fingers, she decided, and dropped the brush back in.
When she found the envelope, she took it out carefully. This had to be it. She glanced back at the cave again. Quickly, she dew out a thin, yellowed sheet sealed in plastic and skimmed it. It was written in French in a trim, feminine hand. A letter, she thought. No, part of a journal. And the date—my God. Her eyes widened as she studied the neat, faded writing. September 15, 1793. She was standing in blazing sunlight, on a wind- and weather-torn rock, holding history in her hand.
Whitney scanned it again, quickly, catching phrases of fear, of anxiety, and of hope. A young girl had written it, of that she was all but certain because of references to Maman and Papa. A young aristocrat, confused and afraid by what was happening to her life and her family, Whitney reflected. Did Doug have any idea just what he was carrying in a canvas sack?
It wouldn’t do to take the chance to read it thoroughly now. Later…
Carefully, Whitney closed his pack again and set it down next to the mouth of the cave. Thinking, she tapped the envelope against her open palm. It was very satisfying to beat a man at his own game, she decided, then heard the sounds of his return.
Holding the envelope in one hand, she looked down at herself. Dumbly, she passed the other hand from her breast to her waist. Just where the hell was she supposed to hide it? Mata Hari must’ve had a sarong at least. Frantic, she started to slip it down the bodice of the teddy, then realized the absurdity. She might as well pin it to her forehead. With seconds to spare, she slipped it down her back and left the rest to luck.
“Your luggage, Ms. MacAllister.”
“I’ll catch you later with your tip.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Good service is its own reward.” She gave him a smug smile. He gave one right back to her. Whitney had taken the pack from his hand when a sudden thought occurred to her. If she could lift the envelope so easily, then he… Opening the pack, she dug for her wallet.
“You’d better get moving, sugar. We’re already late for our morning call.” He started to take her arm when she shoved the pack into his stomach. The hiss of air coming from his lungs gave her great satisfaction. “My wallet, Douglas.” Taking it out, she opened it and saw he’d been generous enough to leave her with a twenty. “It appears you’ve had your sticky fingers on it.”
“Finders, keepers—partner.” Though he’d hoped she wouldn’t find him out quite so soon, he only shrugged. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your allowance.”
“Oh, really?”
“You could say I’m a traditionalist.” Satisfied with the new situation, he started to heft his pack onto his back. “I feel a man should handle the money.”
“You could say you’re an idiot.”
“Whatever, but I’m handling the money from here on.”
“Fine.” She gave him a sweet smile he immediately mistrusted. “And I’m holding the envelope.”
“Forget it.” He handed her back her pack. “Now go change like a good girl.”
Fury leapt into her eyes. Nasty words scrambled on her tongue. There was a time for temper, Whitney reminded herself, and there was a time for cool heads. Another of her father’s basic rules of business. “I said I’m holding it.”
“And I said…” But he trailed off at the expression on her face. A woman who’d just been neatly ripped off shouldn’t look smug. Doug glanced down at his pack. She couldn’t have. Then he looked back at her. Like hell she couldn’t.
Tossing down his pack, he dug into it. It only took a moment. “All right, where is it?”
Standing in the full sunlight, she lifted her hands, palms up. The brief teddy shifted over her like air. “It doesn’t appear necessary to search me.”
He narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t possible to keep them from sweeping down her. “Hand it over, Whitney, or you’ll be buck naked in five seconds.”
“And you’ll have a broken nose.”
They faced each other, each determined to come out on top. And each with no choice but to accept a standoff.
“The papers,” he said again, giving masculine strength and dominance one last shot.
“The money,” she returned, relying on guts and feminine guile.
Swearing, Doug reached in his back pocket and took out a wad of bills. When she reached for them, he jerked them back out of range. “The papers,” he repeated.