Hit Hard

Book 2: Dragon One

by Amy J. Fetzer

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

It Only Takes One Match. . . Vivi Fiori wondered how the day could have gotten so bad so fast. One minute, she's on a train moving through the Thai countryside, a precious archeological artifact in her hands; the next, she's being chased through the jungle by the Thai mafia with some hardcore American marine right behind her, shouting orders like she should be grateful for his macho interference. What Vivi needs is to get to her contact in Bangkok--warm shower, nice hotel, girly clothes, no dead bodies or sexy armed Marines. Her practical side is telling her to run like hell. Then again, her practical side never met a guy like Sam Wyatt. . . . . .To Start An Uncontrollable Fire Sam has a mission--follow a trail of stolen diamonds, hoping it will lead him to the weapons sale he needs to stop. Finding the terrorists who took down his buddy will be the icing on the cake. But now, he's stuck babysitting a curvy, talk-a-mile-a-minute redhead who's hell-bent on playing Indiana Jones with her piece of Thai history. He can't just abandon her to the snakes, the crocs, the Mafia, and whatever else is out there. She wouldn't last ten seconds. And he can't deny that everything about her stirs a deep hunger in him--or that the power of their attraction is so electric he knows he can never really let her go. Now, protecting Vivi is his new mission--his most dangerous yet--and one that will lead them both to a deadly threat beyond all imagining. . . "A fabulous writer! Fetzer rocks!" --Cherry Adair

Release date: October 8, 2013

Publisher: Brava

Print pages: 353

Sample

Kalawana, Sri Lanka 2000 hours

He looked like Genghis Khan in a Corona T-shirt and khaki shorts.

Dark hair tied back and a stringy gray Manchu beard, Tashfin Rohki was as ugly as he was lethal.

But then, you couldn’t tell the black hats from the white, anyway.

The fact that Sam Wyatt held a stolen Israeli Galil and smoked a thin Cuban cigar was just for openers. In the small clearing near the river basin about twenty yards ahead of him, Riley and Max were the ones in the hot seat, working a deal to retrieve rough-cut conflict diamonds that had found their way into the hands of the Tigers.

The feline kind would have been easier to deal with, Sam thought, but the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam had been waging a terrorist campaign in Sri Lanka. The bastards wanted to create a separate state.

Damn selfish of them.

And downriver, Sri Lankan Army troops waited for some payback. But not till Dragon One commandeered the stones.

From under his cowboy hat, Sam squinted through the soft curl of smoke as Riley bartered like a vender in a souk. He had to hand it to the man, his Irish blarney was in full throttle tonight. The moonlit, prehistoric look of the jungle and a half dozen grungy men surrounded by torches were a stark contrast to Riley and Max, the well-dressed diamond smugglers.

Sam swatted at a mosquito buzzing at his head. The motion drew the attention of the men circling the group. Weapons lifted a little higher, eyes narrowed. Sam smirked and gave his back-the-fuck-off stare. Paranoid pigs. Anyone who’d kill innocent farmers to make a point that no one got wasn’t worth spit to him. A bullet, sure. He had a full clip. Hot and ready.

He didn’t mind being the hired muscle tonight, well aware of his short fuse, mostly galvanized by stupid people. Ground level made Sam nervous. It took away control. In a jet, a chopper, he steered, attacked. Laid down cover fire. The enemy was a blip on radar, a target to take out.

Now the targets surrounded his buddies dealing diamonds in the dark.

He listened, tried to translate, but his Hindi sucked and the distance distorted the rapid chatter. All Sam got out of the bits and pieces was that there was a better price to be had somewhere else. Someone always had deeper pockets than the last guy, and the Tigers’ intentions were simple: sell the stones, get cash, buy some nasty-ass weapons, and hurt their own people.

Riley poured the stones back into the leather pouch and doubled his offer. Client wasn’t going to like that. Their assignment was twofold: get back the stones before they were faceted cut and flooded the diamond market, and second, find out what those rough diamonds were going to buy and stop it. Considering the company they were keeping, weapons were a definite. The proceeds could buy anything from explosives to shoulder-mounted rocket launchers.

It’d taken weeks to track this cache of stones from the Congo. They’d changed hands so many times it was hard to keep up with this new crop of black hats. Sam’s idea of shoot first, ask questions later was nixed by the team, but then, they still hadn’t gotten a lead on the weapons and who had them to sell.

Insects hummed beneath the brim of his hat, annoying him. I must need a shower, he thought, sick of the jungle. All he’d done in the past weeks was inhale the little critters with every breath. He adjusted the shoulder strap of the assault rifle, less for comfort and more for checking his aim.

The conversation grew suddenly animated, and Sam could tell Riley was pissed. He and Rohki were in each other’s face. Not good. Yet Sam kept a watch on the men behind their leader. Specifically, when a short fellow with an old AK-47 took a step back. His expression didn’t change, that’s what alerted Sam. When you went backwards, you looked where you were going. This guy didn’t.

Sam eased back, then rolled around the tree to his right, intent on canvassing the area and coming up behind the guy. Something was up. He cleared his throat, the sound, he knew, vibrating in Max’s earpiece. Max touched his shirt collar, indicating he’d heard. Riley caught the gesture and mimicked it.

No one paid attention to him, all focus on Riley, the rebel leader, and how much money they’d get for the rocks. Sam didn’t give a crap. It wasn’t his cash, but letting this whole thing go belly-up because of one chicken shit wasn’t in the cards.

“Outlaw,” came through his earpiece. “What the hell are you doing?” said Logan.

Sam touched the throat mike under the bandana. “Hunting.”

Logan was downwind near the river with a Sri Lankan Army commander who was no more than twenty-two. The Tigers kept killing the more experienced officers, hoping to create havoc in the ranks for a coup. Bad move. Loyal and righteous, it just made them all the more determined.

Sam continued through the Sinharaja rain forest, the air so heavy it soddened his shirt, producing rivulets of sweat down his spine. His boots sunk into the decaying underbrush, the musty odor rising up like fog. It was an island, for crissake, where was the breeze?

He paused, and through the trees and vines, barely made out the little man. He wouldn’t be so interested if this wasn’t the guy they’d used to set up this meeting. Where are you going, little traitor, he thought, taking several more steps, his gaze flicking to keep a bead on his buddies, then to catch movement, progression. The little guy was almost out of sight.

The diamond discussion grew heated and Sam turned sharply, taking aim. It faltered when beneath his feet, the ground vibrated, a humming that climbed through his body and shook his teeth. Earthquake? The ground wasn’t rolling, but the vibration grew with intensity, like a pot about to boil over. His gaze jerked to the little guy, then back to his team. They felt it too. The runt was moving faster. Sam made a decision and followed.

He’d taken three steps when the explosion ripped through the darkness. Men shouted accusations, scattered. Muzzle flash lit up the darkness with weapons fire. Sam turned back to his teammates, offering cover fire and heading to the chopper, their only escape.

“Cutter? What the hell is going on?”

“Bug out! We gotta bug out! Holy shit. Get this thing in the air!”

Sam flung his weapon over his shoulder, batting away the underbrush as he ran full out. Fifty yards ahead, his newly souped chopper sat on a stone slab near the river like a bird perched on the edge of a cliff. “What’s the deal? Turn the engine over.” Logan was a field surgeon and an ex-Navy Seal. He had skills aplenty, but flying wasn’t one of them.

Sam burst out into the open, and froze, his eyes going wide. A wall of water thirty feet high rolled toward him, toward the chopper. Sam bolted, trying to outdistance the rush.

The Kukule Ganga Dam. Shitty timing.

Logan was tossing in gear, and trying to raise a warning to Riley and Max. Sam threw himself into the seat, flipped switches, and turned over the engine. The rotor blades were slow to move.

The water wasn’t.

“Come on, sweetheart, wake up, wake up.” He gave it some juice, risking stalling the engines. The blades gained speed. Out of the corner of his vision, the water swiped the land, taking resort homes, docks, and Jesus, people. Soldiers not caught in the dam break ran to the hills. Water rushed over the riverbanks, covering the chopper’s landing gear and sliding in over Sam’s boots.

“Christ, Sam, get it up!”

“She’s female, she needs foreplay.”

“She’s gonna get us killed! Riley, Max!” Logan shouted into his mike.

Then the blades hit the sweet spot and Sam glanced to his left in time to see the brunt of the water coming right at him. He pulled the stick, lifting the chopper off the stone in a sharp vertical climb. “Maybe you should hold on.”

The water rushed beneath them, splashing the windscreen, and he banked left, speeding toward Riley and Max’s last location.

Sam worked on his helmet with one hand, looking at the ground. The water was moving fast, nothing to stop it.

“That was too close,” Logan said, and Sam glanced down. The spot where they’d stood was engulfed in water, trees torn out of the earth and shooting like rockets downriver toward the basin.

“You see them?”

“Not yet.”

Floodlights on, Sam went lower, skimming the water, reducing speed, but the wind shears in the valley rocked and bumped the chopper. But the cockpit was his comfort zone and he wore the chopper like his favorite shirt. He glanced at the small GPS screen marking Max and Riley with a yellow dot. “Should be coming up on Max any second.”

“Riley, Max, come in! Answer me, Godammit!” Logan pressed the headphones tighter, then shook his head.

Then the GPS area came into view. Rapids of fast-moving water, wood, even concrete from the shattered dam.

Logan rushed to put on a harness, hook up. “Where the hell are they?”

“Got Max, nine o’clock.” Sam steered toward the area.

“I see him.” Logan already had the yoke snapped to the cable.

“Wait till I get over him. Can’t chance debris hooking that yoke and taking us for a ride.”

“Hurry, man, he’s hanging onto the top of a tree and it’s not going to be there much longer.”

Sam couldn’t look. He had to use the GPS marker as a judging point.

“Riley?”

Sam’s gaze searched the green grid. “His marker’s gone.” Oh, man. He swooped low and daring, over the waves of water breaking down the valley like strip mining. Land broke away, trees tumbled into the current, twisting up, spinning, nearly colliding into the underbelly of the chopper. Sam jerked the stick and the chopper rose short and fast like a bucking bronco.

Logan let off a string of curses, gripped the straps, then poised at the door of the chopper, his feet braced wide. “Thirty yards, there he is. He looks okay.”

Sam flipped the switch and the cable whined, lowering the yoke toward the water.

“Get lower!”

“Negative, the trees are spiking! They’ll take us out.” He heard the rush of the water all around him as it battered anything stationary. Keeping his attention on the terrain, Sam couldn’t see anything in the dark except the glare of his searchlights.

Logan directed him. Below, Max clung to what was left of a tree, the charge of water rushing past in a hard flow of jungle debris, old farm equipment, and corpses. Sam couldn’t save them all, but he wasn’t letting his buddies die.

Max hooked his knee over a broken tree limb, his body twisted to reach out to the yoke. The chopper jolted and Sam cursed, the hot wind shear driving it upward. He struggled to get back in position and could hear Logan’s voice inside his helmet.

“Godamn wind. Okay, okay, right there. Shit, that’s it for the cable!”

Sam had to get lower. The water splashed in thick, foaming waves. One clip by debris and they were toast.

“Good, good. That’s it. Come on, Sam.”

“This thing isn’t amphibious, dammit.”

Below, Max strained to reach, but the yoke swung like a pendulum, weighted and heavy.

“Shit, missed him, too far to the right.”

“I’m coming in again, get ready.” Sam made another pass and dipped the chopper as low as he could, hovering. “Logan, get him the fuck up, it’s coming!” He could see it, another roll of water and matchstick trees.

“We got him. Up, up! Go! Go!”

Sam hit the cable switch, then pulled the stick back, lifting the chopper out of the water’s path. A huge wave crested, sped past as the cable whined at the swinging strain, rolling in and bringing Max to the edge of the chopper.

Feet braced on the door ledge, Logan grabbed what was left of Max’s shirt and yanked hard, pulling him inside. “He’s in, he’s in.”

Sam glanced back. Max’s face was shredded with cuts on one side, and his finger looked dislocated. “Where’s Riley?”

“Downriver,” Max gasped. “We got separated at the first blast of water.” The dismal look on his face said he didn’t think he’d survived.

Sam was having none of that shit. He hit the thruster and the redesigned chopper shot over the water like a first-strike launch.

Logan unhooked the harness, shoved a cloth at Max, then took the night vision binoculars to search for Riley.

Sam swooped low and slow, hovering, leaning for a visual, passing the search lamp back and forth. Looks like bubbling stew. All they saw was what the moon reflected. He couldn’t be this far out, he thought. Debris slid weightlessly, roofs, tractors, entire walls off buildings bobbed on the surface. Then he saw him. “There, two o’clock!”

Riley rolled with the flow of mud and water. His dark clothing and the mud hid him, only the flesh of his face and hands were visible and popped through the surface. Like a leaf, nothing stopped him, nothing held him above water.

Logan directed Sam into position over Riley, Max on his knees at the door of the helicopter. “He stopped!”

Sam shined the spotlight. Riley was like a rag caught on a rooftop, his body flung back, water rushing over him. Hold on buddy, posse’s coming. Sam dipped the chopper nose down, the wind making it rock. Logan put on the helmet and clipped the harness. At a thumbs up, Sam hit the cable switch. Logan lowered it over the side.

“Christ,” Max said. “He doesn’t look good.”

A chill tightened his skin.

“Hold it steady.”

But the control stick jumped in his grip, the wind trying to push them out of the sky. Sam knew if he didn’t get some altitude under them, they’d go down.

“Lower, Sam, lower.”

“Christ.”

Max gripped the edge, gave him a play-by-play. “He needs to get some footing to strap him in.”

Jesus, they weren’t going to make it, Sam thought, ears tuned to the engines, the beat of the blades like it was a part of his body. He lowered another foot, his gaze flicking to the surface he could see through the clear nose windows, the mirrors showing the flow behind them. The water just kept coming.

“Logan’s down, keep it steady.”

Sam’s muscles strained on the stick, the chopper like a living being wanting to rest. He made it land on the water, gear up, knowing that was his only choice to get close enough.

“He’s got him! They’re locked. Man, he’s bleeding!”

Sam’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t think of Riley dead. He refused to let it sink into his brain. He smacked the button and the cable rolled in. Instantly he lifted higher, fighting the hot air meeting cold water beneath the chopper in the valley. The weight of the two men made the small craft unstable. The wench groaned under the stress.

Max reached for Riley, pulling him in before Logan. The pair fell on the floor of the chopper and Sam went turbo, speeding toward land.

“Is he breathing?” Sam said.

They said nothing.

“Is he breathing!”

“I don’t know!” Logan yanked off the helmet and grabbed his medical gear strapped to the hull. Max rolled Riley over and water spurted out of his mouth. But he didn’t choke, didn’t stir.

Sam radioed Sebastian at Dragon Six. “Coonass, all aboard. We need an ambulance. We have wounded.”

Logan pressed a stethoscope to Riley’s chest. “He’s alive, barely.” Then he put a mask over Riley’s face, turned on the small oxygen tank, moving it into his lungs and brain as Max ripped open his shirt. “He’s been shot—those bastards!”

Sam almost looked, yet kept his attention on getting them beyond the broken dam and to land. The force of the water from the country’s major water source was still ripping trees out by the roots and tossing them like kindling.

Logan slapped a pad over the wound, and Max held the pressure while Logan fought to keep Riley alive. The chopper shot over the land like a bullet in the sky, sleek and black. She was state of the art and all new, since some piece of shit a year ago loaded his last chopper down with C-4 and blew his baby to hell. He hadn’t worked the kinks out yet. Now was the time.

“Hold on, we’re coming in hot and fast.” Sam banked hard to the left, and quickly set the helicopter on the flight deck near Dragon Six. The giant black cargo plane was the only craft out this far.

Sebastian was waiting with a body board, and rushed forward. Behind him, an ambulance barreled down the narrow landing strip toward the jet. Sam unhooked his helmet mics and rolled from the cockpit to the rear, helping them lift Riley onto the board.

“He looks bad,” Sam said.

“He’s unconscious,” Logan said. “Dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, a bullet hole, but I think he’s slipped into a coma.”

For a second, they all went still. Logan checked his vitals as the ambulance halted just beyond the rotors. Sam worked off his helmet, spitting mad and helpless as they put Riley and Max in the ambulance and along with Logan, sped off.

The blades were still moving as he dropped onto the edge at the open door and cradled his head. My fault, he thought.

Thirteen hours later

Rohki breathed slowly, the pain jolting up his chest as he limped along the walkway outside the airport. People jolted him and he clenched his teeth and smothered the urge to retaliate. Attention was not what he wanted. He felt the strong fingers circle his arm an instant before the gun at his back. The jerk of his body drove a surge of pain up his spine again as he looked up, staring into strange black eyes surrounded by swarthy skin. Zidane. Around them, taxis took on fares, airport guards chatted instead of watching their posts, tourists loaded with baggage rushed to catch flights out of the flood-torn area. No one paid them any attention as the tall man ushered him away from the crowd.

He jerked his arm free, then regretted the move.

Zidane only gestured to the small jet on the runway, guarded, engines running. “Quickly.”

Together they descended the short ramp and walked toward the plane. Heat rose in waves, blistering his scalp. As he mounted the first step, he felt underdressed for such a luxurious jet. Then he was grabbed back, a curved knife suddenly near his eye.

“The stones.”

“Of course, but they aren’t cut.”

That didn’t seem to concern Zidane and he warned, “You have already tried to sell them once.”

Rohki paled. How had he known?

“There’s no turning back. Betray him and I will see your eyes in a jar.” He released him, pushed him up the steps.

Rohki gave up on fighting his bruised body. A short man with Slavic features stood at the top of the gangway.

“Search him, thoroughly,” Zidane said.

The Slav inclined his head and he stepped inside. He wasn’t underdressed. While the outside of the craft was pristine, the inside was a dark hole, with only a few seats. A heavy curtain separated the rear section. He started to sit when two more men approached him, and without speaking, yanked him off his feet and tore off his clothes. He stood naked inside the jet, humiliated by the body search. He stared straight ahead. After what he went through last night, this was inconsequential.

One man wore an amused smile as he grabbed his dick, lifted, and cut the leather sack laced under his balls, nicking him.

“So that’s your preference, eh?”

The man sneered, spilled the contents into his palm, rolling the large stones. The other threw his clothes at him. Rohki dressed as the man spoke to Zidane in an unfamiliar dialect. Congolese?

Zidane’s dark gaze flicked up, pinning him. They couldn’t know one was missing, Rohki thought, staring back. He held his hand out for the sack and stones. The guard eyed him, refilled the pouch and returned it. Rohki tucked them into his pocket, wondering when he could conceal them again before the final stop, and if the buyer was powerful enough to skirt customs there too.

The doors closed, the engines whined louder as he lowered gingerly into a seat and exhaled. The aircraft moved, shaking everything inside. He glanced around, pausing on the shifting curtain. Shock jumped through him when he saw shackles and chains anchored to the wall.

They were occupied.

 

Sam stood outside the ICU unit in Colombo, staring through the glass.

Logan had set Riley’s shoulder, removed the bullet, and stabilized him as best he could. Then Sebastian ordered Riley on the jet along with several locals who needed intensive care in Colombo. The team’s cargo plane, Dragon Six, lifted off as a hospital jet. Surgery had taken hours and Logan assisted the government surgeons. Riley hadn’t regained consciousness.

A coma. Logan tried to convince Sam it was the body’s way of healing itself, but seeing him hooked up to tubes, with a machine pushing air into his weak, perforated lung, it looked doubtful.

Sam wanted him to just wake the hell up.

The vigil felt weakened without the missing members. Dragon One’s leader, Killian Moore, was off on his honeymoon and, typical of his former CIA wife, they hadn’t told anyone where they were. Sam didn’t blame them, if this was the news waiting for them.

He didn’t see Max nudge Sebastian, then motion to him. The men stepped out and closed the door. Sam continued to stare through the glass.

“He survived Belfast, he’ll be fine.”

“Sure, he’s just itchin’ to rip off those wires and go dancing.”

Sebastian Fontenot was silent for a moment. “It’s not your fault.”

Sam tensed, as Sebastian voiced his feelings. “I went after the runt, if I’d stuck closer—”

“The dam would have broken anyway.”

“I was his backup. I left it unguarded.”

“He didn’t get shot in the back, either. That hit was at point-blank range. Intentional. And if the dam hadn’t caved, you and Max were next.”

Sam’s lips tightened and he fingered his hat, then suddenly turned away.

“Where are you going?”

Sam didn’t break stride. “To find a bar, or the bastard that shot him. Whichever comes first.”

“He’s miles away or probably dead.”

“He better hope so.”

Sebastian muttered a curse. “Wait, take this.”

Sam stopped, half-turned, eyeing Sebastian’s approach. He held out a palm sized, grayish-white rock. “Riley’s fingers were locked around this so tightly it cut into his hand.”

Sam plucked it, holding it up. Prisms of light shot through it. A conflict diamond. Uncut, bloodstained.

And from the look of it, the biggest puppy the market had seen in a while.

Archaeological Restoration Dig Udon Thani Caves Northern Thailand

“Xaviera, I found something.”

Viva flinched, smacking her head on the tunnel ceiling. If she didn’t recognize the voice, she’d have known who it was instantly. No one ever called her that anymore. Viva backed out of the narrow tunnel, giving the dig workers and Dr. Nagada an embarrassing view of her butt in shorts. Clearing the tunnel, she rolled to her rear, pulled her scarf off, then blotted her face.

“More pottery?” That’s all there was here. Aside from heat. Spending long, humid days brushing at powdery bits of dirt to reveal a single shard was, well, a real snoozer. Probably why she never did it for very long. Face it, you never do anything for very long.

“Would I truly bore you with something so uneventful as that?”

“Yes. You would. Remember the dig outside Giza? The third one,” she said before he could ask. “I trekked through the Sahara to see some pieces of a sarcophagus.”

He looked adorably affronted for a wizened old man. “For a queen to Ramses I.”

“Whoop-dee-do. He had hundreds, and just as many kids. Which is so the way to go if you’re a pharaoh, but if you’d found the rest of her, that would be something to crow about.” She stood and didn’t bother to untie the rice sacks strapped to her knees.

“You were more fit and eager for the discovery then.”

“Yes, well, so were you.” She tugged a lock of his long white hair. He had a dashing look about him: white hair, dark brows, rugged features, and she adored Salih. He let her join his digs whenever she had the urge. “So what’s this find?”

“Come see.”

“The suspense is killing me.” Probably a whole pot this time.

He handed her a bottle of cold water. She cracked it open, drank and when they stepped out into the sun, she poured half over her head, shook like a dog, then wiped her face. Then she dumped a bit down the front of her shirt.

He stared at her, neither frowning nor smiling. “You are such an odd woman.”

She fanned the material. “I don’t see you in the tunnels baking like pita bread.”

His face, weathered from years in the desert sun, wrinkled like a dried apple as he grinned. “I promise, this you will like.” They walked.

“You’re so sure?”

“It’s jewelry.”

“Will it go with my shorts?”

He laughed, guiding her to the second cave. A portion was a dwelling where they’d found more than pottery—a rudimentary hearth, sleeping quarters, and even a drainage system. Got to love those ancient Thai, she thought. They were quick on the draw. Imagine, plumbing in the BC days. They didn’t even have plumbing on the dig. That was just wrong.

She ducked under the canvas tarp and into the cave. Low rock ceilings tickled her hair, the corridor lit with electric lamps, yards of cables leading to the generator outside. She wished they had enough juice for air-conditioning. Wasn’t in the budget.

She almost ran into Dr. Nagada as he squatted, pointing to the corner of two blocks. “See? And it appears to be gold.”

Viva knelt, pulling her brush from her back pocket and swiping lightly.

“Your technique has improved.”

“I’m trying the Van Gogh style of brushwork. Oh, wow, this is incredible. Get that side, it’s sandwiched between something else.” She glanced up to make certain she wasn’t going to pull the whole dig down on top of them. Which would be so her.

She brushed and worked the rocks loose, and was suddenly touched that he’d let her do this. With Salih’s direction, she gently pulled the item out, then handed it to him. He brushed it, blew off the dust, and she stood, then moved with him to the lights.

“It’s a bracelet, a cuff. Excellent condition, must be gold.” The two inch wide band was hammered and etched with markings almost too worn to see. “It’s particularly small. A child’s perhaps.”

“In here?” Viva said. “This was just the average Joe’s cave dwelling, and we haven’t found anything like that before.”

“And we are not done, either.”

The man had the patience of a saint. No, two saints. After years of excavating around Egypt and Israel, and digging up all there was, he’d offered his services elsewhere. Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, and once on the island of Timor. If it was lost, he’d find it. Even if it took years. Viva admired that kind of diligence. She could barely find her panties before breakfast.

Salih walked toward the entrance and Viva dogged his heels. At a worktable shielded with a shade tarp, he brushed the cuff some more, then dipped it in a solution, rinsed and dried it.

He met her gaze. “It has stones.” He held it out.

She took it, tipping it to the sun. The gleam of old gold blinked greenish in the morning light. “Small ones, but look at the faceting. And two cabochon cuts. Rubies, you think?” Thailand was famous for blood rubies and sapphires. “And if these are sapphires, they’re good ones.” So blue they were nearly black.

“Even more rare.”

“But how could they have cut these? They didn’t have the equipment, not to facet, create a bevel like this. Amazing.” She stared at it for another moment, then handed it back. “So what are the markings?”

“That, my dear Xaviera—” She loved the way his Egyptian accent made her name sound. “—is the real question. I think they are Thai royalty.”

“No kidding.” She glanced back at the cave, and noticed a couple of dig workers listening to the conversation. “Hiding during an uprising or something?”

“We are near the Laos–Cambodian border and there are four temples in a straight line right to this area.”

“A summer home, how lovely for them.”

“I was thinking a pilgrimage. These markings are Thai, but the design is Cambodian. Though I am not well versed in its ancient text.” He frowned at the piece a moment longer, then drew a small box onto the table, filled it with shredded material, and set the bracelet inside. “I want you to take this to Dr. Wan Gai in Bangkok.”

Her brows tightened. “Okay, I give up, why me?”

“You’ve had that look lately.”

She made a sour face. “Darn, I thought I was hiding it so well this time.”

“You have been on five digs with me since you were in college. It is not hard to recognize. You stop chattering constantly.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Smiling, he pressed the box into her hands. “Take it to him, see the city while he makes his findings. Then perhaps you will come back and enjoy yourself.”

She doubted it. . .