Perfect Specimen: Brietta (2 page)

Chapter One

Hoisting her suitcase onto her bed, Brietta tried not to think about the trip she
wanted
to take this week, concentrating instead on the prospect of seeing her family again. Who needed Sean Taggert and his stupid mystery dig anyway? It would probably end up a bust, especially now that a nonexpert was providing the expert guidance.

“A paleontologist digging up a human cemetery. What could go wrong with
that
?” she asked herself mockingly. “He could have had
you
. He said it himself, didn’t he? That you were
perfect
for the job. Then ka-
pow
. He dumps you like yesterday’s garbage.”

Not that it was entirely Taggert’s fault. She should have pounced on the exciting opportunity the moment he called. He wouldn’t have dared dump her after that, would he? No matter how hot the dino-babe was.

But Brietta had done the prudent thing, explaining that she couldn’t really apply for the position until she made certain she could rearrange her lecture schedule. Ironically, those lectures were based on her successful—at least by academic standards—book on gridding ancient cemeteries in preparation for excavation.

Unfortunately, when she had called him back, less than a week later, to tell him she was just about to fax the job application, he had dropped his Jurassic bombshell.

“Think about Aunt Jessie’s carrot cake,” she pleaded with herself. “And you want Josh to check out that freakish headache, right? So this is
better
than some stupid dig. And face it, Sean Taggert is a jerk. Just because his dad was famous for being honorable and decent doesn’t mean the son is. You probably dodged the world’s biggest bullet, so let it go.”

She sighed, thinking about Dr. Paul Taggert and his amazing, bittersweet career. He had made some great discoveries but had had more than his share of disasters, the most notable being when a promising find was looted before he could secure funding to explore it, and the most touching when he had been killed saving a child’s life in a horrendous automobile accident.

As excited as she had been about joining Sean Taggert’s expedition, she had actually been even more anxious just to meet him—the famous man’s son who was becoming famous in his own right and who was reportedly just as talented and professional.

Now she knew the truth—he was a hack with bad taste in assistants.

Just pack
, she advised herself, reaching into the dresser for a stack of miscellaneous T-shirts. It didn’t really matter what she wore. Her cousins would critique and mock her, and she would give it right back. The thought brought a smile to her lips for the first time in two days.

When the phone began to ring, she answered without even thinking, saying cheerfully, “I hope this is a carrot cake update, because I’m
starvin
g.”

“Brietta? This is Sean Taggert. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

It was as though the phone had slapped her. “Pardon?”

“It’s Sean Taggert. I know we didn’t part friends last time we talked, but if you’re still interested in the job, it’s yours.”

“You’ve
got
to be kidding.”

Taggert surprised her by chuckling. “Still pissed, huh? Like I told you on Wednesday, that was a complicated situation. It’s also moot. So if you’re still interested, I’d like to bring you aboard.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I can offer you an additional six thousand. That’s the best I can do. And I need your answer right away, because our travel plans are set.” His manner turned brisk. “We leave from New York at midnight, which means you’ll have to hustle. I’ll make your reservation and you can meet us at Kennedy—”

“What happened to the paleontologist? Lovers’ quarrel?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he murmured, “She had a heart attack.”

“Oh, no!” Brietta sank down onto the bed. “How is that possible? I saw pictures on her website. She’s so young—”

“Thirty-five,” he confirmed.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah, they think so.”

“My God.”

“Yeah, it sucks. So? Should I make a reservation for you? I can email the details along with a suggested packing list. Just the basics—lightweight pants, tops, a good windbreaker, good boots. I’ll supply the rest. And there won’t be cell or Internet access, so go easy on the tech stuff.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll fill you in during the flight.” His tone warmed. “I hope you can join us, Brietta. I really want you to be a part of this.”

“Just to be clear, I don’t know anything about dinosaurs.”

“You’re hilarious,” he assured her dryly. “Are you coming or not?”

“Just email the details and I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. See you in nine hours.”

Still half in disbelief, Brietta hung up the phone and wandered to her office to call her aunt and uncle on the computer, hoping to give them the news face-to-face courtesy of her web cam. Considering how wildly she had ranted about Taggert, they’d probably be concerned to hear she was traveling to parts unknown with him. Or maybe they’d just think it was funny. They were used to her outbursts, after all. And they knew how much she loved these sorts of assignments.

Or as her smart-ass cousin Randy liked to pun: Brietta
digs
graves.

It was Randy who answered the call, grinning at her via his laptop’s camera. “Shouldn’t you be on your way by now? I’m stuck with picking you up, so don’t miss that flight or I’ll kick your ass.”

Brietta arched a playful eyebrow. “Since when do they let children get drivers licenses? Put an adult on the phone, please. This is important.”

“Ha-ha. Anyway, no one’s home, so you’re stuck with me.” The twenty-year-old eyed her suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’re not coming. Clay’s dying to talk to you.”

“About the big surprise he can’t discuss on the phone? I’m the one who’s been dying—of curiosity. Give me a hint.”

“He’ll shoot me, but okay, I’ll tell you part of it.” Randy’s voice took on a conspiratorial vibe. “He’s got a girlfriend.
Finally
. And she’s a real babe. So we can stop worrying about him and start worrying about you. The old maid.”

Brietta bit her lip, pleased at the news, and disappointed she wouldn’t get to meet the lucky girl right away. If they broke up before she got back she’d kick herself, but she doubted that would happen. Clay had been patient about falling in love for a reason. Waiting for “the one,” and hopefully he had found her.

A nice, sensible, down-to-earth girl with good maternal instincts would be
perfect.

Turning her attention back to Randy, she explained, “Remember that gig I was complaining about? Well, things changed, and now I’m going. So I need a rain check.”

“You’re hooking up with the guy who fired you before he even
hired
you? You must really be desperate.” Randy’s eyes narrowed. “You said
you
had a secret too. Spill it.”

She shook her head. If Josh had been there, she might have reported the symptoms from her nightmarish brain pain, just to be sure it was some sort of fluke. Of course, he might have ordered her to get it checked out before she flew to New York, so maybe it was for the best. He could X-ray the hell out of her when she got back, but nothing and no one, not even a bossy ER doctor like Josh Ryerson, was going to talk her out of this trip.

“Tell Clay I’m thrilled. And tell his girlfriend she’s lucky. And“—her voice cracked—“tell everyone I miss them.”

“You just miss my mom’s cooking.”

“True.” She pecked the screen in the vicinity of his cheek “Stay out of trouble, brat. I’ll see you in ten weeks.”

* * * *

Nine hours later, she was snuggled into her business class seat, trying to enjoy the posh experience despite the slight but nagging headache that had plagued her ever since she boarded.

It’s probably just nerves. Because you dread meeting Taggert
, she consoled herself, but memories of the blinding super-headache from earlier that week still scared her more than she wanted to admit. She had even tried to reach her cousin Josh from the airport lounge, just to get a quickie diagnosis, but by some fluke all of the Ryerson contact information had disappeared from her cell phone, and her head hurt too much to try and remember the numbers on her own, so she had decided to rely on the antibiotics her regular doctor had arranged for her.

The flight attendant dropped off a hot washcloth scented with lemon juice, and Brietta pressed it against her aching face. It helped a little, which seemed like a good sign. Just another sinus infection, right? Not a fist-sized brain tumor.

“Brietta Ryerson, I presume?”

Embarrassed, she pulled the wet rag off her face and stared up into a pair of laughing green eyes. Immediately the sinus pain faded, replaced by a frustrated sense of awe. She had seen pictures and had known he was decent-looking. But this guy was sizzling hot from his thick, shaggy black hair to his confident smile to the brawny forearms that were visible thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of his tan hiking shirt. Her favorite kind of guy: rugged—almost backwoodsy—but with a clear commitment to grooming and a hint of academia.

Just your luck
. . .

“I knew you were dreading this, but covering your face?” he said teasingly.

She forced herself to remain expressionless. “You’re Taggert?”

“And you’re still pissed? Man, you really hold a grudge.” He hefted his duffel into an overhead bin then plopped down beside her. “Glad you could make it. Did you meet the others?”

Brietta nodded. “Melody and Vince, right? I take it they’re a couple?”

“What was your first clue? The way she hangs all over him? Or the way he can’t talk in complete sentences when she’s around?”

“I think it’s sweet,” she insisted, deciding not to mention how welcome they had been as her companions in the airport lounge. They had flattered her about her book, thus endearing themselves to her. Still, when they had confided that Taggert referred to the book as the “bible” for this particular dig, she had seen red, imagining his original plan: to take the
book
but leave its author behind.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Taggert demanded.

“Pardon?”

“The washcloth.”

“Oh, right.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a sinus headache. So I’ll probably just take a sleeping pill and crash for the whole flight.
After
you fill me in on our destination, that is.”

Taggert studied her for a moment. Then he motioned to a flight attendant who was hovering nearby. “Can you keep those hot washcloths coming? My colleague isn’t feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” Brietta protested, even though more hot steam sounded great. The headache seemed to be ramping up and they hadn’t even started taxiing yet.

Takeoff was going to be a bitch.

* * * *

“I feel terrible about Melody and what’s his name sitting in coach while we’re pampered to death up here.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Taggert drawled. “Oblivious to the world, as always. Let’s hope they get it out of their systems now, so we can get some work out of them.”

Brietta picked at the fruit plate on the tray in front of her, fighting a wave of nausea. “If you think they’re so useless, why did you hire them?”

“They’re my best students when they aren’t in the throes. And they work super cheap.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look terrible.”

She covered her face with her hands, annoyed at the observation, especially when
he
looked so healthy. “The light bothers my eyes a little. So I’d love to get some sleep. After you spill the details. I’m dying of curiosity.”

“You’re dying of
some
thing, that’s for sure.” His tone softened. “Get some sleep. I’ll do the same. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Brietta studied him suspiciously. “You’re not going to tell me, are you? This is some holdover paranoia from your dad’s experience? You think someone will loot the cemetery before we can get there, so you’d rather take the info to the grave. No pun intended.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he said defensively. “But yeah, I want to keep it under wraps as long as possible. One of the drawbacks of being Paul Taggert’s son is that everyone expects me to find something legendary. So they watch me. Analyze my itineraries, track my research, and so forth. So I’m secretive. And when possible, I hire people I know and trust. Like the paleontologist. She’s my best friend’s fiancée, by the way. Brainy and hardworking, and they needed the money for their wedding. I know you thought it was something else—”

“I hate myself for that,” Brietta admitted. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s still in the hospital, but she looks fine and sounds lucid. They still can’t figure out what went wrong, but obviously they’re taking it seriously. Lots of tests and whatever.”