Chapter 24
That was the good news.
The bad news was that the tunnels wouldn’t be secret much longer and that Iona was unable to explore them. She was otherwise occupied. While Archer could try to pull her off her current job, she’d resist him. Her sister meant everything to her.
He had a few other women on his team with training equal to Iona, but all were already on assignment, each on a job of equal or greater cultural significance.
Sending Francesca was out of the question.
She lacked the training that Iona had, and if he did ask her to go underground, it would sever the shaky working relationship Archer had with Nguyen.
The captain was protective of his fiancée and would be irate at Francesca being put at more risk than she currently was simply by researching in archives.
The additional tick on the con side of the ledger was Ellis. Francesca needed to watch over her because she couldn’t be trusted to remain in the hotel suite unsupervised. Not after Nguyen’s Special Forces team found her wandering the city alone. Twice.
He stared at the chess piece in his hand. While he’d run operations for the Agency for Reconnaissance and Covert-ops, he wouldn’t have thought twice about assets on the ground or the risk to them. They were the pawns in a match he was playing. Nothing more.
And that was why Archer had left ARC.
Because people weren’t assets.
His bosses had disagreed and suggested he’d lost his edge.
They proposed he tender his resignation if he was unable to give the proper orders to his team.
Archer had done so and gone to work at a small nonprofit that awarded grants to archaeologists for research and excavation.
Of course, that wasn’t what he did. He ran the covert arm of the Paladin League and his number one priority for every assignment was keeping his people safe.
Returning the pawn to the board, Archer crossed his arms over his chest and stared out at the city of Los Angeles.
He considered Kyle Winter. He was scheduled to become an employee of the Paladin League after his enlistment was up and he had access to the tunnels since his undercover role for the team was handyman at the convent.
Imagining Nguyen’s reaction to that had Archer crossing it off the list. Decker Nguyen might not like taking his phone calls, but Archer had needed to use him and his team several times when his employees were in immediate danger. He was unwilling to burn this bridge.
Who could he send?
The answer should be easy. Zofia and her husband, Finn Rowland, would be able to handle it. Unfortunately, they were on a lengthy honeymoon to French Polynesia. Because, as Rowland had told him at the wedding reception, Archer would be unable to interrupt them at that distance.
His lips quirked. Rowland was correct. By the time Archer could get Zofia back from whatever island they were on, the tunnel would already be exposed and she would be too jetlagged to function anyway.
Of his remaining employees who spoke Spanish, there was only one he could trust to handle herself in this high-stakes situation and Archer couldn’t send her because he had recently recalled Nyx Templeton from Trujillo.
She’d been at risk from a drug lord, a group of war criminals, an arms dealer, and the Russian mafia.
That left his options at zero.
Archer retreated to his hidden office and settled behind the desk. Of the list of potential dangers, the mob lieutenant, Petrova, was atop his list of concerns. He was laser-focused on Iona and she was more concerned about her twin than her own safety.
Viktor Petrova was an ambitious man and that spelled trouble.
Yaromir Ivanov, his boss, was aging and in questionable health, although he’d taken pains to conceal that fact.
He would be forced in the near future to name a successor to his empire.
All of Ivanov’s lieutenants were vying for that nod.
Archer was certain Petrova believed finding the Treasure of Trujillo would cement his appointment as heir apparent.
If Petrova reached the treasure before the Paladin League, irreplaceable cultural icons would disappear forever. It was unthinkable. Every piece belonged in a museum.
As Archer saw it, he had two options. One: Hope that Iona finished her role for the Special Forces team and then assign her to locate the treasure. Two: Personally travel to Puerto Jardin and handle it himself.
The second option would make running his operations more difficult and there was no guarantee that Sungrave’s symbol in the tunnels marked the location of the treasure.
Not when the treasure had remained hidden for more than two hundred years and the search had started while knowledge of the underground passage between church and convent would have been well-known and the scratched symbol would have been easily seen.
The odds were nothing of consequence was in the tunnel.
Archer pressed a button. It only took a moment for Ms. Pressley to enter his office. She was the only other person who knew this hidden space existed. Her salt and pepper hair was cut short, a style that accented her sharp cheekbones. She dressed in slacks and a blazer, her standard attire.
She was his admin, but she was more than that. When he’d left ARC, she’d come with him.
“Ms. Pressley, I need you to handle operations in my absence.”
“Yes, sir. Where will you be?”
“Trujillo, Puerto Jardin.”
It was time for the chess master to join the board.
The café had suspended red umbrella-like awnings over their outdoor patio to protect it from the sun and any rain. A three-foot high wall had a hedge planted at the top, preventing diners from seeing the street. And from being seen by anyone passing by.
Cal couldn’t complain about the amount of concealment they had while eating breakfast. This was a high-end café.
The rattan chairs were woven into black-and-white pattern and the tables had a dark green, faux marble top.
The menu had been wrapped in a leather folder.
The food was also overpriced to go along with the elegant setting.
He kept his mouth shut. Io picked the restaurant, and she was back in team-leader mode.
He only had himself to blame. Using his fork, he speared a slice of ham from his plate and put it on top of a thick slice of freshly baked bread. Io had opted for the traditional Puerto Jardinese breakfast as well.
Kissing her last night was stupid. Cal knew it now.
He’d known it then. But he’d been helpless to resist. God, he loved her, and for the moments she’d been in his arms, the entire world felt right again.
He thought of his wedding ring, lying in a drawer in Florida.
Right after she left, he removed it and tucked it away. When had Io taken off hers?
And why did it bother him so much?
“I think we’ll head toward the city archives this morning,” Io said with as much emotion as she would show a stranger. “If our Russian friends aren’t there, we’ll go in. It will further our goal with Torres if he sees us continuing the search.”
Keeping his voice as soft as hers, Cal said, “Sounds like a solid plan.”
The patio was less than half full and most of the other occupants appeared to be having breakfast meetings.
No one cared about them, and because of the layout, there was no chance anyone could sneak up on him.
It let him relax a fraction of his vigilance, but it also allowed him time to think.
Time to remember other breakfasts with Io.
Cooking with her, laughing with her, lifting her onto the counter and making love with her. He’d always been indifferent to mornings, but with Io it was another story. Cal hadn’t been able to wait to wake up to spend time with her.
It wasn’t only the sex. He loved talking with her.
The way her blue eyes would light up when she was excited.
The way her sense of humor meshed with his own.
That she loved Monty Python and the Holy Grail as much as he did and she’d shoot lines back and forth with him.
And maybe the most convenient thing was that she loved physical pursuits as much as he did.
Running, swimming, bicycling, skiing, snowshoeing—he didn’t have to limit himself with Io.
If she hadn’t already done it, she was willing to try it.
Reaching for his coffee, he tried to catch her eye, but Io was studiously ignoring him. She appeared to be intent on buttering a slice of bread, but Cal knew better. She was putting distance between them the best way she could while they worked together.
Regret. If the past week had taught him anything, it was that he’d never get over Io.
Maybe he didn’t want to. She fit him the way no one else ever had. The way no one else ever would. And she was right. He’d known who she was and what she did when they met. If he couldn’t live with her job, he should have left her alone.
It hadn’t been that easy, though. Io was like the sun and he’d been caught in her gravity, circling in an orbit he couldn’t escape.
Be real, Baggnell, you don’t want to escape.
The waiter appeared on the patio and Cal signaled for a refill of coffee. If Io was planning to go to the archives, they had some time to kill before it opened.
With both their cups topped off, Io returned to ignoring him.
Cal studied her over the rim of his mug.
Her blonde hair was loose today, hanging straight past her shoulders.
There were light shadows under her eyes, but both of them had been restless last night.
She’d shifted around as much as he had after they’d gone to their separate beds.
She was in her red T-shirt today, the one cropped enough to tease him with flashes of her stomach as they’d walked to the café.
He knew how soft her skin was. The way she got goosebumps when he brushed his fingers over her nipples. How her breath would catch when he first entered her. The little sounds she made when she orgasmed.
Shaking it off, Cal drank more coffee. Remembering the way they made love wasn’t smart. He hadn’t cheated on Io. There’d been no one since she left Germany four and a half months ago.
Another topic to bypass.
Io buttered a slice of bread, carefully placed ham on top of it, and took a bite. She was eating much slower than he had, but fuck it. They had nothing to do until it got closer to the time the archives opened.
After their kiss last night, he should have expected this. The tough twin. He should have spent more time thinking about that revelation, but things happened.
What had he thought yesterday? Something about Io surviving on droplets of love? Yeah. Cal didn’t think he was wrong about that. She’d said her parents lost interest when she refused to dress like her sister.
He winced as he thought of Io as a little girl and the hurt she must have felt at the rejection. Of how responsible she must have felt that her sister had faced the consequences of her actions, too.
Rejection.
Her own parents had rejected her. She had to view his actions the same way. Cal sipped coffee and studied her more closely. He couldn’t read her. At all. But she would have learned to hide the pain early.
He never meant to hurt her. It was self-protection.
But it was precisely what he’d done. Hurt her, probably to a degree beyond what he saw that last day in Germany.
That split second before she shut down and donned a mask.
A mask she would have perfected as a child.
Io wouldn’t have wanted her parents to know their actions mattered to her.
She wouldn’t want her sister to worry about her and so Io pretended everything was fine.
She was too tough to be hurt.
Too tough to need love.
It was all a lie because no one needed to be loved more than Iona Desmond.
And he’d promised to do that, put his ring on her finger, and vowed it would last forever. Then Cal had failed her, too.
He’d broken the last of the girl who’d dared to believe in love. The worst part? Knowing there was nothing he could do to change what he’d done and now he got to live with that. He’d hurt the woman he loved to protect himself. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness or her friendliness.
He deserved Io, team leader. It seemed that was all she was willing to give him.
She finished her coffee, wiped her hands on her napkin, and asked, “Ready?”
Cal put down his mug. “Yeah, I’m ready whenever you are.”
Io glanced around, located their waiter, and signaled for the bill.
As soon as it was paid, she headed for the door, putting on her palm-leaf hat as she stepped outside.
He followed and forced his thoughts away.
Time to compartmentalize. Maybe he couldn’t change the past, but he could keep her safe now.
They meandered. Io pretended to window shop whenever they passed a store. Their path, though, was directed toward the archives. As she looked at display of shoes, he caught a reflection in the window.
Fuck. “We have company,” he reported, voice low.
“Do you have an ID?”
“Looks like Boris and Bullwinkle.” His gut tightened. Of course it was Petrova. And Io was his target.