Chapter Twelve

The hot water soothed her sore muscles—aching, but in a good way as she dried off and headed for the bedroom. The shower helped clear her mind, but some thoughts refused to disappear.

The kiss.

If he hadn’t stepped away, she would have had to—there was no room in her mission for Trace Dyson, especially when she was about to betray him.

No matter how much she might want to pursue something more, it was a line neither of them could cross.

She dressed quickly, pulling on a clean shirt and jeans.

A triumphant shout came from the front of the hotel suite, prompting her to rush out.

Trace held up the phone. “We got it. Tonight, nine o’clock.” He glanced at the screen again. “I’ve got work to do.” He swiped a finger over the display. “I need to call my liaison here in town, set up a possible raid.”

“A what?” Her head was spinning with anticipation, her goal of reaching the lance that much closer…

“Technically, I don’t have authority here in town. I need to notify the local police if I’m doing anything under Interpol’s auspices—they need to be on my side to help raid the auction house.”

“What?” she repeated as she sat down in the chair, her stomach sinking with every second. “Police?”

He held up a hand, speaking rapidly into the phone as he paced, barefoot, around the suite.

The lingering curiosity about what to do about her attraction to Trace vanished as the harsh reality came to the forefront.

Once they got to the auction and verified the artifacts were there, the authorities would invade, raid the site. The officers would take the cane, snatch it up with all the other relics, and spirit it away to their police station, locking it in a secure location.

Laila scrubbed her eyes with her palms, letting out a soft curse. Her orders had been to find and acquire the rod quietly, without fanfare. If the police took the spear into their possession, it’d be impossible to retrieve it without a fight.

Her gaze went to Trace, now on the balcony and gesturing wildly as he barked into the phone.

She could wait until the lance was returned to the exhibit in New York City and take it then—the odds were that Trace would insist on delivering it personally to the museum, making her wait to snatch it away, adding days, maybe weeks to her quest.

But…

Trace re-entered the living room, a wide grin spreading from ear to ear.

“They’re cool doing a raid, as long as all the paperwork gets done and credit assigned. The commander’s placing the call to Emile to go through the details. He’ll be happy to hear my trip out here wasn’t in vain.”

“But…” She swallowed hard, gathering her thoughts. “What about Jerry? He’s going to suspect we’re the ones who called in the authorities.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But men like him, they know they’re pushing their luck with every auction. He’s not likely to blame us unless we give him some reason to. There’s plenty of other suspects, buyers who may be holding a grudge for one thing or another.”

“And he still invites them to the auction?”

“Sure.” He let out a low chuckle. “As long as they have the money, they’re welcome to bid. Think of it as a game—you may not like the rules, but you know they’re the best players in town. Don’t worry. Jerry’s overdue for a visit from the cops. Keeps him on his toes and maintains his street cred when he gets busted.” Trace shook his head. “Besides, the worst you can get for trafficking in stolen relics is a fine and the item confiscated, in most cases. Probation and off you go.”

“Is that all?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.

“It is, sorry to say. Theft of antiquities isn’t as much of a legal priority as I’d like—but there are worse crimes against humanity that need to come first, and I’m glad they do.” He sat down on the sofa, across from her. “But before I make that phone call, we have to talk.”

Laila nodded, crossing her legs as she waited.

“About earlier…” He paused, one edge of his mouth twisting upward. “I…”

“I like you, too.” The words came out before she had a chance to pull them back, focus her thoughts. “I mean, a lot.” A ragged sigh escaped. “More than I should. But you know I’m not like other women.”

“I got that.” The reassuring smile fell over her like a soft hug. “When I saw your wings, I figured you weren’t from around here.” He chewed on his lower lip before continuing. “Will you let me take the cane back to the exhibit?”

“Yes.” The little white lie pained her, dug deep into her heart. “I promised you that.”

“Because it might be some time. Paperwork… It’s a bitch.” He eyed her. “But I promise you it will go back beside your fallen sister, no matter how long it takes. We will honor her by making her whole, giving her what’s been denied for decades.”

She started, taken aback by his respectful phrasing. It only added to his appeal.

Trace shook his head. “But tell me…” His eyes met hers, soft and inviting. “What are we going to do about us? When this is all over, what are our options?”

“I don’t know.” She drew a shallow breath. “I honestly don’t know.”

The phone rang, snatching Trace’s attention away. “It’s Emile.” He looked at her. “I have to take this—I’m sorry.” He stood up and tapped the screen. “I’m here.”

He strode up and down the hall, unable to stay still.

Laila rose, her mind muddled and thick like wet cotton. She moved onto the balcony, holding the railing tight as she stared out at the ocean.

Laughter drifted up to her, drawing her attention to the beach below. Children ran up and down the sand, dipping their feet into the cold water. Small groups of adults dotted the shore, some moving out to swim.

She still didn’t know why or how he’d been able to see her back at New York City, at the exhibit.

It was supposed to be an invisible exchange, silent and quick. Anyone passing by would have only seen a woman studying the relics, maybe offering up some sort of prayer.

Instead, he’d seen her true nature, her Valkyrie wings appearing as she communed with Mala to ask for the bracelet. He had witnessed it all, the random encounter flipping all of her plans over and sending her across the country with an unwanted ally who was…

She bit her lower lip, trying to sort through her feelings for Trace.

“Hey.”

She turned to see Trace. He still held the phone, a wistful look on his face. “Local authorities are on board, Emile’s given his approval and support for the raid. This is as good an opportunity as we’re going to get.” He stared at her. “Are we all right?”

“Yes.” She didn’t know what else to say.

He peered down at the beach. “Tell you what—let’s go catch some rays. We’ve still got a few hours before we need to prepare, and staying in here is just going to drive us both crazy.” He smiled. “How about some ice cream? Or crushed ice?” A mischievous grin appeared. “Have you ever heard of a brain freeze?”

She smiled. “I don’t think so. But I think I can handle it…”