Treasure Tides (The Coins) (4 page)

“Uh, where are you from, and what do you do?” Becki asked in a
rush, pulling away at the last moment to wrap both hands firmly around
her coffee mug.
Royce picked up his own coffee before answering, “I own a home
security business near Asheville.”
His stomach clinched again, protesting the lie he was forced to tell.
He sat his coffee back down on the table without having taken a drink.
“Home Security” served as a cover for his team, which currently
consisted of seven members, each possessing their own unique set of
skills.
ART (Artifact Recovery Team) had been formed by the Secret
Council centuries ago, specifically to recover “artifacts” that had either
been stolen, or simply gone missing. The majority of these items could
be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.
The Secret Council was just that-- a
secret council
-- keeping even
bigger secrets.
They were also the keepers of potentially harmful
“artifacts”. However, with the amount of corruption and ongoing
power struggles among the immortal communities, these “artifacts”
were proving difficult to keep under wraps.
Royce’s team had been charged with recovering a collection of
coins.
The collection had been spelled by Merlin centuries ago.
Each
coin had been created for a specific purpose.
If used improperly or by
the wrong people, the world as we know it could altered. The coins
had fallen into circulation upon the gruesome demise of the original
thief, a rogue warlock who had originally been a trusted advisor to
Merlin.
“Home security,” Becki repeated, the proverbial light-bulb turning
on. “That’s how you know Ryker. I knew he was in some sort of
security business.”
“Yes, Ryker and I have known each other most of our lives,” Royce
confirmed. “Like I said, I didn’t realize the house was occupied. I’m
sorry I barged in on you.”
“I fell in love with this place the first time I drove by it. My Uncle
Kurt knew Ryker’s dad, so he hooked me up. Ryker said he only used
this place as a beach-vacation house, and that since he was going to be
gone for a while, it would help him out if I just stayed here.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Royce responded drearily.
Becki laughed, understanding what he failed to put into words.
Ryker was quite a ladies’ man. Sexy as hell, and he knew it.
“Becki!” Kurt yelled as he ran around the corner of her house.
She jumped out of her chair and rushed toward him.
His face was
red, he was breathing hard, and he was ringing wet. He looked ready to
collapse. Oh my God, was he having a heart attack?
“Royce!” Becki screamed. “Call 911. Something is wrong!”
Seeing that she was about to panic, Kurt shook his head and held
one finger in the air signaling her to give him a minute.
He was bent
over at the waist resting his hands on his thighs, while attempting to
draw gulps of precious air into his oxygen starved lungs.
Ok, so he
wasn’t in as great of shape as he had thought he was. That five mile
sprint had been a bitch. Kurt had run three miles before flagging down
a passing motorist. The sweet elderly woman had just dropped him off
about two miles north of Becki’s house.
Glancing toward the deck in search of the crate, he noticed that Becki
was not alone.
Kurt stared intently at the man now standing with a
comforting arm around his niece. He moved quickly toward the couple.
Becki, sensing that something was still not right, walked toward Kurt.
“Are you--”
Before Becki could finish, Kurt grabbed her and shoved her roughly
behind him.
Shielding her with his body, he addressed the stranger,
“Who are you?” Kurt’s mind raced.
Was he one of them
?
Royce stood rigidly assessing this intruder who dared to touch Becki
in such a familiar way.
Royce tried to determine whether the intruder
was friend or foe, as rage poured through his system.
He clinched his
fists and fought the urge to knock the other man’s teeth out.
Becki squeezed between them shouting, “What in the world is wrong
with you Kurt? This is my friend Royce.”
Kurt frowned. He had not heard of a friend Royce, and that T-shirt
looked familiar. Didn’t he have one just like it?
“He knows Ryker!” Becki explained quickly, as if that would make
Kurt feel better. “He didn’t know the beach house was occupied, so he-uh, stopped by this morning to check on things.”
Kurt relaxed his stance somewhat, and took a couple steps back.
“Royce,” Becki continued, “This is my uncle, Kurt Rodgers.”
Royce stepped around Becki and offered a hand-shake, “Royce St.
John, pleased to meet you, Sir.”
Accepting the hand offered in greeting, Kurt responded in kind,
“Nice to meet you as well.”
Royce immediately recognized the tattoo on Kurt’s forearm; it was
identical to the one Ryker’s dad carried. Each person in Ryker’s old unit
wore the same tat, commemorating a team member who had been lost.
Hidden in the intricate design was a crest known only to those who
worked with the Secret Council. He wore an identical crest, hidden in
the shell of a sea turtle inked on his chest, just above his heart.
Picking up his cup of cold coffee, Royce asked, “Would you like a cup
of coffee, sir?”
“
No-
, uh, no thanks, I came to pick something up,” Kurt said, looking
around. “Has Landon been here already? I called him on my way over.”
Royce became suddenly interested in coffee grounds at the bottom of
his cup.
And then as luck would have it, his watch began to flash.
Oh
shit!
Sean’s timing was spot-on as usual.
Royce quickly covered the flashing time-piece.
While Becki had not
noticed anything out of the ordinary, Kurt’s sharp eyes did not miss a
thing. Becki watched both men curiously.
“Hey Kurt, what happened to your truck?” Landon asked, as he
strolled out to join the party from
inside
the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.
“Landon, you have to stop picking my locks!” Becki complained.
“What? I knocked on my way in,” Landon said, adopting an air of
innocence.
The fact of the matter was he had caught the scent of a stranger.
When Becki did not immediately answer his knock on the door, he took
matters into his own hands. He followed the trail into the kitchen and
then picked up Kurt’s scent as well. Since he knew things were under
control, he stopped to pour himself a cup of coffee before joining the
crew outside. Landon frowned as he recognized the shirt Royce was
wearing as one that belonged to Kurt.
But who was he to make judgments?
Kurt shook his head grumbling, “Never mind about my truck. It’s a
long story.”
Landon shrugged, and then sat his cup on the patio table, “Let’s get
Becki’s crate loaded and see if we can get it opened up.” Landon
frowned as he looked around, “Did you move it already?”
“No, I haven’t moved it; that son-of-a-bitch was heavy. I figured you
had already been here and moved it.”
“Nope,” Landon said, raising his face slightly to draw in a deep breath
through his nose.
The only scents he picked up were those of Becki,
Kurt, and her visitor.
Royce caught Landon’s slight movement, the lifting of his face, the
“sniff”. Evidently he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. As Royce’s
eyes lingered on Landon, he
raised his eyebrows slightly in silent
question.
Becki spun around, visually scanning the deck. How had she missed
the fact that her crate was gone? “I can’t believe someone would have
the nerve to walk right up on my deck and
steal
it,” she complained.
“I have a hard time believing that myself,” Kurt said, staring hard at
Royce. “That sure is strange,” he mused. “Doesn’t that strike you as
strange, Landon?” Kurt pressed, never once taking his eyes off Royce.
Landon, who picked up on Kurt’s coded message right away, moved
to stand directly behind Kurt.
“How would you explain something like that?” Kurt directed his
question to Royce as both men began to steadily advance toward him.
Royce stood and waited; he didn’t want to have to fight these two.
Although there was no doubt he could kick their collective asses. He
had a trick or two up his sleeve and could cause enough damage to
Landon to at least slow him down. He really didn’t want to hurt either
of them. Becki would most likely be very unhappy with him if he did.
“For Heaven’s sake, back off you two,” Becki said as she stepped in
front of Royce.
Royce’s hands immediately went to Becki’s waist to push her gently
aside. If Landon was not skilled enough to resist his Wolf’s desire to
shift, he did not want Becki to be hurt.
Standing behind Royce now, eyes blazing, she struggled to get back
in front of him. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked Royce
through jaws locked shut in frustration.
Finally deciding she was not going to get around him, she shouted,
“You all are starting to piss me off. You act like I’m sixteen instead of
twenty-two. It’s Halloween, you idiots; the kids have been pulling
pranks all week. I’m sure the stupid box will turn up. What exactly are
you accusing him of anyway?
And, Royce will you stop pushing me
around!”
“Becki,” Royce intervened smoothly, “could I ask you to go put my
clothes in the dryer?”
Had he lost his mind? Becki sputtered, “You want me to go put
your clothes in the dryer, now? In case you haven’t noticed, Landon
and my Uncle are--”
“That is a great idea, Becki,” Kurt agreed, interrupting her. “Go put
his clothes in the dryer, please.”
“But--”
“Now,” both men said in unison.
“This is
bull
shit,” Becki said as she stomped across the deck and
flung the patio door open wide. Spinning around to pin the three men
with a lethal stare she complained, “This is
total
bullshit, and you know
it!” She stepped into the kitchen and then slammed the door behind
her, the glass literally rattled in its frame.
If Kurt had to fix her door after this, it would serve him right. Who
the hell did they think they were, ordering her off her own deck?
She
flung Royce’s wet things in the dryer and then ran a sink full of dish water.
She hated washing dishes by hand, but she was pissed right now, and
could not sit still.
“How do you know Ryker?”
Kurt asked as soon as the patio door
slammed shut.
Royce may have him by a good eight inches and probably twenty years,
but he had been trained to fight for his life. He also knew Landon’s secret.
There
would
be
no
contest
between
Landon
and
the
mortal.
Unfortunately, that would bring a lot of questions to the surface, questions
he would like to avoid.
“I work with him,” Royce answered. “Well, to be more accurate,
he
works for
me
at ART Security.”
Recognition-- and something else-- flared in Kurt’s eyes.
ART
.
Royce
was part of the Secret Council’s team? Why would the Council have someone
working in the Charleston area?
Kurt’s contacts still kept him apprised of
any local
situations
. He had not heard of any activity in the area for a
couple of years. Since special Ops guys didn’t stay in one place too long,
Kurt knew Becki would be in no danger. The two men backed up, and
Royce relaxed his stance.
“How long will you be in town?” Kurt asked.
Royce reached for his coffee mug, and emptied the now-cold liquid
into a potted banana tree before answering. “As soon as I get things
wrapped up here, I’ll be heading back to Asheville.” Glancing toward
the kitchen door Becki had just slammed, he continued, “The sooner the
better.”
Kurt had served with Ryker’s dad in Bahrain several years ago, and
had every intention of calling Ryker Senior the minute he left Becki’s.
Something didn’t feel right. If “The Council” was involved, it could only
mean one thing: danger was near. He knew that Royce would not hurt
Becki, but whomever or whatever he was tracking could, and Kurt didn’t
want Becki anywhere around it.
Kurt nodded and moved toward the back door, “Landon, I need to
get back to work.” With a quick nod to Royce, Kurt added, “I trust your
business here will be concluded quickly. Keep her out of it.”
At Royce’s affirmative nod, Kurt continued through the door. Becki
dried the last dish before slamming it down on the counter.
Kurt pinned her with his gaze, announcing, “I want to see you at my
house for dinner tomorrow night.”
This time, he didn’t wait for a response before he took his leave.
Looking shell-shocked, Becki responded to a now empty room, “Ok,
I’ll be there.”
What the hell? Why was Kurt acting so weird this morning?
There was only
one way to find out. Flinging the towel down on the counter she headed
toward the back door with a purpose.

“What was that all about?” she asked as soon as she saw Royce, who was
leaning with both forearms propped on the deck rail, thoughtfully staring into
her back yard.

Royce shook his head and stepped away from the railing, “I guess he
doesn’t like strange men at your house so early in the morning,” he said with a
wicked smile.

“Don’t give me that,” Beck scoffed. Pulling her bangs up, she continued,
“Do I have
‘stupid’
written on my forehead?”
He stepped forward cupping the back of her head to stare intently at the
exposed strip of flesh directly above her eyebrows.
As if he were indeed
looking to see if something was written there.
Royce suddenly smiled and
buzzed a kiss in the middle of her forehead. “No, I don’t see anything written
there. All I see is--”
Becki shoved him away, “It was a rhetorical question,
ass
.”
Royce walked over to the table and picked up the empty coffee mugs,
intending to take them back into the kitchen.
He hoped she had put his
clothes on speed-dry; she was too cute for her own good.
“I’ll get those,” she said pointing to the coffee mugs he was currently
holding.
“It’s no trouble. It’s the least I can--”
“I
said
I would get them,” she all but snarled now.
He sat them back down on the table, not wishing to upset her further.
“Ok, I’m--”
“What-
exactly
- is it that you do?” There was a mystery here, and she was
going
to get to the bottom of it.
“Home security,” he responded automatically.
“I see, home security,” she smiled, like a Cheshire cat.
Becki slowly shook her head and began moving toward him with slow,
deliberate steps. Something told him, he was in trouble.
“You said Ryker works for you?” she asked, moving one step closer to
him.
“You confirmed that he is out of the country?” another step.
Oh shit
! He was being stalked like some rodent.
“Do you provide a lot of
home security
outside of the U.S.?” yet another step
closer.
“How was it you said you got here?” Becki’s head started spinning, but still
she pressed on.
Without giving him an opportunity to respond to any of the previous
questions, she went straight for the juggler, “And why,
pray tell
,” she paused,
suddenly grabbing the hem of his shirt to jerk it upward, exposing his left
pectoral muscle, “do you have the
same
crest hidden in your tattoo that I’ve
seen hidden in Kurt’s?”
She jerked the hem of the shirt back down, put both hands on her
hips and concluded the inquisition by demanding, “Why don’t you cut
the bullshit and tell me what is really going on Royce?”
Royce watched as Becki stared at him expectantly.
She had drilled
him like a prosecuting attorney with an open-and-shut case.
So, she
wanted to know what was “
really
” going on. Sure, it was easy to
explain.
He was in charge of a recovery team, who worked for a
mostly immortal
secret
council, whose current mission was to track
down some missing coins spelled by Merlin centuries ago.
His team
had traced one of the coins to Charleston where he had indeed
recovered said coin; unfortunately, his efforts had been sabotaged by
a band of Witches before he could turn the magic coin over to the
Secret Council of Elders.
The past two years of his life had been
spent locked inside a crate at the bottom of the ocean.
The same
crate she had found, picked up, and brought home; the same crate
that had literally disappeared after magically unlocking a few short
hours ago. Sure, that was believable,
and
easy to explain.
Clearing his throat, Royce said “Look, Becki, I wish I could, really,
but I can’t. Some-things, you are better off not knowing. This is one
of them.”
“Right.”
Royce reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and
could not resist cupping her jaw in his hand to gently tilt her face
toward his. “I appreciate your help in more ways than you know, but
I can’t give you the answers you are looking for. I wish I could, but
it’s just not possible,” he finished with a sigh letting his hand drop
down to his side. “I need to be going. My things should be close to
dry by now.”
She was the cutest thing with her brow wrinkled in confusion, but
seeing disappointment flash in her eyes was almost physically painful.
He had to get the hell out-- while he still could. The desire to scoop
her up in his arms, head for the bedroom, and do all the things he
hadn’t been able to do for the past two years was almost too much to
resist. A man could get lost in her chocolate eyes.
“It was very nice to meet you Becki Stephens, and I do thank you
from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve done for me. You have a
couple of real heroes watching out for you. Don’t give them too
much of a hard time.” He reached out to trace a finger over the
frown lines marring her forehead, “Thanks for the shower, and
coffee, and…thanks for everything.” Royce bent to kiss her softly on
the forehead and then turned and moved away.
As she watched him walk through the doorway into her house, she
mumbled, “Are you effing kidding me?” She stood where he had left
her; outside on the deck, rooted to the spot by feelings of shock and
betrayal. She couldn’t believe he would casually stroll away with no
explanation, not even a
meet-me-sometime-for-a-drink
, nothing, nada.
Anger rose quickly and propelled her through the doorway, “Really?
That’s it?” she yelled slamming the door once again. If the glass survived
the remainder of this day, it would be a miracle.
Becki felt the sting of tears, but she would not let him see her cry.
Evidently mind-numbing kisses could be one-sided, because it clearly
meant nothing to him. He was going to kiss her on the forehead this
time, like some child, and simply walk away without a backward glance.
Well, that was fine, just fine! She had plenty of offers. Unfortunately
none of them compared to the oh-so-perfect male specimen now pulling
his clothes out of her dryer.
Royce closed his eyes as he heard tears in Becki’s voice. It almost
killed him to know he had hurt her. His heart ached with the knowledge
that he had to walk away from her, and walk he would. His life was
dangerous.
The Council had obviously not given him the full story
concerning the coins, and who or what might be launching recovery
efforts. He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
involve her.
He walked back into the kitchen. God, if she had thought he looked
good in swim trunks, the sight of him in faded blue jeans and a black
tight-fitting T-shirt took her breath away.
“Becki,” he returned softly, purposely keeping his distance. He knew
if he touched her again he might not have the strength to leave. “Becki,
it’s for the best. I have a job to do. I’m on a tight schedule and running
behind.” Running two years behind, if you wanted to get technical.
Her tear drenched eyes suddenly dried, and shutters immediately
dropped down over any expression remaining there. “I’m getting in the
shower. Lock up when you leave,” she said evenly, “you never know
who might just walk in.” With that, she brushed past him moving
quickly toward her bedroom.
Doors opened and slammed; drawers slid open and then banged shut.
“A tight schedule,” she mumbled furiously. “What an
ass
.”
She was mad now which was preferable to the tears he had seen
earlier. Royce felt a smile tug at his lips as he listened to her slam things
around and mutter curse words directed toward him. Her temper had
bubbled over, and he sure wished he had time to take on that temper.
The knowledge that she was getting naked in the next room made it
difficult to even think about leaving.
Had circumstances been different,
had they met in a different time and place--.
He heard the shower
running and knew he had to go,
now
.
Royce saw the rental car pull up in front of the house-- a black SUV,
how cliché. Sean had a twisted sense of humor; he knew Royce would
rather have been riding in a red sports car. He was going to have a
serious chat with that kid one of these days. Time to get moving, he had
a lot of ground to make up. He locked the front door and pulled it shut
behind him.
Becki replayed this morning’s events in her head becoming more
frustrated and confused by the minute. “That’s what I get for waking up
before noon,” she muttered. Natie should be calling soon. If she
hurried there was enough time for a quick trip to the dive-shop. She had
her eye on a pink snorkel and fin set, and God knew she needed a little
retail therapy.
By the time Becki finished getting ready, the house was empty. Royce
had gone, and she felt a great heaviness in her chest, a sadness she didn’t
care to dwell on. He had made it very clear; he was busy and had things
to do, and she didn’t fit into his schedule. “His loss,” she announced to
herself flippantly. But if she were being honest, she was the one feeling a
loss; feeling it all the way to the pit of her stomach.