The Last Mile, page 3
Gage followed. “So tell me a little about yourself.” Though he had done a brief search on social media, he hadn’t found all that much. Twenty-eight years old, father out of the picture, mother died after a lengthy bout with cancer. Abby’s Facebook profile said she liked to run, hike, and snow ski.
“I was born and raised in Denver. After high school, my grandfather put me through college—University of Colorado. I studied cultural anthropology. I wanted to see the world, and studying how people lived in other countries, different societies, was the best I could do back then.”
“And after you got out?”
“I worked a while, just odd jobs to save enough money to travel. Then my mother got sick. I stayed with her until she died a few years ago.” Abby took a shaky breath, and he could tell she still grieved her mother’s death.
“For a while, I just did whatever came up: grocery checker, cocktail server, a desk clerk at the Marriott Hotel. For the past few years, I’ve been working for a photographer. Weddings, portraits, that kind of thing. Some of it was video work, so I have a background in that. On my own time, I do landscape pictures, portraits of people in their natural environment.”
Gage watched as she crossed the kitchen, opened a cabinet door, and stretched up on her toes to reach one of the higher shelves, where he spotted a bottle of scotch.
Her short brown wool skirt rode up as she bent over the counter, emphasizing her curvy behind and exposing nicely shaped thighs. A shot of arousal slid through him and traveled straight to his groin.
“Let me get that down for you,” he said a little gruffly. Enjoying the view, he almost hated to volunteer. He eased Abby out of the way and grabbed the scotch, poured two fingers into each of the two glasses she set on the counter, and handed one to her. He inhaled the aroma and took a sip, just as Abby did.
Apparently her grandfather had also taught her to appreciate some of the finer things in life.
Gage held up his glass. “To King Farrell, one hell of an explorer.”
Abby held up her glass and clinked it against his. “To King—and finding the Devil’s Gold.”
They carried their glasses into the living room, and Abby sat down in an overstuffed chair, while Gage took the sofa.
“Getting back to our discussion,” she said. “I assume you’ll want the expedition documented. My photographic skills will solve that problem and give me a way to contribute to our mission.”
Our mission. Gage’s insides tightened. He was afraid this was the direction they were heading, that Abby planned to join him on the trip. “I’m sorry, but that poses a problem. I don’t involve amateurs in anyway. It’s just too dangerous.”
Abby leaned toward him. “I understand you suffered a casualty during one of your earlier expeditions. But the map is mine, and the risk is mine to take.”
Gage just shook his head. “It’s not a policy I’m willing to change. If we’re going to do this, you’ll have to trust me to handle it for you.”
She looked at him with a trace of pity, as if she knew how much Cassie’s death still bothered him, which of course she couldn’t possibly know.
“Things happen, Gage. You work in a dangerous business. People were injured, some of them died during King’s searches. You can’t blame yourself.”
He made no reply because he was exactly the one to blame. Cassandra wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t been fool enough to believe he could protect her.
“If you don’t head up the expedition,” she pressed, “I’ll find someone else who will. I have to do this, Gage. Knowing King is my grandfather, you must understand that.”
She was going to go—with or without him. He already liked her. She was smart and determined. Add to that, he felt a strange obligation to a man he’d barely known but had admired and respected.
“You know my terms, Gage. Make your decision.”
Gage shifted on the sofa. “I need to look at the map. I’ll sign whatever document you need, but I’m not committing to anything until I see if your map has enough detail to be credible.” And if finding the gold seemed plausible, he would at least be there to offer a degree of security for a determined young woman who had no idea what was in store for her.
He mentally revised that. As King’s granddaughter, at least she knew some of the perils she would be facing. He almost hoped the map would prove to be a fake; then he wouldn’t have to break his own rules.
Abby left the room, returning a few minutes later with a single-page document and a brass-hinged antique wooden box, beautifully dovetailed at the corners.
She set the box on the coffee table and handed him the document, which was nothing more than a nondisclosure agreement making him liable should he relay any information about the map or other knowledge he obtained through Abigail Holland or King Farrell about the Devil’s Gold.
When he’d finished reading, she handed him a ballpoint pen.
Logan looked up at her. “You realize you should have me sign this in front of a notary.”
“I know. We can make it official tomorrow. The truth is, I’m banking on your sterling reputation, Mr. Logan. If you decide to screw me over, I’m sure you can find a way.”
His groin stirred at her choice of words, a mental image forming of the two of them in bed. Probably not smart to mention it.
Gage took the pen and signed the paper. Abby opened the box and took out the map. It was made of cowhide or deerskin, old and stained. She set it on the coffee table in front of him, and Gage bent forward to get a closer look.
Disappointment filtered through him, along with a sweep of relief. He had seen a map like hers before.
Gage sat back on the sofa. “I really thought you’d have something interesting to show me but this—”
“I know what you’re going to say. There are a number of maps like this one.”
“Yes. The treasure you’re looking for is infamous. The Lost Dutchman Mine in the Superstition Mountains? Every amateur treasure hunter in the country has searched for it.”
“You’re right. Over the last hundred and seventy years, roughly two hundred and fifty people have died trying to find it. Some were killed by exposure to the harsh desert conditions; others suffered tragic accidents; some were murdered, including several who had their heads severed from their bodies.”
Every serious treasure hunter had heard the stories, many of which were extremely gruesome.
“The Apaches believe the mountains are cursed,” Gage said. “Who knows, maybe they are. The truth is there’s no limit to what people are willing to do to find a fortune in gold—if it actually exists. I assumed the treasure King was hunting was something very different.”
She leaned toward the map, and Gage caught the faint fragrance of jasmine. Another rush of blood headed south. He took a sip of scotch, hoping to relax his body’s reaction to a woman he found extremely attractive.
Abby picked up the map. “You said you’d seen a map like this before.”
“I know they sell copies of it in the Lost Dutchman Museum at the base of the mountains. I’ve even seen them online.”
“Take another look.” She pointed to a spot where the map had been altered. “At one point the trail has been redrawn, veering off from the east toward the south. That’s my grandfather’s handwriting. He was there.” She pointed to an X drawn in black ink on the map. Next to it were the initials KF.
“Let me take a closer look,” Gage said. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” She handed him the thin, stiff piece of rawhide, and he held it up to the light. The black marks had neatly been added. He wished he had one of the reproduction maps to compare it to.
“If King was there and that’s where the gold is, why didn’t he find it?”
“I don’t know. If it was easy, he would have discovered it years ago. I think that’s where he may have been when he died, but no one seems to know. His attorney received a phone call from King a month before he passed away. Apparently, King told him that unless he received another call, at the end of thirty days, he should assume King was dead and implement the will he’d made the last time he was in Denver.”
“King must have known he only had a short time to live.”
Abby glanced away, but Gage caught a glimpse of pain. “I think that’s what happened.”
“What else do you know?”
“Over the years, he told me dozens of stories. Sometimes we talked about clues he’d discovered during a trip he’d made in search of the gold.”
Gage swallowed the last of his scotch, set the glass and the map down on the coffee table, and rose from the sofa. No treasure hunter worth his salt would mount an expedition with evidence like this. He didn’t have to worry. Abby would be safe.
“I’m sorry, Abby, I truly am. But I’m going to have to pass on this one.” He stuck out a hand Abby ignored.
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Turning back to the antique box on the table, she lifted the lid, reached inside, and brought out a chunk of gold. It glittered in the lamplight, sending his pulse up a notch.
Gage sat back down. “Where did you get that?”
“It came with the map.” She handed him what looked like a chunk broken off a solid gold ingot. Beveled sides, flat on the top and bottom, a little over an inch and three quarters long and an inch and a half wide, it appeared to have been part of a longer bar, with a rough edge where it had broken off. There was a stamp in the gold, the letter P, worn but legible.
Gage studied the gold, turning it over and over in his hand. “Have you had it assayed?”
Abby nodded. “Twenty-four karat. Ninety-nine percent pure gold.”
He rubbed his thumb over the stamp mark. “I recognize this style of writing. It’s Spanish, very old. It’s called Italica. I ran across documents written in this style when I was digging around in some archives in Seville.”
“You’re right. Italica was used by the Spanish from 1550 to 1800. In this case, the P stands for Peralta. That was in the letter my grandfather left with the map.”
A letter he most surely wanted to read. “According to the legend,” Gage said, “it was the Peralta family who found gold in the Superstitions and started the mine in the 1700s. They worked it for years, brought out gold worth millions today. As the story goes, they were using mules to transport a number of gold bars to Mexico in 1847 when the family was attacked by a group of hostile Apaches.”
Abby nodded. “Legend says the family was completely wiped out. Along with any notion of where the mine was located, a secret they’d guarded for generations. That’s the basic premise, or at least one of them. I figured you’d know something about it.”
“I know a little about all the most valuable lost treasures in the world. Not much about that one.”
“So what do you think? Are you interested now?”
He looked down at the map, thought of King Farrell and the man’s absolute conviction the treasure existed. The X on the map wouldn’t be easy to find, but it might be possible. And Abby was going—with or without him.
“I have his notes,” she added, those amber eyes sparkling like the gold he held in his hand.
“I’ll just bet you do,” he said, fighting not to smile.
“There’s an overlying map King drew that has longitude and latitude points along the route.”
“That’s a definite plus.” He set the gold down next to the map on the table, rose, and once more extended his hand. “Looks like you’ve got a deal—partner.”
Abby grinned and shook his hand.
CHAPTER FIVE
EXCITED, BUT NOT REALLY SURPRISED THAT GAGE HAD SWALLOWED the tempting lure she had cast, Abby returned the gold and the map to the box.
Gage frowned. “You haven’t been keeping that here? That much gold is worth a lot of money. You’ve already had a break-in that could have gotten you killed.”
“It was in a safe deposit box at the bank until I picked it up this afternoon. I wanted another look at my grandfather’s notes, and I figured I’d be needing the gold for our meeting in the morning.”
“Which leaves us with a problem tonight.”
“You’re worried about the guy at the museum.”
He nodded. “There’s no way to know if it was the same man who attacked you. If it was, he must have followed you. If he followed you, he knows where you live.”
A shiver crawled down her spine. She remembered the attacker’s fierce, lean strength. She might not be as lucky the next time.
“I have a pistol,” she said. “A .38 revolver. If he breaks in, I’m not afraid to pull the trigger.”
Gage shook his head. “I still don’t like it. I’ve got a couple of spare bedrooms. My room is way down the hall.” He smiled. “You can bring your pistol. If I misbehave, you can shoot me.”
Abby laughed. The man could definitely be charming. His gaze ran over her, and there was something in his eyes that could only be described as heat. Renewed sexual awareness slipped through her, which wasn’t good. Their association was strictly business. Abby wanted to keep it that way.
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ve been living by myself for years. If the guy breaks in, he’s going to be very sorry.”
One of Logan’s dark eyebrows went up. “What if this time he doesn’t come alone?”
Unease trickled through her. Abby didn’t reply.
“I’ll tell you what. If you don’t want to spend the night at my place, I’ll stay here. I can sleep on the sofa. Believe me, it’s a lot more comfortable than some of the places I’ve slept. If your visitor returns, there’ll be two of us to deal with him.”
Just the thought of Gage sleeping only partly dressed on her sofa sent a curl of heat into her stomach. “I don’t know . . .”
“It’s only one night, Abby. If you’re going on this expedition, we’ll be spending every night together until our goal is accomplished. One more shouldn’t be a problem.”
He was right. She wasn’t about to start off their venture by making a big deal out of his staying in her apartment.
“All right, fine, if you really think it’s necessary.”
“Did the assayer tell you how much a chunk of gold that size is worth?”
“It weighs a little over eighteen ounces. At today’s prices, that’s over thirty thousand dollars.”
Logan merely raised an eyebrow, giving her what she was beginning to think of as the look.
“All right, I get it. I’ll bring you a sheet and blanket.” Abby left to fetch the bedding and within minutes had a spot made up on the sofa. “There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. Unless there’s something else you need, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“One last thing. If I make an exception and you join the expedition, I’m the one in charge. I make the rules and you follow them—no questions asked.”
Wait a minute, what? She was funding half this venture. She intended to have her say in what went on. But that could wait until they were out there.
She pasted on a smile. Everyone knew rules were made to be broken. “All right, I agree.”
Gage seemed satisfied, and Abby headed for her bedroom. She had almost reached the door when the rumble of a sexy male voice washed over her.
“Good night, Abigail.”
Abby paused but didn’t turn to face him. “Good night, Gage.”
Once inside her bedroom, she leaned back against the door, her heart beating a little too fast. Get over it, she told herself. HE’s just a man like any other. But he wasn’t. He was Gage Logan. It was like Superman was sleeping in her living room. At least to her.
Abby sighed. She’d get used to it, get used to him. They were going to be together for days, maybe even weeks. She thought of the glance he had given her, the heat in those amazing blue eyes, like the glow at the tip of a brilliant blue flame. She couldn’t afford to let down her guard with Gage Logan.
Abby vowed not to let it happen.
* * *
Gage awoke with a kink in his neck. The sofa was a little too short, but as he’d said, he had slept in far worse places. It was quiet in the apartment, Abby still asleep. Faint gray light seeped through the living-room windows. Not quite dawn, but he was used to rising before the sun came up. In the bush, it was time to rouse the camp.
Wishing he had a pair of cargo pants, Gage dragged on his suit trousers, headed into the bathroom, then wandered back down the hall to the kitchen. Searching the cupboard, he found a bag of coffee above the drip coffee maker and brewed a pot.
He almost groaned at the rich dark flavor. The first sip was always the best, clearing his head and preparing him for the day ahead.
He started back into the living room as the bedroom door swung open and Abby walked out. She was wearing a knee-length fluffy yellow robe, her glorious hair unbound, more red than gold, though when she stepped into the light, he was reminded of the ingot in the antique wooden box.
At the sight of him, Abby froze, her pretty amber eyes running over his bare chest. He couldn’t miss the interest there, and arousal slid through him, soon to become obvious. Turning, he rounded the sofa, grabbed his wrinkled white shirt off the love seat, shrugged into it, and rolled up the cuffs.
“Coffee’s on,” he said mildly, trying to bring himself under control, cursing King Farrell and the gold discovery that made it impossible to turn down Abby’s proposal.
Or her demand to accompany him. Having a woman along, no matter how competent, had a way of making things tougher. If that woman happened to be beautiful and desirable, it could be a recipe for disaster.
Gage knew that firsthand.
He managed to blot out Cassandra’s image before it surfaced, and focused on the woman in front of him. Abby lifted her copper hair over her shoulders, letting it ripple down her back, making him want to grab a fistful and drag her mouth up to his.
“You’re up early,” she said, continuing into the kitchen. “I hope you slept all right.”
“No problem.”
She glanced approvingly at the pot of freshly brewed coffee on the counter. “I just need a cup. Then I’ll shower and get dressed, and you can take me to get my car.”
