The Treasure Hunter's Lady by Allison Merritt Read Free Book Online Page A

female would carry for protection. He stared at the brass-plated weapon. A Lighthouser .745, not as large as his Bennett, but no play toy either. The metal gleamed maliciously in the light.
    “The 1885 model? I wasn't aware they were givin' those to just anyone,” he said, attempting to relieve some of the tension between them. Anything to distract her for just a moment.
    She smiled at him, but it was frosty. "I'll have that bit of nothing, if you please."
    "If I don't please?"
    "I don't have to worry about bloodying Mr. Christensen's carpets. Not much, anyway. You're right, not just anyone can get one. It's all in who you know. The 1885 has a fine, but deadly beam. As soon as it hits you, it'll close the wound. How thoughtful of someone to design a weapon that both kills and cauterizes to minimize the mess."
    Romy was a woman of many facets, like the fabled Diamond. She sounded perfectly cheerful about shooting him.
    "I can't give you the fang." Trying to keep his voice steady, he watched the gun shake a little in her grip. It was too heavy for her and would be easy to knock out of her hand if he couldn't talk her into putting it down.
    "I have the feeling it's a crucial detail in your mission, Mr. Courte."
    He sighed. "I don't know for certain."
    "Tell me what you do know. Or you and my Lighthouser may become a little better acquainted. I wonder how much noise you'll make if I shoot your foot?"
    "More than you want," he promised.
    A quick smile flitted across her face. "Don't count on it."
    Not in any hurry to find out, he admitted, “The fang is solid proof that Uktena exists.”
    She frowned. “And who is Uktena exactly?”
    “Depends on who you ask.”
    “I'm asking you,” she returned.
    “Uktena isn't your typical serpent. It’s got a reputation for being very nasty. Souls are its favorite meal and its lair is supposed to be covered with the bones of all the warriors who fought it. Rumor has it that this sparkly rock stuck in its forehead can bring power and riches to whoever wields it. Better still, the Diamond cures illnesses. Any disease you can think of. You can see why Christensen would be interested.”
    “And you believe in this jewel?”
    Abel hesitated. “You wouldn't understand.”
    The hammer clicked back. The pistol gave off a faint whine as the coil warmed up. “Let me be the judge of that.”
    He didn't want to have that conversation. Through the open door he heard the chatter of the guests and the sounds of the instruments taking up again. He needed to go before Christensen or someone else came upstairs. “A map can go anywhere, show anything, but the fang is the genuine article. Said to be pulled from Uktena's very head."
    "But?" she prompted.
    He frowned. "It's cursed."
    The gun barrel dropped an inch. "Cursed?"
    "Cursed is a matter of opinion. Everyone knows by the very nature of evolution some serpents have defense mechanisms that enable them to inject—”
    She lifted the gun again.
    He swallowed his wordy explanation. “Its fangs are venomous even when separated from its mouth.”
    “Well, that's hardly a curse. Many species are venomous.” She looked him up and down like she was searching for proof he was an escaped mental patient. "You mean if one isn't careful, he or she might accidentally . . . what? Succumb to ancient snake venom? It seems quite harmless at the moment.”
    The gun barrel wavered a bit. He saw her fighting skepticism and would've laughed if someone had told him about ancient snake fangs a few months ago. Now dread and sadness dragged his heart down. “That's what I mean.”
    She moved the gun closer to his chest. “Since you aren't downstairs shaking my father's hand, but lurking around up here, I can only assume you mean to do him some harm with this fang of yours.”
    “No, I—” He bit his tongue.
    “Then what are you up to?”
    “Finding the cure, Romy.”
    “Cure?”
    He shrugged. "An anti-venom. All I know is that the Diamond produces a clear, thin