Read Online Stolen Chances by Elisabeth Naughton - Free Book Online

he’d just had some bad whiskey since he was ranting and raving about the curse. But there was something about the story that fascinated me. I did a little research, found out he wasn’t completely full of shit, and told him if he ever tried to go after it again, to give me a call.”
    “And you didn’t think that was unethical at all?
    He shot her lopsided grin. “Maren, there’s something you need to know about me. I don’t give a shit about the academic stuff. I don’t care if my name gets published or my work winds up in Archaeology Today . I’m not a treasure hunter, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not here to filch historical goods. I’m here because I love what I do. I love traveling, seeing new places, meeting interesting people, and helping those in your position document history.”
    Maren stopped and stared after him. “You’re a trust fund baby, aren’t you?”
    He turned and looked at her, a completely innocent smile on his face. “Now what makes you think that?”
    “I’ve known a few in my day.”
    His grin widened, and he gestured for her to keep walking. “My dad’s an investment banker in Connecticut. My mother’s the queen of the social lunch. I got out of there with my camera as soon as I graduated from high school because I couldn’t handle the rigid formality of it all, but I won’t complain about the opportunities their money has given me. Things like having my photos on the covers of National Geographic , Time, and Newsweek . I’d have to be stupid to regret having the funds to travel, that gave me the opportunity to accomplish those goals.”
    Maren couldn’t help but be a little impressed. She never paid attention to a photo’s byline, but she had to admit, that was pretty cool. As was Nate’s forthcoming attitude. Refreshing, actually. “So I take it Patrick called you when he decided to go after La Malinche again.”
    “Not right away. He’d obviously been following it for some time, but you know Patrick, he keeps a lot to himself. We hooked up on a project in Ecuador a few years ago, fell into an easy rhythm again, and he shared some of the things he’d found since our last meeting. Then a few months ago, he called and asked if I wanted to be involved by documenting the project.”
    “There are other people who want La Malinche .”
    “The same people who caused trouble for you in Mexico nine years ago? Yeah, I get that.”
    “And you still want to be involved?” She stopped and looked up.
    He turned to face her. “Let’s cut through the crap here, Maren. Are we talking about Evan Declan?”
    She clenched her jaw at the mere mention of the treasure hunter’s name and started walking again.
    Nate grasped her arm and stepped in her path. “Time for honesty. I know Declan funded the dig, that he thought your father was going to double-cross him, and that he was in that cenote when Leighton’s brother was killed.”
    “What else do you know about Declan?”
    “I know he’s a son of a bitch who shouldn’t have his hands in the archaeological world. I also know he’s a ruthless tyrant who stops at nothing less than what he wants.”
    Her eyes narrowed in speculation. “Sounds like you know an awful lot. In fact, it sounds like your being here has a personal edge to it.”
    He dropped his hand. “It does. His company, Trifecta, funds a lot of underwater recovery projects. I happened to be on one years ago, a Spanish shipwreck off the coast of Antigua, documenting the find. I disagreed with Declan’s motives. He was on-site constantly as we got close to the goods. He didn’t care about preserving the artifacts or raising the ship. All he cared about was finding treasure.”
    “That’s Declan.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to settle her quaking stomach.
    “Anyway…” He started walking again, and she followed. “He had me thrown off the project because I disagreed with him philosophically. It burns the pride to be kicked off