Page 1 of Deadly Secrets
Chapter One
Raindrops plunked loudly on the bar’s metal roof as if a giant were dropping pebbles on it.
Nursing an iced tea, Brooke Heaton wished fervently she’d declined the invitation from the San Diego State University religious studies academics and headed back to her hotel room. After three days of lecturing at the university, she was ready to get back to the real world.
She discreetly checked her phone under the bar overhang for the umpteenth time, hoping for a text or call of any kind to give her an excuse to bug out. But there were no missed calls, no messages. Maybe she could pretend differently and tell her hosts that she needed to go back to her room.
But what kind of anthropological emergency would require her to beg off the company she was with?
Bars just weren’t her thing—especially since at this particular one, it seemed to be prime time for Stephen Colbert-wannabes who thought their standup comedy routines were a stepping stone from San Diego to L.A. Her companions laughed at the latest joke from the young man on stage, who just happened to be a grad student from their department. Brooke smiled obligingly. For a religious studies major, the guy sure knew a variety of interesting ways to work the word “fuck” into his routine.
She’d been hungry for companionship and had erroneously thought her academic colleagues meant for their night out to include a decent meal and in-depth discussion about religious symbols of the Mayan culture. Boy, had she been wrong.
Maybe I’m just getting old.She’d much rather be in the king size bed at the hotel, eating horrible room service food and reading her latestJournal of Forensic Anthropology, than here listening to jokes about bathroom habits and the current administration in the White House.
Although, the two subjects did have some things in common these days.
Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted to get back to reread her favorite romance novel.
She checked her watch and blew out a sigh. Making sure no one noticed, she pulled out her cell from under the bar overhang to text a cab service.
Now all she had to do was come up with a polite excuse to bail.
There was always the universal go-to—I have a headache. At the rate she was going, she would indeed have one soon.
If only she didn’t have yet another morning of lectures at the university the next day, she could pretend she had an early flight back to L.A.
But no, three departments had banded together to pay her speaker fee. Plus, the university had generously comped her hotel room and loaded her down with Fighting Aztec everything. No way could she carry all of it on the plane; she’d have to ship most of it home or find someone to donate it to. There was at least five pounds of shirts, scarves, coffee cups, and paperweights with the school’s mascot on them to haul back.
Did anyone actually use paperweights anymore?
It was nice to be wanted, but she’d left the world of academia for a reason—she wanted to marry the past with the present. To show modern-day men and women how instrumental learning about their ancestors could be. The university bubble was comfortable and safe, and for years, it had been the perfect hideaway for her. She’d thought she could do exactly what she wanted—turn young minds on to her love of anthropology. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been quite what she’d expected, and most of her students had simply taken her classes as an elective, thinking they could use religious studies and anthro class to nab an easy A.
Eventually, she’d had to break free anddosomething. Writing a book about famous fossils, and a high-profile media tour several years ago, had made her an anthropological star for about three months. A well-known Hollywood producer had taken a chapter from her book and made a web series based on the famous Lucy find of fossils from a 3.2 billion year old hominin speciesAustralopithecus afarensis.
Anthropology meet pop culture.
Social media had given her another popularity boost for a few months. She’d loved seeing fossils and past cultures getting some notoriety, but it had been a strain on her personally. She’d determined she wasn’t cut out for the spotlight.
An unexpected bonus had come from her brief dance with fame. She’d never dreamed she’d end up consulting for law enforcement, but with her forensic anthropology experience, research into various religions stretching back to the Sumerians, and her criminal justice degree, she’d ended up helping out Cooper Harris and his SCVC Taskforce.
There’d only been a couple of cases so far, but they’d fit into her schedule nicely and provided extra funds for her travels.
Speaking of travel… Tomorrow, after her last lecture, she’d be off to Utah and an area so remote it could only be reached by donkey. Ten miles on an ass to the dig site would be no picnic, but at the moment, it sounded like absolute heaven. Plus, it was a highly prized dig, headed by Dr. Borgman of the Smithsonian Institute. The whole situation was very exclusive and required kid gloves due to the fact the bones and artifacts were ancestors of a Native American tribe, maybe two.
From behind her, she heard loud male laughter that was out of sync with the comedian on stage. Glancing over her shoulder, she skimmed the three men making all the noise. Her gaze came back to one boldly staring at her and her stomach dropped.
Oh, no. Not him. What is he doing here?
The licorice black hair and searing blue eyes weren’t to be denied. Neither was the cocky smirk on his face as he looked her up and down.
The trimmed beard was new. So was the longish hair pulled up into a man-bun. The tight T-shirt, showing off his tattoos, revealed his muscled arms and chest. He looked downright criminal.
Or the ideal model for the cover ofMuscle & Fitness.
Roman Walsh.Dr. Roman Walsh. The criminal justice PhD and Homeland agent was either slumming or undercover.
Or he’s stalking me.
