The London Deception. Addison Fox
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All had proven far more lucrative than the choices of his early, misguided days.
And all had provided an outstanding cover for his older, somewhat wiser, still-misguided choices.
The only question left to his mind was whether or not Rowan Steele was going to go along for the ride.
* * *
Rowan sat in the conference room they kept at headquarters and pored over the map of Egypt she’d had since her college days. The map was well used—full of pencil markings, notations and a fair number of rips and tears—but she loved it and the history of her life that was tied to every one of those external markers.
She’d instructed Kensington to take the meeting with Finn Gallagher and knew she needed to be on her game. The man had rearranged his entire schedule to get to New York overnight for their face-to-face, only reinforcing the job was one of his highest priorities. As if the payment he’d offered didn’t already offer a sizable clue.
Although she hadn’t slept much this week, the time with Campbell the other night had eliminated the nightmares, and when she did sleep, her mind was blessedly free. For the first time in more days than she could count, Rowan felt somewhat back to her old self.
Kensington bustled into the room on sky-high, pencil-thin heels, her normally serene expression haggard. “That’s what you’re wearing to this meeting?”
“I’m fine.” Rowan glanced down at the peasant blouse she’d donned with a pair of jeans. “What’s your damage today?”
“Finn Gallagher is offering us a rather lucrative gig, Rowan. You can’t take it a notch above bohemian chic?”
“I think your sister looks rather beautiful, Ms. Steele.”
They both turned, and Rowan would have bet her face was a match for Kensington’s dropped mouth as they both took in the large man that stood in the doorway.
“As do you in your corporate chic. I hope you’ll forgive my coming straight up. Your assistant let me in.” He stepped into the room and crossed to them, his arm outstretched. “Kensington?”
Rowan gave her sister the edge in quick recoveries and saw the polished veneer that returned once more to her porcelain skin. “Mr. Gallagher. Glad you could join us.”
“Finn, please.”
The man turned toward her, and Rowan felt the first blast from his intense gaze. Rich hazel eyes winked at her, slight crinkles edging the corners, and she felt herself immediately sucked in.
Especially when another pair of hazel eyes rose up in her mind to swamp her with the memory of a moonlit night full of danger and death.
Pull it together, girl.
The admonishment did little to remove the memory, but it was enough to have her gathering her manners and extending her hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
The cultured tones of his native Britain met her ears, and another remembrance struck hard and fast. This man’s voice was deeper than the one that haunted her memories, but still effective at turning her insides liquid.
Kensington gestured him toward a seat, and Rowan took a moment to gather herself while his attention was diverted. She’d been in the presence of men with British accents before. She’d also been in the presence of men with hazel eyes.
So where was this sudden flash of memory coming from?
And why was it so strong and nearly debilitating in its intensity?
Sure, the dreams had been particularly bad of late and she hadn’t been sleeping well, but even insomnia wasn’t an excuse for such a reaction. Maybe it was the prospect of spending time in his all-too-attractive company if they agreed to the assignment.
Or so Rowan hoped.
They all helped themselves to coffee and a small fruit-and-breakfast-pastry tray before resuming spots at the table. Rowan hung back, lingering over the preparation for her coffee, intrigued by the seat Finn selected.
In her experience, powerful men always gravitated to the head of the table, so it was fascinating when he selected a seat in the middle. It was even more fascinating to watch as he removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, the thick muscles of his forearms capturing her gaze.
“Finn, I appreciate your taking the time to meet with us.” Kensington started in, her “client tone” firmly in place. “Your request is an interesting one and frankly not something a lot of firms have the expertise to pull off.”
“Which is why I made the outreach to you in the first place.”
“And which we appreciate.” Kensington volleyed right back. “It doesn’t change the fact you’re requesting services from us that are, at best, unorthodox and, at worst, highly dangerous.”
“The danger should be minimal, especially for someone of your sister’s expertise.”
For the first time since the discussion began, Finn’s gaze settled fully on her. Rowan felt the shift in attention immediately, a heavy rush of heat filling her center at his scrutiny.
“You seem awfully sure about that, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Finn.” He corrected her with a smile. “Please.”
“Whatever I call you, it doesn’t change the fact you want me to accompany you into a highly charged political situation. Those assigned to excavate the site have a variety of interests. What makes you so sure they’re all willing to play well with others?”
“I make it my business to know the odds. To understand where there’s real danger and where there’s simply a lot of smoke.”
“And I make it my business to pick the proper partner when politics are involved,” Rowan parried.
“I am the right partner.”
“I’ve already been approached on this project by the British Museum. I’m scheduled to spend time on the excavation site in the spring.”
“Partner with me and you can get there next week. All your clearances will be taken care of. Immediate access, Ms. Steele.”
Rowan smiled, the formality an interesting touch, especially since they’d already dispensed with surnames at his directive. “I’ve spent my career building my reputation with the Egyptian authorities, the world’s major auction houses and the academicians who want to ensure history is preserved.”
“As have I.”
“Yet you want me to pose as your business partner, aid you in authenticating the cache and potentially aid in the removal of said cache if the situation becomes untenable.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, the movement enough to flutter the light material of her blouse where it gaped at her throat. “You don’t need me for that. Your reputation is sound and you’ve already got the job. Why bring in an outsider?”
Finn knew she had a point, but damn it, he needed her on this. “I want an expert. An outside expert who can see things that I can’t.”
“The intel that’s come back already suggests it’s a straight excavation job on a site that’s already been studied for a century. It’s about to play host to several teams of experts. Why bring in one more?”
While he’d expected her skepticism, he didn’t expect the overt push back. He’d been involved in the project for the past two months, and no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t hold back the sense that he needed another resource with him. The parties in play—the British Museum, the British and Egyptian governments, and several interested auction houses—all had ulterior motives in mind.
But were any of them truly worried about the preservation of the priceless artifacts the experts