Jackson (14 page)

She made a sound that was half sigh, half sob.

“Our bodies were made for this,” he murmured. “To dance with each other.” He sat up on his knees so he could look down at her, see the desire and the tenderness and the passion in her eyes. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm.

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as he let his tongue slip out and taste her skin. He smiled and kissed a path down to her wrist, then along her arm.

And that’s where his mouth stopped. He pulled back slightly and looked down at her skin. There was something written on her arm. Numbers.

“What’s this?” he asked.

Her eyes opened and she followed his gaze. “Oh.”

In an instant, she was sitting up beside him and looking sheepish.

“I found those in Vincent’s atlas.”

He’d been doing this long enough to know when he was staring at a pair of coordinates, even if they were written out in decimal degrees. “Where? How?”

“Inside the back cover,” she said, her cheeks going deliciously pink under his gaze. “There was a drawing there—of his fiancée, I think—and she was pointing at the corner of the lining, and when I peeled it back I found these.”

“Does Roth know?”

She shook her head and pulled her arm out of his grip. “I found them when we were… well, right before we…” She was an intoxicating shade of red now. “There was never a chance. And then everything was happening with Leo and I forgot all about them.”

His mind was racing. They’d been certain that the key to Rinaldi’s fortune was hidden in that atlas. Maybe this was what they’d been looking for.

He’d lost his pants somewhere in the bed, and now he scrabbled around until he found them tangled in the sheets. He pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Seeing where they lead us.” His phone had GPS capabilities. The numbers on her arm where smudged—no doubt from sweat and other things—but he was able to read them.
43.193 N, 16.374 E.

The moments his phone took to find the location felt like a lifetime. But suddenly, it pinpointed a spot.

“Hvar,” he said, hardly believing it. “This point is on the island.” Their hunch seemed to have been right after all—this place
was
important to Rinaldi. He tilted his phone so Charlie could see. The specific location in question was on the far western end of the island, on the eastern coast of a bay that cut into the island from the south.

“That’s it,” she said, her voice full of wonder.

“It very well might be,” he replied. He was already feeling the buzz build under his skin—the one that always came when he was hot on the trail of a good haul.

“Are we going to go look?”

The excitement in her voice sent another bolt of desire to his still-hard cock. Her whole face had lit up at the idea, and again he saw the girl he noticed on the boat yesterday—the one who wasn’t scared of this. The one who’d come alive with the same thrill that had driven him to this job in the first place.

He should probably call Roth. Tell him what Charlie had discovered. But he was already on thin ice, and sending the Set on another wild goose chase wouldn’t help his case—especially since they had Leo to fix up in the meantime. No, better to do some initial investigations himself and call in the others once he confirmed they were on the right track.

He stood up and began pulling on his clothes. “I’ll go check it out. You should stay here.”

“No way.” She scrambled out of bed and stood in front of him, glorious and commanding for all that she was still completely naked. “I found the coordinates. This is my hunt, too.”

She’d be safer locked in here, he knew that. Especially if Nash still had guys on the island—which was a distinct possibility. But looking at her, at the fire in her eyes, he couldn’t tell her no. This was one part of his life she
did
understand—he could see it shining through her. And he wasn’t about to push that away.

“All right,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go find some fucking treasure.”

* * *

Charlotte was finally on the adventure she’d dreamed of.

The coordinates led to a point about four miles away from the city of Hvar, on a section of the island they’d quickly realized was undeveloped—though they learned after a quick stop at the Tourist Information Center by the wharf that there were a number of foot trails along that section of coast. To save time, they rented a motorized scooter to take them as far as the roads would go.

She asked to ride behind him on the scooter. She told him it was because she’d never ridden one before—which was true—but the truth was that she just wanted to be close to him. Their conversation in bed had left a knot in her stomach the size of a watermelon. She didn’t know what would ultimately happen between them, but in the meantime, she wanted to be as close to him as possible.

“You ready?” he asked over his shoulder as she settled onto the seat behind him.

She slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his back. He seemed so impossibly large—her cheek was pressed between his shoulder blades, and with all of the muscle he’d gained it was harder to put her arms around him than it had been a year ago—but she was coming to know this new body of his very well.

“Yes,” she said, breathing in the scent of him.

And they were off.

She held on for dear life as he zipped through the streets of Hvar. Her hair flew around her face, but she didn’t dare release her grip and try to tie it back. Through the waving strands, she watched the stone buildings of the city whiz by, and before she knew it, trees and brush replaced the storefronts and houses. Beyond the layers of green, she could see the aqua waters of the Adriatic Sea glinting in the sun. It was a gorgeous day, and she was hunting for treasure with Jackson, and she couldn’t have dreamed of anything more perfect.

This perfection won’t last forever
, said a small, poisonous voice in her head.
At some point, you’re going to have to think about your future. About your job. Your debts. Your real life.

But she shoved that voice down and clung more tightly to Jackson. She’d think about those things later. Right now, she was having her adventure.

She could have ridden behind him forever. But all too soon, Jackson pulled to the side of the road.

“This is as far west as the road goes,” he said. “The head of the trail should be around here.” She slid to the ground, and he parked the scooter behind a tree while she glanced around for any sign of a path.

They found it almost immediately. Jackson pulled out his phone and used the GPS system as a guide as he led them through the brush. Charlotte took the opportunity to look around. The vegetation here was so different from what she saw back home. Even the air smelled different. It was beautiful, and between the tangled branches above her head the sky was a brilliant cerulean blue. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.

Partway down the trail, Jackson slipped his hand in hers. It was a simple gesture, but it was so touching, so unexpected, that it made her heart skip a beat. She threaded her fingers through his.

“Do you think Vincent and his fiancée walked through here together?” she said.

He looked over at her, and one corner of his mouth tilted up. “I guess they would’ve, huh? Assuming we’re on the right track.”

“We are,” she said softly. “I can feel it in my bones.”

He squeezed her fingers, his smile broadening. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“What is it?” she asked.

He was looking down the path behind them, back toward the road. His entire body was on alert.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Finally, his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I thought I sensed movement back there,” he said. His hand tightened around hers. “It was probably just a bird.”

Still, he walked a little faster after that, and she kept his pace. The sun still shone down through the leaves and the air was still deliciously fragrant, but it felt like a shadow had been cast over their little outing. As much as he tried to hide it, Jackson was nervous. He threw as many glances back over his shoulder as he did down at the phone in his hand.

And then, just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he stopped again.

“We’re here,” he said. “We’ve reached the point on the map.”

Charlotte glanced around. They were at a bend in the main path, but straight ahead through the trees she could see the blue water of the bay down below. They appeared to be up on some sort of ridge over the water, and while the main path continued in an arc around the bay, it was clear that in the past people had picked their way through the brush right here to get a better view of the water below.

Carefully, she followed that makeshift trail through a large patch of rosemary, looking for anywhere someone might hide something. Behind her, Jackson was doing the same, poking around in the bushes. Watching him, she began to see where he far outpaced her in experience, even in something like this: he wasn’t just looking
at
things or
in
things—he was looking all around them. He would stop and stare up into the branches of a tree, or fiddle with a piece of bark on a stump, or even roll larger rocks onto their sides to peer beneath them. No detail seemed to escape his notice.

She tried to use a similar approach in her own search—but it was difficult, considering she had no idea what she was looking for. Was she hunting for something large or small? A briefcase stuffed with cash, maybe? Or a key to a safe deposit box in some unspecified city? The possibilities were endless.

And then she saw it—right in front of her, leaning over the edge of the cliff toward the bay, was a large olive tree with a star carved into its trunk.

At first she thought her eyes were tricking her. It was too perfect. Too easy.

Remember who created this adventure
, she told herself. Vincent had left these clues for his fiancée. He hadn’t been trying to challenge professional treasure hunters. He’d been leaving a message for the woman he loved.

There was a lump in her throat as she stepped toward the tree. At the bottom of the trunk, between two large twists of root, there was a small opening, just large enough for a grown man’s hand. She dropped to her knees in front of the tree and peered inside.

“Jackson!” she called. “I think I found something!”

She reached into the hole, her fingers fumbling around in the dark until they hit something hard and smooth.

“Jackson!” she called again as she pulled the object out into the light. It was a large glass bottle, and it was stuffed with a dozen rolled up bits of paper. Was this what they were looking for?

She glanced back over her shoulder, but Jackson was nowhere to be seen. Cold washed down her spine.

“Jackson?” she called one more time as she stumbled to her feet.

This time she heard something—sounds of a struggle. Just up the path. Heart galloping, she gripped the bottle tightly and ran toward the noise.

Just around the bend in the trail, Jackson was grappling with a man. No—with
two
men. One of them had his arm around Jackson’s neck. The other was trying to hit him in the gut. But Jackson was holding his ground, landing punch after punch on his assailants as he twisted around.

She had to help him. She didn’t know how—short of hitting one over the head with the bottle, which was looking more and more like the best option—but then one looked up and saw her. Jackson did too.

“Run!” he said.

There was no time to debate her options. One of the men—the bigger one—had already released Jackson and was coming straight at her. They were blocking the way back to the road and the scooter, so she turned the other way and bolted down the trail, around the edge of the bay.

The man was fast—and he wasn’t wearing a dress and sandals like she was. He gained on her quickly, but she was smaller, so she diverted from the path and crashed her way through the brush, leaping over rocks and through bushes and under tree branches. She could hear him tearing along behind her, but she didn’t dare look back to see how close he was.

The bottle was still clutched in her hand. It was the only weapon she had.
And the only reason they’re after us in the first place
, she realized. Maybe she should turn around and give it to him. Stop this before she or Jackson got seriously hurt.
But what’s to keep them from hurting you after you’ve handed it over?
She remembered what Jackson had said to her about treasure hunters on that first night:
Some will slit your throat as soon as look at you.
Anyone who would follow and attack them in the woods probably fell into that category.

So she kept running. Kept weaving. It was the second time in a matter of days that she’d been chased by ruthless men, and she still had only the vaguest idea of what they were after.

Whatever you put in this bottle, Vincent, it better be worth it.

She’d already made it halfway around the bay, and still the man behind her showed no signs of slowing or tiring. Below their feet, the terrain was getting rockier. She needed to be careful, or else—