Dagger of Lust

could, with her stomach still in knots from her night of partying with Danielle. A pair of shades and a six-hour flight helped a lot more than she was willing to admit.
There’s something to be said about California sunshine. Tara drinks it in with the rays shining through the terminal’s glass structure. She nearly forgets the reason why she’s in Los Angeles in the first place.
“No fun in the sun,” she mumbled to herself, “Just get it and get back. Save your job. Transport the artifacts. Save the museum and then, pause for dramatic effect, the world.”
Laughter escaped her lips, garnering a few odd looks from strangers walking by.
“Well, maybe not the world, but at least, getting back into everyone’s good graces is enough to make this trip worthwhile.”
She got a few more looks before opting to stop talking to herself and made her way toward baggage claim. With her arms folded across her chest and messenger bag crossing her torso, Tara stood in front of the carousel, waiting for it to turn on. A loud buzzer sounded, the belt started, and bags started flopping out of the magic hole to slide down in front of the hundred or so people waiting with the hope their luggage made it to the same destination as their flight.
A giant suitcase, black with wheels and handles, was the first to slide onto the belt. It seemed to be the number one choice of travelers as eight people hovered around it, trying to distinguish it from the three others that followed it. Two women shoved by Tara to fetch their bags when she overheard them.
“Lid! Lid! Lidia! Look at this guy! Look at him! He’s drop-dead, seriously!”
Lidia, apparently, responded with irritation, “Aaw, Cindy, what?!”
“Look at him,” Lidia motioned toward a man headed in their direction, “He’s like sex on a stick.”
Tara didn’t want to look in the direction where they were speaking, but she couldn’t help it. There were very audible gasps and elbows pointing at the epitome of sexiness walking toward her. A black T-shirt hugged every bulging inch of his muscular torso, a leather bomber jacket slung over his shoulder, a duffle bag by his side, and a pair of dark denim jeans over black boots. His black cropped hair, square jaw, and eyes that appeared to zero in on Tara.
“He’s coming this way,” the girls whispered and giggled to themselves. Tara shook her head with absolute certainty that the man identified as sex on a stick wasn’t coming toward them, let alone to her. She turned her back to him, spotting her suitcase among the hoards of others.
As she reached for the silver behemoth of a bag that could probably crush her flat, a strong hand and deep voice reached from behind her, "Why don’t you let me grab that for you, Miss Samuels?”
“Um, yeah,” she hesitated, “sure, but, who are you?”
“Sex on a stick, apparently,” he quipped with a dodging look to the women behind her who cringed very noticeably. “Ben Reynolds with Whitestone Security. I have your itinerary and a few rental cars for you to choose from so we can get out of here.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reynolds,” Tara smiled, shaking his hand while he made light work of grabbing her suitcase off of the carousel. She tossed a smirk to the women eating crow behind her and walked away with her self-esteem seeping back in. It didn’t take her long to notice the amount of attention Ben attracted, she couldn’t help but comment, “Is it like this everywhere you go? I feel like I’m walking beside a celebrity or something.”
“It’s only like this now because I'm the only person here who looks like me. Put me in a room full of my buddies and colleagues, and believe me, I’m the short end of the sex stick.”
Tara laughed and tried her best not to let Ben’s good looks distract her. She’d distracted herself enough and needed to focus on the task at hand. So, she changed the subject, “Do you know your way around the city? Oh, and what about Mr. Mallard? Have you spoken with him today?”
“I confirmed your appointment with Mr. Mallard and touched base with his security team for the logistics of the transfer. Let's grab the rental, and we can head on over."
“Are we close to his office?” she wondered with a peek to her phone for the time.
“We’re about an hour or so away. I’d rather grab this sword and hit the road. The longer we stay out here, the higher the risk of someone finding out it’s no longer in Mallard’s possession.”
“It’s a dagger,” Tara corrected, “And I agree with you. The sooner we can hit the road, the sooner I can save my job.”
Ben looked at her like he wanted to press her for more information behind that statement. Instead, he led her toward the rental car counter. Tara didn’t have any problems whipping out the corporate credit card. While she wanted to snag a convertible, they weren’t there to enjoy the California sun.
“I’ll take your most economical model,” Tara said to the rental agent.
“Now, wait a minute,” Ben snickered as he placed his hand on top of hers, making her blush. He locked eyes with her, “Let’s not do that. Remember, we’re going to be cooped up in this thing for several hours a day. I need some legroom and would rather not have to drive from the back seat.”
“Well, we don’t need a monster truck either,” Tara countered with a scrutinizing glare over the selection in front of them. Her eyes landed on the heavy-duty black pickup truck next to the two-door coupe, “I don’t want to spend a fortune on gas either.”
Ben leaned against a small SUV with his arm propped against the door, “How about this? Decent on gas and plenty of space. We gotta have room for your things, too, not to mention the cargo we'll have with us."
Tara conceded and found herself imagining what