Page 39 of These Reckless Hearts

He laughs. “No, not at all. Surprisingly, people are afraid of me.”

“I think it’s the tattoos and the guns and the fact that you have guards keeping you safe 24/7. I mean, that’s my best guess. It’s like a billboard sayingNo Fucking Thank You.”

“Fuck off.” He grins at me, and I love the easy banter between us. He heads toward the door. “Now, let’s get your shit handled before anything else bad happens.”

17

Stone’s guy works for a college in Phoenix, and he’s able to pull some strings so the archaeology professor will see us right away. We place the lantern in a box and surround it with bath towels, and that’s how we transport the single most important artifact Wilder treasure hunters have found in a hundred years.

At least they’re really soft towels, likely purchased from a high-end boutique if I know Stone.

Cole tells us he has something else to do, but he sends four guards with us—none of them are Dave. When I ask Cole about that, he tells me it’s gang business. Ninja’s hiding a smirk though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the mouthy guard got himself demoted. Or put on some sort of leave for making comments he shouldn’t have. I guess I’ll never know since they’re so tight-lipped about it.

Ninja and his new partner—I’m not sure if I should try to remember his name—scare the shit out of the working professor once we get to his upstairs lab. The two burly dudes move in to clear the room, hands on the guns hiding in their waistbands as if they could pull them out at a moment’s notice if they needed to. They’re not trying to hide anything, and I don’t complain because they afford us the privacy of being with the archaeologist alone in his preservation room and the peace of mind knowing that he’s not going to end up like the jeweler.

This guy, I really like. His name’s Nevin, and he lifts a brow at us as soon as the muscle leaves. “Now, I’m intrigued.” He’s pushing mid-life crisis age, and is suave in that dorky, intelligent kind of way. He’s very sure of himself, which makes me think he’s probably smarter than I’ll ever be.

Lucas takes the box and places it on a steel table, the only flat surface in the room that doesn’t have pieces of equipment or plastic containers or Ziploc bags stored on top of it. He must have cleared the area for us.

“Any context I should be aware of?”

Stone shakes his head. We’re here under assumed names again. We’re not taking any chances, and we’re definitely not saying a word about the treasure. No one but descendants of the Wilder family would know we were even searching for a lantern to show us the next step in the hunting journey, but that doesn’t mean we should announce that we’re here about gold and jewels either. That would be asking for trouble. The not-so-cloak-and-dagger routine with the guards won’t help us fly under the radar, but we also want to make sure we don’t drag the professor into our problems either. It’s a trade-off.

“The artifact,” Stone starts, the area between his eyes pinching, “…is highly important to us. We’re searching for a possible inscription on the object, as we’ve been told uncovering it will denote it as a family heirloom.”

Nevin gives us a tight smile. I’m not sure if Stone is trying to pass us off as family members, but if he is, Wyatt should probably stop touching my ass. Even so, the half-truth works for me, and I’m kind of impressed by my blond hottie right now.

“Alright, let’s see what we got. Do you know how old the object is?” He holds out his hand, waiting.

Lucas gently unwraps our find. In the bright light of the fluorescents, the lamp really does resemble a hunk of junk, just like Cole said. A thin, rusted-out circle sits atop the lantern, which couldn’t be more than four inches in diameter. A hook would’ve attached to it to hang in the cave, but that’s long gone. Off the circle is a flat top that bevels out. When new, glass would’ve contained the area that held the flame. Now, however, three strips of metal connect the bottom to the top. The cylindrical base has a square cutout where the fuel would’ve been fed through to light the flame.

The body is misshapen in some areas from oxidation and dirt that we couldn’t quite get off for fear it would hurt the relic.

“Ahh,” Nevin croons as soon as he sees it. “Mining lamp circa late 1800’s. She’s in good shape.”

Ha. I’m going to file that compliment away to tell Cole when we get back.

“A piece like this would’ve been made with tin and some copper. In fact, these”—he points to the connecting pieces—“would’ve been constructed with either alloy depending on the exact year this was made.”

He brings down the glasses he had sitting atop his head, placing them on the bridge of his nose. “So, you say there’s possibly an inscription of some kind?” He turns the lantern in a circle like we all did when we first got our hands on it. “Do you know where?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Stone confirms.

“I’ll have to be careful when cleaning, then,” he explains, lips thinning as he gets down to business. “Please take any available seats around the room, but I’m going to have to ask you not to touch anything. I’ll start the process.”

Wyatt meets my gaze and smirks now that Nevin has gone into his professor-like persona.

You wouldn’t think that watching someone painstakingly polish an artifact would be fascinating, but it is. He does an overall cleansing with a white cloth, rubbing a clear liquid over it. I’m curious about his process, but I stay mute, not wanting to bother him as he works. The sooner we get answers, the better.

Next, he arranges three glass jars beside the lantern, each no longer than my thumb and containing some sort of liquid. He dips a Q-tip into the farthest one, then delves into the nooks and crannies. Rust colored debris slowly stains the pristine white swabs.

When only the base is left to clean, I walk toward the table to watch him closely. All of us have been gravitating that way the more the real lantern is revealed. Anticipation builds until it feels like a hundred ants are crawling around inside my stomach.

My feet pinch from standing as the work drags on. One section takes him a half hour to uncover, and when he finishes, there are no score marks. The antique is cleaning up well despite its age and being in the elements all these years. Sure, the metal is pocked and discolored, but when Nevin finishes, it’ll be easy to imagine this in my ancestor’s hands while walking up the Superstitions.

I’m so caught in my own head that I don’t notice the pure concentration that’s crossed Nevin’s face until Stone tangles his fingers with mine and squeezes. I snap out of it, leaning over the table for a closer look. “Did you find something?”

He runs a Q-tip over one spot, and my heart nearly trips over itself when I see a definite score mark in the metal. It’s faint and could very well be a scratch, but it’s a noticeable blemish.

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