Treasure Me (19 page)

“If that isn’t strange. Birdie, look.” The provocative feeling of his mouth on her skin withdrew. “See the design on the wall?”

She wrenched her eyes open. “Design?” She had designs on
him
, actually.

“Over there,” he said, nipping at her ear.

“Huh?” Her bra was twisted around her turtleneck. She looked like a lust-bitten whore on her way to the gallows.

Hugh struggled into a standing position. “Look at the wall. See the bricks? They’re darker than the others. They make a pattern.”

“How can you talk about patterns at a time like this?” Yanking her shirt down, she craned her neck. No easy feat when you were lying on your back. “Next you’ll admit you edit news articles while doing the nasty.”

“Are you planning on doing the nasty with me, babe? God, that makes me happy.”

“Vegetables, Hugh. Stick with the program.”

“Whatever you say, Carrot.” He scratched his head, grinning. Then he bent and nibbled on her collarbone. “And by the way, I’m an investigative journalist. I get paid to notice something out of the ordinary.” He started toward the wall. “This will sound crazy, but I swear the pattern looks like a big… heart.”

A heart?

She clambered from the table. Her blood was still thick with longing, but she managed to clear her head. The clue, the one she’d found in the patriotic bunting, rang in her ears.

Brick by brick, my love

My life built alone without you

“It’s the clue, the last one I found!” She stumbled past a cluster of end tables for a better look. “It was about love. Love, hearts—wow. Look at that!”

Hugh was right—the pattern
did
form a heart. The wall was made of bricks in many colors, but the rust-colored bricks stood out visibly against the rest. On instinct, she dropped to her knees beneath the heart’s arrowed base.

Blood pounded in her ears. The brick, the one right beneath the heart, was loose. She jiggled it and chips of mortar pinged off the floor. Tension wound across her shoulders. With a gentle tug, she worked the brick out.

Hugh was at her side in an instant. “What is it? What’s inside?”

Boyish delight flooded his voice. Smiling up at him, she reached inside. “Give me a sec, will you? I don’t feel anything, just empty space.” An involuntary shiver bounced through her shoulder blades. “I hope there aren’t any spiders. I hate anything that moves faster than I do, especially if it has eight legs.”

“Fear not, Turnip. Move back. I’ll search the portal.”

“And ruin my fun?” She giggled. “Get away!”

The edges of the brick were rough, and cool to the touch. Straining, she reached in further and let out a gasp. Her fingers connected with something soft, a cloth of some kind. What if she’d found ten rubies? A dozen? She’d pawn the gems in Atlanta or Dallas and use the money to go legal. She’d buy a house, a sweet bungalow with flower boxes on the windowsills…

“Birdie, come on already!”

“Got it.” With exquisite care, she drew the bag out.

It was purple, the color of royalty, and made of velvet.

“Are the rubies inside?” Hugh crouched beside her, a lock of hair brushing his brows. He looked like a boy on a treasure hunt. “Open it up!”

“Give me a kiss for luck,” she replied, steering his lips to hers. He obligingly darted his tongue into her mouth and reached for her breasts. She squirmed away.

She’d swear he was holding his breath. As she was, as she took the heavy yellow cord between her fingertips and drew the bag open. No rubies inside. Disappointed, she withdrew a brass key. It was similar to the key for the storeroom, with a heart-shaped head and four teeth.

She looked closer and her emotions rebounded. “Do you see that?” Awestruck, she traced her fingers across the base of the heart. Across the stone residing there.

It was a glittering, blood red gem. A ruby.

“This is ridiculous,” Birdie said. “Answer your cell.”

Beside the empty bowl of mashed potatoes, Hugh’s cell phone vibrated across the table like a Mexican jumping bean. Yanking his arms from the soapy water in the sink, he stalked over and read the display panel. He tossed the phone down.

It was the third call he’d ignored.

“Why not pick up?” she asked. “It might be important.”

“It’s not.” He motioned toward her plate. “Are you done?”

“I’m stuffed. The plate’s yours.”

He’d gone all out serving Thanksgiving dinner. They’d eaten in a bubbly delirium after the discovery in the storage room. The meal would’ve been perfect if not for the phone calls he’d refused to pick up.

Propping her chair against the wall, Birdie lifted the key and turned it in the light. She tried to appreciate the scintillating blood-red ruby at the base of its heart-shaped head even as her attention strayed to Hugh.

Discovering the key had brought a new, if tenuous, intimacy to their relationship. She’d confided in him about the hidden rubies, and he seemed worthy of her trust. Throughout dinner, they’d kept the conversation centered on the treasure hunt even as the air grew thick with sexual longing. And no wonder. They’d nearly made love on top of one of the tables in the storeroom. If Hugh hadn’t noticed the heart-shaped design in the wall, they would have gone at it like rabbits.

A close call. Birdie twirled the key between her fingers. With the thrill of discovery now passed, she was riddled with second thoughts. Turning their normally combative relationship into something more was a stupid move. She was starting to like Hugh—the boyish side he’d displayed in the storeroom, the sensitivity he unleashed at unpredictable moments. Why muck up the works by sleeping with him? Sex was supposed to be a mindless release, a few hours’ diversion from the loneliness of her days. This time was different. There was more at play here than mere lust.

If she slept with Hugh she wouldn’t be able to keep her emotions safe. Risking an entanglement, with the rubies at stake, was
not
a good plan.

Once she found the gems she’d leave Ohio. It was a cardinal rule. Do the crime and get out. Only, she’d leave part of her heart with Hugh—a man she’d never see again.

Worried, she brought the key near. There hadn’t been a clue this time, no poetry to lead her forward. The velvet pouch had contained only the key. What did it open?

At the sink, Hugh lifted a serving platter from the suds. “Want to give me a hand with the dishes?”

She traced the key’s heavy brass teeth. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“When I was growing up, we had a rule. The cook never cleaned up the mess.”

“Good thing I didn’t grow up in your house.” She rolled her eyes when his cell phone did the
fandango
across the tablecloth. “Why don’t you answer it?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Who calls four times on Thanksgiving? I’d go with ‘parents’ but most give up on the third try.” Not that her mother ever got in touch. Her father… maybe. If Tanek wasn’t too wrapped up in a prison poker game he’d ask the guards for the phone.

“It’s not my parents,” Hugh said. “It’s Timothy Ralston, a reporter at the
Register
.”

“You’ve never mentioned him.”

“I try not to think about him.”

The venom in Hugh’s voice got her complete attention. Or maybe it was the attractive way his eyes flashed. His version of anger was far too sexy.

“What have you got against the guy?” she asked, putting her libido into a fist-hold.

“Think Hercules without a brain. The guy writes fluff. He consults his astrologer before doing an interview. He picked up these weird crystals in Sedona on his last vacation, and keeps them on his desk like a strange rock formation growing beside his keyboard. He’s into yoga.”

“So Ralston has a mystical side,” she replied, amused by his petulance. “No danger there.”

“The family’s loaded. Ralston buys a new Maserati every April. This year’s baby is cherry red.”

“He’s rich. What’s the big deal?”

“Daddy’s furniture chain pours thousands into advertising at the
Register,
which is why Ralston was hired. The City Editor is happy to feed him ideas. Rich boy’s job will always be secure.”

“Unlike yours?”

Hugh’s face clouded. “Ralston is vying for my job.” He thrust a pot into the water and scrubbed with a vengeance. “If I can’t dig up enough scum for the Perini exposé, I’ll be in the unemployment line permanently.”

“Stop being dramatic. Someone else will hire you.”

“I’ve been thrown off five newspapers. Think leprosy. No one will touch me.”

She’d
love to touch him and the thought sent warmth leaping across her skin. Struggling away from the salacious possibilities, she slipped the key back into the pouch. The war between her urge to comfort Hugh and her libido sure wasn’t comfortable. Who was she kidding? She didn’t want to offer friendly affection—she wanted more.

Of course, his livelihood wasn’t simply at risk. If he didn’t publicize the theft of the website money, he’d lose his job to a journalist he apparently despised. Rough break.

And what about Anthony Perini? The guy might have a perfectly good reason for taking the money. Uncomfortable with her line of thinking, Birdie rose from her chair. There were all sorts of reasons why someone stole cash. A guy might be desperate. Or maybe he didn’t understand how to live a straight and narrow life. It didn’t mean he was bad. He might be a good person, deep down.

She
might be a good person.

“How can I help?” she asked, tentatively stroking his back. “If Ralston calls again, I‘ll shout obscenities into the phone. Or threaten him—whatever you need. I’ll steal the tires off his Maserati. That’ll clip his wings.”

Hugh dried his hands and eased her into his arms. “You’d do that for me?” He stroked her cheek, his fingertips damp from the dishwater. His touch was gentle and sweet, a balm for the doubt shuttling through her soul. “I’ve never been with a professional thief. Most of the women I know think of it as a hobby.”

“I can set up classes, give your dates some pointers.”

“You have a cruel streak, Birdie.” He rubbed his nose across hers, a leisurely movement. Her pulse tripped. The irreverent turn of the conversation appeared to lift his spirits, which was a relief. “How do you feel about breaking and entering? Make off with Ralston’s astrology books and it’ll derail him.”

“Whatever you want.”

He cupped her face, suddenly serious. “I want to make love to you.”

“I want that, too,” she said, and her heart overturned.

He kissed her deeply to drive the point home. Mired between lust and common sense, she slid her hands from his shoulders. If they made love, she’d be at risk of falling for him—

He drew back an inch. “What is it? If I’m going too fast—”

“You’re not.” She rested her palms on his chest. The heavy staccato of his heartbeat warmed her blood. “What happens after we sleep together? I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

“Are you asking if we’ll keep seeing each other?” He pressed his thumb to the side of her mouth then slowly rubbed her lower lip. The movement was heady, erotic, and her knees threatened to dissolve. “I’m not the one living on the road. I can handle seeing you on a day-to-day basis.”

“So we’d have a relationship?” Hugh wasn’t the type to stick with a lover for more than a few weeks, which should’ve been fine.

It wasn’t.

“We can try,” He said. “If you’re asking for a show of hands, I vote you stick around Liberty.”

“I can’t. Not after I find the rubies.”

“Stop looking for them.” He tried for a light note, but his hold on her ribcage tightened. “Problem solved.”

“It’s better if you don’t fall for me.”

“Because you’re leaving? Or because you aren’t worth it?”

Harsh questions, they were distressingly accurate. Anger scalded her cheeks, but she held it in check. She wasn’t worth it. She could pretend he was the problem, a guy closing in on forty who was married to his job. But she knew better.

“I don’t stick.” With shaky movements, she withdrew his hands from her waist. “To people, places—I leave. If I get bored or scared, I take off.”

“You can change.”

“No one changes, Hugh. People bullshit you into thinking they’ll try, but they never pull it off.”

The comment stole the fire from his eyes. Gauging his reaction, she felt nervous and wavery. In some awful way, she’d revealed the essence of her life’s creed. Her take on life was small-minded and cruel.

Hugh rocked back on his heels. Behind tightly clenched lips, he rolled his tongue. He looked at her like she was something he’d found on the sole of his shoe, something sticky and foul.

“Jesus, you’re cold. Where’s the end-game, Birdie?”

“The end-game?”

“Think you’ll always get away?” He put ice in his voice, enough to urge her to flee. “One day, you’ll get caught. Three strikes and you’re out. Or didn’t you get the memo?”

Somehow she stood her ground. “I know how the law works.”

“For other criminals. You don’t get how it applies to you.”

“This time is different,” she snapped, and immediately regretted the words.

“Oh, man.” Hugh dug his fingers into his scalp. “Let me guess. This is the big heist that’ll make you go straight.”

She wanted to agree, but her throat closed. What right did he have to mock her? The rubies were worth thousands. In one theft, she’d make more than she earned in a year. In five years. She’d pawn the gems and start over.

Not over. She’d begin. A new life. She’d become a new person.

People never change.

She’d stumbled into an abyss. Frightened, she wondered if he was right. She’d live off the rubies for a few months or a year. Then she’d go back to the only life she knew, the habits of a lifetime impossible to break.

Sick to the bone, she was spared raising a flimsy defense by the light rap on the door. Hugh flinched. Then he tore his gaze from hers and went to answer.

A man’s voice tumbled into the living room. Hugh joined in, his conversation tight and unsettled. The tension rising off his voice was no comparison to the anxiety churning her thoughts. Analyzing her dreams too closely put them at risk of disappearing. If they were a mirage, what
did
she have?