Tag, You're It! (14 page)

Alex took the card. "There are gloves available in the room?"

"Of course," Ms. Newstead said. "Normally a librarian would accompany you, but we're short-staffed today. And since you're… well, I'm sure I can trust you, except I'll have to ask you to leave your bags here. You understand."

Alex slipped the magazine back into her satchel, extracted a pad and pen from it, and handed it over.

The librarian looked expectantly at Tag.

"Mr. Donovan is carrying our research materials," Alex explained hastily.

"That's not a problem," Ms. Newstead said, "but I'll have to see what you're taking in so I can verify what you're bringing out."

Tag slipped the pack off his shoulder, but he obviously wasn't keen on sharing its contents.

"Go on," Alex said, then to the librarian, "Mr. Donovan is a graphic artist—"

"And an expert on antiques," Tag added. As if Alex needed to be convinced he could lie like a trouper. That was the nicest thing she thought about him. This lie was strictly for fun. If it irritated her, too, that was just a bonus.

"He's doing the visual aids for the article," Alex said, her poker face in place, "but he doesn't like anyone to see his work until it's finished. No self-confidence whatsoever."

Ms. Newstead seemed to warm up to Tag, his neuroses apparently striking a chord with her. "I completely understand," she said, smiling at Alex but blushing for Tag's sake, "but I'm afraid he won't be able to access these particular reference materials unless he follows the rules."

Tag joined them at the desk, still not a hundred percent happy about the situation, but coming to the conclusion that he had no choice. He set the backpack down, making sure his Ruger was hidden beneath the clothing inside before he slipped the map out and handed the bag over to the librarian. He laid the map on the counter and carefully unfolded the linen wrapping.

"Ooooooh." Ms. Newstead reached out, just touching the corner of the map. "It's wonderful, so authentic-looking."

He slid it away from her fingers. "The secret to a good reproduction is in the materials," he said, sending Alex a sidelong glance. "The right color ink, old paper—that's why this is wrapped in cloth."

"It's truly a work of art, Mr. Donovan. However, some of the markings—"

"The markings are what I need to authenticate," he said, rewrapping the map. It was one thing to let her see it; he didn't want her remembering any details.

He followed Alex down the stairs, leaning against the wall while she worked the door lock to the records room. "You could have a real career as a grifter," he said.

"I've spent the last few days around an expert, and I'm a fast learner."

"Ouch," he deadpanned. "You should learn to keep your lies simple, though. The more complicated they are, the less believable."

"We needed to get into the room. Your way wasn't working."

"Smart women," he muttered, hearing the bite to his own words and not liking it. "Using your brain too much crowds out the—"

"Gullibility?" Alex supplied before he could say something insulting. She went to the map section and started reading the labels. "Used to dating stupid women? And I'm using the term 'dating' very loosely."

"Not stupid, just the ones who know how to let go and have fun. You definitely need more fun in your life."

"And you're going to help me out with that? If the last few days are any indication, I'll pass."

"It's all in your outlook. If you focus on the negative in every situation, that's what your life will be about."

"Right now my life is about this map, and since I managed to get us in here…"

Tag slapped the map down on a high, wide table, choosing to ignore her reminder in the interest of his own sanity. "I'd have gotten in here if you gave me half a chance."

"So that's what you're really cranky about," she said. "You forced me into this to help you find the treasure, and when I help, you get angry."

"I'm not mad. I'm just tired of the scorekeeping. This is about the treasure. Finding it is the only point that counts."

"Getting my life back is what matters to me."

"I don't know why, it didn't seem like it was all that great."

"Like you care. All you want is to find the Lost Spaniard.

Beyond that you don't know anything about me and you don't want to."

"I asked, and I got two-word sentences and delusions of grandeur. If you're not willing to share—"

"It's none of your business."

"You can't have it both ways," he shot back, getting more and more frustrated, until he remembered she was a woman. Okay, he hadn't exactly forgotten she was a woman. How could he when his body reminded him on an hourly basis? But she had such a male approach to life, clinical, detached, pragmatic, that when he was dealing with her on an intellectual level it surprised him when he caught a glimpse of emotionally charged illogic in what she said or did. "I don't care if you want to wallow in the past, just don't judge me by it."

"Maybe I have some things to wallow about. Not everyone can go through life skipping over the unpleasant parts."

"You don't know anything about me," Tag said, going nose to nose with her over the table. He was already tired, his nerves raw, and she'd struck the wrong chord. "I didn't grow up rich and pampered. I had to work my way through college and even after I got the job I always wanted…" It had gone to crap, but he stopped himself from saying that, refused to tell her he'd gotten his partner—his best friend— killed. How he'd almost lost his own life. He didn't want her pity and he didn't deserve her sympathy. He was still alive. He was the lucky one.

"Money doesn't guarantee happiness," Alex said. "I've been rich, and I've been poor. Either way there are more important things." She stepped back from the table, from him, but the distance she put between them was more than physical. "I imagine you'd like to find that out for yourself, so why don't we do what we came here to do?"

She went to the end of the row and started reading map labels. Tag stayed where he was so she could have the space she wanted, but he was still hearing her voice. Not the words, but the tone. Whatever she'd been through had left her hurting and sad, and somehow it had brought her into this treasure hunt long before he'd gotten involved. The question was how? He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer.

And neither was Alex.

THEY WORKED SILENTLY FOR A WHILE, MULLING over what they'd learned about each other. And what they'd revealed about themselves.

Tag pulled out map after map, Alex deep-sixed them, one by one. The hand-drawn maps were subject to the personal distortions of whoever had drawn them a century ago. The ones created by the cartographers of the time were too precise to bear a lot of resemblance to Juan Am efforts.

They finally found one that seemed to fit the bill, with enough physical characteristics in common with Juan's map to give them hope. Until they realized that the only landmarks the two maps had in common were Denver and Casteel. Not surprising for a time when a person could wander for months without ever seeing another human being, and when they did, the first choice of conversation wasn't geography. The only topographical features that had well-known names were the big ones: mountains, oceans. Saloons.

They put Alex's modern map, Tag's treasure map, and the single hopeful map from the library side by side. At some point Tag had fetched a Spanish-English dictionary. They'd managed to decipher most of the words, but there was no a-ha moment for either of them. The place names were just names; except for Denver and Casteel—for which Juan had used the original Spanish spelling—they didn't coincide with any of the towns, cities, or other features listed on the more modern maps. Even the one that should have made sense,
Monte Rosalie
, didn't have a contempocounterpart. There was no Mount Rosalie, or Rosalie Mountain, on the current map.

"The writing is faded, but Juan didn't take any pains to make this illegible," she finally said. "No landmarks are coming to mind, either."

"You sure we're looking at the right area?"

"It's the right area, but I don't see anything here that points to the treasure."

"Maybe if we find out where his original claim was, it might help."

"We'll have to go to the National Archives for that."

"Does that involve more walking?"

Alex met his eyes for the first time since their confrontation, her expression back to inscrutable. "It's about ten miles. If you want to walk some more, we can go to the hotel and get the truck. Otherwise I'd suggest a cab."

She started refolding her map and putting away all the things they'd taken off the shelves. Tag watched her, not liking where they'd gone. For four days he'd been trying to get her to open up, and in the space of five minutes he'd managed to take them back to square one. Not only was it counterproductive to his ultimate goal, it was damned boring being stuck with somebody who believed yes and no were complete answers. And mostly what she said to him was no.

Apparently she didn't give off that vibe, because the moment they stepped out of the library, she seemed to be attracting a lot of attention, and all of it was male.

They'd gotten to the library not long after it opened; it was well past lunchtime when they hit the street again, and since there was a concentration of museums and governbuildings in the area, the streets were hopping. Alex was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, both of which fit her well, but it wasn't like she was advertising for companionship.

"What is it with you and men?" he asked her.

She didn't say anything for a second, taking the time to shift her internal focus. And then she looked around, netherself a suggestive smile whenever she made eye contact. She didn't smile back, which only seemed to egg them on.

"You have some sort of secret weapon?"

"Confidence. I don't need a man, and I don't want a man. They know I'm not interested, and men always want what they can't have."

That was probably part of it; Alex definitely came off like she'd be a challenge, and most men liked the chase. But there was something else about her that drew the eye and put the imagination into overdrive. Unfortunately, spending quality time together hadn't counteracted her efon him. Or maybe he was a glutton for punishment.

They caught a taxi, mostly because Tag got tired of watching men fall over their feet when Alex walked by. It didn't take any time at all at the National Archives to find out that either Juan Amparo had failed to file a claim with the Federal Land Patent Office, or it had been lost. Neither was out of the realm of possibility.

"The only thing left to do is go back and start looking," Alex said once they'd stepped out of the cab at their hotel.

"Can we have dinner first?"

She sent him a look. "You're the one in a hurry to find the treasure."

Alex headed for the bank of elevators, fighting her way through the lobby, which was packed with women. Tall women, short women, all shapes and sizes, and all impeccably made up. Tag wondered if there was any mascara left in Denver. He wondered if some of them charged by the hour.

Alex was apparently on the same wavelength. "Are these women here for the Gold Rush?" she wondered out loud.

"They don't look like historians," Tag said.

"Maybe they're, you know, here to entertain the conference attendees."

"Then they're in the wrong place," Tag said. "I don't see anybody who looks like a conference attendee."

Alex stopped and took a better look around. "Y'know, you're right," she said, and collared a bellman coming out of the hallway leading to the bank of elevators. "What is the Gold Rush?" she asked him.

"Transgenders," the bellman said, looking slightly green, one hand creeping down to hover protectively over his crotch before he took off. He ducked behind the bellstand, relaxing visibly when he had full frontal protection.

"I was wondering why some of them had Adam's apples and five o'clock shadows," Tag said.

"Trust you to notice."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You were probably looking for cleavage."

"Nothing wrong with looking."

She grinned. "Nothing wrong at all. In fact, feel free to find yourself a date."

"I don't think it's me they're interested in."

Alex followed his line of sight and saw three really tall women huddled together, staring at her and whispering. Without another word she headed for the elevator.

The three women headed off in pursuit, taking advantage of the path Alex was forging through the crowd. Whatever was going on, Tag didn't intend to miss it. And it was going be good, he decided when the three began shouting "Miss USA!" and begging for autographs.

They caught up with Alex just as she got to the elevator. Her shoulders slumped, and Tag took pity on her.

"Sorry ladies, you're mistaken—"

One of them elbowed Tag out of the way. They closed ranks and surrounded Alex, all of them clamoring for her autograph and talking a mile a minute. Other Gold Rush attendees, attracted by the commotion, rushed over to see what it was about.

"Oh, honey," one of them said to Alex, "what have you been doing since you gave up your title? Living on a farm in Siberia?"

Tag couldn't hear her answer, but he heard the catty comments from the back of the group.

"Look at her nails," a tall woman with a manicure by Dracula sniped.

"And that hair," her companion said. "It looks like she cut it herself with pruning shears."

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Tag asked from directly behind the second woman.

She swung around and glared at him, eye to eye, more than the five o'clock shadow reminding Tag she was really a man, despite the window dressing.

"Oooo, snap. He's got a point, sweetie," the other woman said, adding for Tag's enlightenment, "Cris is early in the process so the hormones haven't totally kicked in yet But you're yummy." She hip-checked her friend out of the way, running those bloodred nails through the two-day growth of beard on Tag's cheek.

"I'm with her," Tag said, pointing toward the front of the crowd.

"Miss USA? Lucky boy."

"She's really…"

"Well, she was. Before the scandal."

"Scandal?" Tag said faintly, still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Alex had told him she was a former Miss USA. And he'd mocked her.

"Boyfriend, that girl walked away from her title halfway through her reign. Something to do with a man."

"Honey," the other person said, "it's always about a man."

The crowd around Alex began to thin, women peeling off in ones and twos. Tag finally caught sight of Alex. Signing autographs. "Oh. Shit."

The elevator pinged, the rest of the crowd backed off, and Alex said, "You coming?"

"Is that a royal decree?"

Alex gave him the same wave she'd used in the cabin.

Tag wasn't amused. He stepped into the elevator car, watched the numbers on the display count up to three, then stepped off. He didn't talk, but he was doing a hell of a lot of thinking, and he was taking a lot of sidelong looks at Alex—seeing her in a new light and feeling like a fool.

Alex shouldered her satchel and followed him down the hall, waiting patiently while he swiped the door key. It took him three tries. And he could feel her smirking behind him.

He tossed his pack into the overstuffed chair and turned a slow circle. The room's other furnishings consisted of a double bed, a dresser and television, and a table.

Even if Tag had had the faintest idea how to address the Miss USA issue, she didn't give him a chance, picking up his field pack and tossing it back to him. "I'd appreciate it if you keep your stuff off my bed." She dropped her satchel on the table. "It's only fair, since you got us the room."

Conversationally, Tag let the Miss USA thing drop, but he couldn't help imagining how she'd look in nothing but a sash and high heels. The visual took him a long way back to normal. Which, considering the circumstances, was half aroused. "I don't suppose there's a chance you'll sneak unthe covers with me in the middle of the night."

"No, and I'm betting you won't try to cram yourself into the chair with me."

"Maybe if you wore your crown."

That got a reluctant smile out of her. "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll tuck you in. I can probably scare up a night-light and a teddy bear, too."

"I generally like something larger and a lot more enerto wrap my arms around."

"If you go back down to the lobby, I think you can fill that order."

He grinned, gave her a suggestive once-over. "Nothing compares to original equipment."

"Not very politically correct, Donovan."

"It's not my job to be politically correct."

"You don't have an actual job."

"Then it wouldn't be fair to lead a woman on, me not being able to support her."

Not to mention that earning potential was a long-term consideration, and he struck her as a strictly short-term kind of guy. But she bet it was a hell of a roller coaster ride while it lasted. "I don't think they're looking for happily ever after." She collapsed into the chair, tipped her head back, and closed her eyes. "Yeah, this'll do."

Tag fetched a pillow and a blanket from the closet and dropped them in her lap. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Room service."

"Rather stay in here and avoid your fan club downstairs?"

She opened one eye and peered at him. "I take it you're over your remorse since you're teasing me about it."

"You want an apology?"

The chagrin on his face had her smiling. "All I want is a shower, a meal, and eight hours of sleep. In that order."

He opened the room service menu and leaned over her shoulder, making sure there wasn't an ounce of interest in his voice, expression, or body language. She wanted to sleep in the chair, that was fine with him. He wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of making a big deal about it.

"Order me anything," Alex said, stripping the top sheet from the bed and heading for the bathroom.

Tag ordered, and pretty soon he heard the water running. Not ten minutes before he'd been all but wrapped around her, and now she was naked not twenty feet away. Sure, there was a closed, and probably locked, door between them, and he wasn't Superman; he didn't have X-ray vision. But he had an imagination, and despite the workout it had been getting lately, it still managed to rise to the challenge. And it wasn't just his imagination doing calisthenics.

Every muffled splash of the water was torture, and when the water shut off he could almost see her, nothing but smooth, wet skin and sleek female muscles. Miss USA or not, it was a killer combination when his interaction was limited to aural and mental.

He needed to divert himself, so he pulled out the map he'd stolen from Junior, retrieved Alex's satchel, and reached in for her map, coming out with something that made him smile, then laugh.

Yet again, she'd caught him off guard, Tag realized, not a particularly comfortable thought. Whenever he believed he'd sketched her personality completely, there was another facet to her. And it served to remind him that he kept taking her at face value, kept forgetting she was a key part of this treasure hunt. And that if he forgot that at the wrong moment it might cost them both.

She came out of the bathroom just then, and all he could do was thank god they weren't in danger at the moment because she made it pretty hard to maintain his focus on the case. The top sheet was folded a couple of times and wrapped around her toga-style, and she had her hair slicked back, making the bone structure of her face even more striking. If she looked athletic with her clothes on, she was amazing half naked. And there was nothing as atas a woman who felt absolutely comfortable in her own skin.