I slide a look at Davis as warmth finally takes hold in my belly. “Is this your land now, or are you squatting because you know no one else is using it?”
“Mine. For now.”
“Until you find the treasure.”
“Sure.”
I try a little sip of the tequila, andoh my god.
Not asking.
Definitely not asking how much this cost.
But it’s good.
Smooth. Minimal burn.
I sip again.
After a third sip, I have the courage to ask the question that’s suddenly niggling at me. “If the treasure doesn’t exist, it can’t be found. If it can’t be found, when will people stop looking for it? How long do I have to worry that people will perpetually be trying to take things from the museum, thinking it’s some kind of clue?”
“It exists.”
I shift on the couch until I’m leaning one shoulder against the back cushions and stare at him. “How do youknow?”
“Just do.”
“Because you feel it?”
“Have proof.”
“What proof?”
The fucker doesn’t answer.
Not that I thought he would.
Maybe if I get more tequila in him, he will.
The corners of his lips lift behind his beard.
Just a little, but a little’s enough.
“Are you laughing at my plans to get this information out of you?” I ask him.
He wasn’t in my head. He can’t know what I was thinking.
Except he might.
“Were there any hidden pockets in Thorny Rock’s jacket?” he asks me.
“Why? Do you think there were? Have you seen it? Have you inspected it? If you did, why didn’t you look for hidden pockets yourself?”
The man has the audacity to smile.
Actuallysmile.
“You’re very suspicious,” he says.
