“Huh.”Herotated the pen between his fingers to get a better look. “Doyou think there’s actually something at the end of all these clues?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Jack reclined against the wall, bringing me with him.Ihad to admit, this was . . . this was nice.
“Seems like a lot of work for it not to lead anywhere,” he said as he wrapped his arms around my waist. “Howmany more do you think there are?”
“I don’t know.Butat this point,IthinkI’mseeing cursiveA’sin my sleep.”
“You mean, like that one?”Jacksaid as he pointed at the railing of the widow’s watch.
Sure enough, one of the rungs of the railing sported the same type of burned brand as the floorboard.
I craned forward and smoothed my fingers over the marking. “Howcould something be in it, though?Wouldn’tbeing outside degrade whatever was hidden?”
“We’ll never know unless we try,”Jacksaid as he leaned us both forward and reached for the rung.
“Hold on!”Ishouted. “Thewidow’s watch isfine.I’mnot redoing it.What’sthat saying?Ifit ain’t broke, don’t fix it?”
His mouth grazed my ear. “Treasure,Roar.Don’tyou want to live a little?”
Shivers danced down my spine.Somethingabout my aunt’s shenanigans had triggered a curiosity in me thatIthoughtIhad lost.Ihad an inkling that the treasure hunt—bogus as it may be—had sparked my imagination again.
I had always been driven by the “what ifs.”
What if the clues meant something?
What if there was treasure hidden under the house?
What if the hidden manuscript pages were actually a cipher?
What if a girl traveled across the country after breaking a cipher, only to run into rogue treasure hunters in a race to the gold?
What if she had to team up with the sexy treasure hunter because an organized crime family was after them, thinking that the treasure hunters were going to find their literal skeletons?
What if she fell in love with her treasure-hunting enemy-slash-partner?
What if they had to hide in a train’s luggage compartment, while the bad guys searched each car, hunting them down?
What if . . .
What if . . .
What if . . .
I grabbed a blue pen and scribbled down a few plot ideas on the backside of a sheet of notebook paper whileJackfiddled with the railing.Treasurehunting, but make it dark and sexy.
Life was full of “what ifs.”Theywere either two of the most damning words known to man—full of regrets and missed chances—or a liberating expanse of unfettered hope.
When hadIstopped looking at “what ifs” as possibilities?WhenhadIboarded up my heart and locked the part of my mind that ached with wanderlust and craved the excitement of the unknown?
“Roar—”Jack’sgravelly voice startled me.
I blinked and watched as he gently turned the balcony rung like a screwdriver.Carefully,Jackeased it out from the railing. “Well.Wouldyou look at that . . .”
“It’s hollow,”Isaid in disbelief asJackhanded it to me.Igave it a gentle shake, and something rattled around inside.Slowly,Itipped it upside down and cupped my hand over the opening. “Justas long as it’s not snakes.”
Jack chuckled.
