Concrete Evidence by Rachel Grant Page A

fist, pried open her fingers, then placed three four-hundred-year-old Spanish doubloons in her palm. He closed her fingers around the coins, pressing to the point of pain. “Only if you force the issue,” he said, his voice low. “If you keep quiet, no one will ever know you worked for me.” Jake walked away. Just before stepping through the hatch, he turned and faced her. “The doubloons are a bonus—payment for your precious ethics.”
    Then he was gone, and she was alone on the deck, holding in her hand shameful compensation for every bad choice she’d ever made.
    She saw now, when it was far too late, that no matter how good her intentions, taking a paycheck from him was the same as taking the doubloons. She wanted to chuck the coins in the ocean, but the archaeologist in her couldn’t cast away an artifact.
    Across the turquoise water, the Oaxaca coast was only a mile and a half away. A long swim, but possible with careful planning. If she made a break for it, Jake would probably let her go, but he would still sell the Aztec artifacts. She couldn’t let that happen.
    She’d been on her own for much of her life, but she’d never felt as alone as she did now. She stood by the railing for a long time, then felt someone behind her and turned to face Marco, who stood only inches away. His cold dark eyes gave her the chills as they swept her from head to toe. He scared her more than anyone else on the crew.
    He reached out and grabbed the long braid she wore to fight the heat, and twisted it around his fist. “You aren’t Jake’s pet anymore, puta .”
    Stomach-dropping fear erased all traces of self-pity. She tried to jerk away, but his firm grip tugged the roots of her hair. Pain burned across her scalp.
    “He can’t protect you.”
    She grabbed the hand that held her braid and dug in with her nails while glaring at him.
    He swatted her hand. A sharp sting raced up her arm, and she dropped his hand with a convulsive jolt.
    He laughed. “You fight like a girl.”
    “Marco! Leave her alone.”
    He dropped her braid and swung around to face Jake, puffed up like he wanted to fight. While Jake was taller and more muscular, she didn’t doubt Marco’s wiry strength. Cold fear shot through her. If he chose to fight his boss for the right to rape her, the outcome was questionable.
    Jake stared him down. “Take the tender and pick up the mail. Visit a fucking whore if you need to, but leave Erica alone.” Then he turned his angry eyes on her and barked, “Get in your cabin, now!”
    She fled, her heart pounding as she ran below. She had to get the hell off this boat.

    E RICA WAS IN HER CABIN , quietly packing her gear, when she glanced through the porthole and saw Marco returning from the marina in the tender. Minutes later, he knocked on Jake’s cabin door. She pressed her ear to the wall and could just make out his words.
    “…wants to display the Aztec artifacts in a tribal casino in Maryland.”
    Oh Christ. They had a buyer already.
    “We’d have to forge provenance documents if they go on display in the States,” Jake said. “The papers would need to be impeccable.”
    Marco laughed. “You can forge the papers to say some Spaniard found the artifacts in his attic. No one will know they were pulled from this site.”
    She felt sick. With the right paperwork, no one would know the casino had bought the artifacts illegally. No one—except Erica—would even know a crime had been committed.
    “What’s the offer?”
    “He wants to trade some hot artifacts. I have photos.”
    She could hear movement but no words. Then Jake said, “Christ! We’re supposed to find a buyer for these?”
    “With our connections, we can sell them, easy. And we’ll get a better price for them than he could.”
    “Maybe.”
    “There’s more where these came from. A shitload more.”
    Jake whistled. “Tell him it’s a deal.”
    She sat back on her bunk. She didn’t have much time if she wanted to save the Aztec