Relentless (24 page)

She gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “What kind of wrong idea? That you were serious back there? Trust me, I didn’t—don’t.”

Bugger it. She was hurt, and why the fuck wouldn’t she be? A woman like Isis Magee only saw the good in people. He’d lost his halo a long time ago—with no apology. But she deserved the white-picket-fence fantasy she’d planned, so long as she didn’t picture him at her
outdoor BBQ wearing a checked apron and holding hamburger tongs. His gut clenched at the image.

Better to get any illusions settled, bruised feelings or not. “Glad we are on the same page.” Gazing ahead, he heard her shift on the seat. “As much as I enjoy the sex, when this is over, I’m going back to my job at MI5.” Sure, he felt like a shit for being so blunt, but the cards had to be on the table before she started embroidering him into her rosy, happily-ever-after needlepoint. This was not a conversation he’d ever had with any other woman he’d been intimate with. They all knew the score and didn’t need it spelled out for them. Isis was different. “Operatives must remain unencumbered for obvious reasons.”

Isis flushed, her skin moist from the heat. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she turned to face him. Without blinking an eye, she lobbed his plain speaking right back. “I enjoy the sex, too. No worries—I have zero expectations. You’re a warrior, not a hunter-gatherer.” Her lips tilted but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Your bachelorhood is safe with me. I promise, I won’t drag you kicking and screaming to the altar.”

Uncomfortable at the picture she presented, he spoke somewhat defensively. “Marriage isn’t in the cards for me. Never has been.”

“You’ve made your point, Thorne.” There was a bite to her voice now as she adjusted the air vent. “With a sledgehammer. I get it. There’s no need to flog a dead horse.”

Isis’s annoyance angered him, creating a desire for her
to understand. And what? Give her fucking blessing for him being an ass?

Last night Isis had taken Thorne to another level of sexual awareness, her damn touch imprinting itself on his skin. He shivered in memory. Mentally, physically, she’d forged a connection he’d never experienced before. Her caress, her openness, her willingness to be a partner as they’d joined in the best sex of his life.

Still. He wasn’t marrying her. Coldhearted now, he imagined by looking at his father that he’d only get chillier with age. Then Isis would be miserable, they’d divorce, and she’d be left with shattered dreams. Better to keep away from the get-go. As soon as his doctors signed off on him, he’d be back in the thick of things.

“I don’t think anyone has
ever
threatened Dylan that way. I must admit, I enjoyed seeing him squirm.” She neatly changed the subject, cutting him loose.

Thorne didn’t like feeling like a right bastard for stating the simple truth, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He couldn’t let it go. “I like you. The time we’ve spent together.”

“No happy ending, Thorne.” Her voice, matter-of-fact, challenged him.

“Right, then.” He turned on the engine, cranking up the air, then gestured for her to hand over her glasses. She did, and he cleaned the lenses with the bottom of his shirt. “I never say anything I don’t mean, and never make threats I don’t intend to follow through.” He handed her back her glasses.

“Thanks. I think you may be the one flogging that dead horse. Things over here are crystal clear.”

No crying, no pouting. Digging in his pocket he took out a fifty-piastre coin. “Call where you want to go.”

“What are my choices?” Her brow arched. “Back to bed?”

Expecting a small debate on the virtues of marriage, he was pleased to find her reacting sensibly instead of emotionally. And hell, if sex was still an option, she probably wasn’t too pissed about the matrimony thing.

His views left no room for argument.

Isis enjoyed taking charge of things, so maybe she appreciated having the situation spelled out, with no room for misinterpretation.

“Unfortunately,” he said in a dry tone, “
that
wasn’t one of the choices. Heads, Valley of the Scorpions. Tails, Abusir to see what Dickhead has really found.”

“Heads.”

Thorne flipped the coin, then slapped it on the back of his hand. “Tails.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I still believe Cleo’s resting in the Valley. There first, then when I see Dylan again, if I’m incarcerated for his murder, I’ll know where she is one way or the other.”

“Valley it is then.” The air-conditioning kicked in, blasting like a furnace inside the already broiling vehicle. “If Brengard’s responsible for all that crap yesterday?” he continued as if they hadn’t paused to make choices. “Bloody right I’ll hurt him.” Just because he wasn’t offering
marriage didn’t mean he had no feelings for Isis. And when it came to her protection, he fought to win. “Are you all right, after seeing him?”

“I’m fine…”

He gave her an incredulous look.

“Honestly? Not really.” Isis wriggled in her seat to get more comfortable, her back against her door, her knee curled on the seat. “That encounter left me shaking. Look.” She held out a flat hand, not a shake in sight, but her voice was tight, and after dropping her hand into her lap, she curled her fingers into a fist.

“I’m annoyed. Scared. Incensed. He
knew
I was here. I
know
he did. And if so,
how
? People leave at this time of year. Go where it’s cooler. This is
the
worst season to dig. I’m suspicious times two.”

“He needs something from you.”

“What?
I
don’t
have
anything. If I did, I’d be the one financing a dig. Okay, I wouldn’t be able to do that, but in theory. I’d be the one digging. With my bare hands if I had to.”

So far her father’s “clues” had given then bugger-all. Thorne doubted even the professor’s mind could be jogged with the random items he’d left. A tassel from a minister’s carpet. A broken stick… Not a shitload to go on.

“He claims to have a crew and sponsors,” Isis continued, incensed. “He didn’t put that together yesterday! That takes
months
to set up. Which means the slimy bastard was working this site while my father was working
somewhere else. Thorne, this
has
to be my father’s find. Dylan wouldn’t have had time to verify a potential dig
and
get the backing that quickly all on his own.”

The air pouring out of the vents grew cooler. The Range Rover was another souped-up vehicle with bulletproof everything. Fucking annoying as hell that it was a necessity at all, but obliging of the Israelis to be so accommodating, considering his vehicular track record on this trip.

“
Has
he really found Cleo?” Isis shrugged. “Who knows? I can contact the director of MSA, see where Dylan’s excavating—
if
he’ll tell me. He and my father never exactly saw eye to eye.” Her voice was dry. “But he might tell me if indeed my father’s permissions were revoked and why…”

“You sure Brengard isn’t just flat-out lying?”

“I believe Dylan—he’s working
a
site. He probably does have a legitimate claim to excavate wherever the hell he is. Husani and his father are our friends. If Dylan went to them to hire on more men, he’d know they’d check on my father’s behalf to make sure he was on the up-and-up. They worked with him when my father was around, and while they didn’t actually come right out and
say
so, I know they never liked Dylan.”

“Good instincts.”

She frowned, apparently at her own lack of instinct about the man. “Apparently.”

“We’ll call the minister and confirm that. Also confirm exactly what Brengard’s location is. Either he’s located
Cleo’s tomb at the Abusir site, or he hasn’t. Your amulet tells me it was found near the dam. Perhaps your father told you he purchased it so that if anyone asked you about it, that’s exactly what you’d tell them. All I know was where it was found. I have no idea what archaeological significance it might have. A hundred miles separate the two locations. One thing we know for sure: Cleopatra wasn’t buried in two places at once.”

She leveled her gaze at him, the knots of her fists turning whiter. “Do you think he suspected I’d come back to see what my father found the last time? Maybe he had someone watching for me at the airport?”

“Maybe.” Thorne pulled out of a side street and merged into the free-for-all that was normal traffic. Lifting his hip, he took out his phone and handed it to her. “Call the ministry and get that ball rolling, unless you want to stop by their offices?”

“No, a call should do it.” Isis took the phone and keyed in the number, clearly from memory. “It’ll take—what? A couple of hours to get out to the dam? Half the day will be gone by the time we get there.”

He’d give her this, an afternoon to at least see where her amulet had been found. Then he was putting her on a plane back to Seattle, if he had to hogtie her to do it. He’d hire Doug Heustis to accompany her, instruct him to sit on her if necessary.

His
preference was to make a U-turn and take her to the airport right now. But he knew Isis-bullheaded-Magee well enough now to know she’d refuse to go.

No. He had to show her what she needed to see,
then
he’d use all his negotiating skills to make her see things his way. The trip there and back would take the better part of the day. But he’d still have time to get her on an evening flight.

Thorne headed west as Isis talked to someone at the MSA, then handed him his phone. Since he’d overheard the conversation there was no need to recap. Brengard had all the correct permissions filed.

“If he really
has
found Cleo,” Isis said tightly, “I’m going to have to do him serious bodily harm. Son of a bitch
did
steal my father’s maps. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was involved in the attack—our attacks, plural—and also responsible for putting Beniti al-Atrash in the hospital. And if he’s glomming on to my father’s dig with an Egyptian fly’s tenacity, then perhaps he had a part in my father’s attack three months ago as well.”

Oh, Thorne didn’t doubt that one for a minute.

She massaged her forehead, then took off her glasses to rub her eyes. “It seems surreal, but
someone’s
responsible for everything that’s happened, and he sure fits the bill.”

He kept a firm grip on the steering wheel, weaving in and out of traffic. There was less time than she thought. “We know where he
wasn’t
during those few days—in any hospital. So his whereabouts are unaccounted for. So, yes, I’d put my money on him being neck deep in all this.”

A mixture of betrayal and fierce anger flitted across her features. “My father trusted him. Hell,
I
trusted
him. Dad shared
everything
with Dylan, past, present, and future—”

“He didn’t tell him about the carpet tassel clue.”

She leaned her elbow on the window and cupped her forehead in her hand. “You know that sounds ridiculous, right?” she said with a return to her pithy self. “That we know of,” she answered his rhetorical question.

“Do you still feel as strongly that her tomb is about to reside at the bottom of a lake, and
not
thirty miles from Alexandria as Brengard claims?”

“That’s what my gut feeling is. But honestly? That’s not based on anything tangible.”

“My reading on your amulet is about the only solid clue we have, and
that
says, unequivocally, that it was found in the Valley of the Scorpions.”

She patted her back pocket. “Yes, but it doesn’t say
Queen Cleopatra’s
tomb.” She curled her leg beneath her and faced him with a heavy sigh. “Dylan is a braggart and an opportunist. But if he’s lying, he’ll soon be found out. He won’t be able to keep a find like this quiet for long. Even with everything that’s been going on with my father these last few months, I would’ve heard something from
someone
.

“Everyone in the universe knows how badly my father wanted to find Cleo’s last resting place. Someone would’ve taken great pleasure in rubbing his nose in the fact that somebody else did what he’s spent a lifetime trying to do. But I haven’t heard a scintilla of a hint of a whisper. All of which means that somehow, some way,
Dylan has greased palms or kissed butts. He would have had to name the find in his paperwork—and considering he was connected to my father and the number of times he claimed to have found Cleopatra’s tomb, the news would have spread faster through the archaeological community than fleas on market rats.”

Thorne frowned. He needed specifics if he was going to plan out their next move. “How long before he makes a public announcement?”

“Excavating a tomb won’t be quick. Even he’s not stupid enough to make a false claim until he’s absolutely sure of what he’s found. It would have to be something big and definitive—her sarcophagus would do it. We can go there tomorrow, see what he’s doing—”

“What we don’t have time for is to wait to see what’s on the valley floor before it becomes a lake next week.”

“But if there’s a chance, even a small chance, that my father was in the Valley of the Scorpions three months ago, or a year ago, and this amulet was taken from there… then the lake project will be forced to wait. Right?”

He shrugged. “It took four years to move the Temple of Abu Simbel to higher ground.”

“But it
was
moved.”

He suspected that if necessary, Isis would supervise the move personally if the tomb were found. But he also suspected that in six days the valley would be a pleasant recreational lake beneath the cofferdam, and all this supposition would be moot. “Do you want to visit Dr. Najid at his office?”

She shook her head. “I’d like to go out to the site first. Just to…
see
.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“GOD. WE WON’T BE
able to stop this, will we?” Despite her dark glasses, Isis shaded her eyes against the intensely bright sunlight reflecting off the pale sand. The heat seeped through her shoes and burned her legs beneath thin cotton pants. Very few people were stupid enough to be outside when it was this hot, and the shiny new settlement was a ghost town of pristine, empty buildings and emptier streets.