Treasure Tides (The Coins) (3 page)

“I’ve got you,” Sean responded immediately, “and you will never
believe where you are.”
“You are talking to the guy who just spent two years ‘swimming with
the fishes’,” Royce responded. “I’ll believe just about anything.”
“Let’s not dwell on the past.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“You remember Ryker’s house on Isle of Palms?” Sean quickly
diverted, “It looks like you are on his deck.”
“No shit? Come and get me,” Royce growled, “I think my spleen is
bruised from being pushed out of the truck bed.”
“I’m en-route now Boss; I should be there by mid-morning. I’ve
talked to Joanna who said the moonlight should have triggered the
unlocking
sequence
associated with the
spell.
It looks
like they
vaporized your body, but she said everything should return to normal
when the crate opens,” Sean reassured him, then added slyly, “with little
or no side effects.”
“This son-of-a-bitch is still locked up tight,” Royce said as he tested
the top and sides of the crate again with his fists. “I guess I’ll sit tight,
and I
do
mean that literally, for the next few hours. Tell Joanna she had
better be right about this.”
“She is working on a contingency plan, just in case,” Sean said
cheerfully. “I’m getting ready to go through the mountains, so I may
lose you.”
“Alright, just hurry,” Royce urged. Thinking back to what Sean had
said earlier, he asked, “What ‘side effects’ are we talking about?”
Of course, there was no immediate response.
“Sean? Sean! Damn it, this is not funny.”
“Sorry Boss, just kidding.”
Royce heard rustling sounds from Sean’s end of the conversation. He
was multi-tasking; Sean could never do just one thing at a time. He had
too much energy. It wore a man out trying to keep up with him.
“I’ve got to take this link from the council. I’ll see you soon,” Sean
said in a rush, disconnecting before Royce could get a straight answer
about the possible “side-effects” Joanna had mentioned.
What the hell is going on with the Council? He needed a full update
on the status of all missions. He also needed this damn crate to open,
his body was becoming more solid, and the son-of-a-bitch was getting
tight.
Why were the Witches involved,
Royce wondered,
and why did they care
about the coins?
He could not believe they had done this to him. He had
known the majority of all practicing Witches for most of his adult life,
counting them as friend, not foe. It didn’t hurt that his sister was half
Witch, which probably explained why they hadn’t just killed him. He
might as well try to get some sleep while he waited for the moon to work
its magic. As he closed his eyes, trying not to dwell on how hot it was
getting inside that box, he wondered what morning would bring.
Inside the house, Becki turned out the lights and headed to bed.
Before putting her phone on the charger, she sent a quick text to Kurt;
Stop by tomorrow? Need ur help. Nothing wrong! Night love u B.
She added the
part about there being ‘nothing wrong’, because she didn’t want him to
jump in his truck and drive over to her house the second he was
conscious enough to read the text message.
Kurt was very much like his father, Becki’s grandfather. Both men
were fiercely protective of their girls and worked hard to keep them all
happy. Papaw always said he could “fix anything but a broken heart
”.
He could too
, she thought smiling. The world needed more men like that.
Becki thought about the crate, imagining what might be inside.
Just
before sleep claimed her, she felt a shimmer of unease crawl down her
spine and prayed she had not found Pandora’s Box.

“Becki, what is going on?” he yelled, “open the door!”
That girl ran full-steam ahead, and when she crashed, she was hard to
wake up.
He dialed her cell number hoping that if he could make
enough noise, it might just wake sleeping beauty. Actually it would be
more like waking a sleeping beast as she tended to be extremely
grouchy
if her eyes were forced to open before noon. Kurt didn’t have
a choice today; he had to meet subcontractors at the jobsite this
morning.

Pressing the doorbell button with his left hand, while beating on
the door with his other fist, did not seem to be electing a response.
He was about two seconds from taking the door off the hinges but
yelled one last warning, “Becki, if you want to keep your front door
intact, I suggest you open it.”

Big chocolate-brown eyes peeked out through the door still glazed
with sleep. “Did you have to come this early,” she grouched, opening
the door to let Kurt inside, “I just got to bed a few hours ago,” she
complained with a glare.
Becki absolutely hated being woken up
before the sun shined directly overhead.
There was nothing on earth
that
had
to be taken care of prior to twelve noon, at least nothing she
could think of.

“You said ‘stop by,’” Kurt defended with a shrug, “I’m stopping
by. Now, what was this about needing my help?”
Becki rolled her eyes and said, “I’m just sure I added ‘nothing is
wrong’? Meaning you did not need to come straight over here first thing
this morning.”
“You think I don’t know by now? You would say that, even if there
was
something wrong.”
Ok, he had a point there.
Without giving him the satisfaction of
acknowledging the accusation, she explained, “I found a crate yesterday
when Jonah and I were diving; I wanted to see if you could open it for
me.”
“Let me take a look at it. I don’t have a lot of time this morning, but
I can work on it later.”
‘Later’ would have been just fine to begin with. Shooting him one
more narrow-eyed glare, Becki turned and stomped toward the patio
door located in the kitchen, pausing to turn on the coffee maker as she
passed by.
After sliding the patio door open with more force than necessary, she
pointed toward the crate.
Kurt moved forward, frowning as he spotted
symbols etched into the top of the crate, outlining the parameter of the
lid.
A heat advisory had been issued for today; the temperature was
already nearing ninety degrees. Kurt, however, was suddenly chilled to
the bone.
“Where did you say you found this?” he asked, moving closer to the
crate.
“I found it in the cove yesterday when Jonah, Natie, and I were looking
for sharks’ teeth. Well, Natie wasn’t looking for teeth, you know she
won’t step foot in the water. She lounged on deck and caught some rays.”
Kurt tested the weight of the crate. Damn, it was heavy. He wanted
to load it in his truck and remove it from Becki’s house as quickly as
possible.
Truthfully, he wanted to get it far, far away from
Becki
as
quickly as possible.
“It seemed a lot lighter when I pulled it out of the water yesterday,”
she remarked with a perplexed expression on her face.
She shrugged
and continued, “I don’t know, it must have been that buoyancy thing.
Either that, or you and Landon are getting weak with age,” she added,
still not over the fact that she had been awoken far too early.
“Landon?” Kurt prompted, running his fingers over the symbols
etched into the crate’s lid. The symbols were very intricate, the lines
clean, indications that a powerful force had crafted this container.
“Yes, Landon!” Becki confirmed, rolling her eyes. “He helped me move
it home from the boat last night. It wouldn’t fit in my car,” Becki explained.
As Kurt scanned the markings on the lid, hoping to find something
he could interpret, Becki suddenly moved in for a closer look.
“I don’t remember seeing those yesterday,” she said with a frown,
“but then again, it
is
hard to think straight with Natie and Jonah around.”
Abruptly turning to make her way back inside, she called, “I need
caffeine; do you want a cup of coffee?”
“Huh?” Kurt responded, still concentrating on the crate.
“
Coffee
, do you want coffee?”
“No thanks. I’m trying to quit,” he answered quickly.
Becki liked her coffee strong and sweet.
Her favorite recipe consisted
of one part coffee, strong enough to stand a spoon in, added to an equal
part of cinnamon creamer. As if that were not enough to eat the lining of
a person’s stomach, she topped it off with whipped cream, from a can.
“What the hell is going on?” he muttered, as he pulled a cell phone
from his pocket. Kurt’s stomach was already churning, and the last thing
he needed was a cup of her coffee.
He had seen designs like this only
once before during a top-secret mission in the Middle East.
As he
punched in Landon’s number, he wondered how the crate had ended up
here
, of all places. Good Witch? Bad Witch? It was hard to tell, but
most
definitely
the work of a Witch.
The call went straight to Landon’s voice mail. “Landon, we’ve got
trouble. It’s about that damn box you brought to Becki’s last night.
Didn’t you
sense
anything? Find me as soon as you get this message. We
may need to call in some markers.”
Pressing the ‘end call’ button, he mentally rearranged his day.
He
would call Roger to meet him at the job site, hand off the punch list,
then find Landon. They had to move this crate as soon as possible if
they were to protect Becki from whatever might be inside.
“Can you get it opened?” Becki startled him as she spoke.
“Not now. I don’t have the right tools with me,” Kurt lied without
hesitation. “I’ll get things started at the jobsite and then come back to
pick it up. I have something at home I think might work to pry the lid
off.”
“Ok, sounds good. I’m going to drink my coffee and work up the
courage to face the day,” she said with a grimace.
“Go back to bed,” he urged forcing a grin. “You know you want to.
I’ll walk around through the gate and grab it a little later.”
“Ok, but don’t go through it without me,” Becki stipulated.
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you out of it,” Kurt promised as he
opened the patio door, motioning for her to precede him into the house.
There was no way in hell Becki would be allowed anywhere near that
crate once it had been opened. Kurt would simply tell her the crate had
been empty and it had fallen apart from being sea-logged. The dumpster
was being emptied tomorrow so he had disposed of it at the job site. He
only
hoped
it would be that simple.
As Royce listened to their conversation, he surmised that Becki’s
visitor knew more than the average civilian. As their voices drifted away,
he pushed against the top of the crate once more hoping to force it
open. Sean said the moon would trigger an unlock sequence, since it was
now daylight, he assumed the crate should be opening soon. He only
hoped it was
soon enough
.
“Sean! We have a problem,” Royce whispered urgently.
“I’m on it boss,” came the immediate reply.

Kurt wracked his brain, as he drove toward Charleston trying to
remember what the symbols on the crate stood for. Most of them he
could not decipher, but one appeared to resemble the moon. He had
tried to pick the crate up, hoping to take it with him, but there was no
possible way of moving it himself. Regardless of what Becki said, that
damn thing
was
heavy.

Pulling his cell out to dial again, he waited for Landon to answer.
Voice mail,
again
! Where the hell was Landon, and why was his phone
going to voice mail?

“Call me as soon as you get this message,” Kurt barked into the
phone, after dialing for the third time. “Did you notice markings on the
lid of that damn crate? We are in real trouble here.”

Kurt slammed on the brakes as traffic stopped in front of him.
“
Great
,” he muttered seeing traffic backed up half-way across the bridge.
Thirty minutes later he had not moved a single inch.
Giving up the
thought of moving off the bridge anytime soon, Kurt tried to call
Landon again. This time, his call didn’t even go to voice mail. What the
hell? He checked the display on his cell phone, no signal?
What else
could possibly go wrong? And then, with a certainty rooted deep in the
pit of his stomach, he knew;
Witches
.
“Holy Mother of--,” he said leaping out of the truck not bothering to
lock the doors. Feeling panic race through his body with every beat of
his heart, he ran.

“It’s about damn time,” Royce muttered as the final strands of the
spell floated away, taking with it the crate that had been his jail for the
last two years.

The
moon
had
worked
magic
during the
night, as
anticipated.
Surprisingly the moon had triggered not only an unlocking sequence but
had also included a self-destruct finale. It was a pretty clever way to tidy
up, Royce acknowledged. By ending with a “self-destruct”, the spell had
effectively eliminated any and all evidence of Witchy-meddling.

His
body soon adjusted to the climate and
pressure of
the
atmosphere, transforming him into a solid mass of lean muscle and
strength. He stretched working out the kinks. God that felt good.
Side
effects my ass
, Royce thought. He made a mental note to get even with
Sean. After spending two years in the same clothes, the first order of
business was a long
hot
shower.

Royce entered the house, sliding the patio door silently open.
Didn’t
the girl know to keep her doors locked?
He moved quietly in the direction of
the bathroom, stopping abruptly as he spotted a mound of blankets piled
on the couch. The mound began to move; one incredibly long leg, toes
pointed, poked out for a brief moment, and then ducked back beneath
the covers.

Was something written on her foot?
The blankets shifted again, he held his
breath as a wild mass of tangled black hair and the face of an angel
emerged.
Her eyes were still firmly closed, and he found himself
wondering what color they might be. A sprinkle of freckles covered her
nose. He loved freckles and wondered where else they might be hidden.
Royce resisted the urge to unwrap whatever present might be buried in
that pile of blankets.

A cell phone, lying on the coffee table, began to ring.
A hand
suddenly appeared from beneath the blankets to silence the ring and
disappeared again just as quickly.

Royce stepped out of the shower and reached over to snag the small
white towel hanging beside the shower door. Unfortunately, there had
been
two
clean towels in the cabinet; neither was made for a man of his
size. Wrapping the miniscule towel around his waist, he moved toward
the sink, looking forward to the extra toothbrush and disposable razor
he had located in the medicine cabinet. Talk about a five o’clock
shadow.
As he filled his palm with heavy, floral scented shaving cream,
he fervently hoped the scent would not linger.

Sean should arrive within the next couple of hours. There were a lot
of blanks waiting to be filled in. What had he missed? What had been
happening at home over the last two years?

Home was a fortress located in the mountains of North Carolina.
The sprawling compound provided each member of ART their own
private residence.
Meals were often eaten together in the main lodge
when assignments permitted. Sunday was “family day”. A special lunch
was followed by an afternoon of outdoor fun and games--, a day to rest,
regroup, and spend time with family and friends. Elsa, their on-site chef,
was nothing short of an artisan in the kitchen.
She refused to worry
about fat and calories for “Sunday Meal” but no one complained. It was
so
worth the extra work-out Monday morning.

State-of-the-art security systems kept their compound hidden from
prying eyes and would-be trespassers.
Home held painful memories for Royce now.
Time has a way of
healing, and good memories were starting to overshadow bad ones.
Time had done
nothing
, however, to help ease his loneliness, emptiness,
or guilt. After this mission, he might go home for a break, maybe.
Royce threw away the toothbrush and razor then cleaned up any
remaining evidence of his visit. Luckily, he still retained possession of
his wallet, and it contained plenty of cash. He pulled out two fifty-dollar
bills and tucked them under the toothbrush holder. Royce secured his
towel a little tighter and cautiously opened the bathroom door. Surely a
girl who looked like
that
had an occasional overnight guest. Hopefully
one who had left behind a change of clothes?
Becki yawned and stretched her tired limbs not bothering to open her
eyes.
Since she had been so rudely awakened too early by Kurt this
morning, she planned to spend most of the day lazing on her couch and
catching up on sleep.
Unfortunately, her sleep had been filled with
dreams--, some good, some not-so-good.
The dream she was having
right now, however, was downright
mouthwatering
.
Adonis stood in her living room, wearing nothing but a small white
towel. “Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up,” she mumbled,
wishing she could touch him.
“Ummm,” she mumbled appreciatively. God, his abs were no measly
six-pack; they were a
full
twelve. And he smelled like… her favorite
shaving gel?
Wrinkling her nose, she brushed the tangled mass of hair out of her
face, and sat up.
Brown
, Royce thought as her eyes suddenly opened wide. Before he
could even attempt to explain, she launched herself toward him; a bundle
of fury tangled in blankets, limbs flying. Before he could manage to
wrap his arms around her, she succeeded in connecting a hard right hook
to his chin.
His head snapped back, a move more aimed at self-preservation than
in actual response to her punch. He tightened his arms, the blankets
effectively trapping her in a soft cocoon.
“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” Royce soothed.
“I’m sure that is what all murdering psychopaths say right before they
torture and murder their victims!
Let
go
of me!” Becki demanded, as she
struggled to break free. Royce tightened his hold slightly not wanting to risk
injury to her
or
himself.
Damn
her knuckles
hurt.
She had already succeeded in landing one good
punch.
If she could get away from him and make it as far as the front
porch, her nosey neighbor would call the police. Barring that possibility, she
would run to her bedroom and introduce him to the Glock Uncle Kurt had
given her last year.
Seriously? This pervert had come into her house wearing only a towel?
It was a small towel, at that! If he thought she was going to be easy prey, he
had another think coming. She was tempted to show him just how accurate
she could be with that Glock, and the more he pissed her off, the more
likely it was to become reality.
“Asshole,” she said, stepping down hard on his foot, “let me go,
dammit.” Jerking her body right and then left, she yelled, “You dumb
pervert. Get. The. Hell. Out of my house!
” She annunciated each word, as if he
were slow to understand in
addition
to being hard-of-hearing.
Royce grunted,
Damn it, that hurt
.
Now he was getting pissed.
She
needed to be taught a lesson in how to deal with “criminals”. This approach
would likely get her killed if he
were
indeed a criminal. She probably planned
to free herself and then pull a gun on him. What she didn’t know, was that
he could disarm her before the weapon even cleared its hiding spot. He felt
her body shift and knew she was preparing for a head-butt.
“You freaking
idiot
! I said--”
“Enough!” Royce interrupted as he tightened and then slightly
loosened his hold; squeezing her in an effort to get her attention. “I just
said I’m not going to hurt you,” he reminded the squirming woman, his
tone much less soothing than it had been earlier. He might
smell
like a girl,
but he would be damned if he would let himself be beaten-up by one.
“Go to hell! You crazy son-of-a-bitch, I
said
let me
gooo
!” she
demanded, raising her knee to take him down, just like Landon had
taught her.
Royce shifted, blocking her move. So that’s how it was going to be.
Ok, if she wanted to play dirty, he could play dirty; no one threatened the
family jewels. Bad temper suddenly overrode normally good judgment,
causing him to softly goad, “Or what?”
Becki careened her head to look at him. Did he really just say, what
she thought he said?
That stupid son-of-a-bitch was just about to be
schooled.
Royce saw Armageddon in her eyes.
Becki drew a deep breath preparing for an all-out, blood-curdling
scream, sure to bring Mr. McGregor running.
Her neighbor might be
nosey, but he loved Becki.
He especially loved the chocolate chip
cookies she dropped over to him from time to time, and he always
kept a .45 caliber pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants.
Perhaps the fact that he was the retired Chief of Police had something
to do with it.
Royce knew he had crossed the line.
His head was beginning to
pound again, thanks to her right hook. His foot was bruised, he had
barely spoiled her attempt to crush his manhood, and he was not in the
mood to have his ear drums assaulted, so he stopped her the only way he
possibly could.
As he covered her mouth with his, she stopped screaming, clamped
her mouth shut and stood deathly still. Who would have imagined? He
slid one hand to the nape of her neck, tilting her head, deciding to enjoy
this unexpected turn of events. His lips tugged and pulled, his tongue
gently traced the seam of her lips, begging for entry. She gasped, pulling
back to look at him with wide eyes, her body still firmly trapped against
him. For a moment, a heartbeat, neither moved; and then suddenly
she
was kissing
him
. Groaning, Royce shifted to bring her body more fully in
contact with his.
Becki pressed closer, practically trying to crawl inside his skin. As his
hands roamed the small of her back and below, she arched into him
wishing her hands were not trapped in the mess of blankets still
entangling her body.
“What am I doing?” she moaned, dropping her head to rest on his
chest as she struggled to catch her breath.
Royce loosened his arms slightly, unwilling to let her get too far away.
Not only did he enjoy holding her close, but his towel had slipped, and
that cold shower was now a distant memory.
“Who are you?” Becki finally managed to ask as she looked into the
deepest emerald green eyes she had ever seen. Suddenly becoming aware
that she was still wrapped in his muscular arms, Becki tried to take a step
back. Royce responded immediately by tightening his grip on her.
She tried to step away once more only to be wrapped even more
closely in his strong arms.
“Ok, hot-shot, you’re starting to tick me off,” she said managing to
free her hands. Becki pushed against his chest with both hands, “It’s
time for you to let me go”.
“I can’t do that,” he replied.
“Now
,” she reiterated, pushing against him as she tried to wiggle out
of his arms.
“Uh, my towel slipped so unless you want--”
“What towel-- Oh my
God
,” Becki said, wrenching herself out of his
arms and throwing the blankets at him all in the same fluid motion.
“Stay right there, I’ll get you some clothes.”
As she hurried away, his gaze lingered on the strip of skin left bare by
a tank top that ended just below her breasts and short-shorts that would
be illegal in most countries. As he watched, she stopped, wrinkled her
brow, and scratched her head as if puzzled. Suddenly she spun around
and stalked back across the room, not stopping until she was directly in
front of him.
Tilting her head to one side and squinting up at him, she got directly
to the point. “What did you say you were doing in my house again,
naked
?” she asked.
Becki wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of her favorite
shaving cream. She leaned closer to him, and sniffed. “Did you use my
twenty five dollar can of shaving gel?” she said incredulously, poking him
hard with a finger in the center of his chest.
Royce raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, “If you will
get me something to wear, I’ll explain,” he negotiated.
She looked at him as if he had three heads, folded her arms, and
began taping her foot; clearly indicating that she was not going anywhere.
“I’m a friend of Ryker’s--” he began.
“Ryker? My landlord Ryker?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, “we’ve been friends for years. I’m going to be in
town for a couple of weeks and I usually stay
here
when I’m in the area.”
His stomach clinched as he lied to her, but there was no other
explanation he could offer, at least not an explanation that was
reasonable
.
“Well you are not staying here
this
time. It’s occupied,” she said with
a glare.
“So noted; I’m sorry I frightened you,” he apologized, then offered a
bribe, “I’ll buy you a new can of shaving cream if you find some clothes
for me.”
She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. However,
she
had
stopped tapping her foot which Royce decided to view as
progress.
“Two cans,” he quickly upped the ante. “
Two
cans of shaving cream
for a shirt and pair of shorts,” he bargained flashing his dimples.
“Deal,” she agreed, before turning to rush from the room. She had
better find those clothes…
quickly
. When he flashed that smile, her first
impulse had been to tackle him to the floor and have her wicked way
with him.
He fleetingly wished he could spend some time with her, get to know
her a little better (maybe even
a lot
better).
You might as well stop right there
buddy
. Royce shook his head at the foolishness of wishing. Time was
one thing he did not have. The mission was already two years behind
schedule, so there was literally no more time to spare. He had a job to
do, a team to lead, and a coin to find. He also needed to figure out the
Witches’ agenda; they
always
had an agenda. He didn’t know what they
were up to, or why they were meddling in the recovery operation, but he
was damn sure going to find out. Glancing at his watch, he wondered
what the hell could be keeping Sean.
Becki moved quickly from her bedroom, through the living room,
continuing out the patio door onto her deck. She paused momentarily to
fling shorts and a T shirt in Royce’s general direction as she passed
through the living room.
Royce heard Becki re-enter the living room and looked up to see
clothes sail through the air toward him.
“Thank you,” he called to the rapidly retreating figure. “Chicken,” he
murmured, chuckling to himself. It really was a shame he had to move
on so quickly.
Outside, Becki paced from one end of her deck to the other and back
again.
Biting the nail on her index finger, she relived the last few
minutes. Did she just make out with a perfect stranger?
Perfect was
right.
Oh my
.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered rubbing her forehead. Was it too
much to ask for the ground to open up and swallow her right now.
“Coffee?” Adonis asked, handing her a steaming cup with all the
essentials.
Looking at the perfectly tipped swirl of whipped cream floating on
the top, she asked, “How did you…”
“The creamer and whipped cream were sitting next to each other in
the fridge. I just heated the coffee that was cooling in the pot,” he said
as he moved to sit in one of the chairs surrounding the patio table.
Becki sipped her coffee, and wondered if she had hit the “man
lottery”. He looked like a model sitting at the table, actually
drinking
her
coffee. Uncle Kurt’s “Divers Do It Better” T-shirt had certainly never
looked so fine.
She abruptly sat her coffee down on the table. “I’ll go put your
clothes in the washing machine,” she mumbled.
Before she could make her escape, Royce snagged her wrist. “I
already did. Now, why don’t you sit down and relax with me for a few
minutes.”
He softly caressed her wrist, running his thumb over the pulse-point.
Standing, Royce pulled out the chair for Becki, right next to his.
Dropping into the chair next to him, she hoped he had set the
washing machine on speed cycle.
This man positively
oozed
trouble.
Then again, she thought with a smile tugging at her lips,
a little trouble never
hurt anyone
.
“You are beautiful when you do that,” Royce murmured, staring
intently at her lips.
Unsure how to respond to that, Becki blurted, “Do you have a
name?” Her face immediately flamed in embarrassment.
“I do,” he said with a smile. “Royce St. John,” he introduced himself,
extending his hand toward her in greeting. Lifting one sexy eyebrow he
prompted, “And you are?”
“Becki Stephens,” she responded, placing her hand in his.
“Nice to meet you, Becki Stephens,” Royce said as he gently closed
his fingers around hers.
“Nice to meet
you
, Royce St. John,” Becki said softly finding it
difficult to breathe.
A slight lean forward would put him close enough to steal another kiss.
His brain argued it was a really bad idea. However, his body did not seem
to be in agreement.
He tugged gently, pulling her toward him, lowering
his head ever-so-slowly. His eyes remained firmly focused on hers.