Chapter 11
Nash knew his family meant well, but having them descend on his quiet Salt Lake life felt like a tornado touching down.
After the initial shock wore off, he spent the next hour coordinating logistics while Amy helped pack a small bag for their impromptu trip to Park City.
The family agreed to head to the property in Park City to get settled while Nash and Amy kept their appointment with Dr. Martinez.
“I’m coming with you,” Colt announced, arms crossed in that immovable stance Nash had recognized since childhood. It wasn’t a suggestion.
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Nash protested, though part of him was relieved to have backup for the meeting.
Colt simply raised an eyebrow. “Consider me security, then. You said yourself this Martinez guy is sketchy.”
Before long, the three of them pulled into the university parking lot, and Nash couldn’t help but feel grateful for his brother’s presence.
Colt had that cowboy swagger that intimidated most people without him having to say a word—six feet and two inches of pure ranch-raised muscle, with a jawline that looked like it had been chiseled from stone and a perpetual intensity in his eyes that made even the toughest guys think twice about crossing him.
“So, what do we know about this guy?” Colt asked from the back seat of Nash’s truck, leaning forward between the front seats.
“Department chair of Utah History,” Amy supplied. “Highly respected academic, published extensively on Mormon settlement patterns. Been at the university for about fifteen years.”
“And he just happens to show up at the same mountain trail we’re hiking,” Nash added dryly. “And the same church we attend this morning.”
“Coincidence?” Colt’s tone made it clear what he thought of that possibility.
“About as coincidental as a rattlesnake in your bedroom,” Nash muttered.
Colt let out a low chuckle. “That’s what I was thinking.”
Amy glanced at her watch. “It’s two-fifty-five. We should head in.”
As they walked across campus, Nash noticed Amy still limping.
“How’s your ankle?”
“Feeling better.”
The history department was housed in an older building, its hallways quiet on a Sunday afternoon. Amy led them confidently through the maze of corridors until they reached Dr. Martinez’s office.
“Ready?” Nash asked, his hand hovering over the door handle.
Amy nodded, her expression resolute.
Colt positioned himself slightly behind them, his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.
Nash knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a response.
Dr. Martinez was seated behind a large mahogany desk, his office well lit and welcoming.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with scholarly tomes and historical artifacts.
A collection of antique maps hung in expensive frames, and Nash noticed at least one that featured Utah Territory in its early days.
“Ah, Professor Blair,” Martinez said, rising from his chair with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Right on time, as always.” His gaze shifted to Nash, then widened slightly when he noticed Colt looming in the doorway.
“I know Nash, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said, a faint note of disapproval in his voice.
“Colt Cross,” Colt replied, making no move to step forward or offer his hand. “Nash’s brother.”
Martinez’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I wasn’t aware this was to be a family meeting.”
“Is that a problem?” Nash asked, his tone pleasant but his eyes hard.
Martinez forced a thin smile. “Not at all. Please, sit.” He gestured to two chairs in front of his desk, clearly intended for Amy and Nash.
Colt remained standing, arms crossed, taking up position near the door like a sentinel.
“Candy?” Martinez offered, pushing a crystal dish of wrapped chocolates toward them. “Belgian. Quite good.”
“No, thank you,” Amy replied coolly.
Nash fought back a snort. Who did this guy think he was, fooling with the gracious host routine?
“I appreciate you meeting me on a Sunday,” Martinez continued, steepling his fingers. “But as I mentioned, the information I have is rather time sensitive.”
“We’re all ears,” Nash said, leaning back in his chair with deliberate casualness, though every muscle in his body was tense.
Martinez’s gaze flicked to Colt, then back to Amy. “I must say, I was surprised to see you at church this morning, Professor Blair. In the two years you’ve been with our department, I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned being religious.”
“There are a lot of things I don’t mention,” Amy replied evenly.
Nash suppressed a smile. She wasn’t giving an inch.
“Indeed.” Martinez adjusted his tie, a nervous gesture that betrayed his composed exterior. “Well, to the matter at hand. Professor Blair, your research into Porter Rockwell has … attracted attention.”
“What kind of attention?” Nash asked before Amy could respond.
Martinez’s mouth tightened at the interruption. “The kind that warrants caution.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’ve been asked to deliver a message.”
The air in the room seemed to change, growing heavier, more charged.
Nash felt Colt shift his weight behind them, readying himself.
“A message from whom?” Amy asked, her voice remarkably steady.
Martinez hesitated, then sighed. “I suppose there’s no delicate way to put this. I’ve been … approached by representatives of the Ferrante family.”
Nash felt Amy go completely still beside him. He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it once.
“The Ferrantes,” Nash repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “As in the organized crime family? Those Ferrantes?”
Martinez winced. “I wouldn’t characterize them that way to their faces, Mr. Cross.”
“So you’ve met them face to face,” Colt observed from the door, his voice dangerously quiet.
Martinez’s eyes darted nervously to Colt, then back to Nash. “I’ve been asked to advise the Cross family to cease their investigation into Porter Rockwell’s gold. It has nothing to do with you, and they have no wish to cause your family harm.”
“How considerate of them,” Nash drawled. “And yet here you are, delivering what sounds an awful lot like a threat.”
“Not a threat,” Martinez insisted, sweat beading on his upper lip despite the cool temperature of the office. “A professional courtesy. The Rockwell gold belongs to the Ferrante family. They’ve been searching for it for generations.”
“Belongs to them?” Nash repeated incredulously. “Based on what claim, exactly?”
Martinez shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not for me to say. I’m simply passing along the message, as requested. I want to make it perfectly clear that I am not officially—or unofficially—involved with the Ferrantes. I’m merely acting as an intermediary.”
“An intermediary,” Nash echoed flatly. “Right. And I suppose you just happened to be hiking the same trail as us yesterday? And you just happened to run into us this morning? You weren’t following us?”
“No. Those were mere coincidences,” Martinez said weakly.
“My brother doesn’t believe in any type of coincidence,” Colt said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Neither do I.” He pushed off from the wall, taking a step closer to the desk.
Martinez’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze darting between the three of them. “Look, I’m simply trying to prevent any unnecessary … complications. The Ferrantes are serious people. They want what they consider theirs, and they’re willing to take steps to protect their interests.”
“Like murdering Bill Harris?” Amy asked, her voice quiet.
Martinez blanched. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“But you knew about it,” Nash pressed, leaning forward. “Just like you know why they’re after the gold, and how they’re connected to the Olympus Foundation.”
“I’m just a history professor,” Martinez protested, his composure cracking. “I was approached because of my connection to Professor Blair and her research. That’s all.”
Nash felt a surge of disgust. “So you sold out your colleague. For what? Money? Protection? A nice corner office?”
Martinez’s face hardened. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. The Ferrantes aren’t people you can simply dismiss or intimidate. They have resources, connections—”
“So do we,” Colt interrupted, stepping forward. In one fluid motion, he was around the desk, gripping Martinez by his expensive silk tie. “And we don’t take kindly to threats against our family.”
“It’s not a threat,” Martinez squeaked, his eyes wide with fear. “I’m trying to help!”
“By spying on us?” Nash asked incredulously. “By following us around Salt Lake? By reporting our movements to people who have already killed once over this gold?”
“I didn’t—I wouldn’t—” Martinez sputtered.
Colt’s other hand curled into a fist. “My brother’s too polite to say it, so I will. You’re a weasel, Martinez. A pathetic little rat doing the dirty work for people who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.”
“Please,” Martinez whimpered. “I’m just the messenger.”
“Well, here’s our message back,” Colt said, and without warning, he drove his fist directly into Martinez’s face.
The crack of knuckles against bone echoed in the quiet office. Martinez toppled backward, chair and all, landing in an ungraceful heap on the floor, blood streaming from his nose.
“Colt!” Nash exclaimed, though he couldn’t deny a certain satisfaction at seeing Martinez sprawled on the expensive carpet.
Colt loomed over the fallen professor, his expression hard. “You tell whoever you officially or unofficially report to that the Crosses don’t take threats lying down. And they’d better stay out of our way.”
Martinez nodded frantically, one hand clutching his bleeding nose. “I could sue you!” he squealed.
Colt snorted and nodded to Nash. “Well, then meet my attorney.”
Nash glared at Dr. Martinez then turned to Colt. “Come on. We’re done here.”
Amy stood, her face pale but her eyes clear. “I’ll be emailing my resignation letter.” She paused, then added, “But first, I need to clean out my office.”
Martinez made a gurgling sound that might have been a protest, but Colt took a half step forward, and the professor wisely fell silent.
They left Martinez moaning on the floor, Colt closing the door with exaggerated gentleness behind them.
As they strode down the hallway, Nash pulled Amy close to his side. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, though her hands were shaking slightly. “Better than I expected to be, actually. But I need to get my research before we leave. It’s just down the hall.”
She led them to a smaller office, unlocking the door with a key from her purse.
The space was modest but neat—bookshelves lined with historical volumes, a desk organized with meticulous precision, and walls adorned with framed maps and historical photographs.
One entire corkboard was dedicated to Porter Rockwell, with index cards, photos, and string connecting various points of interest.
Nash immediately recognized the broken arrow symbol on several of the cards.
“We can’t leave any of this,” Amy said, her voice taking on a practical edge. “If Martinez is working with the Ferrantes, they might try to get to my research—or probably already have.”
Colt glanced out into the hallway. “Better make it quick, then.”
Amy nodded, pulling a cardboard box from the closet. “I keep these for when students bring in historical artifacts,” she explained, quickly dismantling the corkboard display and placing the cards and photos carefully in the box.
Nash moved to her desk, grabbing a stack of folders clearly labeled “Rockwell Project.” “These too?”
“Everything,” Amy confirmed, now emptying a drawer of notebooks and journals. “Especially the blue binder on the bottom shelf—it has all my original notes.”
Nash found the binder, adding it to the growing pile. Colt kept watch at the door, occasionally flexing his hand, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips.
Within minutes, they had packed all of Amy’s research materials, along with some personal items—a framed photo of her mother, a small potted plant, and a coffee mug with “World’s Okayest Professor” printed on it.
Nash noticed Amy hesitate at the bookshelf, her hand hovering over a row of thick historical volumes. “We can come back for the books,” he said gently. “Let’s just take what’s irreplaceable right now.”
She nodded. Nash saw a flicker of sadness cross her face, quickly replaced by determination. “That’s everything essential,” she said, reaching for the box.
Nash beat her to it, lifting the heavy container easily. “I’ve got it.”
The three of them made their way back down the empty corridors, tension easing slightly once they were outside in the fresh air. Nash stowed the box in the bed of his truck, securing it with bungee cords.
“You think Martinez will come after us?” Colt asked, scanning the parking lot as they climbed into the cab.
“Not today,” Nash replied, starting the engine. “He’s too busy trying to stop the bleeding and figure out how to explain a broken nose to his wife.”
Amy was quiet as they drove away from campus, her expression thoughtful.
Nash reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Penny for your thoughts?”
She looked at him, and to his surprise, a smile spread across her face. “I was just thinking … your brother punched my boss in the face.”
Nash couldn’t help but laugh. “Welcome to the Cross family. We’re a bit hands-on when it comes to problem-solving.”
From the back seat, Colt snorted. “That was nothing. You should see what Porter does when he’s really angry.”
Amy laughed, the sound bright and unexpected in the tense aftermath of their confrontation. “Can’t wait.”
The words warmed Nash’s chest in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He glanced at her, at her small smile and determined eyes, and thought maybe—just maybe—they were going to pull this off. Find the gold, thwart the Ferrantes, and build something real together.