Wilde One (3 page)

“Oh, yeah!” Ainslee allowed herself one little dance step as she gathered her belongings and headed back to the parking lot. The Amish would have to wait. She’d figure out the rest of the clue once she got to Boston.

* * * *

Griff stood in front of the Liberty Bell and swore. When an elderly woman gasped and edged away, he clamped his lips together and retreated to a bench far from the horde of eager history buffs with their clicking cameras.

What in the name of God was I thinking?

Had he really expected to find notes stuck to the inside of the bell? Or maybe a clue box with a flag on top like they provided for the participants of those reality TV shows?

“I’m an idiot.” He dropped his duffle bag on the grass beside him and pulled the creased letter from his pocket to scowl at the crabbed writing he’d come to despise. No way had Victor Talbot left the next clue glued to a national treasure. The words
liberty
and
Ben
had led him astray. Probably exactly what the old goat had wanted. Griff imagined the decrepit geezer cackling with glee while hellfire leaped and flamed behind him.

Maybe the freaking riddle wasn’t going to be so easy to solve after all.

He glanced up as a stunning brunette walked by, phone clamped to her ear. Her voice rose. “No, Tony, it isn’t here. I’m telling you, we were wrong.” Heels tapping and hips swaying, she headed toward the street.

Griff’s attention returned to the clue. His mistake had been in focusing on a single phrase and thinking he was so damned smart to figure it out in two minutes flat once he put his mind to it. Obviously
liberty
was a red herring, but the first part of the riddle didn’t make any sense.
Jealousy looms if you add an eye.
Tilting his head back against the bench, he turned his face to the morning sun and tried to think. There was some expression about jealousy that had to do with an eye. What the hell was it? He snapped his fingers. Didn’t people describe jealousy as a green-eyed monster?

Jackpot!

He sat up straight and read the clue again. If he took out the eye, he was left with…green monster. A grin spread. He’d been to Fenway Park with his crew after a salvage expedition up in Maine. Had just missed catching a foul ball. Not Philadelphia. Boston. The next piece of the puzzle was in Boston.

Jumping up off the bench, he paused as his grandpa’s voice echoed in his head.
Don’t go off half-cocked, boy.
That’s what he’d done before, and the result had landed him amongst a gaggle of tourists staring at a cracked bell. Boston was a big place. He needed to make sure he was on the right track.

He sat back down and read the scrawled words for the millionth time.
Take liberty’s path to Ben’s wealth to find the year Paul took to the streets.
Maybe
Ben
did refer to Franklin after all. Surely there was a Franklin Street in Boston. And
Paul
must be Paul Revere. What year had he made his famous midnight ride? Griff frowned, wishing he’d paid more attention in history class. 1776 maybe? He’d look it up to be sure, but he was willing to bet the next clue could be found at 1776 or possibly 1775 Franklin Street in Boston.

With a whoop, he rose to his feet, scooped up the duffle bag, then hurried across the grass. With any luck, a commuter flight would land in Boston within the next couple of hours. Raising a hand to hail a passing taxi, he jerked open the door when the driver pulled up to the curb, then tossed his bag inside.

“Take me to the airport.”

“You got it.” The cabbie snapped his gum as he pulled back into traffic. “Where you headed?”

Griff glanced down at the letter still clutched in his hand. “I have a date with destiny.”

“She sounds hot.”

His laugh echoed around the interior. “Let’s hope so.”

Griff’s head was going to explode. Surely the smoking hot babe with auburn ringlets hanging clear to her superior ass had seen the steam erupting from his ears when they’d passed each other on the street a couple of minutes ago. Come to think of it, the woman had looked nearly as pissed off as he felt. Must have something to do with the ungodly heat radiating up from the pavement.

Not a breath of air stirred the entire length of Franklin Street, which ran straight through the financial district in downtown Boston. Finding the street had been a piece of cake. Problem was the address 1775 didn’t exist. Maybe he should be on Franklin Way or Franklin Avenue, but the clue had mentioned wealth. Surely this was the right neighborhood.

Dropping the duffle bag, he fisted his hands on his hips and scowled at the people passing by in regulation business attire. An older woman gave him a wide berth as she hurried around him.
Now what?

Had the dying man mistaken the address when he wrote the clue? Griff turned the key over as he paced up and down the sidewalk. Nothing at all to identify it, but the flat surface and distinctive tooth pattern reminded him of one his mother kept mixed in with her jewelry. The key opened a safety deposit box at the bank.

His head jerked up. Was 1775 a box number not an address? But at which bank? He pulled the crumpled letter out of his pocket.
Take liberty’s path to Ben’s wealth…
Christ, he really was a moron. Not Franklin Street. Franklin Bank. It could be anywhere in the city. What he needed was a phone book…or the Internet. Rolling his eyes, he pulled out his cell and ran a search for Franklin Bank in Boston. Amazingly, the main branch of the financial establishment was located only a few blocks away. Hoisting the duffle, he set out. If the next stop on his quest was within a day’s drive, he’d rent a car. Taking cabs and hoofing it with luggage was already getting annoying.

His steps slowed in front of a white building ostentatiously decorated with Corinthian columns. Staring up at the identifying name plate discretely embedded in the façade, he nearly ran into the auburn-haired beauty he’d noticed earlier. Big brown eyes gazed back at him before she offered a shy smile when he held the door wide. A gust of frigid air struck with the force of an arctic blast. Griff nearly moaned with pleasure.

Following the pair of long, shapely legs bared by a skirt that hit her at mid-thigh, he tore his gaze away to glance around a waiting area boasting real leather chairs. The place obviously catered to Boston’s elite. Clad in a T-shirt and khaki shorts, he was woefully underdressed. With a shrug, he passed by the first teller behind the polished mahogany counter, a dignified older man with a moustache, to stop before a cute young blonde.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“I need to open a safe deposit box.” He held up the silver key.

One window over, ringlet girl shot him a wide-eyed glance before leaning toward the older male clerk to murmur an answer to his greeting.

“Certainly, sir. Have a seat.” The blonde waved toward the leather chairs. “I’ll call someone to assist you.

“Thanks.” Griff retreated, dropped the duffle on the maroon and gold area rug then sat. The leather cushion molded to his ass like a form-fitting wetsuit.

A minute later, the beauty took a seat opposite him.

He cleared his throat. “Hot out there today.”
Brilliant opening maneuver.
He gave himself a mental slap.
She probably thinks I’m dumber than dirt.

Chocolate brown eyes lifted to meet his gaze before darting away. “The air conditioning bill for this monolith would probably feed a third world country.”

“I’m not complaining, just enjoying.” He leaned forward and flashed his most winning smile. “How many times a day do strange men accost you on the street to ask if they can touch your hair?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, but not before the hint of a grin peeked out. “If I had a nickel for every time someone stopped me—I’d still be broke.”

“Bostonians must be idiots.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not from around here.”

“Oh, where’re you from?” He held out a hand. “I’m Griff, by the way, Griff Wilde.”

She only hesitated for a moment before taking his palm in a firm grip. “Ainslee Fontaine from…nowhere right now. I’m sort of between jobs at the moment.”

“Yeah? Me, too. I just left Florida to head to the west coast—after a few detours.”

“I—”

She broke off as a stocky man wearing a ferocious scowl along with a suit that must have cost him a couple of grand slammed out of an inner office. The female teller followed and darted a nervous glance toward the sitting area.

“What do you want me to tell them?” Her whisper carried through the quiet lobby.

His back stiffened as he ran a hand through carefully styled blond hair. “I can’t refuse. Damn.” He gave an abrupt nod. “Harvey can take them both back together. I’m out of here. You probably won’t see me for at least a week.”

“Enjoy your time off, Mr. Morris.”

“Let’s hope.” He breezed past the seating area, met Griff’s gaze with a long, cool stare then pushed through the lobby doors. They swooshed shut behind him.

The blonde spoke briefly to her co-worker who nodded and headed in their direction. The clerk stopped in front of them, the tips of his moustache quivering. “If you’ll both follow me, I’ll take you back to the deposit boxes.”

Griff waited for Ainslee to precede him. Was it a coincidence this gorgeous woman who’d admitted she didn’t live in Boston was here to open a safety deposit box?

Not likely.

If the suspicious glance she directed his way was any indication, she’d come to an identical conclusion about him.

He couldn’t suppress a smile as her skirt swished around those dynamite thighs.
Hot damn. If she’s a contestant, this game just got a whole lot more interesting.

After pulling out a ring hung with a collection of keys, the clerk led them through a metal door into a room filled with banks of numbered boxes. He turned to Ainslee first. “Your box number?”

“1692.” Her murmured response was barely audible.

Twitching moustache turned Griff’s way. “And yours?”

“1775.”

The clerk unlocked a cabinet door and pulled down two keys. After he’d opened the first numbered compartment with Ainslee’s key and removed a long box from the wall, he directed her into a cubicle. Returning, he held out his hand. Griff slapped the key into his palm then followed the man and the box he retrieved to a second cubicle. Once he was alone, Griff flipped open the lid. A square card with the nearly illegible writing he’d come to despise rested inside the box along with the label off a
tequila bottle
? What the hell was that about? Not just any tequila, either. He recognized the brand. This one was expensive. Taking the card and label, he left the empty container on the table, grabbed his bag off the floor and headed out of the cubicle past the clerk toward the exit.

“Sir, you’ll need your key back. If you’ll wait one moment…”

“No, I’m finished with the box.”

“But there’s paperwork involved in closing…” When Ainslee rushed past the teller, he raised a hand. “Miss, wait!”

Ainslee’s sandals tapped against the marble tile as she hurried across the lobby behind Griff. He pushed through the entrance doors and into a wave of damp heat then turned to face her.

“Shall we go get something to eat while we hash out the clue? I skipped lunch.”

Her eyes widened. “Clue? I don’t know what—”

“At this point, it seems silly to pretend we aren’t both after the same thing.”

She waved the card still clutched in her hand. It looked just like the one he’d shoved in his pocket.

“Exactly. We’re competitors not allies.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t discuss the situation.”

“Why would I want to do that?” She stepped to the side as an extremely tall black man edged toward the doors.

Griff was no shrimp, but this guy dwarfed him. He glanced up to meet deep brown eyes—and nearly fell over his duffle bag. When the bank doors closed behind him, Griff leaned against one of the fluted columns. “Do you know who that was?”

Ainslee turned back to face him. “No, but I’m certain I’ve never seen a man that handsome who wasn’t on a movie screen.”

Irritation pricked. “I guess he’s okay looking, but try a basketball court, not the movies.”

“Huh?”

One brow shot up. “Not a sports fan?”

“I like to hike and bike, but I don’t watch overgrown boys battle it out in front of screaming crowds. I get enough of that when I’m working.”

He stared. “Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”

“Probably not. So, who’s the hottie?”

“Parnell Jones. He plays guard for the Lakers. They lost in the playoffs a week ago.”

Her forehead scrunched. “Wasn’t there some scandal about a prostitute and—”

“That was one of his teammates. From what I’ve heard about him, Jones seems like a good guy.”

“What’s he doing in Boston if he plays for Los Angeles?”

“Who knows? It’s the off season so maybe he’s on vacation.” Griff shifted against the column. “Uh, you didn’t answer my question about grabbing something to eat.”

Arms crossed over her chest, she eyed him up and down. “No, I didn’t, did I?”

His defenses rose. “I might not be in Jones’s league, but I clean up pretty well.”

“It isn’t that. I’m sure plenty of women are happy to boost your male ego when it comes to your appearance.” Her lips firmed. “I was simply wondering if you planned to whack me over the head and shove me in a dumpster to get a head start.”

He grinned. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

Her breath whooshed out. “Just because we had a civil conversation while we waited together doesn’t mean we’re best buds. You’re on your own.”

“You don’t want to even talk about it?”

“Nope.” She gave him another one-two glance. “It was nice meeting you, Griff Wilde. Good luck.”

“Good luck to you, too. Maybe our paths will cross again.”

“Maybe.” Turning, she headed down the street.

“Damn.” Letting out a long sigh, he pried his gaze away from her swaying hips.
Now what?
He pulled the clue out of his pocket and scowled at the wavering lines of cursive. He couldn’t think on an empty stomach. First he’d find a cab, get something to eat, then figure out where he was going next. He didn’t need Ainslee. He was perfectly fine on his own.