didn't believe in night-lights, so it was pretty dark, but Alex saw a head poke in, and there was something odd about that head…

Because it wasn't Tag's head.

Any other time it might have been a blow to her ego, or at least she'd have felt silly for thinking Tag was so desperate for her that he'd give up sleep. What she was thinking about was the bedclothes—not losing the opportunity to burn them up.

The white sheets were pretty visible, and it was obvious the bed wasn't occupied. About the time her unknown visiwas coming to the same conclusion, Alex slammed the door on his head. Okay, so she was imagining it being Tag's head, but that was going to be her little secret, and anyway the result was the same.

The guy dropped like, well, like Tag falling out of that plane. Only he didn't have as far to go and there wasn't a foot of snow to cushion the blow. Or anything to muffle the thud.

By then she could already hear the sounds of a scuffle coming from Tag's room. She raced next door and found two men locked in hand-to-hand combat. One was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, one nothing but boxers—familiar boxers. She plucked an antique, long-handled warming pan from the wall, waited long enough to get her bearings, chose her moment, and swung for the fences, clocking the fully-clothed guy upside the head.

Tag was in midswing. He went down on top of the other guy, yelling, "Shit, Alex, I had it under control."

She held out a hand and braced herself to help him up. "It's not against the law to ask for help."

"What's going on?" Dee asked from the doorway. She flipped on a light and had them both squinting.

Tag clambered to his feet, glaring at her the entire way to upright. "Alex rescued me again," he said.

"And look," she said, "nobody got stabbed."

He opened his mouth, and the look on his face was pretty comical, but he didn't seem to be getting any words out.

"That's one of my men," Dee said, toeing the guy out cold on the floor.

"There's another one next door," Alex said.

"What?" That came from Tag, who was already out the door, Dee hot on his heels.

"Couple of itinerant cowboys I took on for the spring roundup," Dee said when Alex joined them.

"They must've been trying to steal the map."

"And kidnap you," Tag told Alex. "What is it with you and men?"

Alex went toe to toe with him. "Everyone thinks I can find the stupid treasure because of you."

"That's not the only reason they tried to grab you," Tag snapped.

"I'm sorry to break up this tender moment," Dee interjected, "but you two have to leave. I've been working these guys from sunup to sundown, and they haven't been to town since last week, so I didn't figure they'd heard about the treasure. But if these two know, chances are the rest of the bunkhouse is talking about it. I trust some of those guys, others…" She did a hands up and disappeared through the door.

Tag stared at Alex for a minute, then his eyes dropped to her breasts, peaked nipples clearly visible through the white cotton T-shirt. His gaze passed over the strip of bare skin below the hem of the shirt and settled on the black lace bikini panties Dee had loaned her.

"If we had time…" he said.

"What makes you think time is the only obstacle you have?"

Dee saved him from coming up with a response by stepping back into the room and flipping a set of keys to Tag.

"I was going to lend you my old Lincoln," she said, "but I think it's better if you take the extra pickup."

"Why is that?" Alex wanted to know.

"It's got a bed."

Tag's gaze lifted to clash with hers again, and Alex knew he could see that she was… attracted to him. She held his eyes, let him see that she knew that he knew, and then she shook her head. "Not going to happen."

"I talked you into looking for the treasure, didn't I?"

"This would require a lot more than talking."

He grinned. 'That's the idea."

"It would require a lot more than that, too. Like a personality transplant."

"From?"

"Somebody I like."

"I guess that would mean Jackass, then, because so far he's the only male you like."

"You know why? He doesn't talk."

DENVER WAS ONE OF ALEX'S FAVORITE PLACES.

Clean air, lots of space, and the kind of in-your-face attitude she could relate to. It had its touristy areas and its big buildings, and streets that were sometimes jammed with traffic, but despite a population numbering in the millions, it didn't seem crowded. Maybe it was the sky that seemed to go on forever, or the way the suburbs didn't crowd up against the city limits. Whatever it was, she felt good there. Even if she was forced to share it with Tag Donovan.

She had to admit he came in handy, though. He'd done most of the driving between the Bar D and Denver, which meant Alex managed to get in some sleep. And within an hour of their arrival they had a room at a midrange hotel, compliments of another one of Tag's shady acquaintances. She would've expected something seedier, but she wasn't complaining. She was wondering how he'd managed it. Blackmail, threats, bribery? She hadn't seen any cash change hands, and it definitely wasn't charm, judging by the manager's face. Tag had made her stay on the other side of the lobby while he talked to the guy. When he came back he had key cards in his hand and a smug expression on his face.

"We can only stay two nights," he said, handing her one of the cards. "The Colorado Gold Rush starts this weekend. It's being held at another hotel, but they always get some of the overflow here, and they expect to start filling up tonight."

"The Gold Rush?"

"Must be some sort of historical thing," Tag said.

"Good, if we can't find what we need, someone here might be able to help us. Maybe our luck is changing. The hotel could be worse, anyway."

"You're welcome."

"It's your turn," Alex said, going proactive for a change. She felt pretty decent for the first time in four days. Rested. If she kept him from talking too much, she might not get pissed oft and ruin her mood. "I handled the accommodations last night."

"And they were spectacular. I especially liked the attempted robbery and kidnapping."

"You're blaming that on me?"

Tag's smugness toned down a couple of notches, and he turned for the elevator. "Let's go up to our room," he said, "the room I got for us because you're broke and unconnected in this town."

"Sure," Alex said. "Let's go up to your room and unpack— Oh, wait, I don't have anything to unpack. Everything I own is in this duffel. Two changes of clothing and what's left of my research."

Tag halted midstride, spent a minute going through some sort of internal distress, then tossed up his hands. "I'm sorry, all right? I got you burned out of your cabin. I got you stabbed. I ruined your life. There, are you happy?"

"Huh," Alex said, "what's wrong with you? That almost sounded sincere." Sincerely deranged, but she kept that to herself. She had to share a room with him, so maybe it was time to stop pushing him before he went over the edge and throttled her in her sleep.

"I'm tired," Tag said, resuming his trek to the elevator, shoulders down, hands stuffed in his pockets. The black field bag he'd borrowed from Dee was over his shoulder. "Can we just go up to the room and get some rest?"

"Do whatever you want. I'm going to get started on the research."

He stopped again. This time he looked at her, and the edge of dementia in his eyes matched the one in his voice. "Not without me, you're not. We do the research together."

"Meaning you aren't going to give me the map." Alex brushed past him, her decent mood ruined. "You think I'm going to run off with it?"

No answer.

"Fine, you and the map have a nice rest."

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

He sighed, doing an about-face and heading for the front door of the hotel.

"I thought you were tired," she said, slipping the strap to her case over her shoulder and falling into step with him, reluctantly.

"I am."

"But you don't trust me. That's rich, Donovan. After all the garbage you've dumped on me, you think I'd double-cross you?"

"I don't think you'd see it as double-crossing," he said. "I think you'd consider it more along the lines of poetic justice."

Alex gave him a long, level stare but she didn't deny it. She'd always had her own self-interest firmly in the forebut she'd allowed room for company. If Tag wasn't harboring any loyalty for her, though, she'd be damned if she had any for him. Besides, he was right. This whole thing stunk of every-man-for-himself—and she didn't see any reason a woman couldn't come out on top. In fact she was betting her life on it.

"Where are we going?"

She didn't feel like answering that question, either.

She'd really been looking forward to ditching him. Her nerves needed a break. So did her hormones.

Tag got the message but it didn't shut him up. "What I'm getting at is do we need to drive?"

"The Colorado State Archives is only a mile or so from here," Alex said, because it wouldn't do her any good to ignore him. He had the persistence of a bulldog. "We can walk."

"Are you serious? I fell out of a plane, spent eight hours on a horse for the first time in a decade, got into a fistfight, and then drove all night."

"I was there, remember? It's only a mile. If I can—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you were stabbed, and if you can walk with a sore leg, so can I." And he stomped off.

Longer legs and a good head of steam had him setting a pace Alex would've had to trot to keep up with. If she'd wanted to keep up with him.

She stayed where she was, watched him go out through the revolving door and then come back in when he realized she wasn't behind him.

"Are you coming?"

"I was letting you have your moment."

He fought it for a minute, then he grinned. "I don't know where I'm going."

"That too." But she met him halfway and walked down the sidewalk beside him. She was careful to leave enough dead air space between them to neutralize that moment of camaraderie. It was a slippery slope, friendship with Tag Donovan, and she had no intention of sliding into anything with him that might create ties, especially the invisible kind. Those hurt the most when they were broken.

Best to stick with the very real treasure map. Chances were good they'd end up with nothing, but at least it would only be her hands that were empty.

When they got to the archives, they were referred to the Colorado State Library. Getting there wasn't a problem, either, since it wasn't even a quarter of a mile away. And the walk actually helped her nerves because it took them through Civic Center Park. Very restful, especially since she managed to pretend she was alone until they got to their destination. And then she was forced to focus on Tag—and it was hard not to, considering the fact he was going out of his way to be accommodating.

Alex hit the computerized card catalog right off, Tag hovering over her shoulder like a big, sexually stimulating shadow. She flashed back to the previous morning, waking up in his lap, the pommel hard in front of her, Tag hard behind her. More of her throbbing than just her leg. And that made her think of the inn in Casteel. Kissing him. She'd have given him just about anything he wanted then. But he'd turned her down.

Some of the heat from her body moved up into her face. At least the attraction was only physical, she told herself, just a matter of him catching her with her defenses down. Thank god she was awake now and immune to his charms.

Thank god it didn't take her long to find what she wanted. The maps and reference materials they needed were kept in a climate-controlled, locked room, which nonmembers weren't allowed to access unless they had special dispensation. The only exception was for students of the local universities. She told Tag as much—from a few feet away.

"They won't mistake either of us for students," Tag observed, missing the look Alex shot him because he was already sizing up the librarian. Midforties, mousy brown hair, mousy expression, mousy… everything. No wedding ring.

He stretched his arms and ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times, checking his reflection in the nearest computer screen.

Alex crossed her arms and stood back. Con man, she reminded herself. "I think you should let me handle this," she said. "I've dealt with a lot of librarians in the past ten years."

"I've dealt with a lot of women. And it's been more than ten years."

"Maybe you should read up on Don Juan or Casanova first."

He shot her a look over his shoulder, but before he faced forward again he made sure he was sending out just the right combination of sincerity and confusion.

"The biographies are upstairs ," the librarian said withso much as looking at him.

"My friend was only joking," Tag said. "Actually I'm doing some research on the gold rush, and it would be a big help if I could look at your maps."

That got her attention. She glanced up briefly, then did a double take. Tag didn't need to look over his shoulder and see if Alex was tuned in. He could feel her scorn.

He leaned on the counter, lowering his voice so the librarian had to lean in as well. He knew he had her when she blushed and looked down. "Jane Newstead," he read off her nametag. "Mrs.?"

"It's Ms., Jane, actually."

"Jane," he repeated, dropping the timbre as well as the volume of his voice.

Her blush deepened and she picked up a book from the counter, running her hands over the cover. It seemed to have a calming effect on her.

"My name is Tag Donovan, and I work for the FBI," he said, keeping his voice low so Alex wouldn't overhear him. The librarian looked up at him, her eyes wide. Oh, yeah, this was definitely a woman who longed for a little excitement. "I can't carry my ID with me." He started to glance over his shoulder, then checked the motion. "I'm on a case, so I'm sure you understand why."

Her gaze flicked up to Alex then quickly back down again. "Of course. If you got caught with it…"

"Exactly. I really need access to the map room."

"Oh, that's out of the question."

"But—"

"Every agent has a handler, right? Someone they can contact for assistance. Perhaps if you gave me his or her name, I could verify your identity."

Tag caught himself actually considering it until he realized that he couldn't let anyone discover he'd pulled out the old FBI card to impress a woman. Even if it was the truth, and necessary to the case. He already had enough to live down with the bureau.

He didn't like the alternative, either, but retreat was the only avenue left open to him, so he took it. He thought he pulled it off with a lot of class.

It didn't stop Alex from being amused. "Never underestimate a librarian," she said.

Tag snorted.

"It takes a special person to work in a place where you can't talk over a whisper and eye strain is a major job hazard," Alex said.

"It takes a person without dust allergies," Tag muttered, "and with an overdeveloped fondness for books."

"A lot of people throw themselves into their work. Maybe you should treat her with respect instead of trying to play her."

"You think you can do better?"

"I know I can," Alex said. She marched up to the desk and flopped her leather satchel on the counter. "Ms. Newstead?"

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"Absolutely. I need access to your research room. Specifically the older maps." While she was talking she pulled out her driver's license and her college ID.

Ms. Newstead didn't do more than glance at it long enough to note that it was dated four years before. She was on the verge of handing down another refusal until Alex pulled a
National Geographic
magazine out of her satchel. She made sure she kept the cover turned away from Tag.

Ms. Newstead looked from the picture to Alex's face, and when Alex flipped it open to the credits page, the liunconsciously straightened in instant respect for anyone represented by the printed word.

"Dr. Scott," she said, "what can I do for you?"

"My… assistant and I are doing some work for an article on the Colorado gold rush, and we need access to your research materials. Of course I'll include an acknowledgment for you and the library," she added, squelching the little voice of outrage in her brain—not because she was lying, but beshe was using the woman's own personality quirks against her. It was a tactic Tag would have employed. If he'd come up with it.

Ms. Newstead bit her lip, glancing over Alex's shoulder, then leaning in to ask, "So he is with you?" with her eyes still on Tag.

"Yes."

"Is he really an FBI agent?"

"Did he tell you that? No, sorry, stupid question." Alex half turned to look at him, shaking her head. "Of course he told you he was with the FBI."

Tag had the good sense to keep quiet. He didn't, however, look apologetic. The rat.

"Mr. Donovan is a real practical joker," Alex said, and then realized she needed to explain away her apparent complicity in the lie. "And once in a while I indulge him. I'm sorry if you were offended."

"Not at all." Ms. Newstead pulled out a key card, similar to the ones used by hotels. "The card will give you access to the restricted room, and I assume you know how to handle delicate historical documents?"