Firefighter Sea Dragon (Fire & Rescue Shifters 4)

Suddenly what she was looking at clicked into place. “The nose guard of a helmet.”

She imagined how it would have looked complete, how the jewels and gold work would have crowned the head of the warrior who wore it in a dazzling display of wealth and power. “A bright helm. Brithelm.”

“Ah, the indefatigable Virginia,” drawled a familiar, amused male voice from behind her, nearly making Virginia drop the precious artifact. She just managed to shove the nose-guard into her pocket before she was pinned in the beam of a flashlight. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Bertram.” Virginia stood and turned, her eyes watering in the sudden glare. Even though her heart was hammering in her mouth, she would rather have died on the spot than given her nemesis the satisfaction of knowing he'd startled her.

“What, slumming it out in the field? I thought you liked to leave that sort of thing to us,” she made air quotes with her fingers, “‘less intellectual dirt-diggers.’”

“Unintellectual dirt-diggers, my dear,” Bertram said, his aristocratic British accent making each syllable ring like cut glass. “Do learn to quote sources accurately. It would improve your papers immensely.”

He sauntered forward, delicately picking his way over the churned ground. As ever, he was impeccably dressed in a slim-cut pale grey suit that had probably cost as much as Virginia's entire research grant.

He twitched the flashlight's beam down to the hole at her feet, then back up to her face. “My, haven't you been a busy girl.”

I didn't hear a car, Virginia realized uneasily.

Bertram looked as freshly-pressed and crisp as if he'd just dropped out of the sky, but she could only assume that he'd been lurking in the shadows the whole time. Had he seen the nose-guard?

She forced herself to keep her hand away from her coat pocket, and her voice light and even. “Have you been following me, or just hanging round here in the hopes I'd turn up?”

“I had a feeling your little wild goose chase might lead you to do something rash.” Bertram inclined his head in the direction of the CCTV camera. “I thought it prudent to keep an eye on my father's investment. After all, I did recommend this site to him as an ideal location for his latest hotel. Such charming views, after all.”

“You knew,” Virginia spat, fury making her fists clench. “You knew all my research pointed to this being Brithelm's grave. You aren't fit to call yourself an archaeologist, you, you vandal.”

“And yet, somehow, all our peers look up to me, and consider you a laughingstock.” Bertram brushed a nonexistent speck of dirt off his sleeve, his heavy gold signet ring flashing as he did so. “If I may offer you a bit of free professional advice? Give up this ridiculous love affair of yours with this entirely mythical warrior. Perhaps you could take up a nice, quiet position in a local history museum? You'd make a simply splendid tour guide for schoolchildren.”

“I am so looking forward to seeing your face when I present my findings,” Virginia said. “I’ll make sure the conference organizers reserve you a front-row seat.”

Bertram sighe

d. “Alas, the academic world is so prejudiced. Criminals are rarely invited to give keynote speeches. Are you aware of the maximum sentence for breaking and entering?”

“Are you aware of the maximum sentence for corruption and bribery?” Virginia shot back. “Because I know you signed off on the paperwork for this site, saying that it was of no historic interest and so suitable for building. And there is no way in hell you actually did that survey.”

Bertram went suddenly very still. “You found something.”

I am alone at midnight in the middle of nowhere with a man who has despised me for nearly a decade, with something in my pocket that is both going to professionally ruin him and incidentally cost his family a very, very large sum of money.

“No,” Virginia said, unconvincingly.

“You found something,” Bertram repeated. His eyes narrowed. “What? A mere trifle, no doubt. A coin, or an arrowhead. Nothing of significance.”

“Hah! You wish.” Virginia couldn't help the grin that spread over her face. “Oh, you are so busted, Bertram. This isn't just any old burial mound. This is Brithelm's burial mound, and I can prove it.”

“You found proof?” Strangely, he sounded exultant. “You must have found...it.” A hungry expression spread over his face as he took a step closer. “Give it to me. Now.”

Virginia backed away, fumbling for her crowbar. “Lay one finger on me and I swear I will brain you.”

“Are you threatening me?” Bertram chuckled. “How entertaining. I think that I would very much like to see you try it.” He kept coming forward, and Virginia kept retreating. “Come on, my dear delectable Virginia. Don't be ridiculous. You have never been able to win against me, and you certainly won't now. Just give me Brithelm's gem.”

Virginia's palm was sweating on the handle of the crowbar. “You'll have to prize it out of my cold, dead fingers, you bastard.”

Bertram's eyes glittered oddly in the light. “Excellent.”

He lunged, and Virginia hurled the crowbar at him. Without waiting to see if it had connected, she whirled and ran, her boots pounding over the rutted ground. Over her own panicked breathing, she heard Bertram laugh, then a strange noise like an enormous tarpaulin flapping in a storm. Then—nothing.

As she wriggled back through the broken gate, Virginia risked a glance behind her. All was dark. Had Bertram switched off his flashlight, the better to stalk her through the night? She half-slid down the sloping hill to where she'd left her Range Rover parked next to the road, dropping her crowbar in order to fumble frantically for the keys. Expecting at any moment to feel Bertram's hands grabbing at her, she flung herself into the vehicle.