Ghost's Treasure Read Online Free Page A

and made a beeline for the parking lot. Climbing into her car, she double checked the address and headed downtown straightaway. With any luck, the FBI would not only understand her situation but have reasonable answers that kept her out of the hands of creepy men like Robert Harris. If not, she was screwed.

Chapter 6
     
    Ryan stood and greeted the woman as she entered his office. Her shoulder-length light blonde hair accented bright green eyes. Both were breathtaking in their own right, but toss in a petite frame and obvious conditioning as shown by her form fitting slacks and light colored blouse, and his visitor proved to be a looker. Not that he was interested. He had more than enough happiness with his two lovers. No one else could garner his interest. Yet, he wasn't too blind to appreciate a pretty woman when she strolled into his office.
    "Miss Summers. I'm Ryan Blake." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Please have a seat."
    She sat down and crossed her legs as her fingers gripped the purse resting on her lap protectively. Her face spoke of worries. "Thank you."
    He stepped behind his desk, plopped down, and rested his hands on his legs as he leaned back in the squeaky office chair. "Now, what can I help you with?"
    The woman had appeared at the receptionist's desk a few minutes earlier, insisting upon speaking to an agent. When questioned, she refused to explain why, only demanded to see an agent immediately. Since he didn't have anyone presently in his office, the greeter directed the mysterious woman to him.
    "I seem to have a small problem."
    Don't they all? He nodded slightly and encouraged her to continue.
    "It started last weekend. I went to an estate sale, bought a box of books. When I got home and unpacked them, I discovered something very interesting. Inside a fake book was a cross necklace, a golden ring, and a cameo, all wrapped up in handkerchiefs."
    Ryan leaned forward, steepling his fingers and tapping them on his chin. His interest piqued, he studied the woman carefully. "Okay."
    "I took pictures of the items, needing to know if they were real, some history on them, what they might appraise for." She picked at her pants. "Then I emailed them to a couple of museums and two appraisers who work for top-notch auction houses." She sighed heavily and met his gaze. "Instead of the emails filled with information that I expected, I received a couple of unsettling calls and a downright scary visit from one of your agents yesterday."
    His eyebrow shot up. "Do you know who?"
    Opening her bag, she pulled out a scrap piece of paper and handed it over. "I jotted down his name and badge number. Initially, I thought he was with the Art Crime Team, but something about him didn't feel right."
    Jostling his mouse, Ryan clicked into a program, then entered the information from the paper. What popped up took his breath away. He glanced at the paper, then back to the computer screen once more. "The name and number are legit." His voice trailed off as he stared disbelieving at the results of his search.
    "So he's a true FBI agent?"
    He shook his head. "I didn't say that."
    She stopped breathing. "Then what did you mean?"
    "The name and badge number match an agent"—he met her gaze steadily—"an agent who died in the line of duty seven years ago."
    Breath whooshed from her as she sagged in the chair. "Well, hell."
    Ryan's blue eyes refused to release her. "Do you have any idea who this man was?"
    She sat up straight once more and shook her head. "That's the information he gave me. However…" She dug through her purse and pulled out a couple of bags. Without preamble, she passed them over. "Here's his business card. I didn't touch it except with my tweezers to pick it up and put in the bag. The other is a picture of the guy from the security camera." Once more she dug through her purse. "Here's pictures of the items I found in the box from the estate sale."
    His eyebrows shot up. "Pretty keen. Watch a lot of cop