Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

on your side.
    What a pity Shane was so rich. Anyone else would have been stung badly enough by returning stolen artifacts in the past not to keep on buying dubious ones in the present.
    The man simply had too much money.
    “Let’s assume that the Druid hoard exists,” she said. “Just for the sake of . . . discussion.”
    “Sure.”
    The careless tone of his voice made her want to grind her teeth. Yet when she looked into his eyes, they were serious and utterly focused on her. It was unnerving to most people to be the center of such intensity, but she was used to it. Besides, she’d caught herself with the same look on her face when her brain was fully engaged, focused to the maximum on some project.
    “Let’s assume that the Druid hoard was buried in the sixth century and the secret of its location kept for fifteen centuries,” she said.
    “It could happen,” he said easily. “Oral knowledge is passed down through families and secret societies all the time.”
    “Uh-huh.” Not bloody likely . “Now we assume that someone recently—”
    “Why recently?” he cut in.
    “Because if it wasn’t recent, the hoard would already be in someone’s museum.”
    “Or private collection.”
    “Possibly,” she conceded. “Just barely. I can’t imagine it being kept a secret. Collectors are a gossipy, rumormongering lot.”
    “Which is why we keep hearing about the Druid hoard.”
    She abandoned that line of argument. It wasn’t getting her where she wanted to go, which was the hell away from having to watch while her boss bought a stolen national treasure.
    “All right,” she said carefully. “We have a Druid hoard recently discovered—”
    “I’ll concede the recent part,” he interrupted, “but I reserve the right to revisit it.”
    Her teeth clicked together. He should have been a lawyer. “Fine. You have revisiting privileges. May I continue?”
    His smile said he was enjoying the color that flared along her cheekbones when she was angry. Lately, around him, that was about 99 percent of the time. She really had to look for another job before she killed him. Or jumped him.
    Right now she wasn’t sure which she would enjoy more.
    “Sure, go ahead,” he said. “I love watching you talk.”
    “If you make a crack about my mouth, I’m walking out.”
    “Your mouth?” Shane hoped he pulled off the feat of looking surprised. A lot of men must have told her that she had a mouth that made them think of the kind of sex that left everything it touched hot and wet and totally sated. “What about your mouth?”
    Risa decided she would enjoy killing him more than jumping him. Definitely.
    “We have a recently discovered Druid hoard,” she said with outward calm. “Chances are said hoard came from Wales, Ireland, or the south of England, possibly northwest Scotland. Agreed?”
    “With revisitation privileges, yes.”
    “To speed things up, I’ll assume that unless you reject something outright, you agree. With revisiting privileges, of course.”
    “Good idea.”
    His tone of cool reason made more heat burn along her cheekbones. All that kept her from walking out was his eyes. They were as serious as death.
    She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be the center of such intense concentration . . . and then to make those same eyes go blind with pure passion.
    A hot thrill curled out from the pit of her stomach.
    Tonight, she vowed silently.
    She would call Niall just as soon as she reached her apartment. No more putting it off.
    The time to get out was now.
    “So we have a recently discovered Druid hoard,” she said huskily.
    “Solid gold.”
    Her eyes narrowed briefly, but in speculation rather than anger. “Anything else?”
    “Sacred objects. Possibly votive offerings, more probably objects used in high rituals. Fantastic etched designs. Merlin’s private collection.”
    This time she didn’t bother to muffle her response. “Bullshit.”
    “Which part? Solid gold, sacred, possibly—”
    “Merlin’s private collection,” she cut in. “Can’t swallow it. Did the items come with a bloody label: ‘Made in Wales for Merlin’?”
    “He didn’t say.” Shane’s voice was bland.
    Risa’s voice wasn’t. It was cold enough to freeze alcohol. “The Druids couldn’t—wouldn’t—write. That’s how they kept their secrets secret.”
    “That doesn’t prevent a well-traveled court scholar who is also the adviser of a fifth-century Welsh king from knowing