Treasure Tides Part 3

"What towel-- Oh my G.o.d," Becki said, wrenching herself out of his arms and throwing the blankets at him all in the same fluid motion. "Stay right there, I'll get you some clothes."

As she hurried away, his gaze lingered on the strip of skin left bare by a tank top that ended just below her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and short-shorts that would be illegal in most countries. As he watched, she stopped, wrinkled her brow, and scratched her head as if puzzled. Suddenly she spun around and stalked back across the room, not stopping until she was directly in front of him.

Tilting her head to one side and squinting up at him, she got directly to the point. "What did you say you were doing in my house again, naked?" she asked.

Becki wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of her favorite shaving cream. She leaned closer to him, and sniffed. "Did you use my twenty five dollar can of shaving gel?" she said incredulously, poking him hard with a finger in the center of his chest.

Royce raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, "If you will get me something to wear, I'll explain," he negotiated.

She looked at him as if he had three heads, folded her arms, and began taping her foot; clearly indicating that she was not going anywhere.

"I'm a friend of Ryker's--" he began.

"Ryker? My landlord Ryker?"

"Yes," he confirmed, "we've been friends for years. I'm going to be in town for a couple of weeks and I usually stay here when I'm in the area."

His stomach clinched as he lied to her, but there was no other explanation he could offer, at least not an explanation that was reasonable.

"Well you are not staying here this time. It's occupied," she said with a glare.

"So noted; I'm sorry I frightened you," he apologized, then offered a bribe, "I'll buy you a new can of shaving cream if you find some clothes for me."

She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. However, she had stopped tapping her foot which Royce decided to view as progress.

"Two cans," he quickly upped the ante. "Two cans of shaving cream for a s.h.i.+rt and pair of shorts," he bargained flas.h.i.+ng his dimples.

"Deal," she agreed, before turning to rush from the room. She had better find those clothes...quickly. When he flashed that smile, her first impulse had been to tackle him to the floor and have her wicked way with him.

He fleetingly wished he could spend some time with her, get to know her a little better (maybe even a lot better). You might as well stop right there buddy. Royce shook his head at the foolishness of wis.h.i.+ng. Time was one thing he did not have. The mission was already two years behind schedule, so there was literally no more time to spare. He had a job to do, a team to lead, and a coin to find. He also needed to figure out the Witches' agenda; they always had an agenda. He didn't know what they were up to, or why they were meddling in the recovery operation, but he was d.a.m.n sure going to find out. Glancing at his watch, he wondered what the h.e.l.l could be keeping Sean.

Becki moved quickly from her bedroom, through the living room, continuing out the patio door onto her deck. She paused momentarily to fling shorts and a T s.h.i.+rt in Royce's general direction as she pa.s.sed through the living room.

Royce heard Becki re-enter the living room and looked up to see clothes sail through the air toward him.

"Thank you," he called to the rapidly retreating figure. "Chicken," he murmured, chuckling to himself. It really was a shame he had to move on so quickly.

Outside, Becki paced from one end of her deck to the other and back again. Biting the nail on her index finger, she relived the last few minutes. Did she just make out with a perfect stranger? Perfect was right. Oh my.

"s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t," she muttered rubbing her forehead. Was it too much to ask for the ground to open up and swallow her right now.

"Coffee?" Adonis asked, handing her a steaming cup with all the essentials.

Looking at the perfectly tipped swirl of whipped cream floating on the top, she asked, "How did you..."

"The creamer and whipped cream were sitting next to each other in the fridge. I just heated the coffee that was cooling in the pot," he said as he moved to sit in one of the chairs surrounding the patio table.

Becki sipped her coffee, and wondered if she had hit the "man lottery". He looked like a model sitting at the table, actually drinking her coffee. Uncle Kurt's "Divers Do It Better" T-s.h.i.+rt had certainly never looked so fine.

She abruptly sat her coffee down on the table. "I'll go put your clothes in the was.h.i.+ng machine," she mumbled.

Before she could make her escape, Royce snagged her wrist. "I already did. Now, why don't you sit down and relax with me for a few minutes."

He softly caressed her wrist, running his thumb over the pulse-point. Standing, Royce pulled out the chair for Becki, right next to his.

Dropping into the chair next to him, she hoped he had set the was.h.i.+ng machine on speed cycle. This man positively oozed trouble. Then again, she thought with a smile tugging at her lips, a little trouble never hurt anyone.

"You are beautiful when you do that," Royce murmured, staring intently at her lips.

Unsure how to respond to that, Becki blurted, "Do you have a name?" Her face immediately flamed in embarra.s.sment.

"I do," he said with a smile. "Royce St. John," he introduced himself, extending his hand toward her in greeting. Lifting one s.e.xy eyebrow he prompted, "And you are?"

"Becki Stephens," she responded, placing her hand in his.

"Nice to meet you, Becki Stephens," Royce said as he gently closed his fingers around hers.

"Nice to meet you, Royce St. John," Becki said softly finding it difficult to breathe.

A slight lean forward would put him close enough to steal another kiss. His brain argued it was a really bad idea. However, his body did not seem to be in agreement. He tugged gently, pulling her toward him, lowering his head ever-so-slowly. His eyes remained firmly focused on hers.

"Uh, where are you from, and what do you do?" Becki asked in a rush, pulling away at the last moment to wrap both hands firmly around her coffee mug.

Royce picked up his own coffee before answering, "I own a home security business near Asheville."

His stomach clinched again, protesting the lie he was forced to tell. He sat his coffee back down on the table without having taken a drink.

"Home Security" served as a cover for his team, which currently consisted of seven members, each possessing their own unique set of skills. ART (Artifact Recovery Team) had been formed by the Secret Council centuries ago, specifically to recover "artifacts" that had either been stolen, or simply gone missing. The majority of these items could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.

The Secret Council was just that-- a secret council-- keeping even bigger secrets. They were also the keepers of potentially harmful "artifacts". However, with the amount of corruption and ongoing power struggles among the immortal communities, these "artifacts" were proving difficult to keep under wraps.

Royce's team had been charged with recovering a collection of coins. The collection had been spelled by Merlin centuries ago. Each coin had been created for a specific purpose. If used improperly or by the wrong people, the world as we know it could altered. The coins had fallen into circulation upon the gruesome demise of the original thief, a rogue warlock who had originally been a trusted advisor to Merlin.

"Home security," Becki repeated, the proverbial light-bulb turning on. "That's how you know Ryker. I knew he was in some sort of security business."

"Yes, Ryker and I have known each other most of our lives," Royce confirmed. "Like I said, I didn't realize the house was occupied. I'm sorry I barged in on you."

"I fell in love with this place the first time I drove by it. My Uncle Kurt knew Ryker's dad, so he hooked me up. Ryker said he only used this place as a beach-vacation house, and that since he was going to be gone for a while, it would help him out if I just stayed here."

"I'll bet he did," Royce responded drearily.

Becki laughed, understanding what he failed to put into words. Ryker was quite a ladies' man. s.e.xy as h.e.l.l, and he knew it.

"Becki!" Kurt yelled as he ran around the corner of her house.

She jumped out of her chair and rushed toward him. His face was red, he was breathing hard, and he was ringing wet. He looked ready to collapse. Oh my G.o.d, was he having a heart attack?

"Royce!" Becki screamed. "Call 911. Something is wrong!"

Seeing that she was about to panic, Kurt shook his head and held one finger in the air signaling her to give him a minute. He was bent over at the waist resting his hands on his thighs, while attempting to draw gulps of precious air into his oxygen starved lungs. Ok, so he wasn't in as great of shape as he had thought he was. That five mile sprint had been a b.i.t.c.h. Kurt had run three miles before flagging down a pa.s.sing motorist. The sweet elderly woman had just dropped him off about two miles north of Becki's house.

Glancing toward the deck in search of the crate, he noticed that Becki was not alone. Kurt stared intently at the man now standing with a comforting arm around his niece. He moved quickly toward the couple.

Becki, sensing that something was still not right, walked toward Kurt. "Are you--"

Before Becki could finish, Kurt grabbed her and shoved her roughly behind him. s.h.i.+elding her with his body, he addressed the stranger, "Who are you?" Kurt's mind raced. Was he one of them?

Royce stood rigidly a.s.sessing this intruder who dared to touch Becki in such a familiar way. Royce tried to determine whether the intruder was friend or foe, as rage poured through his system. He clinched his fists and fought the urge to knock the other man's teeth out.

Becki squeezed between them shouting, "What in the world is wrong with you Kurt? This is my friend Royce."

Kurt frowned. He had not heard of a friend Royce, and that T-s.h.i.+rt looked familiar. Didn't he have one just like it?

"He knows Ryker!" Becki explained quickly, as if that would make Kurt feel better. "He didn't know the beach house was occupied, so he-uh, stopped by this morning to check on things."

Kurt relaxed his stance somewhat, and took a couple steps back.

"Royce," Becki continued, "This is my uncle, Kurt Rodgers."

Royce stepped around Becki and offered a hand-shake, "Royce St. John, pleased to meet you, Sir."

Accepting the hand offered in greeting, Kurt responded in kind, "Nice to meet you as well."

Royce immediately recognized the tattoo on Kurt's forearm; it was identical to the one Ryker's dad carried. Each person in Ryker's old unit wore the same tat, commemorating a team member who had been lost. Hidden in the intricate design was a crest known only to those who worked with the Secret Council. He wore an identical crest, hidden in the sh.e.l.l of a sea turtle inked on his chest, just above his heart.

Picking up his cup of cold coffee, Royce asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee, sir?"

"No-, uh, no thanks, I came to pick something up," Kurt said, looking around. "Has Landon been here already? I called him on my way over."

Royce became suddenly interested in coffee grounds at the bottom of his cup. And then as luck would have it, his watch began to flash. Oh s.h.i.+t! Sean's timing was spot-on as usual.

Royce quickly covered the flas.h.i.+ng time-piece. While Becki had not noticed anything out of the ordinary, Kurt's sharp eyes did not miss a thing. Becki watched both men curiously.

"Hey Kurt, what happened to your truck?" Landon asked, as he strolled out to join the party from inside the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.

"Landon, you have to stop picking my locks!" Becki complained.

"What? I knocked on my way in," Landon said, adopting an air of innocence.

The fact of the matter was he had caught the scent of a stranger. When Becki did not immediately answer his knock on the door, he took matters into his own hands. He followed the trail into the kitchen and then picked up Kurt's scent as well. Since he knew things were under control, he stopped to pour himself a cup of coffee before joining the crew outside. Landon frowned as he recognized the s.h.i.+rt Royce was wearing as one that belonged to Kurt. But who was he to make judgments?

Kurt shook his head grumbling, "Never mind about my truck. It's a long story."

Landon shrugged, and then sat his cup on the patio table, "Let's get Becki's crate loaded and see if we can get it opened up." Landon frowned as he looked around, "Did you move it already?"

"No, I haven't moved it; that son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h was heavy. I figured you had already been here and moved it."

"Nope," Landon said, raising his face slightly to draw in a deep breath through his nose. The only scents he picked up were those of Becki, Kurt, and her visitor.

Royce caught Landon's slight movement, the lifting of his face, the "sniff". Evidently he wasn't the only one keeping secrets. As Royce's eyes lingered on Landon, he raised his eyebrows slightly in silent question.

Becki spun around, visually scanning the deck. How had she missed the fact that her crate was gone? "I can't believe someone would have the nerve to walk right up on my deck and steal it," she complained.

"I have a hard time believing that myself," Kurt said, staring hard at Royce. "That sure is strange," he mused. "Doesn't that strike you as strange, Landon?" Kurt pressed, never once taking his eyes off Royce.

Landon, who picked up on Kurt's coded message right away, moved to stand directly behind Kurt.

"How would you explain something like that?" Kurt directed his question to Royce as both men began to steadily advance toward him.

Royce stood and waited; he didn't want to have to fight these two. Although there was no doubt he could kick their collective a.s.ses. He had a trick or two up his sleeve and could cause enough damage to Landon to at least slow him down. He really didn't want to hurt either of them. Becki would most likely be very unhappy with him if he did.

"For Heaven's sake, back off you two," Becki said as she stepped in front of Royce.

Royce's hands immediately went to Becki's waist to push her gently aside. If Landon was not skilled enough to resist his Wolf's desire to s.h.i.+ft, he did not want Becki to be hurt.

Standing behind Royce now, eyes blazing, she struggled to get back in front of him. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" she asked Royce through jaws locked shut in frustration.

Finally deciding she was not going to get around him, she shouted, "You all are starting to p.i.s.s me off. You act like I'm sixteen instead of twenty-two. It's Halloween, you idiots; the kids have been pulling pranks all week. I'm sure the stupid box will turn up. What exactly are you accusing him of anyway? And, Royce will you stop pus.h.i.+ng me around!"

"Becki," Royce intervened smoothly, "could I ask you to go put my clothes in the dryer?"

Had he lost his mind? Becki sputtered, "You want me to go put your clothes in the dryer, now? In case you haven't noticed, Landon and my Uncle are--"

"That is a great idea, Becki," Kurt agreed, interrupting her. "Go put his clothes in the dryer, please."

"But--"

"Now," both men said in unison.

"This is bull s.h.i.+t," Becki said as she stomped across the deck and flung the patio door open wide. Spinning around to pin the three men with a lethal stare she complained, "This is total bulls.h.i.+t, and you know it!" She stepped into the kitchen and then slammed the door behind her, the gla.s.s literally rattled in its frame.

If Kurt had to fix her door after this, it would serve him right. Who the h.e.l.l did they think they were, ordering her off her own deck? She flung Royce's wet things in the dryer and then ran a sink full of dish water. She hated was.h.i.+ng dishes by hand, but she was p.i.s.sed right now, and could not sit still.

"How do you know Ryker?" Kurt asked as soon as the patio door slammed shut.

Royce may have him by a good eight inches and probably twenty years, but he had been trained to fight for his life. He also knew Landon's secret. There would be no contest between Landon and the mortal. Unfortunately, that would bring a lot of questions to the surface, questions he would like to avoid.

"I work with him," Royce answered. "Well, to be more accurate, he works for me at ART Security."

Recognition-- and something else-- flared in Kurt's eyes. ART. Royce was part of the Secret Council's team? Why would the Council have someone working in the Charleston area? Kurt's contacts still kept him apprised of any local situations. He had not heard of any activity in the area for a couple of years. Since special Ops guys didn't stay in one place too long, Kurt knew Becki would be in no danger. The two men backed up, and Royce relaxed his stance.

"How long will you be in town?" Kurt asked.

Royce reached for his coffee mug, and emptied the now-cold liquid into a potted banana tree before answering. "As soon as I get things wrapped up here, I'll be heading back to Asheville." Glancing toward the kitchen door Becki had just slammed, he continued, "The sooner the better."

Kurt had served with Ryker's dad in Bahrain several years ago, and had every intention of calling Ryker Senior the minute he left Becki's. Something didn't feel right. If "The Council" was involved, it could only mean one thing: danger was near. He knew that Royce would not hurt Becki, but whomever or whatever he was tracking could, and Kurt didn't want Becki anywhere around it.

Kurt nodded and moved toward the back door, "Landon, I need to get back to work." With a quick nod to Royce, Kurt added, "I trust your business here will be concluded quickly. Keep her out of it."