Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

"How long is Damian going to leave us in here before he tells us what he wants?" Lucas asked. "I'm assuming he thinks he's got a lead on some treasure and actually needs people with skills to do the dirty work for him?"

He saw Miranda's body tense at the sound of his voice, but she didn't turn around to look at him. She just stared at the two men who stood on the other side of the bars.

"Or maybe he wants to see the two of you rot in a cell?" the one that wasn't Ryan said. "You've cost Mr. Hunter millions in lost acquisitions."

"You mean we found the treasure and wouldn't let him steal it from us like he'd planned?" Miranda asked, her voice saccharine sweet. "I'm sure all those museums are weeping at the thought of Hunter's lost millions. What's it feel like to work for a loser?"

"Shut up," Ryan said, his face going dark with a scowl. "You'll find out why you're here soon enough. Should've gagged you. Done nothing but yap the whole trip here." They turned and headed for the door. "Enjoy your night. I hear the rats start coming in as soon as the sun goes down." Their laughter trailed behind them as they disappeared.

"You're always bringing out the best in people," Lucas said after they left.

Miranda snorted out a laugh and stretched her muscles, rubbing at her sore backside. He shouldn't have watched. He'd always been partial to her backside--partial to all of her if he was honest.

His eyes skimmed over her, taking in the subtle differences that two years had made. She'd been softer then. She'd always been in great shape. You had to be to get through some of the situations they'd found themselves in. But there'd still been a softness about her--not the lean, muscled wildcat that was standing in front of him ready to fight.

She'd cut her long red hair so it lay in choppy layers around her face, making her sea green eyes seem larger and more mysterious. He knew by looking at her that she'd been working when they'd taken her. Doctor Miranda George was a creature of habit. She wore thin cargo pants for a hot climate and the same hiking boots she'd had for as long as he'd known her. A red bandana hung from her pocket, and her nails were grimy from digging in the dirt. The navy tank top she wore had smudges of dirt on the front where she'd sometimes wipe her right hand if she wanted to touch an artifact. She could get more out of feeling an object than most people could get from looking at it through an X-ray. She had a gift.

The past two years had been miserable, though he'd tried his damnedest to forget her. In all honesty, he couldn't remember why they'd fought to begin with, but it was always a variation of the same argument. Only that time she'd had enough and packed her bags, saying she needed to be closer to the excavation site. She'd never come back. And he hadn't gone to find her.

Lucas lived for the rush, for the feel of diamonds as they trickled through his fingers or tarnished pieces of eight as they were pulled from a watery grave. He always wanted more, to push harder, to take more risks for the ultimate find. And for their cut of the profit to be larger. They had to make a living after all.

But he'd never understood how a woman with such a hard head could have such a soft heart. Miranda hunted for the thrill, just like he did, but she did it for the love of every little piece of history she held in her hand. In some ways, they should've balanced each other perfectly.

"I should've known the second they nabbed me that you'd be involved," Miranda said, walking a perimeter around the cell and looking for any weak points, just as he'd done. "Damian told you to watch your back two years ago."

"No, he told us that we'd better watch our backs," he argued. "If we hadn't thought to call in the news cameras so the find was on live TV, Damian would have shot us and left our bodies for shark food off the coast of Jamaica. We knew going in he was going to try to take the credit for finding the pirate treasure that disappeared when Port Royal sank. But it was you and me, babe. Like always."

"Yeah, like always," she said distractedly. "You blow your reward money already?"

He gritted his teeth through a smile. "Yeah, on fast cars and fancy women. Just like I want them."

"You always did have more ambition than sense, so I'm not surprised."

And there it was right there, he thought, the memories of that last fight rushing over him. She'd never believed that he'd loved her as much as he loved the hunt. As much as he loved the treasure, riches, or glory. He'd been damned tired of trying to convince her, so he'd let her walk. If she couldn't take his word for it and trust him, then there was no reason for her to stay.

Adrenaline and tempers had been running high after the Port Royal find, and the threat of Damian coming after them was always hanging over their heads. If they hadn't had national news coverage, they'd both be dead. But as it stood, Jamaica's government had allowed them the bounty for recovering not one, but two of the ships that had sunk with the island, and they'd allowed Miranda to continue with the excavation team. But even after they'd split, he knew Damian had been watching them both, biding his time.

Damian never did anything without a reason. He was a planner, and he was patient. If he'd gone to the trouble of kidnapping both of them, it was for a specific reason. He had a job only they could do.

"Yeah, well, I guess we should focus on getting the hell out of here, so I can return to living the high life," he said. "It'll be dark soon, and I have no desire to share this cell with the rats."

Lucas sulked at the reality of having preferred spending the night with her than pretending to escape from her.

MIRANDA WOULD'VE RATHER BEEN anywhere else.

She wasn't ready to see Lucas. She hadn't prepared herself for it. He'd broken her heart and left her holding the pieces, and when she'd left after the Port Royal excavation, he'd shrugged his shoulders and told her to have fun. And then he'd hopped on a flight to Poland to search for Nazi gold as part of a treasure hunter show on The Travel Channel.

Ancient history. All that mattered now was getting out and getting away from him. She'd kept busy the past two years, and she'd just started feeling like she was almost whole again. Still cracked in places, but at least all the pieces were there.

"You were working when they got you?" he asked.

Looking at him hurt more than it should have, and she turned, searching for a way to escape. But she couldn't help but glance at him f

rom the corner of her eye. He sat on a rusted bed frame, his arm propped on his knee and his body relaxed, though she knew he could spring into action unexpectedly. His dark blond hair was sun streaked and hung below his ears, and a couple of days of growth of beard shadowed his face.

By the looks of him, he'd been in the cell for a while. Rivulets of sweat trickled down the contours of his chest and abs. She'd dreamed of that body for two years. Woken in the middle of the night aching and sweaty and needing his touch so badly she could hardly stand it. The physical had never been the problem between them.

"Yeah, they found a mass grave off the coast of Florida. It dates to the seventeenth century, so they asked if I'd help catalog the find. Looks like it was a massacre of Spaniards, and there might be more to Ponce de Leon and the Fountain of Youth than we thought."