Dagger of Lust

  Dagger of LUST

  Alexandra Maxwell

  Copyright © 2020 by Alexandra Maxwell

  www.romancesisters.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names of characters and incidences portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  The author has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracies of the URLs for external or third-party Internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee any content on such website.

  This book is written for the romance genre and contains some explicit scenes. It is intended for those 18 and over.

  Love, love, love my baby sister Kara Maxwell

  My partner in mischief and forever best friend

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Also by Alexandra Maxwell

  Meet My Sister Kara Maxwell

  By Kara Maxwell

  Free Gift from Alexandra Maxwell

  1

  Tara Samuels couldn't think of any other place she'd rather be than walking around the venerable Museum of Vintage Arts in New York City. As the youngest female curator of the prestigious institution, her job filled her with purpose. She was a fast-rising star, but at this point, she felt lucky to have a job at all.

  The stately rooms of the museum hold elaborate collections painstakingly culled from the most sought-after collections from all over the world. The ability to view such magnificent objects, paintings, and sculptures gave Tara an unspeakable sense of pride that most people would never understand. Her heels clicked softly across the marbled floors as she approached the exhibit room with an enormous ‘Coming Soon’ banner draped across the entryway.

  A security guard, Charles, stood unmoving next to the banner with his steely glare surveying the hall where Tara stopped to eye the empty space of what used to hold a six hundred-year-old vase from China. Flashes of the incident wracked her mind as she cleared her throat, hoping for some conversation from the guard to humanize the moment and break her discomfort.

  “Good morning, Charles,” she nodded and stood next to him. She fidgeted in a way that made standing still look awkward without a single idea of what to do with her arms or hands.

  “Morning, Miss Samuels,” Charles returned the polite pleasantry with an aggravated sigh.

  Tara was well aware of how the staff felt about her after her recent blunder. She'd been deemed too cheerful for New York City mornings. Now she felt like a replaceable cog in the museum machine. Yet, she tried.

  “I think it might rain today,” she volunteered to the guard who simply grunted in reply. She pressed on, “If it rains, I’m going to order lunch from the ramen place. Would you like to have lunch? I can get you something too. We can talk about this new exhibit…”

  "No, thank you," Charles told her abruptly, cutting her off and redirecting his gaze from her to the empty space beyond her.

  Rejection churned in the pit of her stomach. It was eerily quiet. There wasn’t anyone in the museum. Most mornings were reserved for throngs of high school and middle schoolers on field trips. Her incident marred the museum’s policy to grant access to groups of students under the age of 16.

  Inept and unwanted are the only words Tara could find to describe the emotions consuming her, threatening to keel her over at the waist with a full-blown panic attack. It’s mornings like this where her father’s voice echoed in her head, ‘You need a real job, Tara. Stop staring at paintings and statues all day. It’s a useless pursuit after all the money we spent sending you to school.’

  She took several deep breaths, away and out of Charles’ sight, to regain her composure. “I need this job. I want this job. I love this job. I can do this job," she mumbled to herself, unaware of nearby ears.

  “I’d certainly hope so,” a voice from behind her responded to her self-proclamations.

  Dr. Barrett, her brilliant but ornery supervisor and Director of MoVA, stood a few inches taller than her 5’7 frame. His bald head gleamed under the museum lighting, and his dark eyes held angst when he spoke to her. He was a renowned archaeologist with a gift of juggling the personalities and intricacies of a globally preeminent museum.

  “I need to see you in my office, Miss Samuels,” he told her without further explanation. “Now.”

  The tone in his voice didn’t help Tara subdue her burgeoning anxiety. It only made her stomach queasier. Dread rippled through her body. A fake fern sat in the corner of the brightly lit office. Her heels sunk into the carpet as she slipped into the chair in front of Barrett’s desk. He sat behind a giant polished mahogany slab with a meticulously organized surface, gathering papers into a folder and setting them in front of her. Tara wondered about the contents.

  “Miss Samuels, as you know, your employment here has been called into question over the recent event.”

  I understand,” Tara agreed with a sullen expression building in her eyes. She breathed back tears and fought to keep her composure.

  Dr. Barrett held his hand up, “The reason you haven’t been released and held responsible for the damages is the fact that the vase was a replica. Mistakes can happen. Fortunately for you, this one was forgivable. That aside, MoVA wants to move in a different direction. We’ve acquired an extraordinary Egyptian dagger and scabbard, its accompanying sheath. Truly exquisite pieces. They are being held by a private benefactor in LA, and the artifacts require private transportation from their current location. We need them in New York in three weeks for the exhibition opening and a fundraising gala we’re hosting to promote the museum’s shift in artistic and historical direction.”

  “That’s amazing.” Exclaimed Tara.

  “It is,” Dr. Barrett sighed, “Miss Samuels, we need you to fly out to Los Angeles, retrieve the pieces and escort them back here. You will drive them from California to New York. You'll be given a corporate credit card to track and cover your expenses. A private security agent will accompany you. You'll meet him at LAX when you land, and he’ll be with you every step of the way until the artifacts are safely in MoVA’s possession.”

  Tara’s pulse skyrocketed, “You want me to transport priceless artifacts after everything that just happened with the incident?”

  “Yes,” he stated, “That’s correct. The museum hired Whitestone Security. It’s the best private security firm in the country.”

  “I’m grateful for the opportunity, but can I ask why?”

  “To be honest, Miss Samuels, the staff, security, and our insurance adjuster would prefer to have you out of the museum while we bring in the rest of the exhibit to prevent any more … accidents.”

  Tara sat silently to take it all in. She went to speak, opening her mouth and then shutting it to make sure she had the right words. There were too many questions, so she spat out the first one to pop into her head. "Is my job on the line with this?"

  “Of course, it is,” Dr. Barrett said matter-of-factly, “If you want to keep your job, you must complete this assignment successfully. If you cannot complete it, or if anything happens to these artifacts, consider yourself unemployed and unemployable at any art institution. Be mindful, Miss Samuels, yo
u’re on the payroll, this isn’t a choice.”

  “I don’t understand why the security agent can’t just bring them back on a flight or something,” Tara said to herself more than to her boss. She caught the scowl from Dr. Barrett, making her want to retreat further into herself.

  “The Board insists on the physical presence of one of our own people. Despite your recent gaffe, you’re more trustworthy than a complete stranger. The agent will be responsible for the artifacts and your safety.”

  It’s also easier to blame me if something goes wrong, she thought to herself. “Okay, Dr. Barrett, I’ll get myself ready. When do I leave?”

  He nudged his chin toward the folder in front of her, “You leave in three days. Your plane ticket, credit card, and all other essential documentation pertinent to this endeavor are inside that folder. Don’t lose any of that! We’re giving you the next two days off, paid. Prepare yourself. This is considered short notice. Given the political climate around the pieces, we need you back here within the next two weeks.”

  “What does that mean?” Tara asked him with concern.

  "Everything you need to know is in the folder. That will be all," Barrett dismissed her deliberately turning to his computer monitor.

  Tara wanted to ask him a million more questions but took her cue to leave. The rest of her day flew by while she tried to wrap her mind around the idea of taking a trip across the country. Even as her best friend, Danielle, served her drinks at her Manhattan bar, nothing about this excited Tara.

  “This is amazing, Tara! Take it as an all-expense paid vacation!” Danielle told her, sliding a strong drink across to her. Danielle’s sunny disposition rivaled hers on most days, but as of late, she’s been the only bright spot in Tara’s daily routine.

  Tara gulped the drink down, “This really hits the spot. I don’t have a choice but to take the assignment. I can’t lose this job. There’s just so much pressure riding on this. I feel like I’m being crushed with expectations.”

  “Take a deep breath and remember that you’re amazing at what you do. You’re not the only person in history to make a mistake and be forced to do grunt work to pay for it. It’s a part of life and the working world. You’ll be fine. Focus on what you're doing, transporting pieces of ancient human history. That’s amazing in and of itself. Dwell on that and worry about your job when you get back. Tonight, on the other hand, you don’t have to worry about either since you have tomorrow off. We’re getting drunk!”

  2

  Benjamin Reynolds stared at the dossier in front of him with the picture of a stunningly beautiful woman clipped to it. Her pale blue eyes sparkled from her professional portrait, with her dark shiny hair falling straight around her shoulders. He eyed the notes carefully, adding his own as he skimmed the briefing of his latest assignment.

  Rork Calhoon, Founder of Whitestone Security, stood in front of the conference room whiteboard scribbling for the morning meeting of the agents. Benjamin tried to focus, but he’d been out of commission for nearly three months, and it’s taking some time for him to get back into a work routine. Looking at the file in front of him, he thought that this assignment was something a novice could do. What was Rork thinking?

  When the meeting wrapped up, Ben waited for everyone to leave before approaching. Calhoon matched his 6’2 height and muscular build, having both come from tactical law enforcement backgrounds and elite military service specially trained for high risk and violence. Ben was a legend and not for his chiseled features and rock-solid torso. Rork, on the other hand, had a much better grip on the responsibilities of assignments and keener emotional intelligence. While Ben had some lingering doubts about his readiness for duty, he didn’t want to be held back either. He was exploding with energy and felt like a caged animal while waiting for his next assignment.

  Benjamin’s deep brown eyes locked onto Rork’s as he jammed his index finger onto the file, “What the hell is the meaning of this, Rork? Seriously? Babysitting?”

  Rork tilted his head to the side with a playful smirk, “Isn’t every job babysitting in its most basic form?”

  Benjamin sighed and shook his head, "No, no, it's not! This is literally me babysitting some chick and a suitcase from LA to New York.”

  "What would you prefer to babysit some nukes? A sultan's nephew as he goes out to party in Hong Kong?"

  “I want to get on Search and Rescue,” Benjamin admitted.

  “We talked about this, at length,” Rork dropped his playful demeanor, “Until you pass your psychiatric evaluation, the answer is no. Be happy you’re cleared to work. I’m telling you, as your boss, that if you don’t get over this hump, you’ll be lucky to work a desk. I know you said you’re okay, but until Dr. Alvarez clears you for tactical, we can't have you out there on Search and Rescue. Not yet. I know you'll get there, just do the work. If you want to speed up the process, you can make additional appointments.”

  Benjamin cut him off, “No. The shrink is already working on me twice a month. That’s more than enough time. I just don’t want to be given easy jobs because you guys don’t think I can handle it.”

  Rork placed a firm hand on Ben’s shoulder, “I know you can handle it. You’re the best. Despite what you think, this assignment presents more than a few challenges. Take your time and go over the file. Take note of what you’ll be transporting too. I don’t know too many babysitters escorting artifacts that are part of a multimillion-dollar collection.”

  “What?” Ben couldn’t stop his eyes from bulging as he scanned the dossier again. “They’re leaving the responsibility of this to me and some woman from the museum?”

  “It’s not the entire collection,” Rork laughed, “Just a dagger and a scabbard, the cover of the dagger.“Study the dossier. This has to be low key. In all events, Whitestone is bonded and insured for full coverage, including the museum’s liaison escorting the pieces. You’ve got your hands full. We don’t want to lose our bond or you.”

  “Does she carry a gun? Can she fire a weapon or protect herself ?”

  Rork shrugged, “If she could do what we do, they wouldn’t need us now, would they? He paused and looked at his friend and said, "This will help get you back into the swing of things while letting you get some paid time away from the office."

  “I came back to avoid taking more time away.”

  “This is a job, Ben,” Rork made his way out of the conference room, calling back to him, "Suck it up and get it done. Wheels up in two days!"

  Ben left the conference room with something nagging at him. He couldn’t separate regular work anxiety from his gut feeling. It had been too long. Rork was right. He couldn't do anything tactical with his confidence wobbly and instincts screwed up. Perhaps this trip could help set him straight. He was oddly relieved to have a challenge even if his gut was uneasy.

  He sat down at his desk to look up more information on the job. Ben decided to put his trepidation to the side and embrace the assignment as if he’d asked for it. It didn’t take long for him to be interrupted. Rork’s brother, Tate, knocked on the door before stepping inside of his office, refusing to wait for permission to enter.

  "Heard you're going on a trip," Tate smiled, taking the file off of Ben's desk. "The woman is smoking hot, bro.”

  “I’m sure she’s happy to have your stamp of approval, but I don’t care what she looks like.”

  “You should,” Tate chuckled, “You’re going to be stuck together in a car for practically 2 weeks, sharing hotel rooms and everything. It definitely helps that she’s gorgeous. I hope she’s not a slob.”

  “Tate, get out,” Ben pointed him toward the door, “You know how this goes anyway. No intimate relationships with clients.”

  “Technically,” Tate dragged the word out, “She’s not the client. The museum and that artifacts are the clients. So, you can do whatever you want with her.”

  Ben shook his head, "No, thanks. I've been through enough these past few months to know that’s a bad idea.”


  Tate narrowed his gaze at Ben to tell him, “I know you’re going through a lot, but don’t let that guilt eat you up. You’re too good an agent for Whitestone to lose you. I’m joking about the girl. I want you to knock this one out of the park. I miss seeing your ugly mug around here.”

  Ben rose out of his chair, “You want to hug it out?”

  “This is what I mean,” Tate returned to his jovial mood, “A few months off the job and you come back soft as mush. Seriously, you got this. Call me if you need me, I’m home for the next few weeks with my current client.”

  Ben nodded his appreciation, watching his best friend leave his office. Despite the jokes, he enjoyed having a group of guys he could rely on that pushed him to be better. He returned to reviewing the file with the hope of shaking off his reservations about the case. He just didn’t feel like there was enough security for what Whitestone was hired to do.

  He brought up pictures of the artifacts, comparing them to the photos in his dossier. The dagger was about 18 inches long. Its blade was a rusted metal, most likely iron ore, but the handle was pristine. It shone brightly of polished gold with intricate engravings. The accompanying sheath matched the gold of the dagger handle. He could hardly believe he’d be the only person escorting the liaison with these artifacts.

  Ben shifted his attention from the pieces to the woman. Tara Samuels was striking. He wondered how she would be during this trip. Only time would tell.

  3

  Tara learned the hard way not to let Danielle get her drunk 48 hours before she needed to be on a cross-country flight. She’d spent the better half of her days off recuperating when she should have slowed down to take her assignment seriously and carefully study the file. The flight from JFK to LAX went as smoothly as it could, with her stomach still in knots from her night of partying with Danielle. A pair of shades and a six-hour flight helped a lot more than she was willing to admit.