Wilde One Read online

  A blue sign promising a rest area in two miles loomed before her. Maybe drinking that oversized bottle of water hadn’t been the smartest move before beginning a long road trip. Then again, it wasn’t like she was on a tight schedule. She took the exit a couple of minutes later and parked in the shade of a scraggly dogwood tree. After a quick trip to the restroom, she grabbed the road atlas off the passenger seat along with a stack of mail she’d collected that morning and took her load to a nearby picnic table.

  Heat radiated from the pavement, nearly melting her sandals. Little black birds pecking at some spilled corn chips scattered when she sat on the hot bench. She opened the atlas and stared at the different colored states spread across the page. When her cell chirped, she pulled it from her purse to glance at the display then smiled before pushing the connect button.

  “Hey, Devin, how’s life?”

  “Could be worse.” Her best friend responded in a sunny tone. “Of course it could be better, too. The congressman is keeping me hopping.”

  “I bet. I can’t believe Walton Hinsdale is running for president.”

  “Me, either. Work’s been crazy with all the campaigning.” A sigh gusted through the phone. “I don’t want to think about it right now. What’re you up to? School’s out for the summer, isn’t it?”

  Ainslee leaned on one elbow and smiled as a golden retriever galloped toward a grassy area, dragging a young boy at the end of the leash. “Yep, I left New York this morning. Right now I’m sitting at a rest area, trying to decide which way to head.”

  “Wow, you really did it? You quit your job?”

  “I certainly did. My only goal for the summer is to see some of the historic spots I tried so hard to teach about to my students. Those delinquents didn’t give a rat’s ass where their ancestors came from or what they’d accomplished to give their descendants a better life.”

  “Of course they didn’t. They’re teenagers. Do you have something new lined up for the fall?”

  She winced. “No.”

  “What?” Her old friend’s voice rose in a squeak. “Ainslee the Organized doesn’t have a plan of action?”

  She frowned. “I’m tired of always being responsible. I need a break from my straight and narrow life, at least for a few weeks. I want to go a little wild for a change. If worse comes to worst and I can’t get a teaching position in September, I can always wait tables to survive.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Maybe.” She closed her eyes and pressed fingers to her temples. “I’ve kind of had it with—everything. You know what I’d like?”

  “What?” Devin’s tone was soft. Sympathetic.

  “I’d like to have someone to lean on. Someone to help share the load. You know how it is in the city, constantly surrounded by people, but no one really cares.”

  “Hey, you can always lean on me.”

  A little smile curved her lips. “I know. Goes both ways.”

  “You don’t want to return to Iowa, do you?” Her friend’s tone held a touch of horror.

  “God, no!” She choked on a laugh. “I’m not that desperate for support.”

  “Now, that sounds like the Ainslee I know and love. Crap.” Muffled voices came through the receiver. “Be right there.” Devin’s voice grew louder. “I’ve gotta go. Walton…” A grinding noise. Probably her friend’s teeth. “Keep me posted on your progress, okay? And call anytime you need to vent.”

  “I will. Bye, Devin.”

  She laid down her phone. Practically since they were still in diapers, just talking to her best friend gave her a shot of motivation. Devin had never met a challenge she couldn’t conquer. For once, she’d take a page out of her friend’s book and live life on the edge.

  Ainslee glanced back at the map and frowned at the lines of interconnecting freeways as she considered her options. North to Boston, south to Jamestown or continue on her current path west to immerse herself in the world of the Amish. Now there was life simplified. Right now, a barebones environment held infinite appeal.

  Postponing a hard and fast decision, her gaze strayed to the pile of mail, and she flipped through the envelopes. Mostly junk along with a couple of bills and…her brows lowered.

  Odd, who sends handwritten letters these days? She ripped open the flap and pulled out the single sheet of notebook paper filled with nearly illegible scrawl. A key dropped from the envelope into her palm. She closed her fist around it. Fifteen minutes later she finished reading the letter for a second time and gazed out at the cars flashing by on the interstate as she lost herself in memories.

  She sat beside her grandmother on the old, plaid couch in the cozy living room and carefully turned the pages of the family photo album. Grandma Nell proudly pointed to the picture of her father, Ainslee’s great-grandpa Francis dressed in his army uniform, and told her how he’d died a hero in the war.

  Though Grandma had been too young when he was killed to remember him, her mother had made sure Nell knew how funny and charming and brave he’d been, how he’d passed his red hair and his sense of humor along to his daughter.

  Ainslee touched one of the long, spiraling curls hanging over her shoulder. Not firehouse red like her great-grandpa, but the auburn shades were an attribute inherited from her long-dead ancestor. Now this man, Victor Talbot, was giving her the opportunity to earn a second legacy, a priceless Nazi treasure her great-grandfather and the other men in his squad had recovered. She tapped her finger on the letter, wondering what the catch was. No one handed over a fortune to a stranger.

  Except apparently none of those men who’d been Victor’s comrades-in-arms had lived long enough to be the recipient of his bequest. Giving it to one of their descendants seemed like a truly noble gesture, a dying man’s wish to honor his fallen buddies. She would have loved to have met the valiant, old gentleman, but the first line of the letter made it clear she was too late for that.

  Straightening her shoulders, she rubbed a thumb across the key and studied the riddle. Who was she to deny a dying man his final request? She’d play his game and play it well as a tribute to her great-grandfather. A tingle of excitement coursed through her, and her pulse quickened. Any sort of treasure, whether it was a bag filled with uncut gems or an unknown statue by Michelangelo, would be a welcome addition to her meager nest egg. A scavenger hunt following a series of clues sure as hell beat teaching history to bored teens or waiting tables to feed herself and her as yet unclaimed pet.

  But first she had to solve the puzzle. Her brow creased as she read it again.

  Across the river, the brightest learn that jealousy looms if you add an eye. Take liberty’s path to Ben’s wealth to find the year enchantresses dangled.

  Huh? She’d always been good at riddles, but this one made no sense. What did jealousy have to do with liberty and enchantresses? Wait! Liberty Bell and Ben Franklin. Was the next clue in Philadelphia? If so, what did jealousy have to do with Philly?

  Thank God for smartphones. Lifting hers from the table, she typed key words into a search engine and scrolled through the possibilities. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. The most promising was a story about a jealous husband stabbing his wife’s lover near the Delaware River. Ainslee drew in a long breath then let it out slowly. Maybe Philadelphia was too obvious.

  Back to the drawing board. She typed in jealousy and eye and searched the results. Green-eyed monster. Her pulse thrummed. Now she was getting somewhere. The clue referred to jealousy when an eye was added. If she took out the eye that left…a green monster.

  Maybe old Victor had been more than a little crazy, but something about a green monster niggled at the back of her mind. Not fangs and claws and scales but…the recollection slipped away. She’d remember if she didn’t think too hard about it and focused on something else. Liberty’s path. Sounded historic. She typed it in. A non-profit organization in Texas came up. What did that have to do with green monsters? Nothing.

  “Think, Ainslee.” She fr
owned and typed liberty into the online thesaurus, then scanned the list of words. Freedom. The word bounced around her brain, searching for a connection. Freedom. Path. The Underground Railroad had been called the path to freedom. Was the green monster slavery? Wait a minute…

  She jumped to her feet, fist-pumped the air and let out a hoot. A woman walking back from the restroom stared then hurried toward her parked car.

  A sheepish grin slipped out as Ainslee reclaimed her seat. If liberty equaled freedom, then a path could be a trail. The Freedom Trail ran through Boston, and the green monster…the memory clicked. Fenway Park, home to the Red Sox. Their baseball stadium’s outfield wall was called the Green Monster. With difficulty, she controlled the urge to jump up and down. The brightest learned across the river. Duh. Harvard was in Cambridge on the other side of the Charles.

  “Oh, yeah!” Ainslee allowed herself one little dance step as she gathered her belongings and headed back to the parking lot. The Amish would have to wait. She’d figure out the rest of the clue once she got to Boston.

  * * * *

  Griff stood in front of the Liberty Bell and swore. When an elderly woman gasped and edged away, he clamped his lips together and retreated to a bench far from the horde of eager history buffs with their clicking cameras.

  What in the name of God was I thinking?

  Had he really expected to find notes stuck to the inside of the bell? Or maybe a clue box with a flag on top like they provided for the participants of those reality TV shows?

  “I’m an idiot.” He dropped his duffle bag on the grass beside him and pulled the creased letter from his pocket to scowl at the crabbed writing he’d come to despise. No way had Victor Talbot left the next clue glued to a national treasure. The words liberty and Ben had led him astray. Probably exactly what the old goat had wanted. Griff imagined the decrepit geezer cackling with glee while hellfire leaped and flamed behind him.

  Maybe the freaking riddle wasn’t going to be so easy to solve after all.

  He glanced up as a stunning brunette walked by, phone clamped to her ear. Her voice rose. “No, Tony, it isn’t here. I’m telling you, we were wrong.” Heels tapping and hips swaying, she headed toward the street.

  Griff’s attention returned to the clue. His mistake had been in focusing on a single phrase and thinking he was so damned smart to figure it out in two minutes flat once he put his mind to it. Obviously liberty was a red herring, but the first part of the riddle didn’t make any sense. Jealousy looms if you add an eye. Tilting his head back against the bench, he turned his face to the morning sun and tried to think. There was some expression about jealousy that had to do with an eye. What the hell was it? He snapped his fingers. Didn’t people describe jealousy as a green-eyed monster?

  Jackpot!

  He sat up straight and read the clue again. If he took out the eye, he was left with…green monster. A grin spread. He’d been to Fenway Park with his crew after a salvage expedition up in Maine. Had just missed catching a foul ball. Not Philadelphia. Boston. The next piece of the puzzle was in Boston.

  Jumping up off the bench, he paused as his grandpa’s voice echoed in his head. Don’t go off half-cocked, boy. That’s what he’d done before, and the result had landed him amongst a gaggle of tourists staring at a cracked bell. Boston was a big place. He needed to make sure he was on the right track.

  He sat back down and read the scrawled words for the millionth time. Take liberty’s path to Ben’s wealth to find the year Paul took to the streets. Maybe Ben did refer to Franklin after all. Surely there was a Franklin Street in Boston. And Paul must be Paul Revere. What year had he made his famous midnight ride? Griff frowned, wishing he’d paid more attention in history class. 1776 maybe? He’d look it up to be sure, but he was willing to bet the next clue could be found at 1776 or possibly 1775 Franklin Street in Boston.

  With a whoop, he rose to his feet, scooped up the duffle bag, then hurried across the grass. With any luck, a commuter flight would land in Boston within the next couple of hours. Raising a hand to hail a passing taxi, he jerked open the door when the driver pulled up to the curb, then tossed his bag inside.

  “Take me to the airport.”

  “You got it.” The cabbie snapped his gum as he pulled back into traffic. “Where you headed?”

  Griff glanced down at the letter still clutched in his hand. “I have a date with destiny.”

  “She sounds hot.”

  His laugh echoed around the interior. “Let’s hope so.”

  Chapter 2

  Griff’s head was going to explode. Surely the smoking hot babe with auburn ringlets hanging clear to her superior ass had seen the steam erupting from his ears when they’d passed each other on the street a couple of minutes ago. Come to think of it, the woman had looked nearly as pissed off as he felt. Must have something to do with the ungodly heat radiating up from the pavement.

  Not a breath of air stirred the entire length of Franklin Street, which ran straight through the financial district in downtown Boston. Finding the street had been a piece of cake. Problem was the address 1775 didn’t exist. Maybe he should be on Franklin Way or Franklin Avenue, but the clue had mentioned wealth. Surely this was the right neighborhood.

  Dropping the duffle bag, he fisted his hands on his hips and scowled at the people passing by in regulation business attire. An older woman gave him a wide berth as she hurried around him. Now what?

  Had the dying man mistaken the address when he wrote the clue? Griff turned the key over as he paced up and down the sidewalk. Nothing at all to identify it, but the flat surface and distinctive tooth pattern reminded him of one his mother kept mixed in with her jewelry. The key opened a safety deposit box at the bank.

  His head jerked up. Was 1775 a box number not an address? But at which bank? He pulled the crumpled letter out of his pocket. Take liberty’s path to Ben’s wealth… Christ, he really was a moron. Not Franklin Street. Franklin Bank. It could be anywhere in the city. What he needed was a phone book…or the Internet. Rolling his eyes, he pulled out his cell and ran a search for Franklin Bank in Boston. Amazingly, the main branch of the financial establishment was located only a few blocks away. Hoisting the duffle, he set out. If the next stop on his quest was within a day’s drive, he’d rent a car. Taking cabs and hoofing it with luggage was already getting annoying.

  His steps slowed in front of a white building ostentatiously decorated with Corinthian columns. Staring up at the identifying name plate discretely embedded in the façade, he nearly ran into the auburn-haired beauty he’d noticed earlier. Big brown eyes gazed back at him before she offered a shy smile when he held the door wide. A gust of frigid air struck with the force of an arctic blast. Griff nearly moaned with pleasure.

  Following the pair of long, shapely legs bared by a skirt that hit her at mid-thigh, he tore his gaze away to glance around a waiting area boasting real leather chairs. The place obviously catered to Boston’s elite. Clad in a T-shirt and khaki shorts, he was woefully underdressed. With a shrug, he passed by the first teller behind the polished mahogany counter, a dignified older man with a moustache, to stop before a cute young blonde.

  “How may I help you, sir?”

  “I need to open a safe deposit box.” He held up the silver key.

  One window over, ringlet girl shot him a wide-eyed glance before leaning toward the older male clerk to murmur an answer to his greeting.

  “Certainly, sir. Have a seat.” The blonde waved toward the leather chairs. “I’ll call someone to assist you.

  “Thanks.” Griff retreated, dropped the duffle on the maroon and gold area rug then sat. The leather cushion molded to his ass like a form-fitting wetsuit.

  A minute later, the beauty took a seat opposite him.

  He cleared his throat. “Hot out there today.” Brilliant opening maneuver. He gave himself a mental slap. She probably thinks I’m dumber than dirt.

  Chocolate brown eyes lifted to meet his
gaze before darting away. “The air conditioning bill for this monolith would probably feed a third world country.”

  “I’m not complaining, just enjoying.” He leaned forward and flashed his most winning smile. “How many times a day do strange men accost you on the street to ask if they can touch your hair?”

  She slapped a hand over her mouth, but not before the hint of a grin peeked out. “If I had a nickel for every time someone stopped me—I’d still be broke.”

  “Bostonians must be idiots.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m not from around here.”

  “Oh, where’re you from?” He held out a hand. “I’m Griff, by the way, Griff Wilde.”

  She only hesitated for a moment before taking his palm in a firm grip. “Ainslee Fontaine from…nowhere right now. I’m sort of between jobs at the moment.”

  “Yeah? Me, too. I just left Florida to head to the west coast—after a few detours.”

  “I—”

  She broke off as a stocky man wearing a ferocious scowl along with a suit that must have cost him a couple of grand slammed out of an inner office. The female teller followed and darted a nervous glance toward the sitting area.

  “What do you want me to tell them?” Her whisper carried through the quiet lobby.

  His back stiffened as he ran a hand through carefully styled blond hair. “I can’t refuse. Damn.” He gave an abrupt nod. “Harvey can take them both back together. I’m out of here. You probably won’t see me for at least a week.”

  “Enjoy your time off, Mr. Morris.”

  “Let’s hope.” He breezed past the seating area, met Griff’s gaze with a long, cool stare then pushed through the lobby doors. They swooshed shut behind him.

  The blonde spoke briefly to her co-worker who nodded and headed in their direction. The clerk stopped in front of them, the tips of his moustache quivering. “If you’ll both follow me, I’ll take you back to the deposit boxes.”