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Synopsis
A novel of taut suspense and danger from New York Times bestselling author Kat Martin.
When Abigail Holland awakes to the sound of a nighttime intruder in her rambling Denver Victorian, she knows exactly what the black shrouded figure is after—the map she recently inherited from her grandfather. Whoever he is, the man who
grapples with her, then escapes, is willing to kill for the location of a treasure King Farrell hunted for more than ten years. The Devil’s Gold has claimed hundreds of lives, and it was her grandfather’s obsession.
With a killer pursuing her and her own family not to be trusted, Abby decides to take up the search herself. But she’ll need help to do it, and there’s no one better than renowned explorer and treasure hunter Gage Logan. Despite the instant
chemistry between them, Gage is reluctant. Innocent people have been hurt on his watch before. But when Abby shows him a genuine gold ingot she found with the map, his curiosity is piqued. Before long they’re heading into the flash floods
and brutal winds of the Superstition Mountains, straight into a passionate entanglement—and the dark heart of danger.
Release date: May 31, 2022
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 400
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The Last Mile
Kat Martin
AN ODD SOUND PENETRATED THE DARKNESS OF HER BEDROOM. Abby stirred awake and opened her eyes, her gaze landing on the neon-red numbers in the digital clock on the nightstand.
Three a.m. She muttered a curse. The old Victorian house she had recently inherited creaked and groaned as if it were alive. She’d get used to it, she told herself.
Rolling onto her side, she plumped her pillow, determined to go back to sleep, but the sounds returned, and this time there was no mistaking the quiet footfalls creeping along the downstairs hallway.
Abby’s breathing quickened as she eased out of bed and slipped into her terry robe. Grabbing the heavy, long-handled flashlight she kept beside the bed—partly for self-defense—she moved quietly out the door, down the hall to the stairs.
The sounds grew more distinct. There was someone in her grandfather’s study. She could hear them opening drawers and cabinets, clearly searching for something.
Her pulse accelerated as she realized what the intruder was trying to find, and her grip tightened on the handle of the heavy flashlight. No way was she letting the thief get away with it.
She needed to call the police, but her phone was upstairs, and by the time she got back up there, it might be too late.
The door stood slightly open, the soft yellow rays from the brass lamp on the desk providing enough light to see. Flattening herself against the wall, she peered into the study and spotted a figure dressed completely in black, searching the shelves in the armoire against the wall.
Her first thought was her cousin. Jude wanted the map, and he would be just stupid enough to sneak into her house to get it. But as she eased the door open wider, she realized the black-clad figure had a lean, sinewy build that was far too solid to be her pudgy gaming nerd cousin.
A trickle of fear slid through her. Abby steeled herself. Whoever it was, the thief wasn’t leaving with the map.
Easing closer, she raised the flashlight, holding it like a bat, and swung a blow that slammed into the intruder’s shoulder, knocking him sideways into the wall.
“Get out of here!” Legs splayed, she prepared to swing the flashlight again. “Get out before I call the police!”
He straightened. She could see the movement of his eyes inside the holes of his black ski mask, but instead of leaving, he charged.
Abby swung her makeshift bat again, but the man was fast, and he was strong, ripping the weapon from her hands and tossing it away, the flashlight landing with a loud clatter against the wall. She screamed as he spun her around and dragged her back against his chest. Wrapping his gloved hands around her neck, he squeezed, cutting off her air supply.
“Where is it? Tell me where it is!” He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth, and her vision dimmed. Dragging in a breath, she clawed at the hands locked around her throat.
“Tell me!” His hold tightened, and terror struck. There was no mistaking the attacker’s intent—he wanted the map badly enough to kill her.
“It’s not . . . here.” She fought to suck in air. “Safe . . . deposit box.” It was a lie but a credible one. She had taken it from the box just that afternoon.
Her attacker swore foully but didn’t release her.
“I don’t believe you. I want that map!” He started dragging her toward the curtains, grabbed the sash to tie her up.
No way was she letting that happen! Forcing down her fear, Abby made two fists with her thumbs exposed, as she’d learned in her self-defense class, jerked up her arms, and jammed her thumbs into her attacker’s eyes. One thumb hit its mark, gouging into his eye socket, and a scream ripped from his throat.
“You bitch!”
Kicking backward, Abby twisted and jerked free, her bare foot slamming into his kneecap. The guy stumbled as he hit the wall and swore another foul oath. Abby ran.
Out of the study, down the hall, through the entry, bursting out into the street. The grass felt wet and cold beneath her bare feet. She stepped on a stone, and pain shot up her leg, but she kept running.
The house was located on Vine Street in an old, historic section of Denver where she had already met a few of her neighbors. She raced to Mr. Godwin’s house and started banging on the heavy wooden front door.
It took a while for the lock to turn and the door to swing open. Elderly Mr. Godwin appeared in his bathrobe, his gray hair sticking straight up, his eyes groggy with sleep.
Abby darted into the house. “Close the door! Hurry! And lock it!”
Mr. Godwin swiftly closed the door, his watery blue eyes wide. “Abigail, what’s happened? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Abby’s hand went to the bruises forming a chain around her throat. “A man broke . . . broke into the house. He tried . . . tried to kill me.” She sucked in a deep breath of air. “I need to call the police.”
Three weeks later
ABBY WALKED BENEATH THE DARK GREEN CANVAS AWNING THAT RAN the length of the two-story, redbrick building, stopping to peer through the plate-glass windows into the office. Treasure Hunters Anonymous was located in the LoDo neighborhood of Denver, an area of historic buildings turned into trendy shops and restaurants. She pushed open the door and walked inside.
“May I help you?” An attractive woman in her mid-forties with silver-touched dark hair rose from behind her computer, one among three sitting on desks along the wall. Several large wooden tables were stacked with papers and files; others were covered by topographic maps and navigation charts.
“My name is Abigail Holland,” she said. “I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Logan.”
The woman smiled. “I’m Gage’s assistant, Maggie Powell. I’m afraid Gage is on the phone. He should be finished in a few minutes. Have a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Abby sat down in a burgundy-leather wingback chair next to the window. Aside from the chair and the small antique oak table beside it, an area that was visitor friendly, the office was clearly a work space.
Logan’s assistant headed down the hall, disappeared behind one of two closed doors, then returned a few minutes later. “Gage is finished with his phone call. You can go on in.”
“Thank you.”
Abby hoisted the strap of her leather purse onto her shoulder and smoothed back the copper hair she wore in a single long braid down her back. The door to Logan’s office stood open. He rose and rounded a big carved antique oak desk to greet her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Gage Logan.”
“Abigail Holland.” She extended her hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Holland.” Logan’s big palm wrapped around her smaller one, and she felt a little kick she hadn’t expected. He was six-two, she’d read when she’d researched him online, far taller than her own five-foot-four-inch frame. Dressed in khaki pants and a yellow button-down shirt, he had wide, muscular shoulders, and what appeared to be a deep, powerful chest.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Abby said. He was thirty-five years old, she knew, born and raised on a big ranch west of Denver. At nineteen, he’d left home for college and never returned.
He was incredibly handsome, with dark brown hair long enough to brush his collar and a solid jaw roughened by the faint shadow of an afternoon beard. His eyes, an amazing shade of blue against his darkly suntanned skin, carried a fierce gleam of intelligence. Though she’d seen his photo on the internet and seen his face on the cover of National Geographic, she hadn’t been prepared for the impact of meeting him in person.
“Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me why you’re here?” Logan led her over to a claw-foot round oak table in the corner surrounded by four oak chairs. Like the outer office, there were stacks of papers and maps around the room, on the floor and the tops of both oak file cabinets. Manila folders sat in a haphazard pile on the corner of his desk. There was a door off to one side that appeared to open to a private bathroom.
“Can I get you something?” Logan asked. “Coffee, or maybe a soda?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He rested an elbow on the table, his shirtsleeves rolled up over muscular forearms. “I understand you have a proposition for me.”
Her mind went straight to the bedroom. The man had sex appeal and plenty of it. Add to that, she had been following his exploits ever since her grandfather had mentioned him several years back and had begun to imagine him as having almost superhuman abilities. She had a fair complexion, and she hoped the color in her cheeks wouldn’t betray her thoughts.
Abby smiled. “A proposition, yes. I want you to help me find a treasure. That’s what you do, right? You find all sorts of missing things, historical artifacts, sunken ships, missing airplanes.”
“My partner and I tend to specialize, but basically, yes, that’s what we do.”
“But it was you who found the lost rubies of Amanitore, right? Gems that belonged to the Queen of Nubia?”
He nodded. “The rubies actually belonged to a daughter of the queen. I’ve been back in the States for a while since then, but yes, I led the expedition that found them.”
“I want you to help me find my grandfather’s treasure.”
Logan leaned back in his chair. “That was in the message you left on my phone. Interesting, but not very informative. What sort of treasure are you looking for?”
Abby’s smile widened. “Gold, Mr. Logan, at least two hundred million dollars’ worth.”
Logan’s expression didn’t change, the gigantic sum clearly not impressing him. “I assume you have some reason to believe you know where to find it, or at least have some clue as to where it’s supposed to be located.”
“I have a map, Mr. Logan. It was willed to me when my grandfather died. In the past few months, I’ve been making preparations to find it, but I need your help.”
“It’s just Gage, and you realize most treasure maps are fake, even the old ones.”
“Not this one. My grandfather was an explorer, much like you. His name was King Farrell. I believe you may have heard of him.”
Logan’s intense blue eyes sharpened. “King Farrell was your grandfather?”
“That’s right, my mother’s father. His travels kept him away a lot, but whenever he was home, we spent as much time together as possible. I loved hearing his stories, tales of his travels. When my mother fell ill, then passed away, we grew even closer.” She felt a pang just saying the words out loud. She had nursed her mother during the terrible years of her cancer. She still missed her every day.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I heard your grandfather has also passed.”
“That’s right. King died three months ago.” Abby blocked a fresh surge of emotion. “He left the map to me in his will, along with the house he owned here in Denver.”
“Go on.”
“Receiving his bequest gave me a choice. I could keep the house and forget the treasure. Or sell the house and use the money to finance an expedition. I sold the house.”
One of his dark brown eyebrows inched up. “You’re that sure the map he left you is real?”
“I know what people say about him. That all those years of searching for the Devil’s Gold drove him over the edge. They said he never produced any real evidence the treasure existed. They called it King’s Folly. They said he was a fool. But my grandfather was no fool.”
Gage leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “So you’re completely certain the map is real.”
“I was fairly sure when I found out he’d left it to me in his will. Now that someone’s tried to kill me for it, I’m entirely certain.”
Gage straightened, his posture no longer relaxed. “Tell me what happened.”
Abby filled him in on the attack three weeks ago, including the description of the man in black who had broken into her house in search of the map. Over the next few days, she’d purchased a. 38 revolver and had a security system installed, but she had been more than ready to move out.
“I listed the property for sale the next day. It’s a lovely old Victorian, and the Denver market is strong. I had a full-price offer by the end of the week.”
Those intense blue eyes ran over her, and she felt a little curl of heat in the pit of her stomach.
“Clearly you’re serious about this,” he said. “Unfortunately, I only met King Farrell a couple of times. I never knew him on a personal level. I’ll need a lot more information before I make a decision.”
“Assuming you agree, how does it work?”
“It’s all fairly straightforward. Our lawyers draw up a contract. In layman’s terms, you and I share equally in the cost of the expedition. You provide the information. I provide the expertise and the crew necessary to make it work. If we find something, the expenses are deducted, including any government fees and any unexpected monies that might be required, and the balance is split fifty-fifty.”
She nodded, expecting similar terms. “That sounds fair enough.”
“You referred to this as the Devil’s Gold. From what I’ve read, King never gave any indication of where the gold was supposed to be. His travels took him everywhere—from Africa to the southern US border to the tip of Tierra del Fuego in Argentina. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“I can narrow it down for you. You have a reputation for honesty, Mr. Logan. If you’re willing to sign a nondisclosure agreement, I’ll give you all the information you need.”
“It’s Gage, and I’m happy to do that—if it gets that far. In the meantime, I’ll have to do some digging. Give me a couple of days. Why don’t we meet here again Wednesday morning, if that works for you.”
“Ten o’clock?”
“That’s fine.”
“All right,” she agreed. “Then I look forward to talking to you on Wednesday.”
“If you’re interested in the Amanitore rubies, I’m giving a guest lecture tomorrow night at the Museum of Nature and Science. Begins at seven p.m.”
Mostly she was interested in seeing the way Logan handled himself. She would be trusting this man to help her find her grandfather’s treasure. She wanted to know as much about him as she could.
“Perhaps I’ll see you there.” She rose from her chair, and Logan rose as well. As she walked out of the office, she could feel him watching her, and a thread of sexual awareness slipped through her.
Abby sighed. She didn’t like the attraction she felt for Gage Logan. It was a complication she didn’t need. If they partnered for the search, she would be spending days, possibly weeks with him. She didn’t want to feel this pull that could very well be one-sided.
And if it were mutual?
Even worse. Finding the treasure meant everything to her. King Farrell had been a great man, a man she loved and respected. For years, she had begged him to take her on one of his expeditions. In the beginning, she’d been too young. By the time she was old enough, her parents were divorced, her mother had been diagnosed with fourth-stage, terminal breast cancer, and Abby was needed at home.
King had been riding high back then, traveling the world on one grand adventure after another—until he’d become obsessed with finding what he called the Devil’s Gold. He had promised to take her with him on his next trip in search of what he believed would be the greatest find of his career.
But one failed effort after another had taken him on a downward spiral. He’d left the country for parts unknown, and for months there had been no word from him. Then his attorney had phoned with the news King was dead. He had made Abby the beneficiary of all his worldly possessions, including his house and the map that would lead her to the Devil’s Gold.
Aside from making her rich beyond her wildest dreams, the discovery would prove King Farrell was the great explorer people had once believed.
The gold was there. King knew it. Abby intended to find it.
GAGE WATCHED ABIGAIL HOLLAND WALK OUT OF HIS OFFICE. SHE was an interesting mix of naïveté and determination. She was pretty, with a high forehead beneath a fringe of bangs, her fair skin touched by a smattering of freckles. Her full pink lips lifted easily into smiles, and the most glorious red-gold hair he had ever seen hung in a single loose braid down her back.
Add to that, in dark blue stretch jeans that showed off her curves and a soft yellow sweater that revealed a hint of cleavage, she was a very sexy lady. Late twenties, he would guess, and apparently single—no wedding ring and no mention of a husband or family.
He didn’t like the idea that someone wanted the map she’d inherited badly enough to break into her home and attack her. She’d moved out, she had told him, and was taking precautions. Gage hoped they would be enough.
Seating himself behind the computer on his big oak desk, he googled the name King Farrell and watched a growing list of links pop up.
King’s mysterious death three months ago sat at the top of the list, though there was no information as to where he had died, just the news that he was somewhere out of the country, possibly in South America, searching for lost treasure, as he had done since he’d been a young man in his twenties.
There was a lengthy obituary Gage figured Abigail had written relating King’s greatest discoveries. Lost tombs in Egypt, diamonds in Africa, Viking gold in Greenland. Most of the artifacts had wound up in museums. Like Gage, King was more interested in the quest than in the money, though he’d always managed to end up with enough to live well and fund another expedition.
No matter the failure that marred King’s final years, the man was nothing short of amazing. Abby’s love and admiration for him appeared in every written line. Perhaps it was part of the reason she wanted to find the treasure. Salvaging King Farrell’s tarnished reputation was likely as important to her as discovering the enormous cache of hidden gold King believed was there.
Gage rubbed a hand over his jaw. The hard truth was the treasure probably didn’t exist.
On the other hand, aside from finding the treasure he had dubbed the Devil’s Gold, King Farrell had never failed in any quest he’d undertaken. The man did his research and didn’t waste time or money on a goal he couldn’t achieve.
Would he have burdened his granddaughter with the task of finding the gold if he hadn’t been sure it was actually there?
Then again, perhaps his competitors in the treasure-hunting community were right and King had finally gone over the edge.
Gage scrolled down the computer screen, opening link after link, reading everything he could find on King Farrell. Looking into everything he couldn’t find on King’s Folly—the Devil’s Gold.
The next night, Abby purposely arrived late to the lecture hall in the Denver museum. She wanted to hear what Gage Logan had to say about his hunt for the rubies, but first she wanted a chance to observe the man undetected.
Moving quietly toward the back of the auditorium, she took a seat in the last row, grateful for the darkness that hid her arrival. The only light in the room was the spotlight shining down on the podium, where Logan’s tall, imposing figure dominated the listeners, who filled most of the rows.
Tonight he wore a navy blue suit perfectly tailored to his broad-shouldered frame. A crisp white shirt set off his suntanned features, while gold cufflinks glinted at his thick wrists.
She knew he was single, which perhaps accounted for the overwhelming ratio of female to male attendees. She’d seen photos of him at various functions accompanied by attractive women, though rarely the same woman twice.
Watching him, she understood the attraction. Besides his blue-eyed good looks, he was intelligent, interesting, and dedicated to his work, qualities she admired—though she didn’t have time for any sort of dalliance, especially with a man who drew women with the ease of a film star.
Abby had read dozens of articles about him—middle brother of three, both parents now deceased. Kade, the oldest sibling, had taken over the ranch when their father died, and Edge, the youngest, was in the military, or was at the time the article was written.
After two years at the university, Gage had gotten bored and set off with one of his professors, an anthropologist named Bryan Fagan, in search of a rumored fossil skeleton of Australopithecus located somewhere in South Africa.
From there, his adventures continued, morphing into his own expeditions. He’d had failures in his early years, including a journey to South America that had resulted in the death of a woman named Cassandra Dutton, a female member of his crew.
But his skill and knowledge had improved, along with his successes, until eventually he partnered with wealthy international playboy Jack Foxx to open their own firm, Treasure Hunters Anonymous.
Though the partners usually worked independently, their searches included anything from objects of historical value, like the missing camera from Mallory and Irving’s failed attempt in 1924 to summit Mount Everest, to the priceless Amanitore rubies that Gage was discussing tonight.
Though she had only just met him, aside from her grandfather, Logan was among the men she most admired, which was the reason she wanted to hire him.
Her focus returned to the stage.
“The first contact between the Egyptians and Nubians dates back nearly seven thousand years,” Gage was saying. “That’s when ancient Egyptians launched their earliest expedition to the land of Punt, which meant gold.”
One of the women stood to ask a question about the Egyptians’ influence on Nubia and how it pertained to his search for the rubies.
“I believe studying the history of an area is extremely important. It provides crucial insight that helps us locate whatever we’re searching for.”
The woman, a beautiful brunette who was clearly enthralled, remained standing. “In this case, history that goes back thousands of years.”
“That’s correct. Ancient Egyptians called Nubia Ta-neter, land of the gods, and viewed it as a mysterious and unknown place of great fortune. Their trading excursions brought back gold, incense, ebony, ivory, exotic animals, and skins. One such traveler set out for home with gifts for the Pharaoh that included several gold and ruby necklaces of unimaginable value. Unfortunately, the rubies disappeared along the way.”
Gage went on to explain how, two years ago, an artifact had been uncovered that set the wheels in motion.
“An Egyptian friend came to see me. He asked me to lead an expedition in search of the rubies. I agreed, and fortunately, we managed to find them.”
Gage finished the rest of his lecture, and the lights came up as the question-and-answer period began—a good time to leave, Abby figured. Staying in the back, she made her way through the crowd to an exit door that led directly outside, pushed through, and stepped into the darkness.
The moment the door swung closed behind her, shutting out the light from inside, she realized the error she had made. She turned back and tried the door, wasn’t surprised to find it locked. It wasn’t that far to the car, she told herself. She just needed to reach the side of the building where it was brightly lit and cross to the parking lot.
Her brown leather ankle boots clicked on the asphalt as she made her way down the alley at the back of the building. She hadn’t noticed anyone around when she’d stepped outside, but now she heard the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by footfalls echoing behind her.
A quick look over her shoulder and she spotted the shadowy figure of a man in an overcoat striding along in her wake. Abby quickened her pace. He was tall and spare, his overcoat flapping around his legs as his long strides carried him toward her.
A thought stirred that there was something familiar about him. Was it possible this was the same man who had broken into her house? She snatched another quick look. Same height, same lean, wide-shouldered build. Her pulse quickened along with her footsteps.
Surely there was no way he could know where she would be tonight. Not unless . . . Not unless he knew where she was staying and had followed her to the museum. Her heart rate accelerated even more.
Another quick glance confirmed her fear as she saw him closing the distance between them. Abby started running, her lungs pumping as she raced toward the light coming from around the side of the building and the museum parking lot. Behind her, pounding footsteps matched her own, the man drawing even closer.
Abby burst around the corner and kept running. People were beginning to stream out of the building through the entrance that led to the lecture hall. She quickly altered her course to catch up with them and blend into the exiting throng.
The lecture-goers spread out as they reached the parking lot, Abby among them. She spotted her red Fiat convertible and felt a rush of gratitude that the March weather was still too chilly to put the top down.
She glanced back in search of the man who was following her. If he was there, he was just another figure in the crowd. Abby didn’t slow down.
She had almost reached her car when Gage Logan seemed to appear out of nowhere, his long strides quickly catching up with her shorter ones. Her heart was still thrumming, her face flushed, her breathing a little ragged. In the overhead light, she saw his dark brows pull together in a frown.
“Abigail. Are you all right?”
She swallowed, managed to nod. “I’m . . . I’m all right.”
He studied her face. “Something happened. What was it?”
She glanced back toward the building, saw that most of the crowd had dispersed. “I just got a little spooked. I’m sure it was nothing.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She sighed, resigned to explaining. She hoped she didn’t sound like an idiot. “When the lecture ended, I went out the back door. I didn’t realize ho. . .
Three a.m. She muttered a curse. The old Victorian house she had recently inherited creaked and groaned as if it were alive. She’d get used to it, she told herself.
Rolling onto her side, she plumped her pillow, determined to go back to sleep, but the sounds returned, and this time there was no mistaking the quiet footfalls creeping along the downstairs hallway.
Abby’s breathing quickened as she eased out of bed and slipped into her terry robe. Grabbing the heavy, long-handled flashlight she kept beside the bed—partly for self-defense—she moved quietly out the door, down the hall to the stairs.
The sounds grew more distinct. There was someone in her grandfather’s study. She could hear them opening drawers and cabinets, clearly searching for something.
Her pulse accelerated as she realized what the intruder was trying to find, and her grip tightened on the handle of the heavy flashlight. No way was she letting the thief get away with it.
She needed to call the police, but her phone was upstairs, and by the time she got back up there, it might be too late.
The door stood slightly open, the soft yellow rays from the brass lamp on the desk providing enough light to see. Flattening herself against the wall, she peered into the study and spotted a figure dressed completely in black, searching the shelves in the armoire against the wall.
Her first thought was her cousin. Jude wanted the map, and he would be just stupid enough to sneak into her house to get it. But as she eased the door open wider, she realized the black-clad figure had a lean, sinewy build that was far too solid to be her pudgy gaming nerd cousin.
A trickle of fear slid through her. Abby steeled herself. Whoever it was, the thief wasn’t leaving with the map.
Easing closer, she raised the flashlight, holding it like a bat, and swung a blow that slammed into the intruder’s shoulder, knocking him sideways into the wall.
“Get out of here!” Legs splayed, she prepared to swing the flashlight again. “Get out before I call the police!”
He straightened. She could see the movement of his eyes inside the holes of his black ski mask, but instead of leaving, he charged.
Abby swung her makeshift bat again, but the man was fast, and he was strong, ripping the weapon from her hands and tossing it away, the flashlight landing with a loud clatter against the wall. She screamed as he spun her around and dragged her back against his chest. Wrapping his gloved hands around her neck, he squeezed, cutting off her air supply.
“Where is it? Tell me where it is!” He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth, and her vision dimmed. Dragging in a breath, she clawed at the hands locked around her throat.
“Tell me!” His hold tightened, and terror struck. There was no mistaking the attacker’s intent—he wanted the map badly enough to kill her.
“It’s not . . . here.” She fought to suck in air. “Safe . . . deposit box.” It was a lie but a credible one. She had taken it from the box just that afternoon.
Her attacker swore foully but didn’t release her.
“I don’t believe you. I want that map!” He started dragging her toward the curtains, grabbed the sash to tie her up.
No way was she letting that happen! Forcing down her fear, Abby made two fists with her thumbs exposed, as she’d learned in her self-defense class, jerked up her arms, and jammed her thumbs into her attacker’s eyes. One thumb hit its mark, gouging into his eye socket, and a scream ripped from his throat.
“You bitch!”
Kicking backward, Abby twisted and jerked free, her bare foot slamming into his kneecap. The guy stumbled as he hit the wall and swore another foul oath. Abby ran.
Out of the study, down the hall, through the entry, bursting out into the street. The grass felt wet and cold beneath her bare feet. She stepped on a stone, and pain shot up her leg, but she kept running.
The house was located on Vine Street in an old, historic section of Denver where she had already met a few of her neighbors. She raced to Mr. Godwin’s house and started banging on the heavy wooden front door.
It took a while for the lock to turn and the door to swing open. Elderly Mr. Godwin appeared in his bathrobe, his gray hair sticking straight up, his eyes groggy with sleep.
Abby darted into the house. “Close the door! Hurry! And lock it!”
Mr. Godwin swiftly closed the door, his watery blue eyes wide. “Abigail, what’s happened? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Abby’s hand went to the bruises forming a chain around her throat. “A man broke . . . broke into the house. He tried . . . tried to kill me.” She sucked in a deep breath of air. “I need to call the police.”
Three weeks later
ABBY WALKED BENEATH THE DARK GREEN CANVAS AWNING THAT RAN the length of the two-story, redbrick building, stopping to peer through the plate-glass windows into the office. Treasure Hunters Anonymous was located in the LoDo neighborhood of Denver, an area of historic buildings turned into trendy shops and restaurants. She pushed open the door and walked inside.
“May I help you?” An attractive woman in her mid-forties with silver-touched dark hair rose from behind her computer, one among three sitting on desks along the wall. Several large wooden tables were stacked with papers and files; others were covered by topographic maps and navigation charts.
“My name is Abigail Holland,” she said. “I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Logan.”
The woman smiled. “I’m Gage’s assistant, Maggie Powell. I’m afraid Gage is on the phone. He should be finished in a few minutes. Have a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Abby sat down in a burgundy-leather wingback chair next to the window. Aside from the chair and the small antique oak table beside it, an area that was visitor friendly, the office was clearly a work space.
Logan’s assistant headed down the hall, disappeared behind one of two closed doors, then returned a few minutes later. “Gage is finished with his phone call. You can go on in.”
“Thank you.”
Abby hoisted the strap of her leather purse onto her shoulder and smoothed back the copper hair she wore in a single long braid down her back. The door to Logan’s office stood open. He rose and rounded a big carved antique oak desk to greet her.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Gage Logan.”
“Abigail Holland.” She extended her hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Holland.” Logan’s big palm wrapped around her smaller one, and she felt a little kick she hadn’t expected. He was six-two, she’d read when she’d researched him online, far taller than her own five-foot-four-inch frame. Dressed in khaki pants and a yellow button-down shirt, he had wide, muscular shoulders, and what appeared to be a deep, powerful chest.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Abby said. He was thirty-five years old, she knew, born and raised on a big ranch west of Denver. At nineteen, he’d left home for college and never returned.
He was incredibly handsome, with dark brown hair long enough to brush his collar and a solid jaw roughened by the faint shadow of an afternoon beard. His eyes, an amazing shade of blue against his darkly suntanned skin, carried a fierce gleam of intelligence. Though she’d seen his photo on the internet and seen his face on the cover of National Geographic, she hadn’t been prepared for the impact of meeting him in person.
“Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me why you’re here?” Logan led her over to a claw-foot round oak table in the corner surrounded by four oak chairs. Like the outer office, there were stacks of papers and maps around the room, on the floor and the tops of both oak file cabinets. Manila folders sat in a haphazard pile on the corner of his desk. There was a door off to one side that appeared to open to a private bathroom.
“Can I get you something?” Logan asked. “Coffee, or maybe a soda?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He rested an elbow on the table, his shirtsleeves rolled up over muscular forearms. “I understand you have a proposition for me.”
Her mind went straight to the bedroom. The man had sex appeal and plenty of it. Add to that, she had been following his exploits ever since her grandfather had mentioned him several years back and had begun to imagine him as having almost superhuman abilities. She had a fair complexion, and she hoped the color in her cheeks wouldn’t betray her thoughts.
Abby smiled. “A proposition, yes. I want you to help me find a treasure. That’s what you do, right? You find all sorts of missing things, historical artifacts, sunken ships, missing airplanes.”
“My partner and I tend to specialize, but basically, yes, that’s what we do.”
“But it was you who found the lost rubies of Amanitore, right? Gems that belonged to the Queen of Nubia?”
He nodded. “The rubies actually belonged to a daughter of the queen. I’ve been back in the States for a while since then, but yes, I led the expedition that found them.”
“I want you to help me find my grandfather’s treasure.”
Logan leaned back in his chair. “That was in the message you left on my phone. Interesting, but not very informative. What sort of treasure are you looking for?”
Abby’s smile widened. “Gold, Mr. Logan, at least two hundred million dollars’ worth.”
Logan’s expression didn’t change, the gigantic sum clearly not impressing him. “I assume you have some reason to believe you know where to find it, or at least have some clue as to where it’s supposed to be located.”
“I have a map, Mr. Logan. It was willed to me when my grandfather died. In the past few months, I’ve been making preparations to find it, but I need your help.”
“It’s just Gage, and you realize most treasure maps are fake, even the old ones.”
“Not this one. My grandfather was an explorer, much like you. His name was King Farrell. I believe you may have heard of him.”
Logan’s intense blue eyes sharpened. “King Farrell was your grandfather?”
“That’s right, my mother’s father. His travels kept him away a lot, but whenever he was home, we spent as much time together as possible. I loved hearing his stories, tales of his travels. When my mother fell ill, then passed away, we grew even closer.” She felt a pang just saying the words out loud. She had nursed her mother during the terrible years of her cancer. She still missed her every day.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I heard your grandfather has also passed.”
“That’s right. King died three months ago.” Abby blocked a fresh surge of emotion. “He left the map to me in his will, along with the house he owned here in Denver.”
“Go on.”
“Receiving his bequest gave me a choice. I could keep the house and forget the treasure. Or sell the house and use the money to finance an expedition. I sold the house.”
One of his dark brown eyebrows inched up. “You’re that sure the map he left you is real?”
“I know what people say about him. That all those years of searching for the Devil’s Gold drove him over the edge. They said he never produced any real evidence the treasure existed. They called it King’s Folly. They said he was a fool. But my grandfather was no fool.”
Gage leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “So you’re completely certain the map is real.”
“I was fairly sure when I found out he’d left it to me in his will. Now that someone’s tried to kill me for it, I’m entirely certain.”
Gage straightened, his posture no longer relaxed. “Tell me what happened.”
Abby filled him in on the attack three weeks ago, including the description of the man in black who had broken into her house in search of the map. Over the next few days, she’d purchased a. 38 revolver and had a security system installed, but she had been more than ready to move out.
“I listed the property for sale the next day. It’s a lovely old Victorian, and the Denver market is strong. I had a full-price offer by the end of the week.”
Those intense blue eyes ran over her, and she felt a little curl of heat in the pit of her stomach.
“Clearly you’re serious about this,” he said. “Unfortunately, I only met King Farrell a couple of times. I never knew him on a personal level. I’ll need a lot more information before I make a decision.”
“Assuming you agree, how does it work?”
“It’s all fairly straightforward. Our lawyers draw up a contract. In layman’s terms, you and I share equally in the cost of the expedition. You provide the information. I provide the expertise and the crew necessary to make it work. If we find something, the expenses are deducted, including any government fees and any unexpected monies that might be required, and the balance is split fifty-fifty.”
She nodded, expecting similar terms. “That sounds fair enough.”
“You referred to this as the Devil’s Gold. From what I’ve read, King never gave any indication of where the gold was supposed to be. His travels took him everywhere—from Africa to the southern US border to the tip of Tierra del Fuego in Argentina. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“I can narrow it down for you. You have a reputation for honesty, Mr. Logan. If you’re willing to sign a nondisclosure agreement, I’ll give you all the information you need.”
“It’s Gage, and I’m happy to do that—if it gets that far. In the meantime, I’ll have to do some digging. Give me a couple of days. Why don’t we meet here again Wednesday morning, if that works for you.”
“Ten o’clock?”
“That’s fine.”
“All right,” she agreed. “Then I look forward to talking to you on Wednesday.”
“If you’re interested in the Amanitore rubies, I’m giving a guest lecture tomorrow night at the Museum of Nature and Science. Begins at seven p.m.”
Mostly she was interested in seeing the way Logan handled himself. She would be trusting this man to help her find her grandfather’s treasure. She wanted to know as much about him as she could.
“Perhaps I’ll see you there.” She rose from her chair, and Logan rose as well. As she walked out of the office, she could feel him watching her, and a thread of sexual awareness slipped through her.
Abby sighed. She didn’t like the attraction she felt for Gage Logan. It was a complication she didn’t need. If they partnered for the search, she would be spending days, possibly weeks with him. She didn’t want to feel this pull that could very well be one-sided.
And if it were mutual?
Even worse. Finding the treasure meant everything to her. King Farrell had been a great man, a man she loved and respected. For years, she had begged him to take her on one of his expeditions. In the beginning, she’d been too young. By the time she was old enough, her parents were divorced, her mother had been diagnosed with fourth-stage, terminal breast cancer, and Abby was needed at home.
King had been riding high back then, traveling the world on one grand adventure after another—until he’d become obsessed with finding what he called the Devil’s Gold. He had promised to take her with him on his next trip in search of what he believed would be the greatest find of his career.
But one failed effort after another had taken him on a downward spiral. He’d left the country for parts unknown, and for months there had been no word from him. Then his attorney had phoned with the news King was dead. He had made Abby the beneficiary of all his worldly possessions, including his house and the map that would lead her to the Devil’s Gold.
Aside from making her rich beyond her wildest dreams, the discovery would prove King Farrell was the great explorer people had once believed.
The gold was there. King knew it. Abby intended to find it.
GAGE WATCHED ABIGAIL HOLLAND WALK OUT OF HIS OFFICE. SHE was an interesting mix of naïveté and determination. She was pretty, with a high forehead beneath a fringe of bangs, her fair skin touched by a smattering of freckles. Her full pink lips lifted easily into smiles, and the most glorious red-gold hair he had ever seen hung in a single loose braid down her back.
Add to that, in dark blue stretch jeans that showed off her curves and a soft yellow sweater that revealed a hint of cleavage, she was a very sexy lady. Late twenties, he would guess, and apparently single—no wedding ring and no mention of a husband or family.
He didn’t like the idea that someone wanted the map she’d inherited badly enough to break into her home and attack her. She’d moved out, she had told him, and was taking precautions. Gage hoped they would be enough.
Seating himself behind the computer on his big oak desk, he googled the name King Farrell and watched a growing list of links pop up.
King’s mysterious death three months ago sat at the top of the list, though there was no information as to where he had died, just the news that he was somewhere out of the country, possibly in South America, searching for lost treasure, as he had done since he’d been a young man in his twenties.
There was a lengthy obituary Gage figured Abigail had written relating King’s greatest discoveries. Lost tombs in Egypt, diamonds in Africa, Viking gold in Greenland. Most of the artifacts had wound up in museums. Like Gage, King was more interested in the quest than in the money, though he’d always managed to end up with enough to live well and fund another expedition.
No matter the failure that marred King’s final years, the man was nothing short of amazing. Abby’s love and admiration for him appeared in every written line. Perhaps it was part of the reason she wanted to find the treasure. Salvaging King Farrell’s tarnished reputation was likely as important to her as discovering the enormous cache of hidden gold King believed was there.
Gage rubbed a hand over his jaw. The hard truth was the treasure probably didn’t exist.
On the other hand, aside from finding the treasure he had dubbed the Devil’s Gold, King Farrell had never failed in any quest he’d undertaken. The man did his research and didn’t waste time or money on a goal he couldn’t achieve.
Would he have burdened his granddaughter with the task of finding the gold if he hadn’t been sure it was actually there?
Then again, perhaps his competitors in the treasure-hunting community were right and King had finally gone over the edge.
Gage scrolled down the computer screen, opening link after link, reading everything he could find on King Farrell. Looking into everything he couldn’t find on King’s Folly—the Devil’s Gold.
The next night, Abby purposely arrived late to the lecture hall in the Denver museum. She wanted to hear what Gage Logan had to say about his hunt for the rubies, but first she wanted a chance to observe the man undetected.
Moving quietly toward the back of the auditorium, she took a seat in the last row, grateful for the darkness that hid her arrival. The only light in the room was the spotlight shining down on the podium, where Logan’s tall, imposing figure dominated the listeners, who filled most of the rows.
Tonight he wore a navy blue suit perfectly tailored to his broad-shouldered frame. A crisp white shirt set off his suntanned features, while gold cufflinks glinted at his thick wrists.
She knew he was single, which perhaps accounted for the overwhelming ratio of female to male attendees. She’d seen photos of him at various functions accompanied by attractive women, though rarely the same woman twice.
Watching him, she understood the attraction. Besides his blue-eyed good looks, he was intelligent, interesting, and dedicated to his work, qualities she admired—though she didn’t have time for any sort of dalliance, especially with a man who drew women with the ease of a film star.
Abby had read dozens of articles about him—middle brother of three, both parents now deceased. Kade, the oldest sibling, had taken over the ranch when their father died, and Edge, the youngest, was in the military, or was at the time the article was written.
After two years at the university, Gage had gotten bored and set off with one of his professors, an anthropologist named Bryan Fagan, in search of a rumored fossil skeleton of Australopithecus located somewhere in South Africa.
From there, his adventures continued, morphing into his own expeditions. He’d had failures in his early years, including a journey to South America that had resulted in the death of a woman named Cassandra Dutton, a female member of his crew.
But his skill and knowledge had improved, along with his successes, until eventually he partnered with wealthy international playboy Jack Foxx to open their own firm, Treasure Hunters Anonymous.
Though the partners usually worked independently, their searches included anything from objects of historical value, like the missing camera from Mallory and Irving’s failed attempt in 1924 to summit Mount Everest, to the priceless Amanitore rubies that Gage was discussing tonight.
Though she had only just met him, aside from her grandfather, Logan was among the men she most admired, which was the reason she wanted to hire him.
Her focus returned to the stage.
“The first contact between the Egyptians and Nubians dates back nearly seven thousand years,” Gage was saying. “That’s when ancient Egyptians launched their earliest expedition to the land of Punt, which meant gold.”
One of the women stood to ask a question about the Egyptians’ influence on Nubia and how it pertained to his search for the rubies.
“I believe studying the history of an area is extremely important. It provides crucial insight that helps us locate whatever we’re searching for.”
The woman, a beautiful brunette who was clearly enthralled, remained standing. “In this case, history that goes back thousands of years.”
“That’s correct. Ancient Egyptians called Nubia Ta-neter, land of the gods, and viewed it as a mysterious and unknown place of great fortune. Their trading excursions brought back gold, incense, ebony, ivory, exotic animals, and skins. One such traveler set out for home with gifts for the Pharaoh that included several gold and ruby necklaces of unimaginable value. Unfortunately, the rubies disappeared along the way.”
Gage went on to explain how, two years ago, an artifact had been uncovered that set the wheels in motion.
“An Egyptian friend came to see me. He asked me to lead an expedition in search of the rubies. I agreed, and fortunately, we managed to find them.”
Gage finished the rest of his lecture, and the lights came up as the question-and-answer period began—a good time to leave, Abby figured. Staying in the back, she made her way through the crowd to an exit door that led directly outside, pushed through, and stepped into the darkness.
The moment the door swung closed behind her, shutting out the light from inside, she realized the error she had made. She turned back and tried the door, wasn’t surprised to find it locked. It wasn’t that far to the car, she told herself. She just needed to reach the side of the building where it was brightly lit and cross to the parking lot.
Her brown leather ankle boots clicked on the asphalt as she made her way down the alley at the back of the building. She hadn’t noticed anyone around when she’d stepped outside, but now she heard the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by footfalls echoing behind her.
A quick look over her shoulder and she spotted the shadowy figure of a man in an overcoat striding along in her wake. Abby quickened her pace. He was tall and spare, his overcoat flapping around his legs as his long strides carried him toward her.
A thought stirred that there was something familiar about him. Was it possible this was the same man who had broken into her house? She snatched another quick look. Same height, same lean, wide-shouldered build. Her pulse quickened along with her footsteps.
Surely there was no way he could know where she would be tonight. Not unless . . . Not unless he knew where she was staying and had followed her to the museum. Her heart rate accelerated even more.
Another quick glance confirmed her fear as she saw him closing the distance between them. Abby started running, her lungs pumping as she raced toward the light coming from around the side of the building and the museum parking lot. Behind her, pounding footsteps matched her own, the man drawing even closer.
Abby burst around the corner and kept running. People were beginning to stream out of the building through the entrance that led to the lecture hall. She quickly altered her course to catch up with them and blend into the exiting throng.
The lecture-goers spread out as they reached the parking lot, Abby among them. She spotted her red Fiat convertible and felt a rush of gratitude that the March weather was still too chilly to put the top down.
She glanced back in search of the man who was following her. If he was there, he was just another figure in the crowd. Abby didn’t slow down.
She had almost reached her car when Gage Logan seemed to appear out of nowhere, his long strides quickly catching up with her shorter ones. Her heart was still thrumming, her face flushed, her breathing a little ragged. In the overhead light, she saw his dark brows pull together in a frown.
“Abigail. Are you all right?”
She swallowed, managed to nod. “I’m . . . I’m all right.”
He studied her face. “Something happened. What was it?”
She glanced back toward the building, saw that most of the crowd had dispersed. “I just got a little spooked. I’m sure it was nothing.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She sighed, resigned to explaining. She hoped she didn’t sound like an idiot. “When the lecture ended, I went out the back door. I didn’t realize ho. . .
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