Timeless (14 page)

Her attention swung toward the scaffold. Should she signal Hannah to get the boys to tow her back in?

A cluster of people stood on the scaffolding.  She recognized Dr. Fraser and his wife, but the two men with them were too distant for her to identify. All four paused before the stone she had partially cleaned the day before. As she watched, Hannah pointed out to the altar. The group turned, and one of the men stepped to the edge of the platform and shaded his eyes against the glare of the midday sun.

Dr. Fraser cupped his hands around his mouth and called to Regan. “Come in, Miss Stanhope. Mr. Nicodemus wishes to meet you.”

“Shit.” She raised her hand in a halfhearted wave. Leaving the bucket where she had placed it, she started the step, slide, rhythm that had gotten her out to the stone.

Six or seven steps away from the altar, the ground suddenly gave way, and she went knee deep into the mud. The surface she stood on felt spongy and unstable. A long drawn out creaking noise came from beneath her followed by a snap. She threw herself forward, grappling at the muddy ground for a handhold. Water, brackish and cold folded around her and ran into the rubber waders, weighing her down, dragging her deeper. A cry of fear broke from her, and she dug her fingers into the ground trying to hold on. A shout sounded from across the dig site. The rope around her waist tightened and yanked her grip free. She gasped one desperate breath as black water covered her head.

CHAPTER 13

Quinn paced the starboard deck as he adjusted the headphones on his head and repositioned the mic before his mouth. The test was going well. The signal from the communication system they were using was excellent.

“Team three what is your position?”

“We’re about one hundred fifty meters starboard.”

Whatever strings Nicodemus had pulled to get the devises, they were well worth it. The next test would be at depth. They’d see if they functioned as well under those conditions. “That should do for now, team three. Come on home.”

“Roger.”

“Quinn—”

His name came through the headphones, the tone higher than Struthers’ normal pitch.

“Say again, team three.”

“We’ll be surfacing shortly.”

“Quinn.” The voice bounced across the loch and he jerked around to look toward the cofferdam.

“Quinn.” The sound carried like the call of sea birds screaming in his ears.

Breathlessness attacked him, and he caught the chrome railing next to him to stay standing as feelings of panic and fear raced through him that weren’t his own.

Regan. It had to be her.

But it couldn’t be. She was just cleaning the stones.

“Quinn—” His name thrummed through his head painfully loud.

He jerked the headphones off and shook his head. His ears were still ringing as he strode aft. Rob stood at the railing waiting for the divers to surface.

“I have to go ashore, Rob.” He shoved the headphone unit at his brother. He pushed the ladder into place at the side of the ship and climbed down. The skiff bobbed as he jumped into the vessel. He braced a hand against a seat to catch his balance.

Rob leaned over the railing, concern knitting his brows. “What’s wrong, Quinn?”

What was he to tell him? “I just have to see someone. I’ll be back in half an hour. Team three should be aboard in a short while. Monitor them closely.”

“Aye. This someone wouldn’t happen to have eyes as blue as a Scottish sky and the sweet face of an angel now, would she?”

“Aye, she would.” The small outboard motor caught, and Quinn throttled it to full and whipped the boat toward shore. His heart raced in a painful rhythm.

He tied the skiff to the dock. He jogged down the wooden planks to the path. The closer he got to the site the more intense his anxiety grew. As he approached the scaffold he heard a shout. Two men jumped from the platform into the mud while two others held the end of a rope to keep it taut. He looked toward the altar in the direction Henry and Steven seemed to be struggling to reach. An arm and a dark head bobbed out of the mud then disappeared again.

It was Regan. Quinn broke into a run.

*****

Regan jerked her hands free of the gloves. The rope tightened around her waist. The waders, half filled with water, acted like a weight pulling her down beneath the splintered, water saturated wood. Fear gripped her. She twisted and kicked, giving it full reign.

Don’t panic, don’t panic.

Her father’s mantra came to her. She forced herself to relax for a moment, to focus.

Keeping her eyes closed, she raked down the suspenders holding the waist-high boots in place. She wiggled and pulled with all her strength to work the heavy rubberized canvas from beneath the rope and kick herself free.

The rope tightened again, jerking her forward. Desperate she clawed at the waterlogged knot at her waist. If she could untie it, the waders would slip free and she could kick to the surface. Sunlight, dim but visible through the silt she churned up, glowed above her as she sank deeper.

Oh God, don’t let me die.

Stone scraped beneath her feet. She scrambled to find purchase to keep from falling farther. Steps, they were stone steps. Her lungs burned with the desire to breathe. Her throat clenched as she swallowed the urge.

She grasped at the steps, the rough edge of the stone scouring her skin as she crawled upward. The boots, clumsy and unbelievably heavy, dragged at her, holding her back. The surface seemed a hundred miles away.

I’m not going to make it.

A strong tug at the rope jerked her forward and she hit her elbow barking off a wide strip of skin. The upward tug of the rope seemed all too slow. Her lungs screamed.

She threw up her arm to protect her face as she broke through the muddy crust into the open air. She dragged in a breath, then two, then another. Mud coated her wet arms and clothing as she was towed free of the pit.

It took too much effort to do anything but lay and breathe. She rolled onto her back and looked up into the burning blue sky as water ran in rivulets out the top of the waders to pool around her. She hugged herself as she started to shake with reaction and cold. Relief bubbled up inside her, and she laughed.

She’d found the chamber, and she’d survived.

Henry’s long face, pale with worry, poked into her range of vision. “Regan?” He gasped, his chest moving like a bellows as he tried to catch his breath.

Stephen kneeled in the mud beside her and struggled for breath. “Are—you—all right?”

Eager to share with them she said, “I’ve found an underground stairway.”

Stephen’s whoop of laughter didn’t quite drown out Henry’s oath. Straightening, Stephen waved at the group waiting on the scaffold. The two men bent to pull her free of the mud and help her to her feet.

Still unsteady, Regan was grateful for Henry and Stephen’s support. Her muscles felt like mush. Even with their help, it took five long minutes to reach the platform. Sebastian Nicodemus and Andrew Argus stood next to the Frasers. Hannah, Quinn, Rick Jones, and a small group of the workers, who’d clustered around them, waited close by.

“There’s stone stairs going down into some kind of chamber,” Regan said as soon as she was within speaking distance. “There’s a crust of wood and debris covering the entrance. It broke when I stepped on it.”

“Congratulations, Ms. Stanhope.”

Her attention immediately settled on the Nicodemus. His smile held charm, but his features were too thin, and his nose too hooked, to be considered handsome. His skin looked dingy, almost gray, against the darkness of his hair and eyes. British undertones laced his pronounced accent, and gave his voice an international flavor.

What kind of illness was eating away at him?

“This is indeed an exciting discovery. What sort of chamber did you see?”

“I couldn’t see the chamber itself, just the stairs leading down into it. They were man-made, carved out of the stone. I’m surprised the whole depression wasn’t filled with debris.”

“’Tis a good thing it wasn’t, otherwise you could have gotten tangled and drowned,” Quinn said. His green gaze raked her and a formidable frown hardened his features. A flush colored the taut skin over his cheekbones. Stepping to the edge of the platform, he lowered a ladder into the mud and held it steady as first she, Rick, and Henry climbed to the scaffolding.

Dr. Fraser’s looked as angry as Quinn. “What were you doing out there, Ms. Stanhope?”

“I was studying the hieroglyphs on the altar base. I was going to measure the exterior to see if the interior could possibly be hollow.”

“And what gave you that idea?” Fraser asked.

Regan studied his thin face. Shit, were they just supposed to be good little soldiers and never explore anything, or take an initiative on their own? “The shape of it, and the way the top sets on the base reminds me of a sarcophagus. The sides are embedded in the ground just as the stones are. They’re fit together almost perfectly, then the altar stone is laid on top like a lid.”

“How do you propose they lifted the lid and set it on the top?” Nicodemus asked.

“Possibly with a simple pulley system. Or they could have built a plane and dragged it up to the top and slid it into place. Or used sheer brute strength, depending on the number of men they had to lift it.”

“Miss Stanhope needs to get dry, Mr. Nicodemus. Perhaps we should excuse her to get cleaned up,” Dr. Fraser said.

Nicodemus inclined his head. “Of course you are growing chilled. Perhaps I will see you again, and we will continue our conversation.”

Regan pried her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Of course, sir.” Now that the heat generated from her efforts to get back to the scaffold had cooled, her shivering intensified.

“I can run them to their cabin in the skiff. ‘Tis quicker than by land and ‘twill save the interior of their car,” Quinn said.

“Very good,” Dr. Fraser nodded.

“We can just spray off our boots, Dr. Fraser,” Henry said as he shot Regan a frown. “We’ll be muddy by the time we’re through for the day anyway.”

”Suit yourself then,” Fraser said, impatient.

Quinn grasped her arm and tugged her down the scaffold. He looked mad as hell.

“I’ll wade out into the water and get the worst of the mud off in the loch before I get on board the skiff,” she said. The mud weighted her feet. With each step, globs fell from her boots and left greasy streaks on the scaffold.

Quinn’s grasp tightened on her arm as she slipped. As they reached the boat, he stopped and gave her a shake. “What the hell happened back there?”

His tone sounded all too familiar. She drew a deep breath and turned to face him. Anger was there, but he also looked a little pale.

“I fell into a hole.”

“Because you were somewhere you didn’t bloody belong.” His fingers tightened on her arm. He thrust his face close to hers and his gaze, a stormy gray-green, bore down into hers. “Is it a death wish you have then?”

“Of course not.” Regan jerked her arm free and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her waist.

“Well, you could have fooled me. You keep this up and Fraser won’t have any other choice but to send you packing. If ‘twas my decision, I’d be driving you to the airport right now m’self.”

“Because of an accident?”

“Because you insist on poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” A dark red flush slashed across his cheekbones. He released her with a suddenness that made her flinch. “Sit your arse on the dock, and I’ll drag those waders off. You’ll not be getting into my boat as you are.”

Anger fired through her, heating her face. She wanted to argue, would have argued, had she not read the tenuous control he held over his fury. She didn’t know this man. He wasn’t the man in her vision, and she had to stop confusing the two. Did he actually expect her to get into the boat with him in his present state?

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Regan hugged herself to stem the shivering. “If you’ll loan me the skiff, I’ll drive myself to the cabin.”

For a moment, he stared at her his expression blank. His lips thinned as comprehension dawned. Regan drew an uneven breath as he held up his hands and took a step back.

“I’ve yet to lay hands on any woman in anger, Regan.” He grimaced and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“How am I supposed to believe that? You’re always so angry when you’re with me.”

“Because you do things that scare the shite out of me,” Quinn shouted. He jabbed both hands through his hair.

His expression seemed always to be serious, angry or disapproving. What had made him that way?

He turned to gaze out over the loch. “I feel I need to protect you. Perhaps it’s because of that first day, when I brought you up from the stones.”

“You were angry with me then, too.”

“Aye. I was worried you’d have a seizure before you reached the surface and there’d be nothin’ I could do about it. It seemed like hours we had to wait until you surfaced and we didn’t know if you even would.”

The stiff breeze that blew in off the water struck her in the face, and Quinn shifted to use his greater size to block it. The gesture seemed so protective. How could she have doubted him?

“Well, I promise not to do anything for the next hour, or at least until I get back from the cabin,” she said.

His lips took on a wry twist. He gestured toward the boat. “The key’s in the ignition.”

Though only moments before she’d been wary of him, she couldn’t sustain it, not when his gaze met hers so directly. “You could help me take off the waders.” Cold stiffened her lips and her words sounded slurred. Regan sat down on the dock and slid the suspenders off her shoulders. He grasped the slick heels of the boots, tugged them off, and then tossed them on the dock.

“You’re not in any condition to pilot the boat,” he said, all the mockery and anger gone from his tone.

Regan clenched her teeth to control their chattering. “I know. Get your arse in the boat, caveman.”

Quinn’s lips twitched, and she suspected he was suppressing a smile. He jumped into the bottom of the boat, and, leaning over the edge, rinsed his hands in the water.