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  “It’s really her.” Brooke sank down onto the bench beside me and ran her fingers over the statue’s golden surface. “That means it’s real.” She turned her gaze on me and our eyes locked.

  I nodded. “Dad was right. This changes everything.”

  “What do you think it’s worth?” she asked.

  “On the black market?”

  “Yeah,” she said, knowing full well what happened to such treasures once the politicians got a whiff.

  “At least a million,” I said. “But this gal will never see the black market.”

  “I wish Butch was here,” she said, her voice reverent.

  “He’s here,” I said, grinning up at the sky. “Isn’t that right, dad,” I said, raising my voice and laughing.

  Brooke smiled and took the statue from my hand. “Let’s see what else is in the bag.”

  “Right,” I said, almost forgetting the booty bag wasn’t empty. I stood and reached inside the old leather pouch.

  Brooke watched me as she nestled the figurine of the goddess against her stomach. The crown snuggled firmly between her soft bikini-clad tits. It was a fitting location for the goddess of fertility.

  I glanced over my shoulder and grinned. “You be careful with her, or you might be pregnant this time next week.”

  Brooke shook her head and grimaced. “That would require sex.”

  I paused with my hand over the bag and turned to face her with a frown. “You and Logan don’t… you know.”

  “Have sex?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “He’s old-fashioned,” she said. “He wants to wait until our wedding night.”

  My jaw dropped. I forgot the bag and leaned back against the table, staring at her, dumbstruck. “You two have never… how shall I say it… consummated your relationship.”

  “That’s none of your business.” But her frown told me the answer, and I grinned.

  “Damn. I didn’t know guys like that existed. Is there something wrong with his cock?”

  Brooke’s jaw dropped, and she stared at me wide eyed. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that. Can we focus on work please?”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “Prepare for a one pump chump,” I said. “If he’s a virgin, your wedding night might be a tad underwhelming.”

  She glared up at me with goddess glaring at me with her. “Timothy Allen Ashford, stop right this second before I have to hurt you.”

  I could have gone on, but I didn’t want to piss her off for real, and I wasn’t far away from making that happen. I turned back to the leather bag and glanced at her over my shoulder. “Suit yourself, but if you want to relieve some pre-marital stress, my bunk is always open.”

  “I bet it is,” she said. “Finding an open spot might be more of a problem.”

  I was on a bit of a dry spell, but she didn’t need to know that. “Now, let’s see what our lady was hiding.” I reached in the bag and pulled out a flat piece of slate.

  Behind me, Brooke stood and crossed to my side before carefully resting the goddess on the worktable. She gazed at the stone slate and frowned. “What is it?”

  A honed round edge made up one end while rough, jagged edges made up the other two sides as if someone had snapped the piece from a larger tablet. The jagged sides formed a ninety-degree angle and resembled a large slice of pizza. Deep etchings ran across the surface, muddy with grime, and it was hard to make sense of anything just from looking at it.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, but Hazel will. Let’s stow our gear and head back.”

  Chapter 3

  After docking, Brooke and I climbed into my old Ford pickup and headed for the University of Miami. I had called ahead and arranged a meeting with Hazel Katz who was a graduate assistant in the university’s antiquities program. With undergraduate degrees in Archeology, Anthropology and History, Hazel had easily earned a spot in the graduate program and was well on her way to her first PhD.

  I parked the truck outside of the archaeological research building and stole a sideways glance at Brooke.

  She had loosely covered her bikini top with a gray tank top. A pair of tight red athletic shorts covered her bottoms but revealed plenty of leg all the way up to her firm ass. Her open-toed flip-flops and casual white sunglasses capped off an outfit that did little to conceal the noticeable jiggle from her beautiful D-cups. Her long athletic legs were creamy and smooth and gleaming red polish sparkled on her perfectly manicured toes. Even without a hint of makeup, she was a rock solid ten, and what made her hotter was that she didn’t seem to know it.

  As we crossed the parking lot toward the front door, she drew leering stares from faculty and students alike.

  “Does that ever get old?” I asked. I slung the backpack containing the figurine and the stone tablet over my shoulder and gave her a quizzical stare.

  “Does what get old?” she asked, frowning at me.

  I grinned. “Nothing.”

  “Is this more sex stuff?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” I said as we reached the door. I held it open for her and we walked inside together. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and we followed a long first-floor corridor until we reached a small office at the end of a smooth tiled hallway.

  Before I could even knock, the door swung open, and Hazel appeared before us.

  At twenty-five, Hazel was the same age as Brooke and every bit as gorgeous. And just like Brooke, she didn’t seem to know it. Hazel smiled up at us, and her eyes darted to the bag on my shoulder. “Is that it?”

  “Hello to you too,” I said. “Now that you ask, I’m doing very well.”

  Hazel stepped back and held the door open. “Sorry. I’m just really excited.”

  Hazel had long, lush brown hair with stray locks of gold showing up when the sun hit her just right. She had a pert nose, full pink lips, and blue eyes that dazzled. I had never seen her wear anything more than the scantest amount of makeup, nor had I seen her hair in anything besides a messy ponytail. Her skin was the color of golden honey and, knowing Hazel, her rich complexion likely hadn’t come from the sun. Her body was lean and lithe, but she kept it hidden beneath baggy sweatpants and an oversized white lab coat. One time I had caught her out on a run, I had to scrape my jaw off the ground. She had a tight, firm bubble butt that would make a world class gymnast envious and tits that I would bet were a solid C-cup if I had a gun held to my head. By any measure, she was stunning and must have had the academic types frothing at the mouth.

  And even more important than her legendary beauty, Hazel was to history and antiquities as a world class hacker was to computers. Her casual knowledge of history, anthropology, and antiquities made stuffed shirts three decades her senior green with envy.

  I had known Hazel since her first year of undergraduate work when my father had talked her into getting her degrees from Miami. Over the ensuing eight years, we had developed a close but non-sexual relationship. I had struggled to maintain a level of professional decorum, but something about Hazel’s purity and inexperience gave me cold feet as far as making a move romantically. Even though I had flirted heavily with Brooke, I wasn’t one of those old creepy guys who went around hitting on younger women. Brooke easily spurned my advances, which made playing with her fun. I feared Hazel would either retreat from such overt sexual behavior or worse, take me up on my offer and potentially ruin our professional relationship. Besides, I cared about her, and I didn’t want to hurt her. I wasn’t exactly great at making long-term commitments.

  I had a tendency to practice casual sex as a religion and ran the other way whenever things took a turn to the serious side. If Hazel grew attached, my instinct to flee would overpower everything else and leave the girl in shambles.

  I stepped into the office, with Brooke following in my footsteps. “As usual, you can’t tell anyone about this,” I said as I turned to face the beautiful researcher.

  “Duh,” she said. “You found the Lady Dancer, didn�
��t you?” She raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “We did,” Brooke said, answering for me. “It was in the tenth spot you and Butch figured out.”

  Hazel grinned and clapped her hands together. “I knew it.” She eyed the bag. “Come on, Trap. Don’t play hard to get. Let me see.” She stepped in tight and started to pull the backpack off my shoulder, stealing a glance up at me as she did so.

  Her blue eyes melted before me, and a rosy hue blossomed on her cheeks. Hazel wore no perfume but had a natural sweet scent I had long since memorized that stirred my cock whenever she drew near. “Easy there, Katzy. I’ll show you.”

  Hazel licked her lips, and her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson. “I… uh… sorry.” She stepped back and glued her eyes on me as she tucked an errant lock of her brown hair behind her ear.

  Brooke stepped up beside me and yanked the backpack off my shoulder and handed it over to Hazel. “Don’t let him get away with bossing you around,” she said. “He needs you more than you need him.”

  Hazel smiled sweetly. “Are you kidding? Trap brings the best stuff into the lab. He’s single handedly advanced the research on Central American iniquities by tenfold.”

  I grinned at Brooke and winked. “See there? That’s a woman who understands who butters her bread.”

  “You’re a pig,” Brooke said and turned her back on me, but I saw the slight grin tug at her lips. She loved every second of our bantering.

  Hazel ignored us and opened the bag to reveal the figurine of the goddess. “Wow. It’s really Xochiquetzal. Where did you find her?”

  “In the bursar’s office in an old safe,” I said.

  Hazel hefted the figurine in her hands while her eyes scoured every curve. “That’s pure gold. It’s definitely real.”

  “Which means the rest of the treasure is real,” I said.

  Hazel turned to me and frowned. “It’s likely, but I’ll have to examine her closer to see if she reveals any more clues.”

  “We also found this,” Brooke said, and pulled out the stone tablet.

  Hazel’s eyes widened, and she gasped, nearly dropping the figurine. “Where did you get that?”

  Brooke held it out. “It was in the leather bag with the statue. What is it?”

  Hazel carefully placed the figurine on her desk and took the stone slab in both hands before resting it flat on her desk. She scanned the surface, careful not to touch any of the markings. “It’s Aztec,” she said. “There’s no doubt about that.”

  “But what is it?” I asked.

  “It contains text and several pictographs,” Hazel said. “Until I clean it up, I can’t tell you anymore.” She turned her gaze on me. “Can you leave these with me?”

  “For how long?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ll work through the night if I have to.”

  “Okay, but don’t let the stuffed shirts get wind of this or they’ll steal it,” I said.

  “I know,” she said, without taking her eyes off the tablet.

  Brooke eyed me and hooked her thumb toward the door.

  “We’ll leave you to it,” I said, and placed the backpack on a nearby chair. “The bag we found them in is inside.”

  She nodded absently. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  We turned to leave, and Hazel’s voice caught me off guard.

  “Trap?” she said from behind me.

  I turned to face her, and she smiled sweetly. “Butch would be proud of you.”

  I returned her smile, leaned in, and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Thanks, Katzy. He would be proud of you too.”

  Chapter 4

  I pulled out of the university parking lot and my old engine rumbled as I gave her gas.

  “She’s into you,” Brooke said from beside me. “You know that, right?”

  I glanced over at her before turning my gaze back on the road. “I’m aware.”

  “Yet you don’t flirt with her? Why?” she asked.

  “She’s younger than you,” I said.

  Brooke laughed. “We’re the same age and you’re an old man.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t mean by age,” I said. “You’re… I don’t know… different.”

  She laughed again. “You mean I’m not available, which makes flirting with me low risk. You know that I’ll turn you down while she won’t and that scares the shit out of you.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Freud,” I said. “You must really think I’m shallow.”

  “You’re not shallow,” Brooke said. “Just predictable.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” I said. “Does that make me a bad person?”

  “No. Just a misogynist,” she said. “Hazel’s a grown woman. Give her some credit. Maybe she just wants to jump your bones?”

  “Then that’s something you and Hazel have that in common,” I said.

  “In your dreams,” she said.

  I chuckled and glanced over at her. “Let’s say I take your sexless self to a bar, and we can drink the rest of the day away. I’ll tell you my sob stories and you’ll tell me how big of a pig I am.”

  Brooke studied my face for two heartbeats before she shook her head. “I can’t do it. I need to go home and shower, then I have plans with Logan.”

  “What plans?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “The kind that aren’t any of your fucking business,” she said, folding her arms under her bouncy boobs.

  “Are they better plans than having an icy cold brew with me at the Parrot?” I asked. “We can watch the sunset off the patio and talk about our next move. Come on, B. It’s my treat. Don’t make me drink alone.”

  “I can’t,” Brooke said. “I have plans with my fiancé.”

  “One drink,” I said, practically begging her. The truth was, I didn’t want to face another night alone and Brooke was the closest thing I had to a best friend. “I won’t even hit on you. Well, not that much anyway.”

  Brooke laughed, picked up my hand, and squeezed it warmly. “Truthfully, I’m tempted. But China patterns don’t pick out themselves.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re ditching me for China patterns? Please say it ain’t so.”

  “Logan’s mother is meeting us,” she said. “We’re going out to dinner after. If I go with you, I won’t make it home.”

  “That’s because we’ll have so much fun, you’ll forget all about stupid dinner plates you’ll never even use.”

  “Trap, I can’t. Next time, I promise I’ll go. Okay?” She squeezed my hand a second time, as if sensing my inner desperation.

  I didn’t like that she read me so easily. On the other that hand, that familiarity drew me to her like no one else on the planet. A pang of emptiness clutched at my stomach, and I turned my gaze back on the road. “Fine. It’s your loss. But don’t get upset if I find a sweet little sugar to take home for the night.”

  “I assumed you would,” she said. “Just make sure your vaccinations are up to date.”

  “Ouch,” I said. “That’s another kidney shot. You’re really on a roll today.”

  “Come on,” she said, leveling me with her gaze. “You must bring home a new woman every night.”

  I stared ahead, my expression stoic. Now I was getting angry. “Where should I drop you?”

  “Are you mad?” she asked.

  I turned to her while anger pricked at the back of my mind. “You think you know me. Well, you don’t.”

  Brooke’s face dropped. “You don’t have sex with random women on a weekly basis?”

  “I’ll put that in the none of your fucking business category,” I said. “You’re pretty good at that number. Remember?”

  “Geesh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I assumed… well, I assumed wrong.”

  We drove in silence for a few minutes longer until I broke the ice. I turned to Brooke and smiled. “Hey. We had a big day. Let’s not end it on a sour note.”

  She turned to me and smiled, letting down her guard. “Maybe one drink won’t
kill me,” she said.

  “Nah. I don’t want to ruin your evening,” I said, and gave her my friendliest smile even though I didn’t want her to leave. “You parked at the marina?”

  She stared at me, her eyes awash with guilt. “Trap, no matter what I say in jest, I know you’re a good man.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Thanks, B. Rest up. We have a treasure to hunt.”

  Chapter 5

  High on the Salty Parrot’s exterior facade a neon parrot, only half-lit, hung from the lip of a Tahitian style awning. Neon letters written in cursive spelled out the words The Salty Parrot beneath the half-lit bird. The few windows dotting the exterior were dingy from months of neglect and mostly covered by the stickers of various beer producers, some of them long extinct.

  The Salty Parrot wasn’t much to look at. But I liked the dive bar for two important reasons. The first was that the place didn’t attract the tourist crowd, which suited me just fine. The second reason was that I could stumble down a short pier and onto my boat with only a slight chance of drowning to death and zero chance of killing anyone else.

  I pushed open the door, and it creaked on rusty hinges. With a brief glance left and right, I sauntered through while my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The crowd was thin even by the Parrot’s standards but would likely attract the more regular crowd as the fading afternoon turned into night.

  I found my regular bar stool on the far end of the bar near the jukebox. The location provided me with a full view of anyone coming or going, and there was always a honey or two that needed a hand picking out a few tunes. Before my butt even touched my seat, an ice-cold bottle of Sol beer, gleaming with condensation, appeared before me, attached to the hand of a drop-dead gorgeous bartender.

  “Isn’t it a little early for you to start drinking?” Maria asked, her voice tinged with a slight Cuban accent.

  “I got up early this morning,” I said. “And sense when do you get to judge me?”