CHAPTER THREE
Tess was in the kitchen uncorking a bottle of wine when Miller burst through the back door.
“I was just thinking about you,” Tess said, without taking her attention from the bottle. “I figured you had to be pretty close to a break. Usually three days is your limit without seeing me or taking a shower. It’s always good to know when I’m right.”
She and Tess had been friends since grade school. They’d been thick as thieves all the way through, and they’d even roomed together in college, though their schedules had been on opposite ends of the spectrum, so they’d hardly ever seen each other.
Miller had made it to her senior year at the University of Texas before calling it quits and deciding college wasn’t for her. Writing term papers wasn’t near as exciting as the stories she’d been putting on paper since childhood. Her love of the written word had consumed her, and going to class seriously cut into her reading time. She’d once pretended to have the flu and taken two weeks off of school when several of her favorite authors had released books on the same day. She had a sickness, all right, but it wasn’t the flu.
So she’d spent her last year of college waiting tables and writing like a madwoman, trying to sell her manuscripts. Her first book had been sold the week before she should’ve graduated. She’d followed her passion, and by sheer determination and blind luck, it had worked out in her favor.
Tess was a good few inches taller than Miller, and she was wand slim. She had a mass of bright red hair that was mussed, though she’d piled it up on top of her head, and she wore one of the soft button-down dress shirts she preferred and a pair of leggings.
It had been a running joke between the two of them since puberty that Miller would be more than happy to give Tess some boobs since she had plenty to spare. In fact, she had plenty of everything to spare. And she wasn’t complaining. She’d learned to love her body, and she worked hard to keep it in shape. But working out was one of those things she’d always have to do because she was just naturally curvy. Plus, she liked dessert, so running a couple of extra miles was worth it.
Despite the panic building inside of her, she needed the illusion of normalcy. She could count on Tess like she’d never been able to count on anyone. Her heart raced and fear clutched her gut, but she took another steadying breath and took a good look at her friend.
“You’ve got beard burn,” Miller said, dropping the box and her bag on the kitchen table.
Tess smirked and poured two glasses of wine. “Yep. And it’s everywhere.”
“No one likes a braggart, Tess.”
“Sure they do. I have the wine.”
“You’re right,” Miller said. “I love a braggart. Pour my glass to the rim.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Book not going well?” she asked, filling the glass to the top as requested.
“The UPS man interrupted my love scene.”
“Do we need to get rid of his body? Let me know before the guys go off for the evening. I’ve found the density of a prone male body isn’t easy to lift.”
“No body,” she said vacantly as she dropped down in the seat. “But I scared the bejesus out of him.”
She’d always read about people having out-of-body experiences, but she’d never had one herself. That’s what she felt like. As if she was watching some horrible movie of her life play out while her emotions—the ones that wanted to scream and yell and cry—floated somewhere in the ether so she couldn’t connect the two parts of her body.
“Good job,” Tess said.
Miller watched Tess move around the kitchen with familiarity. Her friend couldn’t boil water, but she knew how to put snacks together like a champ. She pulled hummus and veggies from the fridge, and then she grabbed a bag of potato chips from the pantry and some dip. The rule was they had to have equal servings of healthy and junk food.
Miller couldn’t hold it in anymore and took a gasping breath. Tess looked up at her, and her focus sharpened.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” She put down the armful off food she had on the table and came to put her hands on Miller’s shoulders.
Miller crumpled and she dropped her face into her hands as the tears started to fall. She never cried, at least never for herself.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she said.
She stared at the box she wished she’d never opened.
“You’re freaking me out,” Tess said. “Please tell me what’s going on. The last time I saw you like this was after your parents died. Drink this.”
Tess pushed a glass of wine into her hand and then took the seat next to her. Miller took a small sip, but her stomach was roiling, so she pushed it aside.
“Ohmigosh, are you pregnant?” Tess asked.
“What?” Miller said, sputtering. “Are you crazy?”
“I’ve never actually seen you push wine away before. It’s the only reason I could think of that you’d do something like that.”
“I’m not pregnant. Good grief. Last time I checked, sex was a necessity for that to happen. I’m going through a dry spell.”
“It’s because you work too much. You need to take a singles cruise or something and have a sex adventure.”
“That sounds super safe. I’ll get right on that,” Miller said, raising her head to look at Tess. “Right after I finish this book that’s due in a week and figure out if the finger I got in the mail today is real.”
Tess’s mouth dropped open. It wasn’t often she caught her friend off guard, but apparently, the mention of dismemberment did the job.
“I’m sorry. Did you say someone sent you a finger in the mail?” she asked.
Miller took the box and pushed it toward her. “I was hoping you’d be able to tell me whether or not it’s real. Maybe someone is playing a horrible prank.” And using her brother to do it, she added silently.
Tess had a background in mortuary science, and she knew dead bodies better than anyone. She took the box and emptied the contents much like Miller had earlier until she found the newspaper that held the finger.
The wood floors of the old house creaked, and Miller assumed it was Tess’s husband, Deacon. A few seconds later he appeared in the kitchen, freshly showered, and he came and kissed his wife on top of the head before making his way to the coffeemaker to start a new pot.
Never in her life would she have matched Tess with someone like Deacon Tucker. He was big and brooding and mysterious, but Tess was nobody’s fool and she’d told Miller that there was more to Deacon than met the eye. He was a couple of inches over six feet and his dark hair brushed the tops of his broad shoulders. The only thing that mattered to Miller was that he looked at Tess like she was the most amazing woman on earth.
“How’s it going, Miller?” he asked.
“I’ve been better,” she said. “Someone sent me a finger in the mail. But thanks for asking.”
He paused and looked at her, considering whether she was joking or not, and then he looked at the package his wife was unwrapping.
“Pissed anyone off lately?” he asked.
“No more than usual. I thought it might be fake. Like those ones you can get at the Halloween store.”
“Definitely not fake,” Tess said, using the newspaper to touch the finger since she didn’t have gloves.
Spots danced in front of Miller’s eyes, and she dropped her head to the table. “I think it’s Justin’s,” she said.
“What?” Tess asked.
“Who’s Justin?” Deacon asked.
The kitchen door behind her opened and she froze. She didn’t have to turn around to know Elias stood there. Her body recognized him, as if they were tethered by some invisible string, and she’d know the scent of him anywhere. The soap he used was distinctive—clean—and even in her dreams it wrapped around her as if he were really there.
She caught his reflection from the corner of her eye in the wall of windows that looked out over the garden, but she didn’t turn to face him.
“Justin is my brother,” she answered Deacon.
He came over and took the seat next to his wife, looking at the finger in her hand.
“What makes you think it’s your brother’s finger?” Elias asked, coming to take the seat beside her, as if he were welcome in the conversation.
Her shoulders stiffened and she felt the heat of fury rush through her. It only intensified when he took a pair of gloves out of his pocket and put them on before reaching for the box.
“What are you doing?” she asked between gritted teeth. “You always carry gloves in your pocket?”
“Tools of the trade,” he said, not sparing her a glance.
“Right,” Miller said.
She was curious by nature. It was just part of the job territory because she never knew when a single sentence might spur the idea for an entire book. And while Tess was always open with her work and answered any questions she might have, the men who worked for her were not. But she could concede that a mortuary assistant might always keep an extra pair of gloves on him. Just in case.
He wore old jeans and a white T-shirt, and it was a stark contrast against the tan on his sinewy forearms. She knew Elias preferred to spend most of his time outdoors, and she’d overheard on a couple of occasions that he escaped to his boat whenever possible. His dark blond hair had a tendency to curl slightly at the sun-bleached tips, and she’d noticed he hadn’t bothered to shave in a couple of days.
His green gaze was direct on hers, but she didn’t look away. Even through the trauma of what was happening with her brother, shame washed through her as she thought of their last encounter. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks at how he’d rejected her so cruelly, and it made her even angrier that he’d inserted himself into her personal troubles.
“Best to keep extra prints off everything until we know something for sure,” he said, taking the finger and the newspaper it was wrapped in from Tess. “Why do you think it’s your brother’s finger?”
“Because of this,” she said, taking the ring from her thumb and holding it up so they could see.
Tess gasped. “King Solomon’s ring?” she asked.
“King Solomon,” Deacon said skeptically. “Like from the Bible?”
“The Bible, the Qur’an, the Talmud, and pretty much every other historical text you can think of,” Miller said without bitterness, reciting the life of a man she knew by heart. “He was the son of David, and considered the wisest and wealthiest king of all Israel. His temple is legendary. The riches unimaginable.”
“It’s where they kept the Ark of the Covenant,” Tess said. “Among other things.”
“You’re telling me that ring is a couple thousand years old?” Deacon asked, taking the ring from her so he could get a closer look.
“Yes, and it’s been passed down in my family from father to son since then.”
Deacon let out a long low whistle. “That’s a hell of a legacy you have from your family. Most people have trouble tracing back a few generations. You’re very fortunate.”
Miller felt the lump form in her throat. She didn’t feel fortunate. A lineage written on fragile paper didn’t bring her parents back.
Deacon turned the ring slowly under the light. The band of gold was wide and there were several small dings in the material. But it was the emerald-cut amethyst that caught the eye. It was the most beautiful shade of purple she’d ever seen—deep and rich and vibrant. And carved from beneath the stone was the seal of King Solomon, similar to the star of David, who was his father, but with only a slight change in the star’s design.
“This ring is supposed to have been in the temple?” Deacon asked.
“No,” Miller said, staring at the ring. “At least that’s not the story that was passed down through my family. What Justin and I were told was that Solomon made twelve rings, identical to the one in your hand. They represented the twelve tribes of Israel, and Solomon gave one ring to a prophet from each tribe before his death. God was angry at Solomon and told him that after his death, his kingdom would dissolve. After Solomon’s death, the united nation of Israel fell apart when they refused to swear allegiance to Solomon’s son, so they divided into twelve nations.”
“I didn’t know you were Jewish,” Elias said.
“By ancestry, yes,” she told him. “By practice, no. That’s not exactly something a teenage boy is going to teach his younger sister. If my parents ever practiced, they never spoke of it. But the Bible stories were the ones they read to us when they were home, so I’m familiar with my heritage.”
“How long since you’ve seen your brother?” Deacon asked.
“He joined the navy right out of high school,” she said, shrugging off the hurt of his abandonment. “He’d come home on occasion, but after he became a SEAL those visits became few and far between. I only see him at either Thanksgiving or Christmas, depending on his deployment. But he’s always sent letters, usually three or four a year. It’s always been our thing.”
“Your brother is a SEAL?” Deacon asked, his brow arched in surprise, and then he looked at Elias.
“He was,” Miller said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “In the last letter he sent me, he told me he’d retired from active duty. I haven’t heard from him since then.” And then she remembered the letter that had been in her stack of unopened mail. She’d left it at the house.
“I haven’t seen him since we were in high school,” Tess said. “He was always so serious. And built,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. “Those broad shoulders and dark eyes. All the girls at school had crushes on him.”
“All the girls?” Deacon asked, looking at his wife.
Tess grinned sheepishly. “I’ve always had a thing for brooding men with dark good looks.”
“It’s true,” Miller said. “She went through a Johnny Depp phase her junior year of college that bordered on unhealthy.”
“Shut up,” Tess said, shooting her a look.
Miller grinned, but it wobbled at the corners as she thought of her brother. “He was handsome. He looked so much like my dad it was almost like having him home.” She toyed with her wineglass but still couldn’t bring herself to drink it.
“His letters are always filled with the same story, different location. I lost my brother to the same obsession as I lost my parents. We both had to grieve and cope with their deaths in our own ways. I think he feels like if he keeps searching for Solomon’s treasures as they did, he’ll eventually find out what really happened to them. I’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to get as far away from the tales of King Solomon as I could.”
Except now she was writing her own story. Giving herself the same kind of closure Justin was looking for, but in her own way.
Deacon looked at the ring one last time and tried to pass it to Elias, but he shook his head. He was focused on the newspaper that had been crumpled in the box with the finger.
“The newspaper is in Spanish,” Elias said. “It’s dated four days ago.”
“You think he’s in Mexico?” Miller asked.
“Doubtful,” he said. “This is the Telegraph. It’s a South American newspaper.”
“And you’d know that how?” she asked him.
“I’m well traveled,” he said dryly. He began straightening out the crumpled newspaper and a white sheet of folded paper fell to the table.
Miller grabbed it before anyone else could and opened it up.
“What is it?” Tess asked, leaning over to see.
“Wow, that’s terrible handwriting,” Miller said, squinting at the words. “And it goes back and forth between English and Spanish.”
“Let me see,” Elias said, taking the letter right out of her hands.
Miller almost snatched it back, but he’d started to read it and she was curious. But boy, once he was finished she was going to give him a piece of her mind. He’d done nothing but wreak havoc in her life, and it was time he knew he had no right to her life and no place in her life.
“It’s signed by someone named Emilio Cordova,” he said, looking up at Deacon. “Sound familiar?”
“Not that I can recall, but it’s an easy enough search,” Deacon answered.
Elias read through the letter silently, and Miller tapped her fingers on the table impatiently.
“Cordova sounds like another treasure hunter,” he said. “Apparently, Justin stole a priceless artifact from him.”
“Because I’m sure this Emilio character got the artifact on the up-and-up,” Miller said, rolling her eyes.
“Hey, I didn’t write the letter,” Elias said. “I’m just reading it. If you’ll stop interrupting.”
“By all means,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Her anger was reaching volcanic eruption levels, and she noticed Tess kept pushing her wineglass toward her. Apparently, she had more pent-up anger at Elias than she’d thought, because she was really pissed.
He stared at her for a second out of those cool green eyes, but there was no shame or embarrassment over the way he’d treated her. There was certainly not the spark of interest that had been in his gaze only a couple of months before. He just sat there assessing her like she was a bug on a microscope slide.
He confused the hell out of her. He was brash and bold, good-natured. He had the kind of devil-may-care attitude she sometimes envied in those who never seemed to have any real responsibilities. If she had to categorize him, she’d say he’d probably been one of those boys in school who was always the center of attention. The kind of guy who was voted most popular and was probably the star jock. He had an easy smile for everyone, and that laid-back attitude that made him seem like he hadn’t a care in the world.
She wished she could get him out of her head. Get his kisses out of her head. The not knowing was driving her crazy. Their bodies would’ve fit perfectly together if he hadn’t stopped. Why had he stopped? She needed to put the whole mess behind her and move on, but it seemed that was easier said than done.
She’d had enough. The blood was pounding so hard in her ears from her anger she could barely hear, and she reached over to take the letter from him, but he began to read aloud.
My dearest Miller,
Your brother has taken something that is priceless to me. I’m sure you are familiar with the table of King Solomon. Your brother is most knowledgeable about that era. I knew your parents as well, so I can only assume that it is a family obsession that you share in.
Miller felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at his words, and she withdrew her hands to her lap, lacing her fingers together tightly.
“How could he know my parents?” she asked.
“I’d think people with interests as specific as the treasures of King Solomon would run in a pretty small circle,” Tess said. “There’s only so much treasure to go around.”
“I can’t believe he’s claiming Justin was in possession of King Solomon’s table,” Miller said. “There’s no way. It’s one of those artifacts that’s the hope of treasure hunters worldwide. Like the Holy Grail.”
“Should I assume it’s more than a regular dining room table?” Deacon asked.
“It depends on who you ask,” she said. “There are plenty of legends about what actually happened to the treasures in Solomon’s temple after it was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar. But in the fifteenth century, when Spain held so much power and they were making conquests and sending out explorations, it’s said they conquered Muslim nations and took the majority of King Solomon’s treasure from them. If you ask the Muslim nations, however, you’ll hear it was them who conquered the Spanish and kept the treasure. The table is supposedly made of solid gold, encrusted with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls.”
“Sounds gaudy,” Tess said.
“Its beauty is supposedly breathtaking. The gold tabletop like a shimmering liquid pool. Its power is as coveted as the riches laid within the gold. Those who see their reflection in the gold tabletop see their true selves. They either see an inner beauty that is enhanced by looking at the table, so the viewer becomes goodness and light, more Christlike. Or they see an inner darkness that will multiply tenfold. You can imagine what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands.”
“And they think your brother has it,” Tess said. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Elias said. “That’s not good.”
“I can’t imagine Justin hauling a table around trying to get off an island,” Miller said. “And he’s missing a finger. It doesn’t make sense. The weight alone would take more than one man could handle. What else does the letter say?” she asked Elias.
I can only assume it’s a family obsession you share in. Justin was unwilling to compromise and tell us the location of the table when we finally crossed paths. I’m sure you’ll notice we sent you a trinket or two, so you know Justin is here in my presence.
Despite our best efforts, he’s remained silent, but while searching through his belongings we came across a photograph of you and a half-written letter, along with a single leg from the table. It is truly magnificent. But the power the table wields is useless unless it is whole.
Does your brother always send you clues to treasures he’s found in his letters? I bet he does. Just like in the one he was currently writing he was sending you clues to the location of your parents’ plane crash. I’ve confirmed this hunch by telling your brother exactly what we plan to do to you if you don’t help us find the treasure. He was most displeased, and he took out his anger on two of my best men. I’ve learned to never underestimate a SEAL. I believe he regrets the fact that he inadvertently involved you in this little quest for glory and riches.
Please accept our invitation to join us. A friend will meet you at the airport in Baltra. And from there, you’ll travel by boat to see your brother. We’re not unreasonable. We understand you’ll want to guarantee his safety before you lead us to the treasure. If you choose not to be our guest, I’ll unfortunately have to keep sending you packages in the mail until you can be convinced. Bring the ring.
“Ohmigod, I hate boats,” Miller said, taking the paper from Elias and reading the last part for herself. “This can’t be happening.”
“What?” Elias asked. “You mean your brother getting himself mixed up with the wrong people and then dragging his innocent sister into the pit of hell with him?”
“Listen, you . . .” Miller said, reaching her boiling point. But Tess interrupted before she could unleash her fury.
“Deacon,” Tess said, “why don’t you and Elias give us a few minutes so no one gets hurt and none of our furniture gets broken. Last time I saw Miller this mad, she drove her VW Bug right through Carl Jansen’s fence. She took the clothesline with it. His drawers were scattered all over town for days.”
Elias opened his mouth to say something, but Deacon clapped him on the shoulder. “Take your time,” he told his wife, kissing her on top of the head. He gathered the finger, the newspapers, and the box. “Let me know when we’re safe from flying furniture.” And then they both left.
It took Miller a second for the red haze of anger to fade before she realized what he’d done. “He took Justin’s finger. And the ring. Your husband is a dirty thief.”
Tess snorted out a laugh as Miller got up to follow after them. “He’s not a dirty thief,” she assured her, pulling her back down to her seat. “You know better than that. But he does have contacts and resources that might be valuable in finding Justin.”
“If you say so,” Miller said, wondering what kind of contacts a gravedigger and mortuary assistant could possibly have. “But if a picture of that finger shows up on Deacon’s Facebook page, we’re going to have a problem.”
“I think you’re safe on that front,” Tess said. “Now drink your wine for some liquid courage so you can tell me what the hell is going on between you and Elias. And then we need to decide what you’re going to do about this mess.”