Page 23 of Wicked Suspicion

After an eternity, he leaned back in his chair. “While I share your doubts about the Lost Treasure ever being recovered, I do believe in playing long shots on occasion. I have some documentation I’d like you to peruse. It might contain some clues as to its whereabouts. If the treasure can be found. I want it.”

Chapter 10

Nyx had been in larger private libraries. She’d been in more opulent private libraries, but this was the first one to feature a dining room table in the center. There were six chairs upholstered in pale sage linen, and the table itself was polished to a high sheen. An empty bowl sat in the center. Not just any bowl, but one that she suspected was from the late Nazca period. She couldn’t help wondering if it had been looted.

Piled on one end of the table was a stack of historical documents. Her assignment. Nyx frowned over how little care was taken with the papers.

Shaking her head, she continued her study of the room. The floor was deep brown tile, the walls and bookcases were painted white, and a picture window made the space feel brighter. There was a large painting on the wall to the left of the door. Every other available inch, from the floor to the ceiling, was filled with books and small trinkets. It also featured a ladder that rolled on a metal rail. The temptation to play on it was real and in other circumstances, she might have given in.

Other circumstances. The door to the library had a small oval window. It gave her a view of the man assigned to guard her. Only the side of his head, but the reminder was enough.

Nyx did another visual sweep. Everywhere she turned, there were nooks and crannies. A narrow credenza held a softly ticking clock and more artifacts. The shelving had drawers, lots of them, and little niches were holding more treasures. She could easily spend days simply exploring the space.

Despite how charming the library was, Nyx had exchanged one prison for another.

Besides the armed man in the hall, she occasionally saw men outside the picture window. Patrols. It figured. Vargas was hypervigilant. Guards on the wall. Guards patrolling the grounds. Guards watching her and Lurch.

Nyx’s frown deepened as she thought of Lurch. Her brother’s bestie was protective of her. He’d be worried about her extended absence. It was a safe bet Vargas wouldn’t bother to inform him that she’d been given a job. She could only think of one idea. She went to the entrance and lightly tapped on the glass window. She knew better than to whip the door open.

When the guard turned, she signaled for him to open the door. He shook his head. Nyx repeated the gesture.

With a scowl, he indicated she should move back, and when she complied, he opened the door. “What?” the man growled in Spanish.

“Could you please get word to my fiancé that I’m working on something for Señor Vargas? He’ll be concerned about my absence.”

“If Señor Vargas wants him to know he’ll take care of it. Get to work.” The man closed the door firmly enough to discourage Nyx from a second attempt.

She walked toward the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down, but she wasn’t ready to read historical documents. The guard, confident she followed orders, turned his back to the door. Motion caught her eye. A man carrying an M4 passed by the picture window. He never glanced toward the house.

Nyx monitored the patrol, using the clock in the room. Someone passed about every three minutes and that surprised her. She would have thought Vargas was savvy enough to have his men in a less regular pattern. None of them showed any interest in the library, though. The routine gave her some assurance that she could do what she needed without being spotted from outside. A glance at the door showed her guard standing facing away from her.

After arranging the papers to make it appear as if she was working, Nyx watched for the patrol. When the man passed, she did a last glance at the door, before rushing to the drawers near the window. With the room loaded with so much stuff, there had to be something here that would help her and Lurch.

The drawer was a mess, things tossed in. There were playing cards, stacks of unused napkins, assorted tokens from a board game, and scorepads from a different game. She moved things around, digging to the bottom, but it was more of the same.

Two and a half minutes. She went back to her seat.

She waited for a few passes before she went to the next drawer. Once she was farther from the window, she’d worry less about being seen, but right next to the glass? Yeah, she was being cautious. This drawer was another mess—pencils, pens, and paper tossed in randomly. The bottom held a few felt-tip markers.

Nyx returned to the table, taking a couple pieces of paper and a pen with her.

Someone had loved books, but it didn’t appear to be Señor Vargas. The room might be clean and tidy, but it had an unused feel to it. Maybe it had always been for show and not study, but the drawer full of game items suggested the library hadn’t always been neglected. If board games had regularly been played here, the large table made sense.

Shaking off her questions, she glanced back at the door. Her guard still stared out into the hall. She went to the next drawer. Stamps, envelopes in various sizes, cards, and stationery. The Puerto Jardinese postage stamps were fifteen years old.

Maybe she wasn’t going to find anything useful. It wasn’t as if she could write a letter to Archer asking for assistance.

The next drawer had rubber bands, paper clips, sticky notes, and binder clips. Nothing was organized. As she worked her way around the library, she found a drawer of construction paper in assorted colors, another with business cards and old planners—again, fifteen years old or older.

She was back in view of the window and returned to the table. Nyx spent time reading through a few documents, moving the two-hundred-year-old papers as carefully as possible to avoid damaging them.

When the patrol passed the window, Nyx headed across the room. The next drawer put her in full view of anyone outside and her back would be to the window.

This drawer was full of charging cables. Dozens and dozens of them. They snaked everywhere. Quickly, she pawed through the cables. Toward the back, one of them had weight. Picking up the cord, she followed it through the knots of wires. Her heart pounded faster. It was plugged into a cell phone.

A really old cell phone.

She tried to power it up. The battery was dead. It wasn’t unexpected, but the stab of disappointment was real. It was a flip phone, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand when closed. The size was good for concealment. Unfortunately, the raspberry pink color made it noticeable.

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