Concrete Evidence (2 page)

C
HAPTER
O
NE

July 2011

Bethesda, Maryland

M
USIC PULSED THROUGH
E
RICA
K
ESLING’S
headphones as she thrust her foot high, hitting the hanging punching bag right where Jake Novak’s face ought to be. Her gloved fists found the same spot, two blows in rapid succession, guaranteed to shatter Jake’s imaginary nose. The next kick connected with his groin. In her mind, he doubled over and begged for mercy.

She showed him the same measure of mercy he had shown her. If this were real, the roundhouse kick would have finished him off.

The repeated kicks rubbed the skin on her foot raw until streaks of blood marred the blue bag. She ignored the pain. Each sore, each bruise, only made her stronger. She would be ready when she faced the thieving treasure hunter again.

As she abused the imaginary Jake, she felt real hope, a first since walking out of the jungle a year ago. She’d just kicked Jake in the stomach when the door opened and a very tall man in workout gear entered the room. He nodded to her and went straight for the free weights.

She acknowledged him with a tip of her head, annoyed her private workout time had ended. She’d never seen him in the company gym before, but Talon & Drake employed over two hundred people in Bethesda and several hundred more in other offices. He could be the hydrologist from the Boston office who was supposed to help out in Bethesda for a month. One of the chemists had told her the incoming hydrologist was hot and had called dibs.

She felt his eyes on her as he lifted weights. She waited until he looked away before she checked him out. Impressive delts and triceps, a nice complement to his handsome face. He hadn’t shaved, and his short, light brown hair was mussed in a way that made her think he’d come here straight from bed. He had to be the hydrologist, because even his messy hair and stubbly jaw were sexy.

She looked back at the bag and planted another kick in Jake’s abdomen. The guy might have a nice face and body, but she still wished she had the employee gym to herself.

She kicked and punched until she was dripping sweat and her breathing was ragged with exhaustion. From the corner of her eye, she saw the guy put away the weights and approach her. She twisted and kicked the bag from behind. He stopped on the opposite side of the bag and held it. He was imposing, even taller than she’d thought at first.

“You should take a break,” he said.

With a gloved hand, she tapped her headphones and lied, “Can’t hear you!” She kicked left, then spun around and kicked right, in the zone, her blood pumping, her aggression high. No one would tell her when she was done.

Her foot came dangerously close to him, but he didn’t budge. “I’d like a turn with the bag,” he shouted.

“I get the bag every morning until seven.” Distracted, she missed her target and just glanced the slippery vinyl with her foot. Momentum sent her to the floor, hard. The headphones clattered to the mat next to her.
Crap. Could I look any more ridiculous?

She caught her breath and winced, then tried to sweep her hair from her face, but the thick foam glove was awkward and made her feel even clumsier, answering her own question. Defeated, she blew her hair from her eyes and looked up at him. “And sometimes the bag gets me.”

Warm hands encircled her wrists just below the gloves, and he pulled her to her feet, the light in his eyes hinting at a smile. “It’s not your fault. The bag jumped out of the way.”

“Damn thing has it in for me.”

He picked up her fallen headset and used the cord to reel her to him. His actions were smooth, confident. She didn’t hesitate to step closer and couldn’t fathom why.

A scant foot separated them when he said, “You have a fantastic ass. It’s a shame to see you fall on it.” His eyes lit in playful challenge—
daring her to object?
—as he grinned, then placed the headphones over her ears and walked away.

Stunned, she stared after him. If it weren’t for the teasing grin, she’d be offended. Turnabout was fair play, however, and she paused to admire his ass, which was damn fine in her estimation. She shook her head as if to clear it. She had artifacts to find, a reputation to redeem, and a treasure hunter to put in jail. Juvenile flirtation with the new hydrologist ranked dead last on her list of priorities.

She escaped to the shower. A half hour later, dressed and ready for work, she headed to the juice bar in the lobby of the large office building and treated herself to a smoothie. The five-dollar drink was extravagant, but today was special. Or at least it would be, if her boss gave her the Thermo-Con Environmental Assessment for the Menanichoch Tribe.

Drink in hand, she took the elevator to the eighth floor and headed straight to her boss’s office. She paused in the open doorway and took a sip of the smoothie for courage.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Janice Rabinowitz said. “We need to talk.”

Janice’s tone caused a surge of fear. If Janice had learned about the mistakes she’d made a year ago, she would fire Erica. She took a long, slow breath, forcing herself to appear calm. “What’s going on?”

“A new archaeologist is starting today. Or tomorrow. To be honest, I’m not really sure.”

Okay, Janice didn’t want to talk about Mexico, but her relief was only marginal. Gossip on the archaeology grapevine was perpetuated by dig bums—archaeology’s version of itinerant field-workers. A new archaeologist—especially if they were from the West Coast—could have heard Jake’s twisted version of what happened in Mexico.

Jake couldn’t tell the truth without implicating himself, but the truth would ruin her just as thoroughly as his lies had. So far, those lies hadn’t crossed the Rockies and made it to Janice’s ears. Thanks to the disconnect between coasts, and the fact that underwater archaeologists didn’t play in the same sandbox with their land-based peers, Erica had lasted six months at Talon & Drake, and now, when the project she’d been waiting for was finally within her grasp, a new hire could get her fired. “You hired someone over the weekend?”

“He’s being foisted on us by the home office. He’s scheduled for a six-week internship. I want you to supervise him. He’ll share your office.”

An intern was unlikely to have field experience and probably wouldn’t have heard of her. But sharing her office would seriously hamper her plans. “I don’t have time to train a spoiled intern. I’m swamped with cell towers, and frankly, I was hoping you’d give me the Thermo-Con Environmental Assessment.”

Janice adjusted her glasses. “That’s why you need an assistant, Erica. I’ve been hesitant to give you the Menanichoch EA because of your workload. But the intern can help. Train him to take over the cell tower projects.”

Erica groaned. “I’d rather chew aluminum foil than explain cell tower projects again.”

Janice laughed. “Then I hope you don’t have fillings.”

“Do we really have to take this guy on?”

“He’s been sent from the top—and I mean top, top. The call came from Joseph Talon, Jr.’s executive secretary. This kid happens to be some bigwig’s cousin’s nephew’s next-door neighbor once removed.”

Erica sighed. “Great. A pampered rich kid who’s hoping to dig up treasure.”

“That may be true, but we’ve got to take him. When someone from the home office asks for a favor and, more importantly, gives me the overhead to pay for it, I can’t say no.”

For the thousandth time, she wished she had the courage to tell Janice about Mexico. There was always a chance Janice would believe the truth: she had been trying to rescue the artifacts, not steal them.

The words formed in her throat, then lodged in a place that made breathing difficult. She’d been blackballed from underwater archaeology because of Jake. Erica was lucky archaeology was a field in which an extensive list of projects on her
curriculum vitae
was all she needed to show she knew her way around a trowel. In a pinch, employers rarely checked references, and Janice had been no different when she needed bodies in the field.

Erica had worked her butt off to parlay the field job into a full-time office position, and here she was. She couldn’t risk being fired now, not when she almost had a Menanichoch project. “Okay,” she said, consoling herself with the fact that an intern would be young, inexperienced, and pliable. “But unless he’s good with computers, he won’t touch the cell tower projects. It took me hours to fix the database after the biologists screwed it up.”

“Then he can help you with the Menanichoch EA.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re giving me Thermo-Con?”

Janice smiled. “Yes. You need more environmental project experience if you’re going to start grad school in September. But, here’s the bad news: the EA is due a week from today.”

Her heart beat faster than hummingbird wings, and she held back a smile that would reveal too much. But then the bad news sank in, and fighting a smile was no longer difficult. “The Scope of Work said we’d have a month to write the EA. What changed?”

“The left hand didn’t know what the right was doing. The tribe’s Environmental Compliance Officer called me late Friday with the change to the project timeline. I balked, and she said if we can’t meet the deadline, they’ll find someone who can.” Janice handed her a manila file. “Here’s all the information we have on Thermo-Con.”

Seven days. Seven days to produce the best damned environmental assessment ever to bear the Talon & Drake logo and get her foot in the door with tribal chairman Sam Riversong. Seven days to get a lead on the artifacts.

“Tomorrow I want you to research Thermo-Con at the National Archives,” Janice said.

“But tomorrow I’ll need to train the intern. We should put off the new hire until after the EA is done.” She smiled, having found the perfect argument to delay the intern.

“Or you can train the intern today and still go to the archives tomorrow,” said a deep voice from the doorway.

She turned to see the man from the exercise room leaning against the doorjamb with relaxed grace, his tall form filling the opening. He’d cleaned up and shaved. Now his short brown hair stood up in damp disarray. His crisp shirt and slacks struck the perfect balance of business casual, which made him look authoritative in a sexy way. He pushed off the doorframe in a smooth motion that demonstrated comfort with his extra-long form, and she felt an unwelcome flutter in her belly.

This was no acne-laden college student.

“Lee Scott.” He held out his hand to Janice. “Spoiled intern, pampered rich kid.”

How long had he been standing there? She stiffened and thought of several more adjectives to apply to him.

He dropped into the chair next to her, his smile letting her know he enjoyed catching her off balance…again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Erica Kesling.” She braced for recognition, but saw none in his intent green eyes.

“Now that you’re here, Lee,” Janice said. “Erica will bring you up to speed on our projects, and you both can dive into the Thermo-Con Environmental Assessment, which we’re writing for the Menanichoch Tribe.”

“I have no clue what Thermo-Con is,” he said.

“Few people do,” Janice said. “Thermo-Con was a type of concrete that rose like bread dough after the pour and would harden after it reached two and a half times its original size. The only known house made of Thermo-Con was built in the early fifties and is on the Menanichoch Indian Reservation. Erica will explain it all to you.”

“I don’t get how that relates to archaeology.”

“Erica will explain that too. But first, tell us about yourself.”

He shrugged. “I’m a student at Columbia. I’m an English major, but I’ve decided I want to study something more exciting. I figured it would be a good idea to see if archaeology is the right fit before I make another bad choice. I’ve already switched from premed to political science to English.”

Great. A slacker career student and Indiana Jones wannabe. The changed majors explained his age, which had to be closer to thirty than twenty. The good news: he didn’t know anything and probably wasn’t connected to the dig-bum grapevine. The bad news: he didn’t know anything and would be useless as an assistant. “So, what do you know about archaeology?” she asked. “Besides that you think dinosaurs are cool, I mean.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Nice try. I’m not interested in
paleontology
—even though when I was six, I did think dinosaurs were cool.”

Janice laughed.

Erica gave him a point for his smooth handling of her snide question. “What archaeology classes have you taken?”

“None so far, but I’ve been reading up on the subject. I’m interested in the intersection between archaeology and environmental law. I know the National Environmental Policy Act goes hand in hand with the National Historic Preservation Act, which has me wondering if I should consider a double major—biology and archaeology. I’m guessing expertise in both fields would make me most useful to potential employers.”

“You have been reading.” She felt strangely chilled. His words could have been taken directly from her application to American University’s Environmental Science graduate program, which she was starting in September. Talon & Drake’s continuing education program would pay her tuition, another reason she had to hold on to this job.