Holiday Baby Scandal

“Leave the room,” Laney spouted over her shoulder. “I’ll go home. If you want to come there, you can. I have too much to do.”

Ryker nodded. “I’ll try not to be too late.”

Once he was gone, Laney glanced back at her overbearing babysitter. “You know your hovering and childish attitude aren’t going to make my feelings for him go away.”

“I’ve thought about this. I don’t like feeling betrayed, but there’s so much more at stake. I want you both to realize what’s at stake if you fall out. We need him, Laney.”

“You think I’m not aware of that? I can’t help who I fall in love with, Braden.”

He blew out a breath and pulled her into his arms. “Damn it, Laney. I love you both and don’t want either of you hurt—even if I’m still pissed at him.”

Laney sank into his embrace. “I don’t think it’s me you have to worry about.”

Fifteen

Ryker searched the obvious hiding places at the former O’Shea home once more: closets, cabinets, old trunks. He made his way to the secret tunnel Zara had showed them. The space was rather small and had no shelves, just a chair in the corner. The tunnel could be accessed at one end from an opening at the kitchen and at the other end from the long hallway. Ryker knew if those scrolls were still here, they’d likely be someplace “hidden” like this where no one would think to look.

He ran his hands over the walls. He’d never thought to look for another secret passage. Who knew what surprises this house had concealed? He covered every square inch of the walls, then worked on the baseboards, the floorboards. The tunnel was clean.

He’d been there for five hours and had covered the basement and main floor. There wasn’t a loose floorboard to be found. As he went up to the second floor, the steps creaked, groaning against his weight. He froze. Old steps were bound to crackle and settle, but he’d never explored the stairs. Hadn’t even crossed his mind—until now.

Ryker went back down the steps and started there. He knocked on the boards, curious if any were loose or sounded different from the others. He tapped each post on the banister, as well. He’d nearly made it to the top when, two steps from the second-floor landing, he hit pay dirt.

He’d been excited before on other hunts only to be deflated when nothing happened. But he was damn well going to devote every bit of energy he had to fulfilling Patrick’s dying wish. Ryker owed him at least that—especially because he hadn’t been able to stay away from Laney. That was a debt he’d never be able to repay.

Wrapping his fingers around the outside edge of the wood, Ryker gave a slight tug. The wood creaked as it started to give way. The banister that rested in that particular step splintered. Ryker jerked it out, tossed it down the steps...he’d pay to have it repaired later.

His heart accelerated as he gave the board another pull. Finally it ripped free from the step. He eased down another stair and pulled out the minuscule flashlight he’d shoved into his pocket before coming here.

Bending to get a good view, his chest clenched as he spotted something inside. No way could this be the scrolls. The odds that they’d been right under their noses the entire time was pretty nonexistent. Yet something had brought him back to the old house.

Ryker slid the end of the flashlight between his teeth, then, using both hands, he reached into the space and tugged out a metal box.

Sinking back onto the step, his back against the wall, he stared at the box as if it held every answer he’d ever wanted. Was this them? He wanted to rip into this box to see, but at the same time he wanted to wait, to hold on to the hope he felt right at this moment. If these were the missing scrolls, Ryker had just accomplished what no one else had been able to.

Zara couldn’t have known about this hiding spot in the steps or she would’ve told them. Which made him wonder if her grandmother even knew.

He set the flashlight aside and pulled the lock-pick kit from his jacket pocket. The box was definitely an antique, turn of the twentieth century, if he was guessing right. He’d been working with and acquiring for the O’Sheas long enough to know antiques. This box may be the one the O’Sheas had used before the scrolls had gone missing.

Carefully he went to work on the old, rusted lock. The box was long but not very wide. Ryker wondered if the scrolls could even fit in something this size. Suddenly the lock clicked and the lid flopped open. Most old locks were harder to pick. Clearly this was meant to be.

“Damn,” he muttered. There were tubes inside the box. Nine tubes to be exact. Nine tubes that possibly held the nine scrolls.

Ryker couldn’t get into one of the tubes fast enough. He’d barely pried the lid off one when his cell went off.

He ignored it. Nothing was more important than this right here. He didn’t want to pull anything out, because if these were the scrolls, they’d be beyond delicate. But once the lid sprang free, he grabbed the light again and angled it inside the cylinder.

This was it. He’d found them. Finally.

There were no words, there was nothing but a sense of accomplishment unlike anything he’d ever known. He’d done it. After years, decades of hunting, Ryker had been the one to find the heirlooms so important to the O’Shea family.

Quickly, but with care, he put everything back into the box.

Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d been at Zara’s longer than he first thought. It was late, dark, but there was no way he could let this moment pass. He had to let everyone know.

He sent off a quick text to Mac, Braden and Laney, telling them all to meet at Braden’s. Mac should already be there, since that’s where he was staying, and Laney...well, who knew where she would be. He hoped at Braden’s so she could be safe, but knowing her, she went home and was up to her chin in jasmine-scented bubbles.

Ryker had procured many pieces over the years. He’d traveled all over the world. He’d learned languages, used d