Heart Of Gold (5 page)

“You're
pretty well known.”

He
shrugged but clearly wasn't happy with her remark. “What would you do if I
decided to let that Lyst guy have a go at it?”

“I'd
say good luck and good riddance to both of you.” It sounded like a
straight answer but she knew the anger behind her voice gave her away.

“Something
tells me,” he said, getting to his feet, “you wouldn't be quite that
phlegmatic.”

She gave
him a disparaging look.

“I'm
wrong?”

“You
think I'm underaged because of my shorts. In my opinion, that doesn't give you
a whole lot of clout in the judgment department.”

Farrell
came around the edge of his desk and approached her, stopping only when he was
a foot away. Carter's throat went dry. He was taller than her by at least a
head and that was saying something, considering she was five nine. As the full
force of him hit her, she had to stop herself from stepping backward.

Across a
desk, he was insulting and intimidating. Up close, she found him totally
compelling.

Not
exactly an improvement, she thought, running her tongue over her lips.

That was
a mistake. Like a predator, he watched the movement, eyes sharpening on her
mouth. The way he was looking at her made her body swell with something she was
determined to think of as anxiety, even if it felt more like hunger. She
thought about turning around and walking out. Running away, actually.

“What
is it you really want?” he drawled.

“I
don't understand.” Carter's words were mumbled, coming out fast and tense.
He couldn't possibly be insinuating that she had come for him. Right?

“Everyone
has a hidden agenda. What else are you after?” His eyes traveled down her
body and then came back to her face.

She shook
her head, trying to clear it. “I just want to dig.”

Abruptly,
almost angrily, he broke eye contact with her and returned to the papers on his
desk. His voice was offhand when he addressed her again.

“I
think you should put your learner's permit to good use and drive yourself back
to wherever you came from. You aren't going to get what you want here, either
in the dirt or from me. However much I wish I could be ... accommodating. I
like women, not schoolgirls.”

Carter's
mouth dropped open.

“Are
you suggesting . . .” She couldn't even finish the sentence.

“Shut
the door behind you,” he commanded before adding, “Please.”

Her
breath came out in a hiss. “You insufferable, egocentric—”

“There
you go with the compliments, making me blush,” he murmured, flipping a
page.

“I
hope you rot in hell.”

“See
you there,” he said cheerfully.

On the
way out, Carter slammed the door as hard as she could.

* * *

As the
clap of wood reverberated through the room like a gunshot, Nick winced and put
the documents down. His head was still tender from the migraine, and he
massaged his temples, waiting for the sting to wear off.

That was
one hell of a beautiful woman, he thought. Those crystal blue eyes so alive
with defiance. That expressive face showing him every emotion she was feeling.
Her mouth, with its full lips and its pink tongue.

Heat
flared in his body again.

It was a
damn good thing she'd left. Reeling in his impulses had been more difficult
every time that tongue of hers had come out for a lick. Moves like that had
been performed for him countless times before but, because they were
calculated, he'd never been tantalized. The trouble with the archaeologist was
that he got the sense she didn't know how enticing she was.

Which
couldn't be possible.

Beautiful
women were always willing to leverage their assets. He didn't fault them for
it. He'd made a fortune doing the same thing, only his bait was dollar bills,
not the promise of sexual thrills, and his acquisitions were companies, not
marriage licenses. Futile as it inevitably was for the other party, he always
enjoyed bartering with women over what they wanted from him in return for their
time and attention.

And that
one in the cutoffs could have been a real contender. Aside from her beauty, she
had a keen intelligence and a heavy dose of wit, and she wasn't afraid of
giving as good as she got. In his life, no one dared to spar with him. People
either wanted something or owed him money, neither of which were breeding
grounds for resistance, even of the playful variety.

She'd
been captivating when she was angry, he thought. A flush on those cheekbones,
her breath coming in drum beats, her mouth open, agape at his rudeness. She'd
lit up like a Christmas tree. Delightful. Utterly delightful.

He looked
at the door, as if he could see her through it.

Carter
Wessex.

Could she
be related to Wessex, he wondered suddenly.

Wouldn't
that be interesting.

Nick
tried to recall what he knew about William Wessex's family life. The man had
been married but something had happened to the wife. Something tragic. Had
there been a daughter? Wessex never showed up anywhere with one, never
mentioned one, but Carter's coloring was startlingly similar to his and she had
the same kind of arresting good looks.

Nick
picked up the phone and dialed his office in New York. It was answered on the
first ring.

“Fredericka
Ulrich,” his chief of staff said brusquely. Aside from having a brilliant
head for business, the woman was a walking encyclopedia. She knew everything
about everyone who was anyone, and what she didn't know, she could find out.

“Freddie,
does William Wessex have a daughter?”

“I
think so,” she mused. “But I know who to call. Wait by the
phone.”

This was
Freddie at her best, Nick thought. He was still smiling when his line rang
moments later.

“Late
twenties. Estranged. Really estranged,” she told him.

“Name?”

“Carter.
Lives somewhere in Vermont. Archaeologist. One of the best in the country even
though she's relatively young.”

“Does
Wessex care about the split?”

“Tremendously.
He's frantic about it. Been a couple years or so, since the mother died.
Apparently the daughter won't see him or even talk to him.”

“Ms.
Wessex showed up here today.”

“Not
surprising considering that hill behind your house. You going to let her
dig?”

“I
said no.”

“And
now you're wondering what it might be worth to William Wessex if he had a shot
at making nice with his little girl?”

Freddie
was also a terrific strategist.

Nick
smiled grimly. “You know I like to make sure my business partners are in
debt to me. Financially or otherwise.”

“What's
the downside?”

“Apart
from the two of them turning my peaceful retreat into a war zone if things
don't work out?” He pondered a moment. “If she digs up my damn
mountain and finds the remains of any of those slaughtered men, I'm going to
have even more two-bit tourists with shovels hunting for gold. Hell, look at
the commotion that guy Lyst stirred up by claiming to find a cross and talking
to the local paper. The phone hasn't stopped ringing and Ivan tossed three more
trespassers off my property this morning. I come up here to relax, not run a
park service.”

“And
if she finds the gold?”

“There
isn't any.”

“How
do you know?”

“I
just do. Hell, maybe I should leave well enough alone.”

“But
if father and daughter reconcile, Wessex will owe you for life,” Freddie
reasoned. “He could prove even more useful than he's been.”

Nick
mulled over his options. “And maybe if she digs around a little we can
finally put all this silliness to rest. I'm tired of guarding an empty
safe.”

After
hanging up the phone, he went to a window and looked out toward the lake. As he
watched the sunlight reflect off the waves, he noticed something out of the
corner of his eye. It was a large red-tailed hawk sitting in a tree, watching
him through the glass.

He
thought of the woman who had just left his home.

And found
himself looking forward to seeing her again.

Carter
was making a beeline for the front door, muttering under her breath, when the
teenager leapt out in front of her.

“Hi
I'm Cort!”

She
pulled up short to keep from running into him. “Er—pleased to meet
you.”

In
contrast to when he'd been around his father, the kid was smiling widely.
“Are you sure you're not staying for dinner?”

“I'm
sorry but I have to go.”

And she
was never coming back. The world was only safe if she and Nick Farrell didn't
get into another enclosed space together.

Cort's
face fell and she noticed again how much he and Farrell looked alike. The major
deviation was their wardrobes. Whereas his father had been wearing linen pants,
handmade loafers, and a monogrammed button-down, the kid had on ratty shorts
and a T-shirt that read, SPAM: the other pink meat. She decided not to inquire
what the first kind was.

Still,
they were obviously related. The younger Farrell was lanky, but he was clearly
going to fill out to the elder's size. And the bones of the teenager's face,
which had not yet hardened into the planes and angles she could see in his
future, held the promise of Farrell's stunning looks.

“I
think I better get going,” Carter said in a rush.

Cort
followed her out the front door, his hands and feet flopping around as he
walked. She imagined he'd grow out of that, too, and move as Farrell did. Like
an elegant prowler.

“So
where are you going?” he asked.

“Home.”

“Where's
home?”

Carter
looked around and remembered she'd left the Jeep by the service entrance.
“Burlington.”

“Where's
your car?”

“In
back.” They started around the mansion.

“What
do you drive?”

“A
Jeep.”

“The
army kind or the SUV?”

“SUV.”

“The
army kind are cooler. What color is it?”

“White.”
She had to laugh. “You always ask so many questions?”

“Pretty
much. When are you coming back?”

“I'm
not.”

His
expression darkened. “Because of him, right?”

Trying to
seem casual, she shrugged. “I don't really have a reason to—”

“You
wanted to dig, didn't you?”

“How
did you know?”

“I
looked in your car.”

“So
why did you ask me what kind I drove?” She shot him a dry look and the kid
flushed. At least he had the grace to be sheepish, she thought with a grin.

“I
wasn't sure it was yours. Anyway, most people don't show up with surveying
equipment and four different kinds of shovels if they aren't interested in
setting up shop on the mountain.” Cort sent a baleful look toward the
house. “He always does that. He always turns people away.”

“I'm
sure your father has his reasons—”

Cort
grabbed her arm.

“He
is not my father.” Anger clouded his eyes, and she was surprised at
the depth of the animosity.

“I'm
sorry,” she said gently. “I assumed because you look alike—”

“He's
my uncle. And I don't look like him.” The words were short and emphatic.

They
started walking again, more slowly.

“I
really am sorry,” she told him. “I've always hated it when people
tell me I look like my father. I should have known better.”

Cort was
silent until they stopped in front of her car. Abruptly, he smiled. “If
you do look like him, your dad must be real handsome.”

“He
is.” Now it was her turn to grow quiet. She covered up her awkwardness by
getting out her keys.

“I
don't know why,” the teenager said with frustration, “but my uncle
hates anyone digging up on the mountain. You should have seen what happened
when that other guy was here. Ivan was ready to shoot him, and Uncle Nick was
going to let it happen. I was there, I saw the whole thing. Hey, you want to
see where the guy was digging?”

Carter
had her car keys ready, even had her hand on the door. She wanted to say no.
She really wanted to say no.

“Okay.”

With a
wide grin, Cort led her behind some barns and a garage, through the meadow and
over to the edge of the forest. In between a white birch stand and some
honeysuckle bushes, there was a break in the undergrowth. No more than a foot
wide, the path cut through the brush and guided them into the cool refuge under
the trees. Ferns, lady slippers, and bright green elf grass grew beside the
thin trail and, as they walked along, the sounds of moving creatures mixed with
the cracks of snapping twigs under their feet. The forest's perfume was a blend
of good earth and growing things, an ancient scent full of life.

The
ground began to rise and boulders appeared, casualties of the glacier that had
carved out the lake and then receded thousands of years before. At a steady
clip, they climbed the mountain, and Carter noted that the grass and ferns
disappeared and the deciduous trees changed to heartier hemlocks and pines.

A half
hour later, they came to a clearing close to the top of the mountain and Carter
gasped at the view below. Cradled between twin mountain ranges, the lake was a
shimmering valley of water that stretched out in both directions as far as the
eye could see. Over to the left, on a peninsula that jutted out into the lake,
she could see the magnificent stone walls and buildings of Fort Sagamore.

One of
the oldest military fortresses in the United States, it was a national treasure
and a popular site for tourists and scholars. After the stronghold had been
built by the French in the early 1700s, it had changed hands a number of times
and was eventually captured by the Americans in the Revolutionary War. This
final, successful coup had been led by Nathaniel Walker, a man who figured
prominently in the mystery of the missing gold and lost men.