Dark Riches, page 1
Dark Riches
Kelly Myers
Copyright © 2021 by Kelly Myers
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Excerpt: My Secret Daddy
Invitation to join Kelly’s Newsletter
Blurb
Griffin Lawson was trained to steal, torture and kill…
So, when my brother mails me a mysterious map that leads to a long-lost treasure and then disappears,
I know this ex-CIA operative is the perfect man to help me.
What I don’t expect, though, is the instant chemistry that sparks between us.
I’m a boring, predictable librarian with a cat.
Basically, a walking stereotype who has accepted her lonely fate.
But, when Griff and I team up to track down an infamous gangster’s gold and find my brother, my life takes an adventurous turn full of danger, excitement and intrigue.
We can’t deny the attraction that burns between us and it doesn’t take long before it’s an all-out conflagration.
But, Griff claims he’s not a good person and that he’s seen too much.
He may believe he’s a monster, but I see a good man who was willing to sacrifice his life for his country…and now for me.
I know I shouldn’t get involved with him, that he’s a heartbreak waiting to happen, but I can’t stay away no matter how hard I try.
I can feel myself falling hard, and now that we’re on the verge of finding a priceless treasure and solving a nearly 100-year-old mystery,
I can’t help but wonder...
How do I trust a man who claims he has no conscience and used to lie for a living?
1
Lexi
My heels click for a moment down the library hallway before I step onto a section of specially designed wool carpet. I glance up at the original bronze and copper pendant light fixtures between skylights and think again how beautiful The Pasadena Central Library is and how lucky I am to work here.
I’ve always loved history and research so it’s no surprise that I find myself working in a stately building listed on the National Register of Historical Places. I feel right at home in piles of periodicals, microforms and government documents. The older and dustier, the better.
It’s also pretty fitting that my name is Alexandria since the ancient Egyptian city of the same name was known for its learning and attracted scholars, scientists, philosophers, mathematicians, artists and historians. The famed Library of Alexandria, before it burned to the ground, supposedly held over half a million books.
How I would’ve loved visiting there, I think, as I walk into my little corner office. My desk is overflowing with papers, books and maps. As a research librarian who specializes in maps, I spend a lot of time helping others with their research and have special projects like indexing and digitizing traditional paper maps.
Some people might think that sounds boring, but the moment I get my hands on an antique map or discover some long-lost piece of information, my pulse kicks up a notch. I think that being a librarian is a special calling. I love working with people and helping them discover mysterious things lost or buried in history. Despite what popular culture may say, most librarians aren’t old women in thick-rimmed glasses and sweater vests, shushing everyone.
And, in my defense, my glasses are actually quite stylish and I only need them for driving.
It’s Friday night, a little after five o’clock, and I shut my computer down for the day. It’s been a productive week and I toss my long, dark red ponytail over a shoulder. I’m looking forward to going home, curling up on the couch with my new romance novel and having a glass or two of wine. I grab my purse, hit the lights off and shut the door behind me.
A few minutes later, I hit the ground floor and walk out the main doors of the Mediterranean-style building at 285 E. Walnut Street. My little apartment is a few blocks away and the walk is easy. Since I’m cooped up inside all day, I really enjoy my walks to and from work where I get to soak up the gorgeous Southern California sunshine.
Pasadena, a quiet city northeast of downtown Los Angeles, is a great place to live. It’s near the L.A. hustle and bustle if I want to venture over yet it’s far enough away from all the nonsense that I have room to breathe and not worry about sitting in endless traffic. There are a lot of great places to eat and shop, I enjoy its Victorian and art deco buildings and it’s pretty cool to be so close to the Rose Bowl.
Maybe one of these days, I’ll go over there. There’s a three-mile trail around the stadium for walkers and joggers. I’m not sure why I’ve never gone over before. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m a creature of habit and don’t vary much from my usual routine. And, that includes work, my favorite coffee shop and work.
My life is so pathetic.
Face it. You’re boring and predictable, Lexi.
With a sigh, I turn onto my quiet, little street and sling my purse over the opposite shoulder. Three years ago, I was in a very brief and very bad relationship. Since then, I keep telling myself that it’s much easier to just be single. No drama, no lying, no feeling bad about myself when things do not work out. Because, let’s face it, they never do.
I’m happy and the last thing I need in my well-ordered life is a man. Because it will only result in chaos and trust issues. And, believe me, I have a big problem when it comes to trusting men.
My last boyfriend, Jeremy Holden, left me crying my eyes out for months after he cheated on me with multiple women. My self-esteem crashed and burned after that fiasco and it’s not something I’d like to ever experience again, thank you very much. The only man for me is Whimsy, my cat. He’s loyal and loving and doesn’t talk back. We have a perfect relationship.
I suppose it can get a little lonely sometimes, but I don’t like to dwell on it overly long. Being single is something I’ve just accepted. I’m 26 years old, work at a library and own a cat.
I’m a stereotype, I think.
But, the reverse of that terrifies me. Putting myself back out there to face rejection and heartache makes my stomach hurt. I unlock the front door, step inside and lean over to pick up a couple of bills and an envelope that the mailman dropped through the slot earlier today. My apartment is small and old with a vintage charm that I appreciate.
I glance at my reflection in the hanging mirror in the entranceway and can see that I’m fortunate-enough looking. I simply don’t have the confidence to take chances in love. But, sometimes late at night when I’m all alone in my bed, I wish I did. I wish with all my lonely heart that I could walk up to a man who I find attractive and just lay it all out there.
Seduce him, I think.
Wow. Being alone for as long as I have really gives me a naughty side. Not that it matters.
I study myself for a moment, wondering what others see when they look at me. A frumpy librarian? A woman who is in total control of her emotions at all times? Or, in reality, the truth-- a sex-starved redhead?
My long dark red hair is probably my best feature. It’s thick and highlighted with strands of gold when the sun hits it just right. I have no freckles on my face and my fair skin tans nicely. And, my eyes seem to match my hair in certain lighting, taking on an auburn tint. It’s a strange phenomenon. Otherwise, they’re a deep chocolate brown.
I drop my purse and mail on the table beneath the mirror and kick my heels off. Whimsy races over to greet me and I scoop him up into my arms. “Hello, Whimsical. How’s my handsome boy?” He purrs and I stroke a hand down his dark back. “Hungry?”
I set him down, change into comfy pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and wander into the kitchen. I open a can of wet food for him and drop it in a bowl. Then, I open my fridge, take a look inside and sigh. Not much to choose from, I think. I suppose I could order in, but nothing sounds very good. I decide to just pop that bottle of wine open and relax on the couch like I planned.
As I pour the red wine into a glass, my mind once again turns to dating and why it’s so damn hard. Is it me? Was I a bad girlfriend who couldn’t satisfy all of Jeremy’s wants and desires? Humph, I think with a snort of disdain. What about my wants and desires? He sure as hell didn’t take the time to satisfy them or even learn what they were.
I slide the ponytail holder out and give my head a shake. My red tresses fall halfway down my back and I massage my scalp for a moment, thinking about how the few men I’ve cared about in my life always leave. Starting with my Dad who abandoned me when I was only two.
My Mom was 20 when she had my brother Kyle and then two years later, I was born. My Dad is a wisp of a memory, like a shadow at the edge of my vision, and I have hardly any recollection of him at all. Mom said he left because he had other issues he couldn’t deal with and she never spoke badly of him. Actually, she barely mentioned him at all, but when she did, her voice always held a tinge of sadness. “He has his demons, honey,” she told me one day when I began asking questions. “He wasn’t meant to have a family.”
Later, I learned he was an alcoholic, never able to make peace with his abusive father who came back from the Vietnam War, broken, mean and haunted. His father ended up taking his own life with the sidearm he killed so many Vietcong with and my Dad drank himself to death by the time I was seven.
My Mom was lucky to find another man who loved Kyle and I like his own children. They married when I was 16, at around the same time my older brother moved out. Kyle Ryder was never very good at sitting still for very long and the second he turned 18, he took off. Possessing a devil-may-care attitude and an abundance of charm, Kyle likes to live on the edge. He’d probably die before taking a 9-5 job like me. Instead, he’s a soldier of fortune and goes wherever there’s the promise of profit, adventure or pleasure.
We couldn’t be more opposite.
A part of me envies his carefree lifestyle. I wish I could be more loose and easygoing, but I like structure and knowing where my next paycheck is coming from. He’s also selfish, though, and more concerned about living his grandiose life than checking in with me and Mom. Since he lives in New York City, we don’t see him that often and he can’t be bothered to call for months on end.
That’s just Kyle, my Mom says, trying to make us both feel better.
But, I know it hurts her feelings.
As I take another sip of wine, my gaze wanders over to the table beneath the mirror where I set my mail. I see the edge of the large manilla envelope sticking out and I forgot all about it. I walk over and pick it up. The return address is NYC.
Squinting, I realize it’s my brother’s handwriting, but it looks like he wrote it in a hurry. It also looks shaky. I tear it open and slide out a piece of paper, the edges frayed and turning sepia in color. With a frown, I unfold it and realize I’m looking down at a map.
Hmm, what in the world…
The researcher in me is curious and the map specialist in me is dying to find out more. I walk to the couch, sit on its edge and lay the old map on the coffee table in front of me, smoothing the edges down, my dark eyes narrowing.
It looks like a treasure map.
I study the main markings which include a cave, a grove of pine trees, railroad tracks and the inevitable “X” which everyone knows marks “the spot.”
But, the spot to what? I wonder.
I turn the map this way and then that way, but there doesn’t seem to be any specific information where to start. The paper looks worn and discolored with yellowing areas and worn edges. To detect if it's a replica, I look for a small note below the border which would tell me it’s a reproduction. Nothing.
I reach for my magnifying glass, lean down and inspect the map for chain marks. I easily spot the markings which means it was hand-laid paper.
Next, I study an area of color. Antique maps were typically colored by hand, while reproductions were colored by a machine, using a matrix of dots. No dots.
Curiouser and curiouser, I think.
If it’s genuine and not some elaborate joke Kyle’s playing on me, then I’d guess this map is around 100 years old.
Hmm. Why isn’t there a note? Some kind of explanation? Why did Kyle send this to me? I’m assuming it’s from Kyle since he’s the only person I know who lives in New York City.
Suddenly, my cell phone rings and I jump. I grab it and see a NYC area code. “Hello?” I say, expecting to hear my brother’s deep voice.
“Hi, is this Lexi?” It’s a nasally female voice with a heavy NY accent.
“Yes. Who’s this, please?”
“Oh, thank God, Lexi, this is Candace.”
When I don’t respond because I have no idea who Candace is, she continues.
“Kyle’s girlfriend.” she clarifies.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, knowing nothing about this woman. Am I surprised? No. My brother rarely tells me about his numerous girlfriends because most of them don’t last longer than a few months.
“I think something bad happened to Kyle,” she says. “I haven’t been able to reach him in days and I keep calling his phone, but he doesn’t answer. I’m so worried and was wondering if you’ve heard from him?”
It takes a minute for her fast-spoken words to register and then I feel a pit in my stomach. “No, I haven’t heard from him,” I say, worry wrinkling my brow. “What do you mean bad?”
She sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t know how close you two are, but we’ve been on the hunt for something big. Real big. And, I think the wrong people got wind of it. I think they may have kidnapped him!”
Kidnapped? My head spins. “Why would you think that?” I ask. Did she get a ransom note? A phone call? Some kind of threatening message?
“Because we made a breakthrough and got our hands on a map that shows the exact location of a long-lost treasure. They must’ve found out.”
I freeze and my heart skips a beat as I look down at the map in front of me. Kyle must’ve realized someone wanted this so he sent it to me where it would be safe. But, he hasn’t contacted me yet so I can’t help but feel panic rise. What if he’s hurt and needs help? Or, kidnapped like this woman says and tied up somewhere being interrogated or tortured?
Oh, my God, what if he’s dead? a small voice says.
“Who’s they?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“I don’t know exactly. A lot of people are after this.”
“After what?”
“Gangster’s gold,” she tells me in a soft voice.
“Excuse me?” It’s the last thing I expect her to say.
“It’s a big urban legend around here. A big-time New York gangster thought he was going to go to jail so he filled a steel container with gold, diamonds and tons of cash. He and his bodyguard supposedly buried it somewhere upstate. People have been looking for it since Prohibition, but Kyle and I were getting close.”
Nearly 100 years. Exactly how old this map seems to be. I study its yellowed edges and frown.
“How do you know no one ever found it? Or, that it even exists?” I ask, skeptical. I mean, buried treasure? C’mon.
“Well, supposedly there were also Liberty bonds inside and they were never cashed. So, that’s why a lot of hunters believe it’s still out there.”
I guess that’s something. Of course, someone would’ve cashed the bonds. Especially during the Great Depression when people hit hard times. “So, the gangster-”
“Dutch Schultz.”
“So, this Dutch Schultz never went back to dig it up?”
“He and his bodyguard, the only two people who knew where it was hidden, were murdered not long after. Gunned down by Murder Inc.”
Huh. I have to admit the history buff in me is intrigued. But, more than that, I’m worried about my brother. If this map actually shows where treasure is buried, then it’s extremely valuable. Maybe even priceless.
Oh, God, why did Kyle send it to me?
I was never a Choose Your Own Adventure or Nancy Drew kind of girl. Between dusty history books and crumbling maps, I read romance novels. What do I know about finding buried treasure or gangsters?
