The throbbing hum of the motor and the rhythmic slap of air against the windshield. A bluesy number soaring through the speakers, a quixotic rumination on love and loss. Grateful for the breaks in the awkward silence, Ethan drove the convertible at a steady pace, skimming below the speed limit. He longed to open the engine up, to blast down the empty highway, but caution reigned.
The same caution that held him silent.
The trio in the car had a million things to talk about, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d explained and apologized several times already that morning. After a while the most sincere contrition seemed trite.
Instead of repeating himself, he twisted the knob and music poured through louder. Checking his mirror, he zipped around a slow-moving RV and eased over into the right lane. Saturday morning in San Marcos yielded sparse traffic, except for the semis common to Texas. Other than the semis, an indiscriminate trail of SUVS, and the occasional family wagon, the roads were empty. He slid a glance along the front seat to verify that he still had passengers.
Beside him, Lesley peered through half-glasses and reviewed Mara’s sheaf of notes. She handily balanced an atlas on one thigh, using Ethan’s lap for overflow space. Though she’d forgiven his romantic clumsiness, the frosty politeness that confronted him when he dared ask a question kept him quiet. Perhaps he could have struck up conversation with Mara, but he had no idea what she’d say. And for him, ignorance was bliss.
Mara turned her face into the swift breeze whipping over the open car. She’d play the next few days out like a long con. Short-term goal—prove to Ethan and to herself that she could stick. But the big payoff, if she could pull it off, would be showing Ethan that he loved her too. That the years and the lies and people in between had never been more than an interruption. Lesley had a point. She lived in Ethan’s heart.
She just had to show him where.
Turning on the leather bench, she queried, “Any progress, Lesley? Poncho wasn’t one for journals or letters.”
Lesley blew out a breath. “No, he wasn’t. According to your notes, Poncho traveled with your grandfather until they settled down at the church. And you deciphered his symbol as qoppa diagamma and lambda. Ninety-six by thirty degrees. But I’ve detected a strange symmetry in the drawing you made of what you and Ethan found on the body. The symbol of ninety-six has been drawn together and then inverted inside itself. And inside the lambda there’s a smaller letter. An n, I believe.”
“Nu. The symbol for fifty.” Mara tapped the atlas, thinking. “That’s how we realized it wasn’t like the others. Too many numbers.”
“Do you know anything at all about his background before he hooked up with your grandfather? Any clue at all?”
Mara pursed her mouth thoughtfully. “My grandmother once told me that Poncho served as a scout with the army before joining up with my grandfather. He would have been very precise with his coordinates, more so because of his relationship with Micah.” She traced the faint lines of the map. “Is there any place of importance at 96.69 and 30.50 degrees?”
Lesley tracked the coordinates and nodded. “Caldwell, Texas. Seventy-nine miles from Austin.”
“A hard day’s ride, but doable.” Ethan gave the map a swift look. “What is it close to?”
Mara scanned the tiny dots on the map. Texas was a state of hundreds of miniature towns, closed enclaves born when gold or oil or war struck. She named several that were near Caldwell. “And a place called Santa Therese.”
Lesley’s head shot up. “There was a huge oil strike there in 1931,” she supplied with a thread of excitement. “Old army scouts often got jobs searching for new loads back then. If Poncho was good at his job, he probably would have been a natural for one of the teams.”
“Where would you hide a brass key in an oil strike?” asked Ethan.
“I wouldn’t,” Lesley replied. “Too many people moving around, digging for the next strike. Professionals know better, but amateur wildcatters swarm over a find and scavenge for the dregs. In the twenties, few would have had the equipment to dig carefully. If he returned to Santa Therese, he would have put it somewhere else. A place where it wouldn’t be disturbed.”
“A cemetery.” Ethan and Lesley looked to Mara, who’d murmured the idea. She spoke meditatively. “Nana said he liked cemeteries.”
Narrowing her eyes, Lesley concurred. “Could be. Santa Therese went dry in the late 1950s. Whole town moved out. But they left their dead behind. We should give the cemetery there a try.” Beside her, she felt Mara stiffen, but she let the collective “we” linger. She might have conceded the war to the little thief, but she wasn’t convinced Mara was good for Ethan. And while she could be gracious, she wasn’t ready to assuage Mara’s sensibilities and vanish just yet.
Ethan heard the slip too. “Lesley, have you changed—” Before he could finish, he noticed a black SUV dart out from behind the trailer and then slip out of sight. It was the third time he’d seen it peek out and hide. “Mara, check your mirror.”
“What am I looking for?” She fixed her eyes on the glass, which was filled with the cab of the semi behind them.
“Wait for it.” Timing his move, Ethan slowed up. The semi honked at him imperiously, annoyed. When the horn sounded again, Ethan dodged out and into the left lane. “Now.”
Immediately, the black SUV zoomed into the passing lane behind their convertible. Ethan gunned the engine. The rev of the engine barely masked Mara’s response. “Catfish fries and toads! It’s Rabbe and Guffin.”
“They’ve been on our trail for a while.” Ethan shifted the car into the right lane once more, giving the semi a wide berth. “I didn’t notice at first, but they kept creeping up then hanging back. Caught my attention.”
“Nice job.” Quickly, Mara calculated their odds. The convertible was fast, but neither she nor Ethan was armed. The men chasing them definitely came with firepower. Right now, Conroy’s goons had no reason to suspect that their prey knew they were being hunted. “How far away is the airport?”
“Five minutes out.” Following her plan, Ethan spurred the car faster. “Lead them to the airport and then sneak out?”
“It’s our best option. They’ll track us inside, thinking we’re trying to run. With security these days, we can have the cops on them in no time.”
“Track us?” Lesley chimed in, voice dubious. “As in, we’ll be bait?”
“I will be.” Mara twisted in her seat to face Lesley and Ethan. “Drop me off in front of the terminal. Rabbe isn’t a fool, but he’s no genius. He’ll probably drop Guffin off and keep following you. Which means you’ll need to set Lesley out of the car too. With only two of them, they’ll have to pick a target. You’re a known quantity. She isn’t. They’ll pick you.”
“How do you know?” Lesley folded her arms to stop the tremors of panic. She struggled to keep her voice level. “These are the same men that kidnapped you and shot you, aren’t they? Why wouldn’t he simply shoot me as collateral damage?”
“Because if they tracked us to the caves, they believe we know where the gold is. Conroy has probably given them instructions to capture but not harm us.”
“Probably? That’s the best you can do?”
Mara met the doubtful look with one of morbid comprehension, wishing she could offer more. She recognized the dilated pupils, the sudden pallor brought by unwelcome glimpses of mortality.
She’d seen the look in a dozen mirrors and learned to control the loss of color. But Lesley’s shocked concern resonated. She was frightened, and she had reason to be. Rabbe and Guffin had gotten to her twice now. Regardless of how fast she ran, how cannily she hid, they scented her. This time she had two novices whose safety depended on how slyly skilled she really was. Brand new territory. Having partners. Having other lives depend on her actions.
Adrenaline, a shocky jolt to a system wired too tightly, careered through veins narrowed in taut reaction. Impatiently, insistently, Mara warded off the rush of nerves and tension, forcing her pulse to slow, her breath to even. She owed them a way out, and she’d find one. And honesty. “Probably. Maybe. Lesley, I can’t give you guarantees. If I were alone, I’d know what to do. But I’ve got you two to worry about.”
“We all have our talents, Mara.” Ethan loosed his attention from the trailing SUV and shot her a steadying look. With a shrug, he pointed out wryly, “I found the bones. Lesley located the cave. Yes, you’ve found a couple of the keys, but you haven’t earned your keep yet. But this is your territory. Being smart enough to survive. To take care of the ones who depend on you. You’re the expert here, baby. You know what we need to do.”
He believed in her, Mara realized, dazed by the easy support. She searched his words for hidden meaning, for subtle sarcasm, but could only find a trust that humbled her. Emboldened her.
Outside the car, the airport exit sign flashed past, warning them that they only had a quarter mile left to decide on a plan. Mara raced through the options. Something Lesley had said about collateral damage. The phrase rolled in her mind, churning fast. Collateral damage.
Then it hit her. “Ethan,” she said, speaking hurriedly, a plan forming. “I need you to miss the exit.”
Lesley frowned. “I thought we were going to the airport. That SUV can overtake us anytime it wants.”
“I know. And we are. Going to the airport. But first we need to buy some time.” She monitored the SUV while she explained. “Clear?”
“The exit is coming up. Lesley, get into position.” Mara scrambled to store their notes and the atlas, securing the lot beneath the front seat. In a second everything not latched down would be airborne.
She watched the mirror closely, muttering to herself. “Sorry, Mr. Trucker. Collateral Damage. Hope you drive good.” The exit lane veered off from the highway, and she commanded, “Now!”
At her command, Ethan spun the car out, tires skidding wildly. In pantomime of a blowout, he shot past the exit sign and bumped the convertible onto the shoulder. The tractor trailer, with its long, silver containers, laid on the horn and attempted to screech to a halt. The canisters streamed behind him like a banner, sliding across the asphalt.
“Look out!” Guffin yelled as the trailer swayed blindly. Unprepared for the sudden downshift in the semi’s speed, Rabbe charged into the left lane, placing the truck between the SUV and the green convertible.
Cursing roundly, he demanded, “Did you see if they took the exit?” Without awaiting an answer, he gunned the engine and whizzed past the truck. Annoyed, the semi also picked up speed, shielding the shoulder of the road from view. “Damnit, I can’t see a goddamned thing!” He jammed the gas and, as the speedometer hit one hundred, he left the truck in his wake. “See ’em?”
“How could I see anything? Stupid trucker nearly killed us both.” Anxiously, Guffin studied the blacktop. He couldn’t see much with the haze of oil rising in the heat obscuring all but the mirage of other vehicles. “We should go back and check the airport, Rabbe.”
“We’ll lose time that way. Mr. Conroy thought they’d move to another town to find the next key. That’s where we’re going.”
“But which town?”
“I don’t know.” Rabbe recalled with a greasy horror their employer’s icy reception an hour ago. Bastard hadn’t been happy when they explained how they found the green convertible and the occupants. “He was good and pissed that they’d been in the caves for so long before we arrived. Conroy thinks they found something.”
“And he didn’t like us not knowing about the other woman.” Guffin had interviewed the gift shop staff. “Ms. Howard said she’s a regular. Teaches at UT with Dr. Stuart.”
Which gave Rabbe pause. “What the hell do a geologist and a CSI guy have to do with Mr. Conroy’s fortune? And what does that skirt have in common with either of them?”
Guffin had been puzzling over the same questions, though he hadn’t thought of Ms. Reed so crudely. “The journal you found in Detroit for Mr. Conroy. You said it was some kind of treasure map.”
“Sort of. Notes talked about a heist back in the 1930s. Mentioned Spanish gold. Conroy gave me $50,000 to pay for it, but I got it from the owner without having to spend a nickel.” A nice profit, until the bitch stole his money. “Thought fifty large was a lot to pay for some old papers.”
“Maybe she works for them. Got hired to steal the stuff from you.” Secretly, Guffin held back a chuckle. The thought of his misogynistic partner being taken by Mara Reed tickled the dickens out of him. Rabbe reveled too much in the torment of the fairer sex, a practice Guffin abhorred. The job might dictate a bit of harm, he acknowledged, but gratuitous violence against women turned his stomach. “Guess stealing your fifty was a bonus.”
Snarling, Rabbe pushed the SUV above 120, swearing to catch up with the green car. Now he had three enemies—the bitch, her boyfriend, and the other bitch. Maybe he’d do them both and have the nerd boy watch. Miles flew by as he followed the winding highway.
“Arthur?”
“What?”
Guffin moved his shoulders diffidently. “I think they may have taken the airport exit. We’ve gone nearly twenty miles, and I don’t think an old Plymouth is that fast.”
At the arrival terminal, Lesley stood on the curb while Ethan unloaded her bags. Mara leaned against the scorching hood, unable to figure out how to play this one. After all, what was the proper decorum when a woman stole another woman’s almost lover? Despite all the roles she’d played before, this one was new.
“You don’t have to say anything.” Lesley advanced to stand next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Versace sunglasses reflected the bright rays, while Mara squinted against the glare. Together, silently, they watched passengers being unloaded and luggage pile up along the curb. “Ethan is afraid of you.”
The comment startled Mara, but she merely replied, “Why? I’m no threat to him.”
Laughing softly, Lesley corrected, “You’re a threat to everything.” Feeling magnanimous, she patted the younger woman’s arm. “Ethan is a good, solid man who desperately wishes he weren’t. He pays his tickets on the last day they’re due, but he pays them. And I realize he was attracted to me because I’m a good, solid woman who speaks her mind and is just a little out of the ordinary. Growing up as I did, I had the freedom to be singular, but he didn’t.”
Mara stiffened. “I know. I’ve known him longer than you have.”
“Don’t get your hackles up, Mara. Let me finish my good deed for the day.” Lesley faced her, tipped the glasses up, and locked their eyes. “Once in his life has Ethan done exactly what he wanted and damn the consequences. When he fell in love with you. That act of derring-do earned him an empty wallet and a broken heart. A dozen years wasted, pining for the one that got away. For some reason, probably testosterone poisoning, he wants to try it again. But he is convinced that if he does, you’ll disappear. Again.”
“I love him,” Mara protested. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Forgive the amateur psychology, but you loved him before. And you sacrificed your happiness together to save him. From your father or yourself. Doesn’t really matter. Until you’re ready to stand for him, you’ve already got one foot out the door. And this time, Mara, if you let him go, I won’t give up so easily.” Seeing Ethan moving toward them, she reached into the front seat and slung the strap of her black Coach bag over her shoulder. “My last bit of advice. Don’t wait for him to see that you’ve changed. Show him. He’s a scientist for a reason. He only believes in what he can see.”
“Ready?” Ethan offered his arm gallantly, and Lesley slid her hand through.
Tossing a conspiratorial grin over her shoulder, Lesley finished, “Take care, Mara. Good luck with your treasure hunt. Be sure you know what you’re looking for. As the expression says, you just might get your heart’s desire.”