“It’s a Winnebago! Parents buy those to take their kids to national parks.”
“It saves time and money during a dig,” he said archly.
Riley threw up her arms. “But this isn’t a dig. You heard the man downstairs. You’re a glorified cleanup crew hired so land developers could dodge historical preservation society regulations.” She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see more of the camper. “Does that thing even have a shower?”
He smirked. “Awful quick to think of me naked, love.”
“Don’t call me pet names.” She warned him, hoping he attributed her labored breathing to the climb. Unfortunately, nothing got her hot like a challenge.
“Look.” Clark put a placating hand on her arm. “Why don’t you give this up now, rather than waste both our time? I mean, seriously, what evidence could you possibly produce?”
“Trust me, sweetheart. It’s like porn.” Riley tapped his cheek twice with her palm. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
Chapter Four
Clark had hoped he might not be attracted to Riley Rhodes after discovering her nefarious business practices last night. Unfortunately, seeing her this morning, pink-cheeked with rage as she dealt him an impressive verbal flaying, proved that at least his body still fancied her.
Indignation rolled off her in waves so righteous that yes, Clark did feel a little bit bad about trying to get Martin to remove her. But just because Riley claimed innocence of any dodgy dealing, he reminded himself, didn’t mean he could believe her.
Clark had a faulty internal compass. He’d trusted Patrick in Cádiz even when the initial scans had seemed too good to be true. Because of one exceedingly well-crafted lie, he’d gotten everything he ever wanted. Accolades, praise, invitations to speak on the international stage. His father had taken him to the club and handed him a Cuban cigar. Clark had thrown up in the loo after smoking it, but still. Things had been brilliant. For a little while.
Awakening had come rude and swift. Retractions printed in the journals. Patrick’s termination. His father’s long, hard sigh.
Clark needed redemption. His career couldn’t be over at thirty-two. Arden Castle wasn’t a premier assignment, not even close. But it had potential if, this time, he neutralized the charlatan poised to make a mockery of his work.
It didn’t matter if his betrayal wounded Riley. Or if watching her eyes go from wide to shuttered when she realized what he’d done sliced at his insides. Clearly, she’d already recovered enough to go in on him about his dad. He had to harden his resolve.
Clark followed her to where the stairs finally ended, at the top of the southeast guard tower. He hadn’t surveyed for artifacts up here yet, but at this point he knew the castle’s blueprint like the back of his hand.
“Well, here we are.” The small, circular space was no more than twelve paces across in any direction. And there was nothing in it. “You’ve run out of staircase. What now?”
Clark bet she didn’t have a plan. Obviously she’d thought she could sneak up here and regroup, but he hadn’t given her the chance.
Ignoring him, Riley flicked off his torch and handed it back to him. A single window let in enough light to illuminate the small space, even with strands of ivy choking the bars. Clark put the torch in his pocket for safekeeping.
As Riley began a turn around the room, Clark couldn’t help but admire her performance—the way she paused every now and then to close her eyes, furrowing her brow in concentration. He was almost sorry that her charade would soon come to an end.
Suddenly she stopped, pulled her sleeve down over her palm, and extended her hand toward one of the heavy wooden beams covered in carnivorous-looking weeds that fortified the curved stone wall.
“Don’t,” Clark warned, instinctually shooting forward.
Riley froze but didn’t retract her arm. “Why not?”
“Just”—he yanked his gloves from his belt—“here, take these.” Her sleeve barely covered half her hand.
When she didn’t reach out, he flapped the fabric at her.
Riley looked down her nose at his offering. “Stop trying to give me things as a way to ease your guilty conscience.”
Oh, for the love of— She obviously had no idea what she was doing. This castle was a thousand years old and neglected, full of dangers both structural and elemental. Someone had to look out for her. Since Clark was the only other person here, the burden fell to him. It wasn’t like he personally cared if she cut herself on the splintering wood or jagged stone. No one could blame him if, through her own carelessness, that cut got infected and she died.
Willing the uneasiness out of his voice, he made himself look bored.
“Do you really want to touch anything in here with your bare fingers?” He watched for a moment as she battled with her decision, weighing her immense dislike of him and any help he might offer with what he assumed was some small degree of pragmatism.
“Fine.” Riley snatched the gloves away, spinning on her heel to give him her back.
Which, honestly? Not a hardship, love. The woman possessed a heart-stopping bum. All of her was gorgeously curved. Clark had to run a hand over his face, cutting off the mouthwatering view.
How could he lust after her, knowing what he did about her despicable scheming?
No amount of moral superiority seemed to dampen his ardor. This wasn’t like him—he never allowed his emotions to ride this close to the surface. Ever since he was a child he’d been ruthlessly even-keeled, always monitoring, trying to make sure no one got upset—a consequence of growing up with a highly emotional parent. Somehow, Riley Rhodes shorted his fuse.
In hindsight, Clark supposed that with the way his luck had been running, he should have been less surprised when she wiped away a thick sheet of vines from the wall to reveal a dagger stuck between two wooden beams.
While she squealed in triumph, Clark’s mouth fell open.
How had she—Where did that— “What the fuck?”
Riley turned to smirk at him over her shoulder. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”
Clark stepped closer, half hoping the dagger would disappear like a mirage. But no, the metal glinted when a ray of sunshine struck it.
“I don’t understand.” He’d been through forty-seven of the castle’s ninety-three rooms in the last month and found nothing of value. This property had changed hands so many times in the last three hundred years, had suffered wars and looting and the destruction of countless, terrible Highland winters. And she had just . . . found an entire bloody dagger after fifteen minutes?
Had Riley somehow gotten so lucky that she’d randomly picked the one room hiding a highly valuable artifact? It defied the bounds of logic.
Unless she’d somehow known it was there. Perhaps a villager had given her a tip. It was a stretch, but no more outrageous than the alternative explanation—that she really could do what she claimed.
“Who told you that was there?”
“No one. Unlike you”—she gave him a searing glance—“I’m good enough at my job that I don’t need to rely on other people.”
Without an ounce of hesitation, Riley wrapped one gloved fist around the dagger’s handle, pressing the other hand to the vine-covered wood for purchase, and before Clark could stop her, she yanked.