Ghost's Treasure (3 page)

Instead, he learned of the tragedy weeks later, too late to even return home to attend the funeral. For that, he'd never forgive himself. He knew standard policy for Navy SEAL Teams relied upon absolute secrecy and nothing interrupted a mission, not even an emergency call from home. Even though he understood completely, he didn't have to like the fact his commanders knowingly withheld the information until he completed the several days long mission and returned to home base. After all, to them, the assignment was more important than Lindsay or any family member. They thought wrong. To him, nothing in this world held greater importance or value. Not the top man on America's Most Wanted list, not the ridiculous war, not even fighting over barren territory for the sake of freeing another people from suppression and dictatorship. No. His wife meant more than everything combined.

Only when he returned to what loosely consisted of a home base three weeks later, did they bother to tell him what happened. Of her senseless death. After she lay buried six feet under and the funeral flowers had all shriveled up and turned to dust.

The need for retribution rode him hard, yet he could do no more than fly home, his hands tied in the need for revenge, unable to track down the dead man responsible and beat the bastard to a bloody pulp like he deserved. Instead, he visited her grave, stood silently as he read the marble headstone, and wept inside.

His soul died that day.

"Hey, Ghost?"

Breaking from his morbid thoughts, he looked up to find Loco staring at him.

"Want to join us for lunch once we get back home?"

For a moment, he considered the offer. The one time he actually took them up on their proposition, he didn't have a bad time. Heck, to be completely honest, watching the others rib, and banter with, one another actually proved somewhat entertaining.

He shook his head. "No, thanks." No sense in bringing down their fun while his memories assailed him, dragging him back into his familiar melancholy. To be frank, he wasn't good company for anyone. He knew it and didn't sweat the fact. After all, his goal in life narrowed down to one thing: take out as much evil as possible before kicking the bucket. Making friends and turning into a social butterfly didn't fit into his life anymore.

The others glanced over, various expressions of concern written on their faces. Ghost felt their stares, understood their non-verbalized thoughts. They tried to entice him to join them, to open up, to bond into friendship. He'd give them credit for the energy and attempt. However, the effort was wasted on him.

Without another word, he strode back to the vehicle, climbed in, and gave a short wave before driving off. Sure, he could have ridden with the rest of the Wind Warriors, but that would mean closed spaces and no way to outrun questions and comments. Not if he could avoid it. Solitary fit him much better. Alone. For the rest of his life. For he had no heart or soul left to offer another person.

Chapter 5

"Josie Summers?"

"Yes?" She glanced up from her computer screen to find a tall, lean man with blond hair dressed in a fancy suit. Sunglasses covered his eyes, adding to the mysterious air about him. She detected no dust, lint, or wrinkles on his attire, simply a man dressed to the nines and definitely out of place in the research section of the city's library.

He pulled out his wallet and flashed a badge, slapping the leather case closed before she could do more than glimpse the metal object. "Agent Robert Harris, FBI."

She blinked and gave him her undivided attention.

"I understand you have some rare jewelry in your possession."

Josie bit her lip, cautiousness and a gut feeling clamping her mouth shut. In this day and age, you couldn't trust anyone with such important details, even though they supposedly held a badge.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."

He frowned down at her. "Let's not play naïve, miss. You've stumbled across some valuable lost treasure. The emails to the appraisers and museums tell me so."

Something felt off about him, muddy and oily came to mind. His haughty tone and flawless suit could be forgiven in some arenas. In the middle of the library, she felt his presence overdone, unwanted, and a bit nerve-wracking. Too slick, too clean, too perfect with his manicured fingernails. He made her uneasy, and she never disagreed with her gut instincts.

Lifting her chin, she stared into his dark-toned glasses. "Again, I have no idea what you're talking about. However, I would like to see your badge again."

He grumbled under his breath but hesitantly produced the item.

No sooner had he opened the cover than she grabbed the case, holding it open for her up close appraisal. "There should be a badge number. Yes, right here." She jotted down his name and the number on a piece of scrap paper. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll have to make some phone calls to verify your identity. Lots of scams going on these days." She waved her hand and dug a phone book out of the drawer of her desk.

Harris's fingers pushed down on the receiver resting in the cradle. His other hand found her desk as he leaned in closer. "First of all, no one is going to give you the information you're seeking. The agency doesn't give out that kind of information over the phone. If you really want to check, I can give you a number to call."

"Sure, but you understand, I have to check other sources, too." She pasted on her best librarian's smile, the one she used when she really wanted to clobber someone for being a demanding idiot.

Standing up for a second, he pulled a business card out of his wallet, tossed it in front of her, and replaced the leather carrier in his back pocket. "Listen up, lady. Those jewels are stolen. The FBI needs to ensure they're the same ones so they can be returned to the original owners."

Straightening her spine, she glared at him. "I told you once, and I'll tell you again. I know nothing about these jewels you're talking about." She glanced to his side. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other patrons that need my assistance."

His lips thinned into a tight line. "If you change your mind, call me. Better make it soon. I can't guarantee there's not others going to be tracking you down for the same reason. Only they won't be nearly as nice as me." With those parting words, he spun on his heel and strode to the nearest staircase, jogged down, and out of sight.

Josie released a long pent-up breath, her nerves still jittery from the odd encounter. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine someone from the FBI, if Robert Harris truly belonged with the agency, would track her down at work and demand information about her estate sale find. What if the guy was right and her finds were stolen? Why would the FBI be interested?

On a whim, she typed in stolen jewels and FBI into the computer, then hit search. "Well, well, well." The answer stared back at her in the form of the FBI's Art Crime Team.

Her cell phone rang. Who would be calling her? Everyone knew she was at work at this time of day, so they'd try her direct work line instead of the cell. Puzzled, she reached into her purse, grabbed it out, and answered. "Hello?"

"Josie Summers?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Tony Riley. I work for the appraiser you sent your pictures to."

A warning bell rang in her head. Yes, she sent the pictures to two museums and two appraisers who worked with top-notch auction services in order to help learn more about her find. In none of those emails did she list a phone number. She simply sent from her work email, which would give a reader her name and the library. At the moment, the move seemed to beg trouble. Dumb on her part. Real dumb.

This guy had to do his own research to track her down. Definitely unsettling and a bit scary.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Riley." She hoped her voice held conviction and didn't shake with nerves.

His tone grew gruff. "The pictures of the jewels. You emailed them to my associate for a possible appraisal."

"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number." She clicked off before he could say anything more.

Before she could put her phone away, it rang again. Josie hit the silence button and let the call roll over to phone mail.

What in the world have I gotten myself into just trying to find out some simple information about an impulsive estate sale purchase?

Dozens more questions whirled through her mind with no answers. One thing she did know, those items must be worth a pretty penny in order to garner such attention. The fact both thrilled and concerned her at the same time. If Harris wasn't bad enough, she hated to think his prediction might come true. Who else would be climbing out from under rocks, landing on her doorstep, and doing their best to part her from her lucky find? What about the guy who just called? Where did he get his information and her phone number?

More importantly, what am I going to do?

Again, she stared at the screen before her. Quickly scanning the information, she sucked in a breath as an idea came to her. After Harris, she couldn't trust anyone who came looking for her. She shuddered in remembrance of his commanding tone, his cruel mouth. No. She needed a more upfront approach with a way to ensure the legitimacy of the man she spoke with.

She wasn't prepared to fly to Washington, DC to talk to a member of the team directly, but perhaps, she could start with the local FBI office and go from there. After all, if these jewels were what Harris led her to believe, the FBI would surely want to know.

Finding a phone number and address of the local office, she jotted both down. As a second thought, she pulled up a security picture from earlier and printed it off, used her tweezers to pick up the business card and drop it into a clear storage bag used for frail documents. After gathering up all her documentation, she slipped everything in her purse, shut down the computer, and headed out.

Trotting down the stairs, she waved at Mary, letting her boss know she was leaving for the day.

"Miss. Oh, miss?"

Turning her head, Josie spied an elderly lady shuffling up to her with the assistance of a cane. "Can you help me, please?"

Impatient, Josie stepped closer and tamped down on her desire to dash off, leaving the pudgy, silver-haired lady to her own devices. "What can I do for you?"

"Can you point me to the biographies, please, dear?" The woman stopped right in front of Josie.

"To your left."

"What?" The woman leaned in. "I can't hear well. What did you say?"

"To your left." She spoke up and gestured down the hall.

"Thank you. Ohhh." The woman grabbed Josie's arm to steady herself as she wobbled a bit. Once she regained her balance, she smiled. "Thank you. I was sure I was going to take a nasty tumble."

"No problem." With a quick grin, Josie resumed her hasty exit, hoping no more patrons stopped her along the way.

"Oh, Josie?"

Well, crap.
Recognizing Mary's voice, Josie turned to her. "Yes?"

"Will you be attending the monthly meeting Tuesday evening? I'm trying to get a head count."

Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, Josie pasted a wan smile on her face. "I hope to, but I need to check my schedule. Can I get back with you?"

"Sure. Just let me know as soon as you can." With a quick wave, Mary returned to her work.

Finally.
Hurriedly, she strode from the building and made a beeline for the parking lot. Climbing into her car, she double checked the address and headed downtown straightaway. With any luck, the FBI would not only understand her situation but have reasonable answers that kept her out of the hands of creepy men like Robert Harris. If not, she was screwed.

Chapter 6

Ryan stood and greeted the woman as she entered his office. Her shoulder-length light blonde hair accented bright green eyes. Both were breathtaking in their own right, but toss in a petite frame and obvious conditioning as shown by her form fitting slacks and light colored blouse, and his visitor proved to be a looker. Not that he was interested. He had more than enough happiness with his two lovers. No one else could garner his interest. Yet, he wasn't too blind to appreciate a pretty woman when she strolled into his office.

"Miss Summers. I'm Ryan Blake." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Please have a seat."

She sat down and crossed her legs as her fingers gripped the purse resting on her lap protectively. Her face spoke of worries. "Thank you."

He stepped behind his desk, plopped down, and rested his hands on his legs as he leaned back in the squeaky office chair. "Now, what can I help you with?"

The woman had appeared at the receptionist's desk a few minutes earlier, insisting upon speaking to an agent. When questioned, she refused to explain why, only demanded to see an agent immediately. Since he didn't have anyone presently in his office, the greeter directed the mysterious woman to him.

"I seem to have a small problem."

Don't they all?
He nodded slightly and encouraged her to continue.

"It started last weekend. I went to an estate sale, bought a box of books. When I got home and unpacked them, I discovered something very interesting. Inside a fake book was a cross necklace, a golden ring, and a cameo, all wrapped up in handkerchiefs."

Ryan leaned forward, steepling his fingers and tapping them on his chin. His interest piqued, he studied the woman carefully. "Okay."

"I took pictures of the items, needing to know if they were real, some history on them, what they might appraise for." She picked at her pants. "Then I emailed them to a couple of museums and two appraisers who work for top-notch auction houses." She sighed heavily and met his gaze. "Instead of the emails filled with information that I expected, I received a couple of unsettling calls and a downright scary visit from one of your agents yesterday."

His eyebrow shot up. "Do you know who?"

Opening her bag, she pulled out a scrap piece of paper and handed it over. "I jotted down his name and badge number. Initially, I thought he was with the Art Crime Team, but something about him didn't feel right."