Treasure Tides Part 2

Of course, there was no immediate response.

"Sean? Sean! d.a.m.n it, this is not funny."

"Sorry Boss, just kidding."

Royce heard rustling sounds from Sean's end of the conversation. He was multi-tasking; Sean could never do just one thing at a time. He had too much energy. It wore a man out trying to keep up with him.

"I've got to take this link from the council. I'll see you soon," Sean said in a rush, disconnecting before Royce could get a straight answer about the possible "side-effects" Joanna had mentioned.

What the h.e.l.l is going on with the Council? He needed a full update on the status of all missions. He also needed this d.a.m.n crate to open, his body was becoming more solid, and the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h was getting tight. Why were the Witches involved, Royce wondered, and why did they care about the coins? He could not believe they had done this to him. He had known the majority of all practicing Witches for most of his adult life, counting them as friend, not foe. It didn't hurt that his sister was half Witch, which probably explained why they hadn't just killed him. He might as well try to get some sleep while he waited for the moon to work its magic. As he closed his eyes, trying not to dwell on how hot it was getting inside that box, he wondered what morning would bring.

Inside the house, Becki turned out the lights and headed to bed. Before putting her phone on the charger, she sent a quick text to Kurt; Stop by tomorrow? Need ur help. Nothing wrong! Night love u B. She added the part about there being 'nothing wrong', because she didn't want him to jump in his truck and drive over to her house the second he was conscious enough to read the text message.

Kurt was very much like his father, Becki's grandfather. Both men were fiercely protective of their girls and worked hard to keep them all happy. Papaw always said he could "fix anything but a broken heart". He could too, she thought smiling. The world needed more men like that.

Becki thought about the crate, imagining what might be inside. Just before sleep claimed her, she felt a s.h.i.+mmer of unease crawl down her spine and prayed she had not found Pandora's Box.

CHAPTER TWO.

Kurt knocked, well actually pounded for the third time, while continuing to press the b.u.t.ton that activated the doorbell.

"Becki, what is going on?" he yelled, "open the door!" That girl ran full-steam ahead, and when she crashed, she was hard to wake up. He dialed her cell number hoping that if he could make enough noise, it might just wake sleeping beauty. Actually it would be more like waking a sleeping beast as she tended to be extremely grouchy if her eyes were forced to open before noon. Kurt didn't have a choice today; he had to meet subcontractors at the jobsite this morning.

Pressing the doorbell b.u.t.ton with his left hand, while beating on the door with his other fist, did not seem to be electing a response. He was about two seconds from taking the door off the hinges but yelled one last warning, "Becki, if you want to keep your front door intact, I suggest you open it."

Big chocolate-brown eyes peeked out through the door still glazed with sleep. "Did you have to come this early," she grouched, opening the door to let Kurt inside, "I just got to bed a few hours ago," she complained with a glare. Becki absolutely hated being woken up before the sun s.h.i.+ned directly overhead. There was nothing on earth that had to be taken care of prior to twelve noon, at least nothing she could think of.

"You said 'stop by,'" Kurt defended with a shrug, "I'm stopping by. Now, what was this about needing my help?"

Becki rolled her eyes and said, "I'm just sure I added 'nothing is wrong'? Meaning you did not need to come straight over here first thing this morning."

"You think I don't know by now? You would say that, even if there was something wrong."

Ok, he had a point there. Without giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging the accusation, she explained, "I found a crate yesterday when Jonah and I were diving; I wanted to see if you could open it for me."

"Let me take a look at it. I don't have a lot of time this morning, but I can work on it later."

'Later' would have been just fine to begin with. Shooting him one more narrow-eyed glare, Becki turned and stomped toward the patio door located in the kitchen, pausing to turn on the coffee maker as she pa.s.sed by.

After sliding the patio door open with more force than necessary, she pointed toward the crate. Kurt moved forward, frowning as he spotted symbols etched into the top of the crate, outlining the parameter of the lid. A heat advisory had been issued for today; the temperature was already nearing ninety degrees. Kurt, however, was suddenly chilled to the bone.

"Where did you say you found this?" he asked, moving closer to the crate.

"I found it in the cove yesterday when Jonah, Natie, and I were looking for sharks' teeth. Well, Natie wasn't looking for teeth, you know she won't step foot in the water. She lounged on deck and caught some rays."

Kurt tested the weight of the crate. d.a.m.n, it was heavy. He wanted to load it in his truck and remove it from Becki's house as quickly as possible. Truthfully, he wanted to get it far, far away from Becki as quickly as possible.

"It seemed a lot lighter when I pulled it out of the water yesterday," she remarked with a perplexed expression on her face. She shrugged and continued, "I don't know, it must have been that buoyancy thing. Either that, or you and Landon are getting weak with age," she added, still not over the fact that she had been awoken far too early.

"Landon?" Kurt prompted, running his fingers over the symbols etched into the crate's lid. The symbols were very intricate, the lines clean, indications that a powerful force had crafted this container.

"Yes, Landon!" Becki confirmed, rolling her eyes. "He helped me move it home from the boat last night. It wouldn't fit in my car," Becki explained.

As Kurt scanned the markings on the lid, hoping to find something he could interpret, Becki suddenly moved in for a closer look.

"I don't remember seeing those yesterday," she said with a frown, "but then again, it is hard to think straight with Natie and Jonah around." Abruptly turning to make her way back inside, she called, "I need caffeine; do you want a cup of coffee?"

"Huh?" Kurt responded, still concentrating on the crate. "Coffee, do you want coffee?"

"No thanks. I'm trying to quit," he answered quickly.

Becki liked her coffee strong and sweet. Her favorite recipe consisted of one part coffee, strong enough to stand a spoon in, added to an equal part of cinnamon creamer. As if that were not enough to eat the lining of a person's stomach, she topped it off with whipped cream, from a can.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on?" he muttered, as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Kurt's stomach was already churning, and the last thing he needed was a cup of her coffee. He had seen designs like this only once before during a top-secret mission in the Middle East. As he punched in Landon's number, he wondered how the crate had ended up here, of all places. Good Witch? Bad Witch? It was hard to tell, but most definitely the work of a Witch.

The call went straight to Landon's voice mail. "Landon, we've got trouble. It's about that d.a.m.n box you brought to Becki's last night. Didn't you sense anything? Find me as soon as you get this message. We may need to call in some markers."

Pressing the 'end call' b.u.t.ton, he mentally rearranged his day. He would call Roger to meet him at the job site, hand off the punch list, then find Landon. They had to move this crate as soon as possible if they were to protect Becki from whatever might be inside.

"Can you get it opened?" Becki startled him as she spoke.

"Not now. I don't have the right tools with me," Kurt lied without hesitation. "I'll get things started at the jobsite and then come back to pick it up. I have something at home I think might work to pry the lid off."

"Ok, sounds good. I'm going to drink my coffee and work up the courage to face the day," she said with a grimace.

"Go back to bed," he urged forcing a grin. "You know you want to. I'll walk around through the gate and grab it a little later."

"Ok, but don't go through it without me," Becki stipulated.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving you out of it," Kurt promised as he opened the patio door, motioning for her to precede him into the house.

There was no way in h.e.l.l Becki would be allowed anywhere near that crate once it had been opened. Kurt would simply tell her the crate had been empty and it had fallen apart from being sea-logged. The dumpster was being emptied tomorrow so he had disposed of it at the job site. He only hoped it would be that simple.

As Royce listened to their conversation, he surmised that Becki's visitor knew more than the average civilian. As their voices drifted away, he pushed against the top of the crate once more hoping to force it open. Sean said the moon would trigger an unlock sequence, since it was now daylight, he a.s.sumed the crate should be opening soon. He only hoped it was soon enough.

"Sean! We have a problem," Royce whispered urgently.

"I'm on it boss," came the immediate reply.

Kurt wracked his brain, as he drove toward Charleston trying to remember what the symbols on the crate stood for. Most of them he could not decipher, but one appeared to resemble the moon. He had tried to pick the crate up, hoping to take it with him, but there was no possible way of moving it himself. Regardless of what Becki said, that d.a.m.n thing was heavy.

Pulling his cell out to dial again, he waited for Landon to answer. Voice mail, again! Where the h.e.l.l was Landon, and why was his phone going to voice mail?

"Call me as soon as you get this message," Kurt barked into the phone, after dialing for the third time. "Did you notice markings on the lid of that d.a.m.n crate? We are in real trouble here."

Kurt slammed on the brakes as traffic stopped in front of him. "Great," he muttered seeing traffic backed up half-way across the bridge.

Thirty minutes later he had not moved a single inch. Giving up the thought of moving off the bridge anytime soon, Kurt tried to call Landon again. This time, his call didn't even go to voice mail. What the h.e.l.l? He checked the display on his cell phone, no signal? What else could possibly go wrong? And then, with a certainty rooted deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew; Witches.

"Holy Mother of--," he said leaping out of the truck not bothering to lock the doors. Feeling panic race through his body with every beat of his heart, he ran.

"It's about d.a.m.n time," Royce muttered as the final strands of the spell floated away, taking with it the crate that had been his jail for the last two years.

The moon had worked magic during the night, as antic.i.p.ated. Surprisingly the moon had triggered not only an unlocking sequence but had also included a self-destruct finale. It was a pretty clever way to tidy up, Royce acknowledged. By ending with a "self-destruct", the spell had effectively eliminated any and all evidence of Witchy-meddling.

His body soon adjusted to the climate and pressure of the atmosphere, transforming him into a solid ma.s.s of lean muscle and strength. He stretched working out the kinks. G.o.d that felt good. Side effects my a.s.s, Royce thought. He made a mental note to get even with Sean. After spending two years in the same clothes, the first order of business was a long hot shower.

Royce entered the house, sliding the patio door silently open. Didn't the girl know to keep her doors locked? He moved quietly in the direction of the bathroom, stopping abruptly as he spotted a mound of blankets piled on the couch. The mound began to move; one incredibly long leg, toes pointed, poked out for a brief moment, and then ducked back beneath the covers.

Was something written on her foot? The blankets s.h.i.+fted again, he held his breath as a wild ma.s.s of tangled black hair and the face of an angel emerged. Her eyes were still firmly closed, and he found himself wondering what color they might be. A sprinkle of freckles covered her nose. He loved freckles and wondered where else they might be hidden. Royce resisted the urge to unwrap whatever present might be buried in that pile of blankets.

A cell phone, lying on the coffee table, began to ring. A hand suddenly appeared from beneath the blankets to silence the ring and disappeared again just as quickly.

The ringing cell phone snapped him back to reality. What was wrong with him? He'd clearly been without a woman too long.

Royce stepped out of the shower and reached over to snag the small white towel hanging beside the shower door. Unfortunately, there had been two clean towels in the cabinet; neither was made for a man of his size. Wrapping the miniscule towel around his waist, he moved toward the sink, looking forward to the extra toothbrush and disposable razor he had located in the medicine cabinet. Talk about a five o'clock shadow. As he filled his palm with heavy, floral scented shaving cream, he fervently hoped the scent would not linger.

Sean should arrive within the next couple of hours. There were a lot of blanks waiting to be filled in. What had he missed? What had been happening at home over the last two years?

Home was a fortress located in the mountains of North Carolina. The sprawling compound provided each member of ART their own private residence. Meals were often eaten together in the main lodge when a.s.signments permitted. Sunday was "family day". A special lunch was followed by an afternoon of outdoor fun and games--, a day to rest, regroup, and spend time with family and friends. Elsa, their on-site chef, was nothing short of an artisan in the kitchen. She refused to worry about fat and calories for "Sunday Meal" but no one complained. It was so worth the extra work-out Monday morning.

State-of-the-art security systems kept their compound hidden from prying eyes and would-be trespa.s.sers.

Home held painful memories for Royce now. Time has a way of healing, and good memories were starting to overshadow bad ones. Time had done nothing, however, to help ease his loneliness, emptiness, or guilt. After this mission, he might go home for a break, maybe.

Royce threw away the toothbrush and razor then cleaned up any remaining evidence of his visit. Luckily, he still retained possession of his wallet, and it contained plenty of cash. He pulled out two fifty-dollar bills and tucked them under the toothbrush holder. Royce secured his towel a little tighter and cautiously opened the bathroom door. Surely a girl who looked like that had an occasional overnight guest. Hopefully one who had left behind a change of clothes?

Becki yawned and stretched her tired limbs not bothering to open her eyes. Since she had been so rudely awakened too early by Kurt this morning, she planned to spend most of the day lazing on her couch and catching up on sleep. Unfortunately, her sleep had been filled with dreams--, some good, some not-so-good. The dream she was having right now, however, was downright mouthwatering.

Adonis stood in her living room, wearing nothing but a small white towel. "Please don't wake up, please don't wake up," she mumbled, wis.h.i.+ng she could touch him.

"Ummm," she mumbled appreciatively. G.o.d, his abs were no measly six-pack; they were a full twelve. And he smelled like... her favorite shaving gel?

Wrinkling her nose, she brushed the tangled ma.s.s of hair out of her face, and sat up.

Brown, Royce thought as her eyes suddenly opened wide. Before he could even attempt to explain, she launched herself toward him; a bundle of fury tangled in blankets, limbs flying. Before he could manage to wrap his arms around her, she succeeded in connecting a hard right hook to his chin.

His head snapped back, a move more aimed at self-preservation than in actual response to her punch. He tightened his arms, the blankets effectively trapping her in a soft coc.o.o.n.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you," Royce soothed.

"I'm sure that is what all murdering psychopaths say right before they torture and murder their victims! Let go of me!" Becki demanded, as she struggled to break free. Royce tightened his hold slightly not wanting to risk injury to her or himself.

d.a.m.n her knuckles hurt. She had already succeeded in landing one good punch. If she could get away from him and make it as far as the front porch, her nosey neighbor would call the police. Barring that possibility, she would run to her bedroom and introduce him to the Glock Uncle Kurt had given her last year.

Seriously? This pervert had come into her house wearing only a towel? It was a small towel, at that! If he thought she was going to be easy prey, he had another think coming. She was tempted to show him just how accurate she could be with that Glock, and the more he p.i.s.sed her off, the more likely it was to become reality.

"a.s.shole," she said, stepping down hard on his foot, "let me go, dammit." Jerking her body right and then left, she yelled, "You dumb pervert. Get. The. h.e.l.l. Out of my house!" She annunciated each word, as if he were slow to understand in addition to being hard-of-hearing.

Royce grunted, d.a.m.n it, that hurt. Now he was getting p.i.s.sed. She needed to be taught a lesson in how to deal with "criminals". This approach would likely get her killed if he were indeed a criminal. She probably planned to free herself and then pull a gun on him. What she didn't know, was that he could disarm her before the weapon even cleared its hiding spot. He felt her body s.h.i.+ft and knew she was preparing for a head-b.u.t.t.

"You freaking idiot! I said--"

"Enough!" Royce interrupted as he tightened and then slightly loosened his hold; squeezing her in an effort to get her attention. "I just said I'm not going to hurt you," he reminded the squirming woman, his tone much less soothing than it had been earlier. He might smell like a girl, but he would be d.a.m.ned if he would let himself be beaten-up by one.

"Go to h.e.l.l! You crazy son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h, I said let me gooo!" she demanded, raising her knee to take him down, just like Landon had taught her.

Royce s.h.i.+fted, blocking her move. So that's how it was going to be. Ok, if she wanted to play dirty, he could play dirty; no one threatened the family jewels. Bad temper suddenly overrode normally good judgment, causing him to softly goad, "Or what?"

Becki careened her head to look at him. Did he really just say, what she thought he said? That stupid son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h was just about to be schooled.

Royce saw Armageddon in her eyes.

Becki drew a deep breath preparing for an all-out, blood-curdling scream, sure to bring Mr. McGregor running. Her neighbor might be nosey, but he loved Becki. He especially loved the chocolate chip cookies she dropped over to him from time to time, and he always kept a .45 caliber pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants. Perhaps the fact that he was the retired Chief of Police had something to do with it.

Royce knew he had crossed the line. His head was beginning to pound again, thanks to her right hook. His foot was bruised, he had barely spoiled her attempt to crush his manhood, and he was not in the mood to have his ear drums a.s.saulted, so he stopped her the only way he possibly could.

As he covered her mouth with his, she stopped screaming, clamped her mouth shut and stood deathly still. Who would have imagined? He slid one hand to the nape of her neck, tilting her head, deciding to enjoy this unexpected turn of events. His lips tugged and pulled, his tongue gently traced the seam of her lips, begging for entry. She gasped, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes, her body still firmly trapped against him. For a moment, a heartbeat, neither moved; and then suddenly she was kissing him. Groaning, Royce s.h.i.+fted to bring her body more fully in contact with his.

Becki pressed closer, practically trying to crawl inside his skin. As his hands roamed the small of her back and below, she arched into him wis.h.i.+ng her hands were not trapped in the mess of blankets still entangling her body.

"What am I doing?" she moaned, dropping her head to rest on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

Royce loosened his arms slightly, unwilling to let her get too far away. Not only did he enjoy holding her close, but his towel had slipped, and that cold shower was now a distant memory.

"Who are you?" Becki finally managed to ask as she looked into the deepest emerald green eyes she had ever seen. Suddenly becoming aware that she was still wrapped in his muscular arms, Becki tried to take a step back. Royce responded immediately by tightening his grip on her.

She tried to step away once more only to be wrapped even more closely in his strong arms.

"Ok, hot-shot, you're starting to tick me off," she said managing to free her hands. Becki pushed against his chest with both hands, "It's time for you to let me go".

"I can't do that," he replied.

"Now," she reiterated, pus.h.i.+ng against him as she tried to wiggle out of his arms.

"Uh, my towel slipped so unless you want--"