Perfect Specimen: Brietta (6 page)

“Have fun.”

“You too. But take it easy, right?”

Before she could respond, he strode over to Hannan’s horse and swung himself up into the saddle as he’d done the day before. Then with a tip of his cap, cowboy-style, he was gone.

Brietta had to admit he looked great—the perfect outdoors guy, as comfortable on a horse as he was in a business-class seat. She even suspected he had chosen the horse over the SUV for the drama of it rather than the practicality. He was having fun, his green eyes twinkling with excitement and anticipation for what he might find.

And for some reason, he’s already sure he won’t find it in the graveyard
, she reminded herself wistfully.
No wonder he thought a paleontologist would be good enough.
Just bones—no artifacts
.

Returning to her tent, she found her binoculars then stepped outside again and looked for Taggert and Kasha in the distance. They were galloping westward, determined to find something amazing.

“Unless
we
find something
first
.”

“Who are you talking to?” Hannan asked her from the shadows.

“Oh! Good morning.” She gave him a warm smile. “Taggert keeps stealing your horse.”

“Yes, it is annoying,” he said with a chuckle. “But he can go farther into the hills with Kasha than with that old jeep. And if I need to rush you to the hospital, a horse would be impractical. Yes?”

“Haven’t you noticed? I’m completely cured.” She motioned toward the canopy. “Keep me company while I eat breakfast. Then we’ll start the preliminary gridding. I’m determined to find something exciting today. Something that justifies my existence. And you’re going to help me do it.”

* * * *

Over breakfast, she gave the bodyguard a quick rundown on the gridding technique—a way to work within each individual grave without disturbing or confusing the contents with any neighboring remains. If Taggert was correct, that wouldn’t be a serious problem for this particular site, but she was praying he was wrong. She wanted to find artifacts, even the tiniest, rustiest bits of anything that would give them a clue to the purpose of this graveyard. But of course, if she could find something more impressive, that would be even better.

Especially if
she
found something before Taggert did.

While she instructed Hannan on the proper use of her supplies—fluorescent orange string, fluorescent paint, stakes, tags, and the requisite assortment of sifters, brushes and zip-top bags—she kept an eye on her boss by spying through her binoculars every few minutes, tracking his progress.

“He fascinates you,” Hannan complained finally.

“No, he
annoys
me.” Laughing, she explained, “It’s becoming a competition. Who can crack the mystery of this site first? You’re on
my
team, and we’re gonna win. And speaking of my team—” She grinned in frustration toward the honeymoon suite. “Time for me to kick some lovebird ass.”

* * * *

Five hours later, the preliminary grid was officially in place, thanks in large part to Vince, who had proven to be a lot like Brietta—a precision junkie. Eventually they would excavate a few more tombs and be able to establish the exact dimensions for the final grid, but Brietta suspected they had already gotten it pretty close to correct.

Stepping back, she admired the bright orange lines. “Nice work, Vince.”

He flushed with pride, then reminded her, “Tagg gets a lot of the credit too. He got the outer boundaries right, and picked the perfect graves for us to use as our starting points.”

“True. But don’t forget, for purposes of this site, Taggert’s the enemy.” She meant it as a joke, and was surprised when Vince frowned, so she added quickly, “Just kidding. His instincts are phenomenal.”

The grad student eyed her warily. “You’re not mad at me anymore, right? For ratting you out?”

“All is forgiven.”

“Well then . . .” He exhaled sharply. “I think you should call him Tagg, not Taggert. It sounds kind of unfriendly, especially the way you say it. No offense.”

She sighed. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see what I can do. His name is actually Sean, though. Right?”

“No one calls him that. At least none of his friends do.”

“Good to know.” She raised the binoculars and tried without success to spot the errant hero. “I can’t believe I lost track of him.”

“So did I,” Melody admitted softly.

“Hmmm?” Brietta turned to the western edge of the graveyard, where the pretty grad student was seated. “What does that mean?”

She flushed. “I’ve been radioing him every half hour. Just like I’m supposed to. And he was answering each time, but now he’s not. But that’s okay, right? Because it’s all about you and your head. Not him. Right?”

Frustrated, Brietta marched over to her, picked up the walkie-talkie, and pressed the send button. “Hey, Taggert, this is base camp. Check in, please.”

When he didn’t respond, she continued uneasily. “We know you’re busy, boss. But give us a break. Or we’ll come looking for you.”

Again he didn’t respond, and Brietta gave Melody a sympathetic smile. “How long has it been? And don’t worry, because he warned you he might not answer.”

“Fifty minutes,” Melody admitted. “I should have said something sooner—”

“This isn’t your fault, it’s his,” Brietta assured her. “Even if he’s hurt, he can—and should—answer. So my guess is he’s blowing us off. In which case—
trust
me—I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

Chapter Six

Standing in the center of the cavern, Taggert struggled to be objective but failed. His mind simply couldn’t comprehend the majesty, the mystery, the sheer enormity of this place with its soaring dome-shaped ceiling rising out of polished black walls. Even on this, his fifth visit over the last eight months, he could barely think. He could only feel—and that feeling wasn’t just awe.

It was relief. Relief that his father’s dying wish had been fulfilled. Relief that looters hadn’t short-circuited that victory. Relief that there was a God—a God with a heart. How else could Tagg explain the combination of faith, dumb luck, and expertise that had forced this spot to reveal itself anew to him, the son of Paul Taggert and thus the heir apparent?

Amazing.

According to Tagg’s laser measuring device, the floor of the cave was forty-four feet in diameter. The ceiling peaked at twenty-two feet. Half of a perfect sphere.

Perfect being the operative word.

He remembered how he’d felt when he first stumbled upon it. Eighteen years of searching and then suddenly, nirvana.

Of course, it would have been even more perfect if there had been something here besides sheer rock, but Tagg didn’t want to be greedy. Weren’t the shape, the stature, the sense of otherworldliness enough? Still, he had fantasized about hidden secrets, and had done some preliminary, unobtrusive digging in the cavern floor as well as pinpoint drilling in the walls, starting at ground level and working his way up, almost to the ten-foot mark as of today.

The biggest discovery so far, aside from the cavern itself, was that the place itself was the complete and total prize. There was no further treasure. No tombs. No vaults. No earthly purpose for its existence.

It simply was.

Could it have formed naturally? Impossible. It was a work of art, hand-crafted, but by whom? The dead guys in Brietta’s cemetery?

And then they were killed for their efforts?

Or maybe they were warriors who had either attacked this place or defended it. If so, where were their weapons?

Talk to me
, he implored the damp walls.
Tell me your secrets. It’s time, you know. You’ve kept them for all these centuries, but now it’s time to talk.

In one sense, they had already shared their most enigmatic secret, albeit by accident. Paul Taggert had told his son of his find—the glorious, mysterious cavern—but had never disclosed the location, intending to take his son to the spot himself, so they could explore it together before sharing it with the world. And given past experience, Paul Taggert hadn’t taken anyone else into his confidence—at least no one who was still alive. Neither had he made notes of the coordinates or speculated in writing about its origins or purpose.

But he
had
described the cavern to his sixteen-year-old son, calling it a perfect hemisphere, approximately forty feet by twenty. And luckily, that had been enough. Tagg had patiently pursued undergraduate degrees in geology and archaeology. During breaks, he had traveled the globe, revisiting every spot he’d heard his father mention over the years. In time, he had gained prominence in his own right, partly from ego, but mostly to provide access to the means of finding the cavern.

And those means were elegantly simple. Sonar imaging. It had enabled a revolution for archaeologists—a way to look into the Earth and its oceans to find ruins, pyramids, and sunken treasure. And in Tagg’s case, to find a huge cavern with a perfect dome shape, probably in or near the volcanic mountains of Turkey, Bulgaria, Armenia or Georgia.

But sonar had failed to reveal a likely candidate, which meant it was hiding things from Tagg. Worse, it occasionally malfunctioned, particularly when it refused to give him a readout—
any
kind of readout—at a particularly promising site within the target area.

It was as if that area could not be perceived by science. The signal didn’t permeate it, much less bounce back with data.

And then in a burst of insight, Tagg had remembered his father’s casual observation—that the walkie-talkies hadn’t worked in the cavern. Something about the shape, or the material, had interfered with the radio signal, to the extent where Paul Taggert had actually been forced to step outside each time he wanted to communicate with his base camp.

“Oh, crap,” Tagg muttered as his reverie faded into present reality. “The stupid walkie-talkies.”

Grabbing the handheld from his pack, he sprinted to the entrance. Then he pressed the send button. “Hey, Mel? It’s me. Is everything okay down there?”

“You’ve
got
to be kidding me,” Brietta’s voice drawled. “Where the hell have you been?”

He chuckled. “I ran into one of those three-ringed vipers Hannan warned me about. Sorry I couldn’t pause to take your calls. But I’m fine now in case you’re interested.”

“Oh, no! Did it bite you?”

“Nope. Just had me cornered for a few minutes. How are
you
feeling? Still no sinus issues today?”

He could almost hear her eyes roll in sarcastic dismissal. “Nice try. But guess what? You’re grounded. Get back here so we can yell at you in person.”

“I’m on my way,” he lied. “If I get delayed I promise to check in.”

“Be here in thirty minutes or you’re a dead man. Base camp out.”

Grinning, he returned to the center of the cavern, where he had stacked his tools and gear. It would be fun to bring Brietta on board with all this, and he’d do it as soon as possible, but only after he had finished his search of the walls, the floor, and the surrounding mountainside. He wanted to understand the origins and purpose of this place before he went public with it. And he
needed
to make absolutely certain that there was nothing that could be unearthed, looted, and carried off to the black market.

Meanwhile, it was smart—necessary even—to keep his new assistant in the dark. Not only was she tough to manage, she was sick half the time. And the other half was even more dangerous.

“Don’t blow it now,” he advised himself as he hoisted his knapsack onto his shoulder. “She’s too volatile to trust with this secret. And when you’re around her, you’re irrational. Because she’s so damned sexy—”

He laughed to think that his lofty goal of completing his father’s final work could be threatened by a crazy woman with great legs and wonky sinuses. He needed to get past that—past
her
—soon, or she’d ruin everything.

And as much as he liked her, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

* * * *

When they were finishing up dinner that evening, Hannan announced mischievously, “It is Brietta’s turn to play storyteller, correct?”

“Sorry, I’m fresh out of tall tales,” she murmured, hoping they wouldn’t notice she was wobbly again. Not only had her left eye socket been throbbing since late afternoon, her entire forehead ached from the inside out.

Turning to Vince, she gave a hopeful smile. “Tell us how you and Melody met. Was it in an archaeology class?”

“Nice try,” Taggert said with a laugh. “But fair’s fair. We know you have a million stories. Tell the one about the goat who kept eating your orange string.”

“What?” The suggestion confused her. “When did you hear
that
?”

“It’s in your book, right?” he replied smoothly. “But we want to hear the real story, not the academic version.”

She eyed him warily, and when his expression remained innocent, she knew two things. First, he was a much better liar than she had realized, which was good to know. And second, he had attended one of her lectures and didn’t want her to know it.

But why?

Thinking back, she realized she had told that story for the first time just one week earlier. Last Saturday to be specific—two days
after
he called to offer her the job the first time, and four full days
before
he had withdrawn that initial offer.

So what did it mean? He had been interested enough to travel eight hundred miles to watch her in action, and then? Had she said something during the lecture that had soured him on her?

“Brie?” Melody said with concern. “Does your head hurt again? You don’t have to tell a story if you don’t want to.”

“I guess I’m a little tired,” Brietta admitted. “And it’s time to take my medicine again anyway, so . . .” She stood up and forced herself to smile. “See you in the morning.”

“We’ll be up earlier, I promise,” Vince told her.

“Go ahead and sleep in. You earned it today.” Avoiding Taggert’s gaze, she wished them all good night and headed quickly to her tent, hoping he wouldn’t follow, but fairly certain that he would.

* * * *

“Do you think she’s okay?” Vince asked as Brietta disappeared into her tent.

“I’ll go check on her,” Melody offered.

“No.” Taggert shrugged to his feet. “I’ll do it. I’m the one who pissed her off again.”

“Be nice.”

He quirked an annoyed eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

The grad student blushed but held her ground. “She was really worried about you today. We all were. So just be nice, please?”

“Yeah,” Vince said, wrapping his arm around Melody’s shoulder as he spoke. “Brie worked hard today, and taught us a lot. And she was hecka disappointed when we sifted through the dirt you dug up and didn’t find any artifacts. You should definitely go easy on her.”

Taggert wasn’t sure whether to laugh or growl. “Remember when I said you work for her? As of now, you’re
mine
again, so back off.”

Melody giggled, clearly relieved, and Taggert chuckled too. “Get some rest, all of you. And don’t sleep in. I won’t be as understanding about that as she is.”

Striding over to Brietta’s tent, he paused outside the flap and braced himself for the worst. He had been an idiot to mention the stupid goat story, but it was so hilarious, and he honestly had forgotten that he’d heard it under surreptitious conditions. Now she had caught him in a lie, and was probably unnerved about his infiltration of her lecture.

“Knock, knock,” he said, trying for a casual tone. “Okay if I come in?” Without waiting for a reply—especially because he was sure she was going to say no—he pushed open the screen and saw that she had been waiting for him, her dark blue eyes cool and filled with questions.

He decided to get right to it. “I caught one of your lectures recently. I should have mentioned that.”

“One of my lectures? You mean last Saturday?
After
you offered me the job, and right before you withdrew it?” Her voice cracked, and she turned away from him as though embarrassed by the weakness.

He walked over and rested his hands on her waist. “Why does that bother you so much?”

She didn’t turn around, but also didn’t pull away. “Just tell me what I did wrong. For future reference. I can’t afford to lose jobs because of my lecturing style, obviously.”

“You’re kidding, right? Your lecturing style is amazing.
That
was the problem.” He turned her to face him, then smiled in apology. “I knew you were pretty. From the book jacket. But you were so amazing—funny and animated and irresistible. I crushed on you, big-time. And believe it or not, I’ve got a policy against that kind of fraternizing on digs. Except between the potheads, obviously. And apparently except with
us
.”

“Wow.”

He nodded solemnly. “I figured you’d be so distracting I wouldn’t get any work done. And it’s true, but I don’t care.” Pulling her close, he kissed her mouth and was encouraged by her response. Still, he didn’t want to overdo it, so he hugged her close and massaged the top of her head. “How bad is the headache?”

“God, that feels good,” she murmured. Then she raised her face to his and kissed him again. “Thanks for telling me the truth. It makes me feel better about being second choice.”

“You were always my first choice. I just didn’t trust myself with you. For obvious reasons. But if we take it slow—”

“No, you were right to fire me. We can’t go down this road. I mean . . .” She smiled shyly. “Maybe once we get back to the States we can give it a try. But not now. You know we’ll end up fighting—we’re both so pigheaded. Especially you.”

“You’re hilarious, you know that? The problem is”—he nuzzled her neck—“I can’t resist you. Any of you, but especially your body.” To prove it, he slipped his hand under her shirt and stroked his way to her breasts.

“Taggert . . . Tagg . . .” She groaned softly. “You feel so good, but we can’t. Dig sex always goes south, plus my head is really beginning to hurt.”

“Huh?” He pulled back and stared into her feverish eyes, realizing too late that she was in agony. “Jeez, what happened?”

Taking her arm, he led her to her cot and urged her to lie down, then he covered her with a thin blanket despite the lingering heat in the air. “Can I get you something? There are painkillers in the med kit. And there’s that super-antibiotic—you should definitely switch to that one.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep.” Pulling the blanket over her face, she explained, “The light hurts my eyes.”