Uncharted Page 6

  She walked in and took in the opulent décor. The hotel was styled like the interior of the Vatican. Huge frescos adorned the ceilings and walls, with such artistry and skill that they looked almost 3-D, as if they might reach out and touch the patrons. Recesses in the walls held life-size statues of Catholic saints, while the floor was littered with the remnants of Roman deities, discarded and unloved. It was an accurate representation of the real Vatican and reminded Chase of an early trip as a student that had saddened her. She’d hated seeing the blasé manner in which Pagan history had been treated, carelessly labeled with meaningless numbers and scattered in corridors with little or no explanation. Some of the larger pieces and statues were appropriately displayed, but for the most part, it all felt like an afterthought. Tens of thousands of pieces of amazing archeological artifacts treated with such disrespect. The trip sealed her desire to commit her career to restoring the history of communities and cultures to their rightful place. Something fundamental that she and Rayne disagreed on entirely.

  “Ms. Stinsen?”

  A woman dressed in Vervida uniform touched Chase’s arm.

  Chase smiled. “Yes?”

  “If you’d follow me, I’ll take you to Ms. Marcellus’s table.” The woman turned but kept a gentle grip on Chase. “She’s been waiting.”

  Chase noted the touch of chastisement in her voice as though Chase was late. She followed and checked her watch, three minutes past eight. She’d aimed to be on time, but the traffic on the 101 South had caught her out. Ms. Bossy Pants set a cracking pace through the reception and into the glass-walled elevator. “How did you know who I was?” Chase asked, more a desire for small talk than an actual interest. She found being in such close proximity to people in an elevator without making conversation, plain weird. Rayne was the exact opposite; she hated random strangers asking how her day was going or what her plans were. Chase smiled, remembering the times she would deliberately engage in conversation just to irritate Rayne.

  Ms. Bossy Pants raised her eyebrow and appraised Chase’s appearance with a lightning quick scan. Chase could see she wanted to say something very specific but was figuring out how to temper her words. Chase didn’t think Ms. Bossy Pants cared for her feelings as much as she didn’t want to upset Rayne by insulting her dinner guest.

  “Ms. Marcellus described you perfectly,” she said and looked at the elevator doors as if they couldn’t open quickly enough.

  Lucky for her the high-speed elevator got them to the thirtieth floor in record time.

  Ms. Bossy Pants exited with a curt, “Follow me, please.”

  Chase surveyed the restaurant as she deliberately trailed slightly behind. The walls and ceiling were glass, delivering a spectacular unimpeded view of the Bay Bridge. The blue lights on the bridge reflected beautifully on the still water, which was why Chase liked it far more than its older and ugly companion, the Golden Gate Bridge. Every table was occupied, and yet the noise of conversation was just about bearable; any louder and Chase might’ve considered slipping in her protective earbuds. She wondered if Rayne knew the levels would be okay for Chase or whether it was just coincidence. Rayne had probably long forgotten Chase’s difficulties in concentrating if there was much audio stimulation from other sources.

  Ms. Bossy Pants needn’t have bothered leading the way. Chase saw Rayne way before she would have seen anyone else. No one stood out in any room quite like Rayne Marcellus. Christ, if the sun exploded tomorrow, Rayne could be its stand-in. She radiated an energy and presence that ensured she was the focus of the room for almost everyone, and even if they weren’t looking at Rayne, you could bet your inheritance they were thinking about her. Her Italian father had gifted his ebony hair and dark eyes. Rayne had said that ended up being all she wanted from him when it became clear to her that his approval and fatherly pride depended entirely on whether or not Rayne was successful at everything she did. From an amateur psychologist’s point of view, it explained a lot about the way she behaved. It could even be an excuse, but at some point Chase believed every daughter or son had a responsibility to themselves to emerge from the shadow of their upbringing and learn how to be their own person. It was an easy philosophy to carry when Chase’s family life had been pretty much baggage-free.

  As it became clear that Chase was heading for Rayne’s table, she felt the gaze of almost every woman-loving person in there, on her. Chase was comfortable with how she looked, and she knew that she might as well have a label on her forehead or a comic bubble over her head proclaiming her sexuality. Short hair, androgynous, now with muscles. She was an easy spot, but damn it, she didn’t care. She’d been proud of who she was for a long time, and no bigoted assholes ever made her feel ashamed of how she presented. She knew what the straight guys would be thinking: There’s no way she’s meeting her for a date. Maybe they’re adopted sisters or best friends. Beautiful people always had to have a regular looking best friend.

  “Chase,” Rayne said and raised her glass. “You’re looking very handsome tonight.”

  Chase touched her tie, a little self-conscious at Rayne’s none too quiet greeting, though she appreciated the blatant way she announced her appreciation. “Thanks.” Accepting a compliment didn’t come too easily. Rayne smiled the way she did when she knew she’d made Chase squirm and motioned to the seat opposite her.

  “Please, sit.”

  Chase didn’t miss the way Rayne swept her gaze over Chase when she thought she wasn’t looking. Or maybe she knew damn well Chase would see her and didn’t care. Rayne had never held back her desire to bed Chase, but Chase had no wish to be part of Rayne’s collection of conquests. She wasn’t against one-night stands—they were about all she was prepared to commit to—but she couldn’t bring herself to sleep with Rayne. Her complete self-interest and greed made her particularly unattractive, and Chase had learned to keep her physical attraction under control quite easily since her Florida betrayal.

  Chase ordered a soda and settled into the plush leather seat. She began to wonder if it had been a good idea to meet her number one competitor, but she wanted to know about the Golden Trinity and Rayne’s ideas on the rewrite of her article without her and the tank twins in it. All she had to do was stop glancing at Rayne’s cleavage in the tight, low cut dress she was wearing and concentrate on her words.

  “Have you eaten here before?” Rayne asked.

  She took a sip of wine that probably cost more for a glass than food for an entire African tribe for a week. Chase couldn’t decide if Rayne was goading her or if it was a real question. She decided to let it slide or it was going to be a painful night for both of them. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear me say that I haven’t.” She reined in the temptation to compare her modest income to Rayne’s ill-gotten gains, important especially given that Rayne was picking up the tab tonight.

  “Then you’re in for a culinary treat. Chef Michaela’s specialty is a sea bass dish to trample over hungry babies for. It’s still your favorite?”

  If Rayne was picking up on Chase’s ambivalence, she wasn’t showing it. It was as if she’d rewound the clock, acting like they were still friends and colleagues, remembering her favorite food. Where was the vaguely disguised animosity of the past few years? Had their brush with ISIS given Rayne some perspective on what was important in life? Was she trying to make up for what she’d done to Chase? But then there was the hungry baby metaphor that was still very much the regular Rayne. Chase had always secretly liked Rayne’s politically incorrect and black humor, though she’d chastise her for it and feign offense publicly. Rayne had a sense of freedom Chase was still searching for in the caves and tombs she explored but so far had come up short.

  “I’m tired of fighting, Chase. I don’t expect you to forgive me for Florida, but I want to be done with the constant battling with you.”

  Rayne must’ve seen the phantom cogs over Chase’s head. She frowned and shook her head. “Is that why you hired your gorilla girls? To keep the playing fie
ld level?”

  Rayne flashed a femme fatale look. The kind that always got their victim into trouble. The look that would have Chase doing Rayne’s bidding, no matter the cost. Chase shook it off and waited for a response.

  “You know I hate to lose…”

  “So what you’re actually asking me to do is back off so you can win every contest without a competition? That’s how you want to stop the fighting? With me stepping out of the ring?” Chase thumbed the dripping condensation from her glass of soda. She wished to be that cool right now.

  Rayne sighed, pushed her own glass to the side, and leaned across the table. “That’s not what I meant—well, when I first hired G&T, it was to get ahead of you. But they became more than that, and they seem to enjoy protecting me. But after Zenobia…you could’ve died.” Rayne retrieved her wine. “We should be working together.”

  Chase laughed. “Tried that, got screwed, and didn’t get a T-shirt to show for it. In fact, I almost lost the shirt off my back.”

  Rayne looked a little wounded, vulnerable even. Chase clenched her jaw. She wasn’t falling for this, whatever this was.

  “Won’t you ever let that go?” Rayne asked.

  Her eyes seemed bereft of any emotion, but there was a slight tremor in Rayne’s voice that gave her away. How had she managed to make Chase feel sympathy for her? Chase was the injured party here, but Rayne was right…she really couldn’t seem to let it go. “Let’s talk about something else. You mentioned you were taking a meeting about the Golden Trinity? Is that for real?”

  The waitress returned, and Chase let Rayne order. It saved Chase the embarrassment of looking for the cheapest item on the menu. Rayne ordered some dishes in a perfect French accent. Well, it sounded like perfect French to Chase, but she couldn’t profess to having an ear for European languages, other than Spanish, and that was only because of its similarities to the South American dialects Chase was familiar with.

  The waitress left them alone again, and Chase waited for an answer or something pithy about not sharing such information with the competition.

  “I don’t know if it’s a hoax yet. We’re looking into the guy’s background. He sent me a piece of a map, and if it turns out to be genuine, it could be the first real evidence the Golden Trinity actually exists.”

  “Who’s the guy? What line of work is he in?” Chase asked the questions but didn’t expect a straight answer or an answer at all.

  “Stan Turner. He’s in the logging business, mainly in the Brazilian rain forest. Jenny thinks he might have had an illegal operation at some point, but she can’t find anything to prove that categorically. He seems to be doing everything by the book. And he’s got a contract that has something to do with sixty million acres of rain forest being released by the Brazilian government.” Rayne shrugged. “I suppose with that amount being free range, he can make a fortune.”

  Chase ran a hand across the back of her head. Not only was Rayne being open and honest, but her last comment sounded like she might even be growing a fledgling conscience. “Is he into palm oil? All that orangutan killing is heinous.”

  Rayne’s expression went blank. “What have orangutans got to do with palm oil?”

  “The loggers are taking their habitat and slaughtering them if they get in the way.” Chase tapped the screen of Rayne’s phone. “Don’t you use this to keep up with current affairs? Or is it just for your FindHrr account?”

  Rayne surprised Chase by laughing at her little dig.

  “What, you think I can’t use it for both? Isn’t the whole point of these phones so you don’t need any other gadget in your life?”

  Chase smiled as the waitress brought their first course. It was a fish dish of some description—she could tell that much from the aroma rising in the steam—but beyond that, she was stumped. It looked good though there wasn’t an awful lot of it. This was obviously one of those restaurants where the presentation outweighed the importance of quantity. She could’ve snorted the small portion.

  “Don’t worry, there are another five courses coming,” Rayne said as she speared her own piece of the same dish. “I remember how much you like your food, but it looks like you’ve been eating plenty of proteins and not much fatty stuff recently.” Rayne waved her now-empty fork in the general direction of Chase’s biceps. “Why the sudden change?”

  Why the sudden change of subject was Chase’s unvoiced question, but she decided not to push it. Rayne had already told her far more than she’d expected her to. “A few reasons, I guess.” Chase wasn’t about to tell Rayne she was the main one. “Noemie came back from a tour super-pumped, and I could barely keep up with her when we played racquetball.” Chase shook her head at the memory. “I taught her how to play the damned game, and she kicked my ass.”

  Rayne tilted her head and gave her one of those false sympathy looks. “Aww, can’t have her beating her hero, can we? Do you remember the first time you beat your dad at anything? For most people, it’s a mixed emotion moment, but I loved it. I couldn’t wait for it to happen…and I couldn’t wait to do it again.”

  Chase knew Rayne’s childhood had been difficult, but she hadn’t shared much detail about it even when they were friends. “What did you beat him at?”

  “Chess.”

  Rayne didn’t miss a beat. The excitement she’d clearly had when she’d done it was almost visibly tingling beneath her skin. Chase nodded. “Such a great game.”

  “It was that day. He thought it was a fluke,” Rayne said. “But I destroyed him in six moves the second time.” Rayne pierced her last piece of fish with vim. “He never gave me a third opportunity.”

  “Guess we know where you get your loathing for losing then?” Chase said.

  Rayne’s eyes seemed to darken a little, and her expression hardened.

  “I don’t like to lose because I wasn’t allowed to lose as a kid, at anything, or to anyone.”

  Chase wanted to reach over and put her hand over Rayne’s to comfort her in some way. What the heck was happening? “That’s a lot of pressure for a kid.”

  Rayne put down her fork and pushed her plate away decisively. “So what are your other reasons?”

  Chase acknowledged Rayne’s need to return the focus to Chase. “I wanted to look in the mirror and really like what I saw. I’ve always loved strong women, defined muscles, six-pack abs. I figured if I was going to make the change, I’d better get on with it before I got too old to make it happen.”

  Rayne flashed a wicked grin. “Do you have a six-pack?”

  “Yeah, a few in the fridge at home,” Chase said.

  “Ha ha…do you?”

  Chase swallowed the rising panic in response to Rayne’s flirting and clenched at the thoughts of Rayne exploring Chase’s new lines and bumps. “That’s for me to know,” she said instead of standing, pulling up her shirt, and flashing her bumpy abs like she had the urge to.

  Rayne smiled and licked her lips. “And for me to find out?”

  Chapter Six

  A knock on the door woke Rayne from an alcohol induced slumber. She opened her eyes and focused on the ceiling in an attempt to divine where she was. As the delicate hand-painted blue willow trees adorning it sharpened, she remembered she was at the Vervida in San Francisco. She had a potential client to meet. The Golden Trinity could be real.

  She reached for the water bottle on the bedside table and swallowed half of it before there was a light tap on the bedroom door.

  “Room service, Miss Rayne. Hello?”

  Rayne would usually have switched the do not disturb on, but she couldn’t remember how she got down to her room, or in it, or…she looked under the comforter to see she was still fully clothed in her now extremely wrinkled DKNY dress. Jenny would pitch a fit when she saw the state of it.

  “I’m in bed. Would you come back later, please?” Rayne asked, her voice a little croaky and dry, no doubt from being unconscious on her back all night long with her mouth wide open. Attractive. She hoped Chase was long
gone before she started sleep-drooling. If it was Chase who’d tucked her in bed…it could’ve been a hotel staff member for all Rayne remembered.

  “Of course. But I have a Gatorade and a Snickers for you. Your friend left strict instructions that they should be delivered to you at eleven a.m. She said that you had a very important meeting at one, and even if you threw your heels at my head, I was to make sure you had these things.” The lady paused and tapped the door again. “So may I please come in and earn the generous tip from your friend?”

  Rayne smiled widely. So Chase still cared. And she’d remembered Rayne always consumed a gallon of Gatorade and a Snickers after a heavy night on red wine. They seemed to be the only things that ever kept a monster truck from rolling around in her head the morning after. Rayne didn’t know how they worked better than any painkillers on the market, but thanked the lord they did. “Sorry, yes. Please come in.”

  “Thank you, Miss Rayne.”

  The lady came in smiling genuinely, looking as if she really enjoyed her job. Rayne always appreciated people who exhibited a sense of fun no matter their profession. She scanned the name tag on her uniform. She liked to acknowledge people by their names where possible, no matter how short their interaction. “Thank you, Sarah,” Rayne said as Sarah put the supplies on her bedside table.

  “No problem, Miss Rayne. Would you like me to run the shower?”

  Rayne shook her head. The service at the Vervida went beyond an evening turndown and chocolates on the pillows, but Rayne still liked to do things for herself. She retrieved her purse, took out a fifty-dollar bill, and offered it to Sarah. “No shower, but thank you, and thanks for these.”

  Sarah smiled and held up her hand. “That’s not necessary, Miss Rayne. Your friend already took care of that.”

  Rayne sat up and extended her arm. “Please, I insist. I’ll be terribly upset if you don’t.”