King’s mysterious death three months ago sat at the top of the list, though there was no information as to where he had died, just the news that he was somewhere out of the country, possibly in South America, searching for lost treasure, as he had done since he’d been a young man in his twenties.

There was a lengthy obituary Gage figured Abigail had written relating King’s greatest discoveries. Lost tombs in Egypt, diamonds in Africa, Viking gold in Greenland. Most of the artifacts had wound up in museums. Like Gage, King was more interested in the quest than in the money, though he’d always managed to end up with enough to live well and fund another expedition.

No matter the failure that marred King’s final years, the man was nothing short of amazing. Abby’s love and admiration for him appeared in every written line. Perhaps it was part of the reason she wanted to find the treasure. Salvaging King Farrell’s tarnished reputation was likely as important to her as discovering the enormous cache of hidden gold King believed was there.

Gage rubbed a hand over his jaw. The hard truth was the treasure probably didn’t exist.

On the other hand, aside from finding the treasure he had dubbed the Devil’s Gold, King Farrell had never failed in any quest he’d undertaken. The man did his research and didn’t waste time or money on a goal he couldn’t achieve.

Would he have burdened his granddaughter with the task of finding the gold if he hadn’t been sure it was actually there?

Then again, perhaps his competitors in the treasure-hunting community were right and King had finally gone over the edge.

Gage scrolled down the computer screen, opening link after link, reading everything he could find on King Farrell. Looking into everything he couldn’t find on King’s Folly—the Devil’s Gold.

* * *

The next night, Abby purposely arrived late to the lecture hall in the Denver museum. She wanted to hear what Gage Logan had to say about his hunt for the rubies, but first she wanted a chance to observe the man undetected.

Moving quietly toward the back of the auditorium, she took a seat in the last row, grateful for the darkness that hid her arrival. The only light in the room was the spotlight shining down on the podium, where Logan’s tall, imposing figure dominated the listeners, who filled most of the rows.

Tonight he wore a navy blue suit perfectly tailored to his broad-shouldered frame. A crisp white shirt set off his suntanned features, while gold cufflinks glinted at his thick wrists.

She knew he was single, which perhaps accounted for the overwhelming ratio of female to male attendees. She’d seen photos of him at various functions accompanied by attractive women, though rarely the same woman twice.