I glanced up to find Liam looking at me, a soft look on his face. I blushed a little. Maybe I was laying it on a little thick, but I wanted the future generation of explorers to understand more than what we did. They needed to know why we did it.

  I cleared my throat. “Anyone else?”

  “What about your father?” A girl in the front eyed me critically. “He died five years ago in a diving accident, trying to recover treasure from the Spanish fleet of ships that disappeared in 1775.”

  Completely blindsided, I stared at the student while I tried to marshal my thoughts. “I’m aware of when and how my father died,” I finally said. “What exactly is your question?”

  “Don’t you feel any obligation to finish his work? It was important enough that he died for it.” She shrugged. “Aren’t you ever planning to get a team together and go down there to finish what he started?”

  “No, I am not,” I said crisply.

  “Is there any particular reason?”

  Other than the fact that I resented the research that had taken my father from me long before he actually died? Yes. I had a whole shitload of reasons…just back up the dump truck and tell me where you want the steaming pile of guano. But I wasn’t about to flay myself open for a roomful of strangers.

  “The research of my father is exactly that. And if any of you would like to talk to Remington Sawyer, my grandfather is still very active in the archaeology community and does give lectures,” I said, my tone friendly but brisk. “You are more than welcome to attend. Any other questions?”

  After the tone I’d taken with the last question, I wasn’t surprised to see a dearth of upraised hands.

  “Let’s give Dr. Sawyer a hand,” Liam said loudly as he walked down the center aisle, adding his hearty clapping to the smattering of applause. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come out here to speak with us.”

  The sounds of people chattering and gathering their stuff were welcome after the quiet of my lecture. As they started filing out of the room, I packed up my laptop.

  Liam rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets. “If you ever want to do this full-time, you know they’d love to have you,” he ventured.

  “The administration, maybe. I’m pretty sure the students would prefer Remington Sawyer,” I said dryly.

  He winced. “Yeah. Well. You knew there would be some questions, Kit. He’s practically a living legend.”

  “Yeah. Got it.” I zipped up my leather case so violently, it careened off the track. I slowed down and retraced my path carefully. This was my favorite damn briefcase.

  “It certainly doesn’t help that you were replacing Ethan Stone.” Liam bugged out his eyes. Because I’m a good friend, I refrained from telling him that it made him look like a tarsier. “He went free diving in one of the deepest underwater caves in the world. He was confronted by a shark and lived to tell the tale.”

  “I said I got it, Liam. I’m boring and I didn’t punch a shark in the nose.”

  “Sharks are beautiful creatures,” he said with wounded dignity. “You don’t punch them in the nose.”

  “I do if they think I’m a seal burrito.” Talking about food was akin to releasing the Kraken from my stomach. On cue, it clenched and growled. “We should have lunch. Better yet, since I did you a favor, you should buy me lunch.”

  “Aren’t you rich?” He shook his head. “As a general rule of thumb, I don’t buy meals for people with trust funds.”

  I hid a smile. “As a general rule of thumb, I don’t buy meals for people who use a baby tub as a cereal bowl.”

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?” He demanded, outrage all over his cute little face.

  “It means I’ve seen you eat, Liam. I don’t know where you put it, but damn.”

  He hit my shoulder. “Just for that, I’m getting dessert, too.”

  I slung an arm over his shoulders, which was easy to do. He barely came up to my chin. At six foot two, that happened to me a lot. “Come on,” I said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

  2

  After lunch I headed to work, eager to get back to the relic. I normally worked at the Sawyer Archaeological Foundation, but I was using a temporary office at the museum for my latest project. Thea, the curator for the Mesoamerica collection, had sheepishly admitted that she didn’t want to let the Aztec piece out of the building. Amused, I gravely agreed to her terms.

  The relic was a piece of earthenware adorned with the image of the god Tlaloc, with a row of Aztec symbols etched on the back. The museum had acquired it from a deceased billionaire. I was grateful, but that kind of shit drove me nuts. Artifacts were part of our history. Our. Everyone had a right to see it. Not have it sit on a pedestal in someone’s private collection for thirty years.

  The billionaire’s daughter seemed to agree. After the piece was authenticated as originating from the early 14th century, she’d gifted it to the museum. It had been in remarkably good shape, but the unthinkable had happened during shipping.

  The carrier had broken the piece.

  Before Thea could lose her shit, she realized it had been the happiest accident in the world. The pieces had fallen away to reveal a crown disguised as part of the statue, etched with drawn symbols on the inside.

  And that’s where I came in. Despite experts clamoring to decode the symbols, I got the project. I was an expert in codices. I had a working knowledge of Nahuatl. And I was a Sawyer. Case closed.

  Truthfully, I was hard-pressed not to skip down the halls as I headed for my office. Passing the Sawyer Collection helped me keep my decorum—yes, there was an entire collection dedicated to my family. The headliner was an ancient scroll my mother had discovered that belonged to a Greek philosopher.

  As always, my happiness was tempered by sadness as I passed their picture on the wall, mounted in a gilded frame. The frames were fancy but the pictures of my parents were not. In my favorite one, they were standing in front of Amazonian rock art in dirty gear and battered boots, Panama hats on their heads and smiles on their faces. The plaque beneath read, It’s not goodbye. Just another adventure.

  I’d been eleven years old when they went on that expedition. Before they left, I’d presented my father with a guide I’d created about the indigenous flora and fauna of the Amazon.

  “For your trip,” I said anxiously as I held up the hand-written book. He stopped packing and leafed through the hand-drawn pages, a little smile on his face. “And could you take a picture of each one you find?”

  He chucked softly as he ruffled my hair. “You’ll do, Kit Kat. You’ll do.”

  He’d taken my little guide and kept his promise. He found thirty-eight pictures of the forty-four I requested and a few I hadn’t.

  I’d never felt like the son they’d wanted. I still didn’t. But even when there had been resentment, there had been love.

  Still lost in memories that ached and warmed me in equal measure, I headed to my office. I keyed in the code, flipped on the light, and headed for the safe. Another code and a thumbprint scan later, I had the crown in my hands. It didn’t have any gems or jewels, but it was still a gorgeous piece, a triumph of Aztec craftsmanship inset with little pieces of turquoise. I felt a little rush, just touching such an item. I may not be a traditional Sawyer, but everything about history got me excited.

  Maybe that was close enough.

  Thinking about the past got me to thinking about Remi, and wondering what he’d think of this latest piece. I called him, not for the first time that week, and got his voicemail. Again.

  I strove for easy breezy as I left him a quick message to call me back.

  Hi, this is Kit. Well, of course you know it’s Kit. Your grandson. Curse. Of course you know it’s your grandson. You only have one, right? Uncomfortable laughter. Call me back when you get a chance. It’s not important though. Pause. You know what? It is important and I’d prefer you call me back as soon as you get this message.

  See? Easy breezy. If easy breezy meant I left messages like someone who’d just woken up from a coma.

  I drummed my fingers on the table. I was a tad worried. Of course, it didn’t take much. I was a worrier by nature. Two coughs and I was googling the symptoms of tuberculosis.

  Frankly, it was like Remi to disappear without notice and pop back up just as suddenly. If he got a lead on something anywhere in the world, he barely remembered to eat, shower, or shave. That was probably where I got it from. When I was mid-project, everything else disappeared.

  I resolved myself to call him again in a few days. I got to work, a cup of coffee at one elbow and a lighted magnifying glass and Nahuatl language reference guide at the other.

  Bliss.

  Under the eye of Tozi.

  I propped my chin in my hand, looking at the translation for the symbols on the broken earthenware. It had been slow going but rewarding to finally figure it out. Tozi had been an Aztec queen, well-loved by her people, and an expert in astronomy. I wasn’t sure what she had to do with the relic, but I planned to find out…later. For now, I had more translating to do.

  I was careful and exacting as I worked, cross-referencing with different guides and slowly puzzling the code out. Aztecs used a combination of pictography, ideograms, and phonetic symbols in their language that almost reminded me of American Sign Language. In ASL, sometimes a single gesture was used for a word, but if that gesture didn’t exist, the word could still be spelled out with letters. The same rule applied. Some of the symbols represented letters while others represented an entire word.

  An hour later, I leaned back in my chair, looking at my rough translation of the inside of the crown. “My crown and my spear shall contain the power of Tlaloc,” I read slowly. “May it.”

  The rest of the writing was lost from the weathering of time, and I pondered the possible endings of that sentence for a bit. May it what? Maybe it was a blessing of some sort.

  I was glad to have the crown, and even happier to have decoded the inscription, but it was such a shame about the statue. I sighed as I picked up one of the broken pieces of pottery. Hopefully, someone would be able to put it back together. Maybe they could use the inside etchings to help line it up perfectly. I still wasn’t sure why they would put anything on the inside at all, especially if it was just meant to be a decoy vessel for the crown.

  I turned over a pottery shard in my hand, frowning at the etched squiggles. I picked up another piece and looked at what appeared to be flying birds. Pushing the broken pieces together, I played with them for a few minutes to see if I could make the etchings fit. One piece slotted into another like it was meant to be there, and I sucked in a breath.

  Oh, you’ve done it now, I warned the shards.

  There was nothing Christopher Addison Sawyer the Third loved more than a puzzle. I’d spent a lot of time in bed as a kid, and my parents and Remi had brought me copious amounts of puzzles—the more pieces, the better. I lost track of time as I continued to fit the shards together, and when I placed the last piece, I had some sort of strange picture.

  I stared at the lines and squiggles and flying birds. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all. Hell, maybe they just decorated the inside of the vessel so no one would take a closer look and find the crown. I took a picture of the strange puzzle and carefully packed the shards back in their case.

  I might love a puzzle, but I hated a fucking mystery. Just watching a clip of that Cold Case Files show that Remi loved could send my blood pressure through the roof.

  The sound of the janitor’s squeaky wheeled cart passing my door made me check my watch. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find it was almost eight o’clock at night. Getting lost in my head for hours at a time was kind of my specialty. Kit the Dreamer, my mother always said fondly.

  Before I tucked the crown back away in the safe, I gave it a sad smile. I wouldn’t have it to myself like this again. Now that I’d cracked the cipher, Thea would put it in the Aztec display that she’d so carefully curated. Last chance alone with a relic. So…I put it on my head. I know, I know. But when else would I get the chance to wear an actual Aztec crown?

  Tlaloc.

  The word drifted through my mind, just a whisper of a thing. Words tumbled out of my mouth, unfamiliar words. I frowned as I said them again with increasing urgency. And then again, almost like a chant.

  A knock at the door startled me and I gasped. I grabbed at my chest, my heart beating like it had a super-charged engine. I laughed a little at my silliness and called out, “Yes?”

  “Oh, good, you haven’t gone home yet!”

  Thea. She’d been bugging me nonstop since I let it slip that I was close to finishing the decoding of the crown. My fingers flew to my head as I realized I was still wearing the damn thing.

  “Do you have a minute?” She asked, her voice muffled. “I’d like to talk to you about the crown.”

  “Um, just a second.”

  I tried to lift it, but the crown wouldn’t budge. I growled under my breath. I was going to have to use a little more force and God help me if I damaged the damn thing. Just the thought hurt the historian in me. And then Thea would break the rest of me over her knee.

  I tugged and pulled until my scalp smarted. If anything, the crown felt tighter. There was another knock at the door, more insistent than the first. “Dr. Sawyer?”

  “Yeah, I’m coming, I just….” I grunted as I gave a good yank.

  Nothing. Determinedly, I cast a glance about for something sharp. I wished I’d never indulged in the stupid idea to put the thing on. If I had to cut my curls to get it off in one piece, then I would.

  Ah-ha! I grabbed a pair of scissors from a cupholder teeming with pens. The moment I approached the crown with the sharp scissors, it squeezed. A pointy piece dug into my scalp, and I let out a yelp of pain.

  The doorknob jiggled. “Christopher?”

  “Um…Thea, do you mind if we talk later? I’m right on, um…the cusp of a discovery!”

  There was a pause as my heartbeat thundered wildly in my ears.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, sounding a little deflated. And suspicious. “But you’ll let me know the moment you figure it out?”

  “Of course.”

  I held my breath until her footsteps faded. Then I went after my hair with the scissors. Again, the crown seemed to move and tighten, digging into my scalp violently. I cried out, dropping the scissors.

  Fuck. My head throbbed. Shaken, I looked at my pale reflection in the window next to my desk. A drop of blood pearled at my hairline and rolled down my forehead slowly. I swiped it away with trembling fingers. It took me a few moments to work up the courage to try again. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t go home with a freaking Aztec relic on my head.

  I worked my fingers under the crown and was relieved when I was finally able to lift it, which I did carefully. I glared at the crown as I sat it gingerly on my desk. I certainly wouldn’t do that shit again.

  I made a quick call to Thea, who squealed when I told her that I was done decoding the crown. “You’re amazing,” she enthused. “I’ll be there in two seconds.” She hung up before I could respond.

  I stared at the crown on my desk. Any feeling of wistful sadness was gone. I was glad to have it out of my hair—literally. Now I couldn’t wait for Thea to trot it over to the Aztec display and put it in the waiting glass case.

  3

  By the time I got home, I’d almost convinced myself that I imagined the whole damn thing. My hair had always been a tangled mess of dark curls. Hell, I’d lost pencils in it before and a pair of glasses that I’d looked for all day. A crown with sharp points wasn’t much of a stretch.

  I toed off my shoes and shrugged off my jacket in the darkened house. Then headed for the kitchen on socked feet. My townhouse was the last one in a row of them, the coveted last spot with only one shared wall on one side. Paul and I had rented it only a few years ago, and it had a little something for both of us. I loved the modern façade, a combination of glass and white brick, while Paul loved the exclusive neighborhood. I’d let him take point on décor, and he’d done a fabulous job of keeping it classic but chic. When we broke up, it only made sense for me to stay. You know, since he was a cheating bastard and all.

  It hadn’t hurt as much as it should. I came home unexpectedly early and found him mid-act, and I realized then that we’d never been right for each other. In all the ways. That thought was driven home as I stood in the doorway of our bedroom, watching him get reamed on my favorite bed set by some burly fellow. I preferred bottoming, too, but I’d given it my best shot to keep him happy.

  So I gave him the old heave-ho. And I’d gotten rid of the bed set. I’d also politely told him he had a week to get his things—either that, or I’d give them a proper Viking funeral.

  He’d gotten some shots in, too, things I remembered all too well.

  “Where am I supposed to fucking go?” His voice rose.

  “I believe that goes under the heading of ‘not my concern.’”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t I sound serious?” I asked slowly. “I can do it in another voice if you’d like. I do a pretty good Robert De Niro.”

  “You entitled little prick,” he growled, giving up the pretense of calm altogether. “You’ve had everything in your life handed to you on a silver platter. Well, here’s a fucking news flash. I never wanted you.”

  My heart thundered in my ears. “That so?”

  “Who would? You’re boring. Complacent. The human version of NyQuil, for crying out loud.” His voice was the very definition of insidious as his words tried to find purchase in my brain. “I wanted you because you were a Sawyer. Not a very good one, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

  I continued to pack his things. Granted, it was a little haphazard now, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect his words had on me.

  “Your name opens up doors even if you’ve never accomplished anything in our field,” he said, continuing his hateful assault. “For fuck’s sake, you even inherited your position on the board at SAF. What exactly have you discovered on your own?”

 

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