Risky Surrender Read online

  Her scent, her full lips, eyes that told a story she’d only share with the right person, were the hat trick to his heart. After ten goddamn minutes, she’d stolen a piece of it.

  His foot slammed on the brake, shaking him from his memories. He cursed the sea of slow moving cars in front of him. A knot twisted between his shoulder blades. When he got back to the campsite he’d tell Lucy he loved her. Three words he’d never spoken to anyone before.

  He parked haphazardly ten minutes later, taking up two spots. He rushed to the cabin, his feet barely touching the ground.

  “Lucy?” he called out. His heart sank the moment he slid the glass door wider. The room was dark. Motionless.

  Empty.

  Once again, Lucy had left him wanting.

  …

  “I can’t believe you stuck around,” Lucy said, staring at Owen’s weary face and falling back against the red vinyl seat of the diner.

  “You texted me you were having trouble viewing the camera footage you took.” He dotted the corners of his mouth with his napkin. His tired eyes told her he’d been worried and she wished she’d never told him that. What she could see inside the Aztec village’s walls when she’d downloaded the footage onto her laptop was grainy, but good enough.

  “So?” She lifted her coffee cup to catch the waitress’s attention. It was close to midnight and Lucy needed to be alert.

  “So, I couldn’t leave. Besides,” he covered his cup with his hand when the waitress tipped her carafe, “I had a feeling you’d need me.”

  Lucy sighed, feeling a little guilty, but thankful his uncanny senses had brought them back together. She poked a piece of crust from his apple pie with her fork. “Lucky for me you have feelings.”

  “You do too, you know. That’s why we’re sitting in a diner in the middle of nowhere drinking coffee that tastes like tar and raising our cholesterol with pie.”

  “I didn’t mean those kinds of feelings.”

  He winked. “I know you didn’t.”

  Headlights bisected their position in the tiny booth. She flinched and glanced out the window, careful to cover half her face with her hand.

  It wasn’t a truck. Wasn’t McCall.

  “He sneak a tracking device on you?”

  “What? No!” Lucy slouched down in the seat. At least she didn’t think so. She fought the urge to check her pockets, the grooves in the soles of her boots. She eyed her knapsack. He wouldn’t, would he?

  Owen put a hand on her arm. “I was teasing. McCall’s expertise is heritage protection, not witness protection. But from what you’ve told me, I doubt he’s going to let you get away with this.”

  She grappled with Owen’s troubled gaze. “ It’s not just McCall. Malcolm wants the sculpture.”

  He raised his eyebrows and sat back against his seat, his posture stiff. “I thought you’d settled everything with that sonofabitch.”

  “I had. But I think you staying in town tipped him off to my being here and he somehow figured things out. The two of us in the same place usually means one thing.”

  “Shit, Lucy. I’m sorry.”

  “He told me if I don’t get the sculpture for him he’s going to ruin McCall. Or worse.”

  “You have to fill McCall in. For both your sakes. You need protection and if you love McCall like I think you do, then I’m sure he loves you back. Let him help you deal with the situation. Whether you like it or not, he’s part of the equation.”

  Was it possible McCall loved her? If that were true, she had an even stronger reason for keeping him at bay. “You don’t understand. I can’t get McCall involved. I can’t risk his job and honor and principles. I can’t risk his life. I don’t want him doing something for me that can jeopardize his safety. I won’t allow it.”

  Owen clasped his hands together atop the table and smiled.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Because it’s nice to know you’re nothing like your father or Matt.” He reached for her hand. “You don’t just care about objects, Lucy. You care about people. McCall is a lucky man.”

  Lucy looked at his hand around hers. Warmth seeped into her chilled fingers. Owen was right. For her dad and Matt it was always about the job. Even with their last breath, the final words they’d spoken to her had been about the Tlaloc sculpture, not concern for her. They hadn’t said what she most wanted to hear: I love you.

  Pain stabbed her in the chest. She’d always put them first, but they hadn’t reciprocated. She knew they loved her. But they were driven by the thrill of the chase more than anything else.

  “I hate being confused like this.” She looked around the diner. An older couple sat at the counter talking with a waitress. A guy with a Diamondbacks hat relaxed at a table. The only other occupied booth seated a family of four, the kids’ heads held in their hands, the parents sifting through maps.

  “They’ve got problems, too,” Owen said, following her gaze. “We all do. It’s how you deal with them that matter.”

  “You’re watching too many daytime talk shows.”

  He shrugged and scratched at the hairline on his forehead. “Maybe.”

  She moved aside her crumb-filled plate and coffee cup and leaned forward with her elbows on the table.

  “I’ve never told you what to do, and I’m not going to start now, but you’ve got my suggestion.” He crossed his arms over his chest and a tiny smirk played across his lips, reminding Lucy of her favorite geology professor in college. He liked to give advice too.

  She thought about her discussion with Owen over the last ten minutes. If she really wanted to change her life and make a fresh start, there was only thing to do.

  Malcolm had said someone else might be after the sculpture. That meant she had to find it first for two reasons—to guarantee minimal damage to the village and to make sure no one got hurt.

  “I’m going to talk to McCall.”

  Owen’s smirk blossomed into a grin. “That’s my girl.”

  Her playful banter with McCall, all their touches and caresses, and all the pieces of herself she’d happily lost to him this week flitted through her mind as she stood. Owen looked up at her with approval in his gray eyes and the weight on her shoulders lightened.

  “Thank you.” She bent and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thank me after you’ve got the sculpture.”

  “I will.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Time stood still.

  McCall swore the digits on the bedside clock read one-two: three-four every time he looked at it. Which happened to be every five minutes.

  His mind wouldn’t stop reeling, the pressure in the back of his head wouldn’t let up.

  He threw the bed covers off and paced around the cabin as if that would bring him the answers he needed.

  Where was Lucy? Was she safe? She hadn’t answered his phone calls or texts and it killed him. It hurt like he’d been cut open and sewn back up with chicken wire.

  Five times he’d grabbed his keys, ready to drive to hell and back to find her.

  Ready to drive to his village in case she’d gotten past Clay.

  And five times he put his keys down.

  Because the half of him that believed she’d be at the site tonight didn’t want to find her there. He wanted her to get away free and clear. The complex emotions that stirred sucked the air out of his lungs. Duty stung like a son of a bitch. But picturing her victory soothed the sting like nothing else.

  McCall knew she’d be careful. She’d leave as little evidence as possible she’d been there. He smiled. Thinking about her with a hammer and chisel as she meticulously worked to free the gold Tlaloc sculpture sent goose bumps up his arms. She wove a pretty powerful charm when she touched things.

  He slid open the sliding glass door of the cabin and stepped onto the deck. Normally, the after-midnight air unchained him from troublesome thoughts keeping him awake. But the unusual humidity and silence from night creatures only fractured the insanity.

&nbs
p; Something in the air seemed off, and his mind raced to another scenario. Lucy hitting the highway back to Charleston because she couldn’t go through with taking the sculpture.

  But that would also mean she didn’t care enough about him to see how far they could take this thing between them.

  The whole distance. That’s what McCall had wanted. He’d found a woman he’d give up everything for and whom he knew would accept him with nothing but the shirt on his back.

  He flexed his fingers to relieve the stiffness in his hands. He looked out into the dull, indistinct woods and conjured a vision of Lucy stepping through the darkness, walking towards him with slow determination until she got close enough to touch. He blinked and reached his arm out. The image seemed so real. Had she come back to him?

  His hand went through nothing but air.

  “McCall?”

  Lucy stood just out of reach, not a figment of his imagination, but a gorgeous, living, breathing woman.

  “Lucy.” He didn’t move a muscle, afraid to siphon the moment.

  “Can we talk?” Her breathy, sexy voice sent ripples of relief and gratitude through him. Her eyes took in his bare chest and the closer she got, the easier it was to relax.

  When she stood in front of him and lifted her chin to meet his gaze, he said, “Right after this.” And then he kissed her.

  Not quick, but slow. Not hard, but sensual. He moved his lips across hers with delicate pressure that he hoped said stay with me forever, because Lucy was the kind of woman where actions spoke louder than words.

  Her arms went around his neck and her body melted against his. He cupped the back of her head and wrapped an arm around her waist. When he slid his tongue inside her mouth and deepened the kiss, she moaned her approval.

  For several minutes they stood there, enraptured in the kiss, hearts beating together as one. When it dawned on McCall that this was possibly a good-bye kiss, he pulled away.

  “Tell me this isn’t good-bye,” McCall said, taking her hand and bringing her down to sit beside him on the top step of the deck.

  Lucy’s satiated but weary eyes answered with maybe.

  He leaned back on his elbows, hoping to look casual and hide the worry hammering behind his ribcage.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. What is it?”

  “Confession.” She looked out into the darkness. “You’ve been nothing but honest with me and I want to give you the same courtesy before I do what I’ve come here to do.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Hugging her knees to her chest, she said, “It’s about more than my promise now. Malcolm found out what I was doing here and he wants the Tlaloc sculpture. If I don’t get it for him…” She looked at McCall out of the corner of her eye for a long time. “If I don’t get it for him, he’s going to come after you.”

  McCall drew up, his back straight. “That’s why you pushed me away?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re worried about me?” He twisted to face her.

  “Maybe. I know Malcolm is capable of—”

  He cut her off with another kiss. Pressed her back, covered her torso with his, and fed from the sweetness of her mouth until he had to come up for air. “Malcolm Holmes doesn’t scare me,” he said, looking down at her. “But you do, Lucy. I’ve never felt—”

  This time she cut him off, pulling him down and claiming his mouth with a long, drugging kiss. When she’d apparently had enough, she nudged him in the chest. “I have a plan.”

  So did he. Big plans, but he had a feeling she wasn’t quite ready for that. He took a deep breath. He hated not being the one in control, but Lucy’s comfort mattered more than his. Whatever happened with the Tlaloc sculpture, he’d make sure Malcolm got what he deserved. Clay’s ties with the military extended to some very powerful people.

  “I’m listening.” He angled away from Lucy’s warm body to cool his overwhelming urge to carry her to his bed and forget about everything but the two of them.

  “Hire me for real.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Hire me on as a consultant. If I’m on your site in an official capacity, I can get the Tlaloc sculpture and like you said, bring attention to the find and your village. Retrieving an elusive sixteenth century gold artifact from the Aztec village while at the same time preserving the village’s heritage would bring notoriety to World Heritage Fund and protect you, me, and the sculpture.”

  “A similar thought occurred to me.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “If we can get some national press and use your family connections to garner publicity, too, then Malcolm wouldn’t dare come after us. At least, I don’t think he would.”

  “When do you see this happening?”

  “This weekend.” She put her palm on his chest, over his heart, like she needed to feel he was okay with this.

  He covered her hand with his and their eyes connected. Held. For several long beats they stared, electric feelings of friendship and adoration and love filling McCall’s soul. If he’d had any doubt about Lucy’s devotion, he didn’t any longer.

  “You know where the sculpture is.” A statement, not a question. The last of her secrets, he hoped.

  “Yes.”

  “Do I want to know how you found it?”

  “Do you?” A slow smile spread across her irresistible lips at the same time she withdrew her hand.

  “Over margaritas after we get it.”

  Her smile slipped. “After I get it, that’s when I’ll say goodbye.”

  …

  Everyone Lucy had ever loved died. Her mother when she five. Her grandmother when she was twenty. Matt and her father two years ago.

  She was worried that the next person she loved would leave before she was ready, too.

  So she was scared. Scared because she loved McCall’s kisses with soft caresses one minute and white-hot urgency the next. Loved when he journeyed from her mouth to every slope and curve of her body with his tongue like he wanted to memorize each pathway. And loved when he moved inside her without the control he prided himself possessing, groaning without restraint.

  “I see,” he said, the joy on his face vanishing.

  “What do you see?”

  “An even bigger thief than I thought you were.” He stood. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, accentuating his trim waist and broad shoulders.

  Lucy forced herself to look elsewhere and jumped to her feet. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He didn’t answer, just strode back into the cabin and flipped on a light. Lucy leaned against the glass door and watched him. He changed into jeans and threw on a T-shirt, ran a hand through his soft, brown hair. She could watch him all day and night.

  “McCall?”

  He forced his feet into his shoes. “You’re never going to trust yourself around me, are you? You’ve stolen something from me, Lucy. Something I’ve held tight to but was powerless to keep the minute I met you.”

  She frowned. What was he talking about?

  “My heart.” He took two strides and stood right in front of her. “When I called you a thief,” he whispered, “I meant you’d stolen my heart.” He cupped her cheek and his glorious blue eyes gave her hope for a future she’d been pushing away because of fear. “And I was hoping you might like me along with it.”

  Her breath caught and she leaned into his palm. “I’m sorry. It’s just… It’s just I’ve lost everyone I’ve loved and I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  A grin that reminded her he was worth the risk spread across his face. “Did you hear what you just said?”

  “Umm…”

  “You said you love me.”

  “I didn’t say that exactly. What I was trying to say… what I meant to say…” He’d totally flustered her!

  He touched his forehead to hers and sucked in a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

  She melted against him, powerless. Wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling his neck she said, “Even if
things don’t go the way we’ve planned?”

  “Even then.” He pulled away. “There’s one question I need to ask you, though, before I throw you onto the bed behind me.”

  “Okay. But make it quick. I’m really in need of a bed.”

  “Before Malcolm’s threat, what were your plans for the sculpture?” A flash of concern passed over his handsome features and for a moment she wanted to take back the last five minutes. But then he took her hand and his touch was warm, tender. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, maybe realizing his mistake. “I promise you it doesn’t matter.”

  “I have a friend at the National Museum of American History. I’m donating it to them in my father and Matt’s names.”

  The worry in his eyes dissipated. “That’s… You’re a good, honorable person, Lucy. I’m sorry if my question made you doubt I thought that.”

  “Thank you.”

  He tugged her with him toward the bed. “Now about this need of yours. I think I should take care of it. Slowly. Very, very slowly.”

  McCall’s phone rang, breaking their momentum and giving her a moment to absorb his words. “Dammit,” he said. “That can’t be good.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Hello?”

  His eyes never left hers as he listened to whoever had called. “Call the authorities and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He lowered the phone from his ear. “Clay caught someone trespassing at the village.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Lucy said.

  “Damn right you will.” He took her hand and led her out of the cabin. “As my newest team member, you’ve got a job to do. If anyone is going to get the Tlaloc sculpture, it’s going to be you. You ready to do this?”

  “Very.” For all the this he threw her way.

  …

  An hour later a quiet so eerie filled the hallway of the Aztec village that Lucy froze and held her breath. Nerves skittered across her shoulder blades until she sighed and shook her head to rid the unsettling stillness. In the hour or two before dawn things sometimes just stopped for a second. Especially in centuries old sacred dwellings where Owen would say sprits lingered. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow and returned to work.