She set the box on the coffee table and handed him the document, which was nothing more than a nondisclosure agreement making him liable should he relay any information about the map or other knowledge he obtained through Abigail Holland or King Farrell about the Devil’s Gold.
When he’d finished reading, she handed him a ballpoint pen.
Logan looked up at her. “You realize you should have me sign this in front of a notary.”
“I know. We can make it official tomorrow. The truth is, I’m banking on your sterling reputation, Mr. Logan. If you decide to screw me over, I’m sure you can find a way.”
His groin stirred at her choice of words, a mental image forming of the two of them in bed. Probably not smart to mention it.
Gage took the pen and signed the paper. Abby opened the box and took out the map. It was made of cowhide or deerskin, old and stained. She set it on the coffee table in front of him, and Gage bent forward to get a closer look.
Disappointment filtered through him, along with a sweep of relief. He had seen a map like hers before.
Gage sat back on the sofa. “I really thought you’d have something interesting to show me but this—”
“I know what you’re going to say. There are a number of maps like this one.”
“Yes. The treasure you’re looking for is infamous. The Lost Dutchman Mine in the Superstition Mountains? Every amateur treasure hunter in the country has searched for it.”
“You’re right. Over the last hundred and seventy years, roughly two hundred and fifty people have died trying to find it. Some were killed by exposure to the harsh desert conditions; others suffered tragic accidents; some were murdered, including several who had their heads severed from their bodies.”
Every serious treasure hunter had heard the stories, many of which were extremely gruesome.
“The Apaches believe the mountains are cursed,” Gage said. “Who knows, maybe they are. The truth is there’s no limit to what people are willing to do to find a fortune in gold—if it actually exists. I assumed the treasure King was hunting was something very different.”
She leaned toward the map, and Gage caught the faint fragrance of jasmine. Another rush of blood headed south. He took a sip of scotch, hoping to relax his body’s reaction to a woman he found extremely attractive.
Abby picked up the map. “You said you’d seen a map like this before.”
“I know they sell copies of it in the Lost Dutchman Museum at the base of the mountains. I’ve even seen them online.”
“Take another look.” She pointed to a spot where the map had been altered. “At one point the trail has been redrawn, veering off from the east toward the south. That’s my grandfather’s handwriting. He was there.” She pointed to an X drawn in black ink on the map. Next to it were the initials KF.
“Let me take a closer look,” Gage said. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” She handed him the thin, stiff piece of rawhide, and he held it up to the light. The black marks had neatly been added. He wished he had one of the reproduction maps to compare it to.
“If King was there and that’s where the gold is, why didn’t he find it?”
“I don’t know. If it was easy, he would have discovered it years ago. I think that’s where he may have been when he died, but no one seems to know. His attorney received a phone call from King a month before he passed away. Apparently, King told him that unless he received another call, at the end of thirty days, he should assume King was dead and implement the will he’d made the last time he was in Denver.”
“King must have known he only had a short time to live.”
Abby glanced away, but Gage caught a glimpse of pain. “I think that’s what happened.”
“What else do you know?”
“Over the years, he told me dozens of stories. Sometimes we talked about clues he’d discovered during a trip he’d made in search of the gold.”
Gage swallowed the last of his scotch, set the glass and the map down on the coffee table, and rose from the sofa. No treasure hunter worth his salt would mount an expedition with evidence like this. He didn’t have to worry. Abby would be safe.
“I’m sorry, Abby, I truly am. But I’m going to have to pass on this one.” He stuck out a hand Abby ignored.
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Turning back to the antique box on the table, she lifted the lid, reached inside, and brought out a chunk of gold. It glittered in the lamplight, sending his pulse up a notch.
Gage sat back down. “Where did you get that?”
“It came with the map.” She handed him what looked like a chunk broken off a solid gold ingot. Beveled sides, flat on the top and bottom, a little over an inch and three quarters long and an inch and a half wide, it appeared to have been part of a longer bar, with a rough edge where it had broken off. There was a stamp in the gold, the letter P, worn but legible.
