Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

supporting too many memories.”
    “You dreamed.”
    It was said so softly that she answered before she knew what she revealed. “Yes. I dreamed.”
    Then she heard her own words. She rubbed her own arms briskly, driving away the gooseflesh that rippled over her like a pool disturbed by the wind.
    “Big deal,” she said crisply. “People dream all the time.”
    Shane didn’t bother to argue. He was too busy understanding why Risa interested him as no other woman had.
    She dreamed.
    And, sometimes, so did he.
    “What did you dream?” he asked.
    At first Risa thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she decided it didn’t matter. She was going to be looking for a job anyway.
    “The Druid hoard,” she said, “the treasure I had been looking for, was gone.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Lost forever?”
    “No. Just gone. Like so many Celts. Gone to another place. That’s what the Celts were best at. Moving on. One extended family at a time. Occasionally a whole clan. Settlers, not soldiers. Celts neither had nor wanted nations and states and standing armies. They were far-seeing, civilized, bullheaded, courageous individuals who loved art and wine and wild places.”
    She gave him a sidelong glance that was both wary and wry. “Rather like someone I know.”
    “Yourself,” Shane said.
    She looked startled. “I was thinking of you.”
    The smile he gave her was unlike anything she’d ever seen from him before, like moonrise in a sacred grove. She didn’t know whether to bask in the unearthly brilliance . . . or run.
    Before she could decide, the phone rang. She grabbed it like a lifeline.
    “Curator’s office,” she said.
    “This is Milly at the front desk. Is Mr. Tannahill with you?”
    Risa handed the phone to Shane. “Milly at the front desk.”
    “Tannahill,” he said briefly. “What is it, Milly?”
    “Mr. Smith-White is here with a box he refuses to allow security to open.”
    “Send him up.”
    “Your office or Ms. Sheridan’s?”
    “Risa’s.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And, Milly?”
    “Yes?”
    “Send security with him. Armed.”

Chapter 26
    Las Vegas
    November 3
    Late morning
    U neasily Tim glanced around the public part of Joey Cline’s pawnshop. It was only two blocks down and one over from his mother’s place. Jesus, she lived in a dump. No wonder she drank so much. Or maybe she lived there because she drank. Whatever. The place sucked.
    He shifted his shoulders, missing the weight of his backpack. Socks had made him lock it in the trunk, saying that Joey would freak if someone he didn’t know walked into his private space with a backpack.
    “Man, from the look of this shit,” Tim said, “your fence is lucky to have two dollar bills side by side. Where’d he get the cash to buy the gold?”
    “Follow me,” Socks muttered. “And don’t say nothing. I’ll handle Joey.”
    With a shrug, Tim followed his buddy through the opening in the counter. He laughed out loud when he saw the door hidden in the cabinet full of busted, rusted guns, and then he whistled when he walked into the real workplace.
    “Nice,” Tim said, looking at the rainbow of gems and gold in the locked jewelry display.
    “Yeah. He does okay. Hey, Joey! Where the hell are you?”
    “On the can. Be out in a minute.”
    Socks started pacing along the display cases, looking for gold. He found a lot of it, but not the stuff he wanted.
    “You see it?” Tim asked.
    A grunt was Socks’s only answer.
    Tim started searching cases, too. “How long was the ticket good for?”
    “What ticket?”
    “The pawn ticket you got when you hocked the gold.”
    “Never got one.”
    “What? How the hell do you expect to get it back when—”
    “Shut the fuck up,” Socks cut in, his voice a low snarl. With the speed of a seasoned nurse or a burglar, he snapped on nearly transparent surgical gloves. “I said I’d take care of it, didn’t I?”
    Joey walked in from the bathroom, zipping up his fly. “Hey, Cesar, my old buddy. You got more gold for me?”
    “Cesar?” Tim said under his breath, looking at Socks.
    “Maybe,” Socks said, ignoring Tim. “It depends.”
    Joey thought of the fast fifty thousand he had made on the four gold items and smiled. You never knew when you were going to hit the jackpot twice in a day. “Depends? On what?”
    “My buddy’s old lady cut him off unless we get back that bracelet or armband or whatever the fuck it was. Five hundred was the price, right?”
    Joey laughed,