Lost Treasure

By Paige Prince

Danielle Almasi-Epperson’s parents were killed in a tragic car accident when she was eight years old, leaving her world famous, Egyptologist grandfather to raise her in their stead. While she had the pleasure of growing up on archaeological digs, he never believed that the field was a woman’s place. All she’s ever dreamed of is adventure and the kind of love her parents shared.

Jareth Riley was the boy in the tent next door to Danielle’s at every dig she could remember while growing up. Her grandfather and his father labeled him a troublemaker from day one. So, when Danielle and Jareth fall in love and lose their virginity to each other, it takes no time at all for her grandfather to ship her off to Harvard.

Ten years later, she’s working as a curator at a museum and he’s a treasure hunter. When he shows up on her doorstep asking for help to find a lost artifact with supposed mystical powers, she can’t help but say yes. In no time at all, they’re on the run from mad men with guns and rekindling the romance that had never quite died. Will they be able to restore the lost treasure to the rightful owners, or will they destroy their chance at happiness or lose their lives in the attempt?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paige Prince
• Release date: May 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512015423

Paige Prince

Author Paige Prince has been writing since she was 7 years old when she first picked up a pen to write out her fantasy of being Joe McIntyre’s girlfriend (she was 7, cut her some slack). Since then, she’s discovered that there are more fun things to write about than just holding hands and going to the movies. The one thing Paige loves to do above all others is read. When she’s not writing, she can be found with a book (or her trusty iPad) in her hand. Paige hails from a small suburb of Houston, Texas. She’s married to the man of her dreams and they have one beautiful little girl who is the light of their lives, two very lazy dachshunds, and one adventurous cat. You can find Paige avoiding work on Facebook or chatting up her friends on Twitter.

Book preview

To my fabulous critique partners Chris Allen-Riley and Elise Hepner – I never could’ve finished this without your hand-holding, late night brainstorming, and talking me off the ledge. I love you both.

For Jenny Trout, who has inspired me not only to write the best story I possibly can, but to be honest about my opinions and to stand up for myself even through the worst adversity.

As always, to Grams – I wouldn’t be an author if you hadn’t pushed me to be a reader. I miss you.

Prologue

Danielle

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I’ve always longed for adventure. The kind that stands your hair on end, makes you grit your teeth, leap into the abyss, has your heart racing. The kind my grandfather thought a woman should never have.

Born in the forties, my grandfather was very much a traditionalist. Men courted women under the careful guidance of their parents. Females wore dresses and deferred to the men in the room, especially if they happened to be older—which automatically made them wiser, in his mind—and women never, ever questioned the rules.

I suppose because of all the hard line rules he’d set when my mother was younger, she’d gone in another direction. Being born in the sixties made her a bit ahead of the flower child age, but somehow she managed to figure out the sex, drugs, and rock and roll bit well before it had ever really become popular. She met my father at a concert, and it was love at first sight.

My mother worshipped my father with a love so intense, I thought it would melt the house down. Even at the tender age of eight, I knew that my parents weren’t like anyone else’s. They were affectionate, encouraging. Loving. For the first few years of my life, I’d known what it was like to grow up in a perfect home.

Then, the accident happened.

Everything changed the night my parents went on their usual date night. My mother had dolled herself up extra special because Dad was taking her to see Willow at the movies, a rare treat for them. Money wasn’t exactly tight, but they spent it carefully. Dad used to tell me that saving was the best way to invest in your future every time he’d hand me a shiny new quarter to put in my piggy bank.

I crawled onto the chair sitting in front of her vanity, watching as she fastened her favorite pearl earrings to her lobes. I so desperately wanted my ears pierced, but she kept putting me off. When you’re older. When you know what you’re asking for. Having your ears pierced is a Big Girl Decision.

I’d secretly hoped she was planning on taking me for my next birthday, which was only a few weeks away. Mom could never tell me no for long. Grandfather wrote that she spoiled me too much in his letters, but she always said she just wanted her family to be happy.

You look pretty, Mommy.

The skirt of her black and white dress flared around her as she spun in a circle for me. I loved watching the fabric whoosh out around her, imagining she was a fairy princess like in one of the Disney movies I loved so much. With her bright-blonde hair and deep-rose colored lips, she could’ve been Sleeping Beauty—my favorite of all the princesses.

Pressing a kiss to the top of my head, she pulled me from the chair to hold me in her arms. My last clear memory of my mother is of her cradling me to her, hugging me so tight and telling me just how much she loved me.

My father took me from her so she could put on her favorite red lipstick, and he could put me to bed. Mrs. Johnson, the old neighbor lady who smelled a little like mothballs but always let me sneak a hard candy or two from the jar on her desk, was at the door.

Dad’s kind brown eyes crinkled at the edges as he sat me down on the sturdy twin bed he’d built himself. Princess Danielle, it’s time to rest. Close your eyes and dream the best. The angels watch you over night, ‘til God’s love greets you with morning light.

He’d said those exact same words to me every night since birth. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of his rich baritone voice or the way his whiskers tickled when he kissed me goodnight.

I was cuddled in my princess bed, fast asleep when the police knocked on the door of our house. When Mrs. Johnson got the news that there’d been an accident just up the road. I dreamed, blissfully unaware, as the kind old woman who’d known me my entire life wept on the floor of the living room, despairing over how to tell a eight-year-old child that her parents were never coming home again.

***

The funeral was a blur of family members, long lost and never known to me, gathering me in hugs or ruffling my hair. Some squeezed my cheek as though I were an infant, rather than a big girl of eight who’d just lost everything she’d ever known.

Mrs. Johnson held my hand tightly as the preacher droned on about the afterlife, knowing that we’d see each other again in Heaven and praying for our eternal souls all seemingly in the same breath.

Truthfully, I had no idea what he was talking about. I might have fancied myself a big girl, but some of the things coming out of his mouth confused me more than trying to learn the words on my third grade spelling list.

When it came time for someone to get up and speak about my parents—what I thought I’d overheard Mrs. Johnson called a toology—everyone’s eyes turned to me. My mother didn’t have any family except for the father she hadn’t spoken to in ten years, and my father’s parents had died before I was born. The rest of the family in the church hadn’t been around since before I was born, so how could they know what to say about my parents?

It had been decided that I was too young to understand what was going on, so they asked me to say something about my parents that I loved. That was simple enough. I loved everything about them.

I love how my mommy smells, I said into the little microphone on the podium in front of the crowd of strangers. She always makes sure to smell good because she says that Daddy likes it. And her hair is so shiny and soft. I like to curl my hands in it when we’re watching TV. I love how Mommy sings when she’s cleaning the house or taking a shower. I think she sings because she’s happy. She sounds happy all the time.

I heard someone in the back choke a little, and I was worried that they’d have to go to the hospital like my mommy and daddy because they always told me that choking was bad and to always chew my food carefully. But they must’ve been okay because the preacher man asked me what I loved about my dad.

I smoothed the new dress Mrs. Johnson bought for me the previous day down around my knees. The black lacy stuff made my skin itch, but she said I’d just have to get used to it because I rarely got new dresses. It was so dark—an ugly black dress that reached past my knees with a starchy white collar that choked my neck a little—and I wished again for something brighter, something maybe with neon yellow stripes like I’d seen Jessica wearing at school last week.

Danielle?

I snapped my attention up to the preacher. Sorry, I was thinking about my new dress. It’s itchy.

He smiled, making me forget for a minute that I was standing in front of a room full of people that I didn’t know. That’s all right, new clothes sometimes need to be washed a few times to get that scratchy feel out. He put a large hand on my shoulder. Do you want to talk about your dad?

Yes, sir. I nodded and beamed when I thought about my big, strong father. My daddy is the best. He’s funny and smart. He teaches me something every day because learning is important. He’s got happy eyes and a deep voice and whiskers that tickle my cheek when he kisses me goodnight. And he always tucks me in, every single night, because he loves me best. But we don’t tell Mommy that, because she loves me best, too.

The preacher patted me on the back. Your secret is safe with me, Danielle.

I grinned. My daddy likes to tell me goodnight with a poem. Do you want to hear it? He wrote it, by himself.

I’d love to hear it.

He always says, ‘Princess Danielle, it’s time to rest. Close your eyes and dream the best. The angels watch you over night, ‘til God’s love greets you with morning light.’ Then he kisses me right here. I pointed to my forehead. And he turns on my night light. It’s a Disney princess night light that he got me when he took Mommy to Disney World before I was born. He said he always wanted a princess of his very own, and then I was born.

Tears were streaming down the preacher’s face, but I didn’t know why. I saw a box of tissues near the podium where we stood and reached for one to give to him. Don’t cry, I said, in all my eight-year-old wisdom. Mommy says goodbyes aren’t always forever.

He blinked at me in confusion for a second.

We’re here to say goodbye, right? That’s what Mrs. Johnson said this morning when she helped me put on my dress.

Mrs. Johnson was crying quietly in the pew when I sat back down next to her. I still didn’t completely understand why everyone was crying—surely my parents would be back soon. They’d gone out of town before. I held her old wrinkled hand in my tiny one and watched as the preacher said a final prayer, then as eight men carried two large boxes out of the room.

Afterward, I sat on the flowery couch that my mother and father had loved to curl up on to watch television in the middle of the house that should’ve been where they’d grown old together. People I didn’t know kept coming inside, giving me a hug and telling me they were so sorry. At that point, I was starting to feel as if I’d done something wrong, and I wondered if I needed to start apologizing first.

Then he appeared.

He was about as old as Mrs. Johnson, which was pretty darn old if you asked me. His face was dark, as if he’d spent too much time in the sun—something my mommy always told me was bad for your skin, so he should probably think about getting some Oil of Olay like she used. He had wrinkles on top of his wrinkles, and he smelled a little like old dirt. I didn’t know if I should be terrified of him or ask if he wanted to go play outside. Maybe a little of both.

Hello Danielle, he said, his voice