She nodded, though his gaze was fixed on the road and not her. “All right.”
“I hope you’ve got something alcoholic to drink. I’m always a little keyed up after one of these events. Being in the spotlight isn’t one of my favorite activities.”
She wouldn’t have guessed that. King loved being in front of an adoring audience.
“King drank scotch, and he was very particular. I put most of his personal possessions in a storage locker until I figure out what I’m going to do. But I kept a bottle of Lagavulin. It’s in the kitchen. If that’ll do, you’re welcome to it.”
The corners of his mouth edged up. “That’ll do very nicely. Thanks.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GAGE PARKED THE ROVER IN FRONT OF A THREE-STORY, STUCCO-AND-BRICK building only a few miles from the museum. Reaching across the console, he opened the glove compartment and took out the Smith and Wesson .45 he kept for self-defense. In his line of work, it could come in handy.
“You carry a gun?” Abby asked.
“My job takes me to interesting places. You never know when a weapon is going to be necessary.” He got out of the vehicle, shoved the gun into his waistband at the back of his slacks, and let his suit coat fall in place to cover it. By the time he rounded the Rover to the passenger door, Abby was waiting for him on the curb. They took the elevator up to the third floor, and he stood by while she opened the door to apartment 318.
Gage eased her behind him, pulled the gun, and held it two-handed as he walked into the apartment. It was a simple one-bedroom, he saw as he moved from room to room, clearing the space, with hardwood floors, a beige sofa and love seat in the living area, and a modern stainless kitchen with white-and-beige granite countertops.
He shoved the gun behind him into the waistband of his slacks. “All clear.”
Abby joined him in the living room. “If Tammy moves in with her boyfriend, I’ll probably take over her lease.”
“Probably? Sounds like you’re keeping your options open.”
“For now.”
Speaking over her shoulder as she walked through the apartment, Abby headed for the kitchen.
Gage followed. “So tell me a little about yourself.” Though he had done a brief search on social media, he hadn’t found all that much. Twenty-eight years old, father out of the picture, mother died after a lengthy bout with cancer. Abby’s Facebook profile said she liked to run, hike, and snow ski.
“I was born and raised in Denver. After high school, my grandfather put me through college—University of Colorado. I studied cultural anthropology. I wanted to see the world, and studying how people lived in other countries, different societies, was the best I could do back then.”
“And after you got out?”
“I worked a while, just odd jobs to save enough money to travel. Then my mother got sick. I stayed with her until she died a few years ago.” Abby took a shaky breath, and he could tell she still grieved her mother’s death.
“For a while, I just did whatever came up: grocery checker, cocktail server, a desk clerk at the Marriott Hotel. For the past few years, I’ve been working for a photographer. Weddings, portraits, that kind of thing. Some of it was video work, so I have a background in that. On my own time, I do landscape pictures, portraits of people in their natural environment.”
Gage watched as she crossed the kitchen, opened a cabinet door, and stretched up on her toes to reach one of the higher shelves, where he spotted a bottle of scotch.
Her short brown wool skirt rode up as she bent over the counter, emphasizing her curvy behind and exposing nicely shaped thighs. A shot of arousal slid through him and traveled straight to his groin.
“Let me get that down for you,” he said a little gruffly. Enjoying the view, he almost hated to volunteer. He eased Abby out of the way and grabbed the scotch, poured two fingers into each of the two glasses she set on the counter, and handed one to her. He inhaled the aroma and took a sip, just as Abby did.
Apparently her grandfather had also taught her to appreciate some of the finer things in life.
Gage held up his glass. “To King Farrell, one hell of an explorer.”
Abby held up her glass and clinked it against his. “To King—and finding the Devil’s Gold.”
They carried their glasses into the living room, and Abby sat down in an overstuffed chair, while Gage took the sofa.
“Getting back to our discussion,” she said. “I assume you’ll want the expedition documented. My photographic skills will solve that problem and give me a way to contribute to our mission.”
Our mission. Gage’s insides tightened. He was afraid this was the direction they were heading, that Abby planned to join him on the trip. “I’m sorry, but that poses a problem. I don’t involve amateurs in anyway. It’s just too dangerous.”
Abby leaned toward him. “I understand you suffered a casualty during one of your earlier expeditions. But the map is mine, and the risk is mine to take.”
Gage just shook his head. “It’s not a policy I’m willing to change. If we’re going to do this, you’ll have to trust me to handle it for you.”
She looked at him with a trace of pity, as if she knew how much Cassie’s death still bothered him, which of course she couldn’t possibly know.
“Things happen, Gage. You work in a dangerous business. People were injured, some of them died during King’s searches. You can’t blame yourself.”
He made no reply because he was exactly the one to blame. Cassandra wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t been fool enough to believe he could protect her.
“If you don’t head up the expedition,” she pressed, “I’ll find someone else who will. I have to do this, Gage. Knowing King is my grandfather, you must understand that.”
She was going to go—with or without him. He already liked her. She was smart and determined. Add to that, he felt a strange obligation to a man he’d barely known but had admired and respected.
“You know my terms, Gage. Make your decision.”
Gage shifted on the sofa. “I need to look at the map. I’ll sign whatever document you need, but I’m not committing to anything until I see if your map has enough detail to be credible.” And if finding the gold seemed plausible, he would at least be there to offer a degree of security for a determined young woman who had no idea what was in store for her.
He mentally revised that. As King’s granddaughter, at least she knew some of the perils she would be facing. He almost hoped the map would prove to be a fake; then he wouldn’t have to break his own rules.
Abby left the room, returning a few minutes later with a single-page document and a brass-hinged antique wooden box, beautifully dovetailed at the corners.
She set the box on the coffee table and handed him the document, which was nothing more than a nondisclosure agreement making him liable should he relay any information about the map or other knowledge he obtained through Abigail Holland or King Farrell about the Devil’s Gold.
When he’d finished reading, she handed him a ballpoint pen.
Logan looked up at her. “You realize you should have me sign this in front of a notary.”
“I know. We can make it official tomorrow. The truth is, I’m banking on your sterling reputation, Mr. Logan. If you decide to screw me over, I’m sure you can find a way.”