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“We both know he doesn't owe me a dime. But now you do.”
The raw arrogance in Snips’ voice brought her spirit back to life. “What the hell for?”
“Getting in the way, bitch.”
“You're out of your mind.”
“Saul told me all about Rebecca's Bounty. I want that treasure. All of it. You want to live. Fuck up, and I'll hand over you and Cy half dead to Callandriello so the big man can finish the job himself. It’ll be worth finding your asshole brother just for that. But first, I'd make a quick stop in Lake Havasu to pay a call on your parents. OH yes, your parents’ next door neighbors were quite chatty with the right motivation. Normally, that would be Linc's job, but I think I'd really enjoy delivering the message to your mom and dad.”
“No.” Anxiety twisted her muscles into a pretzel. How had he found her parents’ hiding spot? It didn't matter. What mattered was protecting her parents. “I'll do it.”
“You have a week. Linc will be in touch.” He paused. “And don't go telling your brother or anyone else about this. If I even suspect you're looking to double-cross me, I'll be at your parents' front door faster than greyhounds at the dog track. Got it?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, defeated.
“Good.”
The dial tone blared in her ear, but her brain was too overwhelmed to send the correct signal to her body to hand the phone back to Celestine.
“You okay there?” Concern crinkled the middle of the older woman's already wrinkled forehead and she pried the phone from Josie's death grip.
“Fine,” she mumbled as she herded Celestine out the door. “Goodnight.”
As soon as the door shut, Josie swiped a paintbrush and twirled it between her fingers. She paced the small studio floor, dodging half-finished canvases and rags covered in oil paint. She didn't know how to get ahold of Cy. The emergency number he'd given her wasn't a direct line, so she could only leave a message. Their parents couldn't protect themselves from Snips' fury. She had to find the treasure.
Stopping in front of a half-finished painting, she stared at the man who had haunted her subconscious since Vegas. Having the diary alone wouldn't be enough to find the treasure and save her parents. The map was the key—and Sam had the map.
Chapter Six
About a month ago, while driving down Main Street, Sam had caught a flash of white-blonde hair. He'd done such a fast double take he'd nearly broken his neck, but the woman had disappeared. Since then he couldn't shake Josie's ghost.
He scanned the mostly female students in front of him in Cather College's biggest lecture hall. There were dishwater blondes, bleached blondes, wheat blondes and strawberry blondes, but no one with the right shade of platinum.
Heat flushed his cheeks as soon as he realized he was doing it again. Searching for her. He chewed the inside of his cheek, disgusted with his own flight of fancy, and glanced at his notes.
“So the author argues that Amelia Earhart served as a kind of tie between the post-suffrage time period and the modern feminism movement of the 1960s.” Sam swiped down his touchscreen tablet on the lectern, scrolling for the appropriate citation, but the clang of a metal door drew his attention to the back of the
lecture hall.
Josie stood by the door, one hip cocked. Her shock of white-blonde hair bounced around her face in curls that touched the collar of her black leather jacket. Black boots encased her long legs to mid-thigh. His gaze traveled over the rest of her leather-covered curves, past her full red lips to her big gray eyes. She looked as if she'd just walked off a movie set and she was playing badass heroine number one, albeit with dusky shadows under her eyes.
Her steel gaze met his and she shrugged as if in apology for the noise.
“Adventure is worthwhile in itself.” The quote came out unbidden and again he tasted the sweetness of her wrist where the words were tattooed.
She quirked an eyebrow and winked before sliding into an empty seat in the back row.
Everything became silent as the students, who had been clacking away on their laptops, stilled. His lecture escaped him. Something about Amelia Earhart, feminism and Midwestern women.
He should be more ticked off that Josie had turned up out of the blue, disturbing his peace of mind and invading his lecture hall. Her appearance only confirmed that she was just another treasure hunter. Vegas had been a setup. All she wanted was to dig up Rebecca's Bounty. A flicker of annoyance burned in his gut, but he couldn't fan it into a full fury.
Even if it hadn't meant anything to her, that night had opened up a part of Sam that he'd thought he'd lost years ago. Suddenly, the rigidity of his life chafed. He yearned to challenge Dry Creek's perception of him as the quiet Layton. The tragic Layton. Josie may not have gotten what she'd wanted out of him in Vegas, but he sure as hell had gotten a completely unexpected gift—a second chance of sorts. If he could break out of his comfort zone and go for it.
Then she licked her pouty lips with that pink tongue of hers and all rational thought fled. All he could think about was the amber scent of her creamy skin and the way she'd swirled her hips when he'd buried himself deep inside her.
The memory forced him to shift uncomfortably. Suddenly he was very thankful the lectern stood tall enough to block the view of his stiffening cock. His mouth dried as if he'd eaten six pounds of cotton. Seventy pairs of eyes stared, but only the laughing gray eyes in the back row held his interest. He fidgeted with his tablet, buying time to gather his thoughts and forget the woman who'd been dogging him in his dreams and fantasies.
Josie unzipped her jacket, revealing a low-cut emerald sweater that displayed mountains of cleavage.
