Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Two) Page 4

  Quickly, I read over the lines of the document. The man had been a prince! His family fled the country after the English invasion . . . no wonder the marriage was so official. The woman had married into Irish clan royalty. Even with their kingdom lost, they would have treated the union with the utmost care.

  “Where’s her name?” I mumbled, scanning the rows.

  Samantha Green of America.

  Everything in the world stopped. I was frozen, unable to move if I wanted to, staring at her name.

  Samantha Greene. Just like my Sam. Both dead. The coincidence was so large that I couldn’t even wrap my head around it. Were they relatives? Was I reading about Sam’s long lost ancestors?

  Slowly, the sound came back, fading in as if I’d turned a television all the way down and then slowly set it as loud as it could go. My heart restarted, sputtering as I shoved away from the desk, my mission forgotten. I could hear her voice in my head, calling to me.

  “Go away,” I whispered to the ghost, fighting the urge to cover my ears.

  The Treasure Pit was everywhere.

  Sam was everywhere.

  Death was everywhere.

  How did I get away from something that covered every inch of my existence?

  “You don’t look very well, Mark.”

  Scott’s voice was full of concern, his brow furrowed as he examined me across the table of the Italian restaurant we’d agreed to meet at. The man was just as I remembered, with a kind air about him, his bald head shining under the light. He seemed to have aged further than a year, though, his skin more wrinkled and pale than I recalled.

  “I don’t feel very well, to be honest,” I replied, smiling weakly. “I’ve had an interesting trip.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not here.”

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between us as we watched the other patrons enjoying their food. Sipping my water slowly, I studied the man over again, wondering just what it was he’d come all this way to say.

  “So you’ve been working in Florida?” Scott smiled at the waiter as he brought us some salad, waiting for him to leave before regarding me expectantly.

  “Yeah. It’s been nice.”

  If we’d been sitting together like this before everything happened with the Treasure Pit, we would have had no problems talking with each other freely. Now it felt like we had a past we couldn’t mention in public, for fear of someone else suddenly dropping dead beside us at the mere mention of the death trap.

  How many times had I shared a slice of pizza with him in the back room of the twins’ restaurant? We’d sat next to each other at business meetings in Michael’s house for years, becoming great friends, despite our varying ages and interests. We had one thing in common and that was enough for us. What were we now without it?

  Eventually, our food came and we ate it over small talk. It was obvious that meeting in public had been the wrong thing to do. He didn’t want to tell me his news, and I didn’t know how to tell him what I was working on, or that I thought I was being haunted.

  “If you have time,” Scott said, signing the check at the end of our meal. “I brought something I thought you’d like to see. It’s back at my hotel, a few blocks from here.”

  “Does it have anything to do with the Pit?” I sounded so bitter—and scared. That was somewhat surprising. I’d thought I’d be able to hide my feelings for the place better than that.

  “It does. You’ll want to see it, though. Trust me.” He smiled, standing and nodding toward the door. “What do you say?”

  Mulling his request over, I suddenly felt like I needed a distraction from O’Rourke and his bride more than anything else. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

  We left the restaurant, heading to our destination in silence, allowing the noises and sights of the skyscrapers and busy streets to fill the void. When we reached the hotel, Scott showed his key card and we were let on the elevator. Only when we were finally in his room, the door locked and curtains closed, did he sigh and turn to stare at me.

  “We’ve missed you in Maine. That’s not to say that we don’t know why you left, but the twins and I have had a rough go of it without you.”

  “And Michael and Sam,” I added for him, smiling weakly. “What have you even been working on? I thought the state shut everything down.”

  “Oh, they did.” He took his light jacket off, laying it over one of the seats at the dining table in the corner, before sitting in the chair next to the couch I sat on. “And Duke raised hell about it. He was never able to get them to reverse the decision. No one has been on Oak Isle since you left.”

  “So you haven’t been working on the Pit?” It gave me a cold feeling to even think about the place, like a ghostly hand running up my arm. Suddenly, an image of Sam flooded my mind again and I slammed the doors against her.

  “No,” Scott continued, not noticing the distress I was in. “The search and rescue team went out a few more times after you left, to see if they could find anything related to Sam, but they haven’t been back out in months.”

  “So, what? You’ve been trying to find the treasure by standing on the beach and looking out at the island?”

  “No.” He laughed, reaching back behind the chair for something. Carefully, he pulled a black duffle bag up, setting it on his lap. “One of my longtime friends was part of the search crew. As you know, they never found Samantha’s body, but they did find this.”

  Carefully, he opened the sack, reaching in and retrieving something swaddled in thick, dark fabric.

  “This was in her carrier, which they discovered just after you left, stuck on a root growing through the wall of the tunnel. It was deeper than the divers had really gone before, and hard to see down there, but they did find it.”

  “What is it?” Normally, I would have been ecstatic over anything unearthed in the Pit. This time, it had a bitter taste to it.

  Slowly, he unwrapped the object, revealing the oldest vase I’d ever seen. Ancient markings covered it, the lid apparently stuck tight together. “My friend gave this to me. Do you realize what this could mean for us and the Pit?” He grinned, cradling the object carefully. “If we can prove that this is as old as I think it is and that it came from Oak Isle, the state will have no choice. They’ll have to let us excavate. McCrery will agree to work as a team when he sees that we’re the ones with the proof.”

  I stared at him for a moment, feeling a slight surge of adrenaline at finally solving that blasted hole in the ground. At the same time, overwhelming dread washed over me.

  “I’m not going back to that place, Scott.” My voice was quiet, but held enough authority that my message couldn’t be mistaken. “I can’t get it out of my mind as it is. It’s like Sam’s haunting me. I see her in my sleep, in the mirror, even as random people standing on the side of the street. I can’t go back to where she died. Michael was buried in that thing. Sometimes I see him, too. It’s not in me to return. I just can’t.”

  “I know what you mean.” He smiled sadly, pulling the cloth over the vase. “Sometimes, I think I hear one of them saying my name. They are not far from us.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” I replied forcefully. “I literally can’t go anywhere or do anything without Sam. I’ve felt her touch me, heard her, seen her in places that she shouldn’t be. And every time, all I can think is that I’m risking my life. I need to get away. Even the ship I’m working on right now seems to have her fingerprints all over it. I can’t explain it.”

  “You don’t have to,” he rushed to say, concern in his eyes. “I had no idea that her death had hit you so hard. Were there . . . feelings you had for her?”

  “No! Maybe. Just at first, though. She was pretty. But we weren’t each other’s type. That was immediately clear to me. She was more like my sister than anything else at the end.” Groaning in frustration, I rubbed my face with one hand, shoving to my feet. “I don’t understand! Michael was my friend and mentor for years. Why am I
not seeing him as much as her?”

  “Have you spoken with anyone else about this?” There was classic Scott, always trying to analyze and offer his opinion. When he saw the expression on my face, he sighed, nodding in acceptance to the answer I hadn’t spoken. “No, you wouldn’t. What can I do to help?”

  “Why did you come here and show me this?” I asked, gesturing to the vase. “What did you want me to do? Come and help?” Embarrassment burned my face. Why had I told him I was being haunted? I looked even crazier than I felt now.

  “Actually, I was hoping that you would take the vase to your professor friend in Arizona.” He stood, coming over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “It hit us all hard, Mark. There’s no shame in what you’re feeling or experiencing. We’re all grieving together. I didn’t think you would want to come help again. I can even try to contact the professor on my own. I just thought he might listen to a friend more than me.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly, all the weight that had been piling on me as soon as I knew we were meeting began to lift. No one was asking me to come back. I could still be done with the island, if I wanted.

  “Will you do it? I thought someone with a degree in ancient civilizations would know just how to study this. We don’t exactly have the funds to pay for it to be tested and examined, either.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You know about that, though.”

  Sighing, I looked at the vase, resting on the chair, the top of the lid just barely showing. “I can take it. I’ll fly that direction on my return to Texas. It’ll only be a few hours difference. I haven’t seen Steve in a long time anyway. He might have access to some files I need for my current project.”

  Scott clapped me on the shoulder, a watery smile covering his face. “Thank you, Mark. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “It’s your life’s work. I understand that.”

  Going to the chair, Scott carefully packed away the ancient relic again, sighing in what sounded like relief.

  “What’s inside it?” I asked, sitting down once more.

  “No one’s opened it,” he answered. “We were worried it might break if we tried to take the top off, not knowing how old or fragile it is. It’s light, though. I don’t think there’s anything at all.”

  “I’m sure Steve and his students will figure it out.”

  It was already too hot in Arizona for my liking, and they hadn’t even reached their warmest season yet.

  “How do people live here?” I muttered, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand as I left the terminal and got into one of the waiting cabs.

  Steve had been more than happy to look at the vase, though he informed me that it would have to wait a few days after my arrival. Normally, he would have been at home in Tucson, teaching at the University of Arizona. This particular weekend found him in the state’s capitol, Phoenix, instead.

  “There’s a big conference this weekend,” he said over the phone when I’d called a few days before. “If you come on Sunday, we should be just wrapping up. I’ll look at it for you then, if you’d like.”

  “That sounds fine with me.” To be honest, I wanted nothing more than to be done with the project and never think of it again. The only reason I’d agreed to help Scott out was because he was my friend and I knew how much the vase meant to him. Ever since I first picked it up, it was as if a dark cloud were hanging over me. There were no more dreams or impressions of Sam, for which I was grateful, but after having decided her spirit was floating around, it was strange for her to suddenly just be gone.

  “Crazy,” I muttered, staring out the window at the desert scenery passing by. When had I decided to believe in ghosts? I’d entertained the stories a few times, but never gave them much thought. Something was different now.

  I couldn’t help but feel that Sam had gone because of the vase.

  Sighing, I peered down at the bag in my lap, imagining the object carefully stowed inside. So much trouble and pain for one item.

  The cab took me downtown, into the more business-like part of the city. There were a few skyscrapers and a public transportation system, but other than that it didn’t really appear like any other huge metropolises I’d been to.

  Steve was staying another night at his fancy hotel before driving back home in the morning. They had a nice restaurant in the top of the building, and it was here I met him, comforted by the nearly empty space.

  “Mark!” Steve was my own age and plump, to say the least. He carried the weight well, looking somewhat like an overstuffed teddy bear as he rose from his seat and motioned me over. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” Grinning, I remembered a few of my graduate school days that he’d been a part of. We hadn’t seen each other in some time, but it was as if we’d not spent a day apart. “How was your conference?”

  “Boring, but informative.” Chuckling, he slid a menu across the table to me. “I was actually presenting some of the findings from my department. We worked on an exhibition in Egypt this semester and found quite the cache.”

  “Oh, really?” The food here looked good, if the pictures in the menu were any indication. What I could smell from the kitchen was giving me that impression as well. “New stuff, or just reinforcing what we already knew?”

  “A little of both, actually.”

  After the food was brought out, Steve finally cleared his throat and asked to see what was in the bag.

  “The markings seem Greek to me. What do you think?” Pulling the jar out, I carefully uncovered it partially and held it over for him to study.

  “Wow.” It was whispered, his eyes growing large as he gawked. “Where did you say you found this? That pit you’ve been laboring on?”

  “I actually don’t work there anymore, but yes. One of my former associates asked if I could get you to take a glance at it.” I pushed the thoughts of my friends in Maine to the back of my mind.

  Keep it business, I coached myself as I watched him.

  “I can definitely see where the markings look Greek in origin. I haven’t seen anything like this in . . . I don’t even know when! It’s an extraordinary piece, Mark. Really. Do you think you could send it to the University for testing and analysis? I don’t want to tell you something right here and now without thoroughly going over it.” His fingers reached out, but he held back, obviously worried about harming it.

  “I think that’s what they were hoping you’d do, test it at the school. They want proof that it’s an ancient artifact.”

  “Of course! I can even take it with me in the morning, if you’d like. Or would you rather bring it yourself? I wouldn’t trust any post service with something like this.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes still trained on the vase, and smiled. “It wouldn’t be any trouble for me. I can stop by wherever you’re staying.”

  “I’m actually just down the street. If you don’t think it will be a bother, that’s fine with me.” Carefully, I put the object away, feeling relieved that I would soon be done with it.

  “I can’t believe that was there waiting for you to find all those years.” Steve was still stuck in wonderment, staring at the wall as he spoke his thoughts out loud. “What else could be down there?”

  “Careful,” I joked. “That’s how you get sucked in. It’s better to not ask questions and just go with it.”

  He seemed to come out of it then, looking at me with a dazed expression. “You said you don’t work there anymore?”

  “I’ve been helping on shipwrecks and dives for almost a year now.”

  “Still a treasure hunter at heart.” He chuckled, waiting for the waiter to leave our food before continuing. “You know,” he said, cutting his steak. “Arizona has its own lost treasure. Maybe you could take a try at that, too, eh?”

  “What do you mean?” As much as I didn’t want or plan to do any hunting here, I did love a good story.

  “The Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine. You’ve heard of that one, of course.” Spearing the meat with his fork, he dragged it throu
gh some sauce and popped it into his mouth.

  “I have, vaguely. It’s just a gold vein that’s supposed to be in the mountains around here somewhere, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a lot more than that. The Dutchman claimed the deposit was eighteen inches wide and that there was so much of it, he could pick it up off the ground. He’d go up alone, in secret, making sure no one followed him. He confessed to eight murders, one of whom was his own nephew, which he committed to keep the location confidential. He died before he could tell anyone exactly where it is, but he did leave some clues. They aren’t very good, mind you, but they’re hints.

  “People still go missing in those mountains to this day. Bodies have been found without their heads. Some people think the Apache are responsible, that they don’t want anyone to find what’s up there.”

  He made an expression that I assumed was meant to be suspenseful and playful at the same time.

  “That sounds racist and absurd,” I laughed. “Maybe in the Wild West, but not today.”

  “Who knows?” he countered. “The only way to really find out would be to go up there and see if anything happens, now wouldn’t it?”

  “What were the signs?” I asked, chuckling as I tried to steer him in another direction.

  “You’re supposed to follow an old government road and find the rock that looks like a man. Near that is the remains of the hut the Dutchman built for himself. Just beyond that is the entrance, which he covered with planks and buried.” He was really getting into it now, his eyes wild and excited. Steve had always been a good storyteller. It was part of what made him such a great archeologist.

  “Specific.” I knew he liked it when I said just enough to keep the story going—as long as he was the one who got to tell it.

  “More people have claimed to have found the place than any other lost treasure in the world. Yet, it still remains a mystery. There’s a nice little museum about the mountains, with more details, out in Apache Junction. You should check it out while you’re here.”

  “I only hunt one treasure at a time now,” I replied seriously, feeling tired and full. All of my traveling was really wearing on me, and I wasn’t even done yet. “And it’s the one I get paid to do.”