The London Deception (12 page)

The opportunity was too sweet to resist—to look her fill without his knowing—and she stopped for the briefest moment to simply admire the view.

Finn Gallagher was an incredible specimen of a man. Strong, thick shoulders on a solid frame. A narrow waist that she could just see before the rest of his body disappeared behind the desk. A hard jaw that clenched and unclenched as he typed whatever it was he was working on.

He was devastating.

And the resistance she was working so diligently to maintain slipped another notch.

“Rowan? Are you there?”

“Of course I’m here.”

“What did I just say?”

She tamped down on the grimace at being caught twice. Will knew full well she hadn’t been listening to him, and the sly grin that suffused Finn’s features when he glanced up from his computer was proof that he’d known she was there. Drinking him in.

“Oh, repeat it for me. I just got off the elevator in Finn’s office. In fact, hang on and I’ll put you on speaker so we can both hear you.”

“Good morning.” Finn was up and around his desk, and since she knew his custom was to press a kiss to her cheek, she took a quick seat on one of his guest chairs and pointed toward the phone. “Will’s on the phone and he’s got news. I thought I’d put him on speaker so he could tell us both at once.”

The small line that furrowed his brow and the quick hand he ran along his jaw confirmed her actions had struck a chord.

Good.

This was a new day and she
would
prove to herself she could resist the far-too-enticing package that was Finn Gallagher.

“Good morning, Finn.” Will’s voice echoed from the speaker on her phone where she’d placed it in the center of Finn’s desk. After a quick recap of the information Will had provided in the elevator—minus the sex update—he launched into his findings.

“So I got several hits on those message boards.”

Finn’s gaze was focused on the desk, and again, Rowan found herself gazing at him longer than necessary, unable to look away. “Do you think the boards are secure?”

“You have to have a user name and password.”

The frown was back, but this time Rowan knew she wasn’t the cause. As Will talked through the types of people he usually met on the forums he visited, Finn scratched a note.

We should get your brother to take a quick look into these sites.

She nodded, recognizing the value of getting Campbell involved. Although all of them had a basic proficiency with technology, there wasn’t a system in existence her brother couldn’t get in or out of. He had the added benefit of understanding what something suspicious looked like in the digital world.

As her friend’s voice droned on from the speakerphone, Rowan knew she’d better cut him off and get him to the point. “Will, what is it that got your feelers up?”

“The answers I’m getting from supposed experts make no sense.”

Finn tapped a few keys on his computer before turning the laptop so they could both see it. “What did you ask them?”

“The basics we discussed. What they’ve heard about the dig in the Valley. What was the word on the expected cache. I even played around with the curse thread, curious to see what I’d fine.”

“And?” Rowan leaned closer to the computer, intrigued by the list of threads on the site Will was most excited about.

“Anyone who comments on the thread says the curse is real. They’ve pointed to other ancient texts to prove their point, as well.”

“You and I both know it’s a bunch of bunk. There’s no such thing as a curse.”

Finn tapped a few more keys. “Doesn’t mean someone doesn’t feel it’s not an awfully good deterrent to whatever’s in that tomb.”

“But how can it be a deterrent if no one really gives it any mind? I know the locals have been known for their superstitions, but not the professional archaeologists. I just find it hard to believe a team of research specialists are going to get spooked by something so silly.”

Will’s voice was tinny through the speakerphone, and the sounds of a class change were evident in the background. “One of the regular posters thinks the rumors of a curse are contributing to the red tape that the British Museum has been up against.”

“How much do you trust this guy’s input?” Finn tapped his finger to the screen, pointing on the link she needed to click next. “If I’m reading the thread you’re referring to, the commenter is named Hampstead 84.”

“That’s him.”

“And?” Finn pressed again. “How well do you know him?”

“I don’t. That’s part of why I hang out on these sites. It’s a way to talk archaeology with others in the field.”

“Have you seen this guy on the forums before?”

“A few times. He’s been on around six months.” Will’s voice echoed from the speaker again, the noise growing in volume in the background.

“Will? You still there?” Since the sound coming out of the phone resembled the noise of a thundering herd on the African plains, she assumed it was his class.

“Yeah. Look, I’ve gotta go. My next group of undergrads are walking in. I’ll follow up later.”

“Thanks, Will.” She ended the call and sat back to stare at Finn. “Something bothers you about this.”

“A lot of things. Just add this one to the list of things that make me increasingly concerned about what we’re going to find when we get to Luxor. It goes back to your original question to Will. Why the hell would a bunch of professionals give any credence to a curse?”

“You think it’s more of a stall tactic?”

“Why not? We both know the museum’s had a hell of a time getting all their permits. That’s part of why they pulled me in on the job. I know the region and I’ve got my connections with the government and I was able to expedite a few things in exchange for giving my firm’s services to the Egyptian government.”

Not for the first time did Rowan see the depth of Finn’s expertise and knowledge. He’d built a wildly successful global business and knew how to go toe-to-toe with the major players in their industry.

So why couldn’t he see how he risked that by holding on to the Victoria bracelet?

An awkward silence descended between them and Rowan couldn’t help but be sad for it. They’d had an easy, comfortable flow to their conversation, and the night before had obviously put a damper on that. And she had no one to blame but herself.

Perhaps it was for the best.

“I’m going to set myself up in a conference room, if that’s okay. I’ll email my brother and get him looking into the websites Will’s been haunting.”

“Stay here. I have some meetings I need to see to. Celeste can get you anything you need.”

“You don’t need to leave.”

“Really. I was on my way out anyway.”

She watched him go, regret like sludge in her veins. Whatever sexy moments they’d shared the night before had been effectively squashed by her lack of warmth this morning.

But instead of feeling as if she’d won the round, all she could muster up was the vague sense she’d lost the game.

* * *

Finn stepped out of the building and headed for a coffee shop around the corner. It was still early and the morning throng of people came alive as they rushed their way to work. He caught fragments of conversations as people passed, but it all swirled by in a blur, his own thoughts a whirling haze.

Damn it, the woman was infuriating.

He knew he hadn’t done himself any favors the previous evening, but hell, she wouldn’t even accept the most casual of greetings when he’d attempted to kiss her cheek.

The long line that snaked through the shop didn’t help his raging irritation, but he’d be damned if he went back to the office so soon. So he stood in line and fumed as the rich scents of coffee, steamed milk and breakfast muffins assaulted his senses.

When he finally got to the counter, he’d calmed enough to put in his order and added a scone for good measure. The coffee would help the headache brewing behind his eyes, and the scone would hopefully go a long way toward sweetening his mood.

It was only after he’d picked up both and started back to the office that a frisson of awareness skated over his skin. He moved out of the throng of people to stand against the wall of a nearby office building, his gaze scanning the crowd for any indication of what might have set his radar off.

The same faceless crowd he’d walked with to the coffee shop streamed around him, their heads down or their phones glued to their ears as people raced wherever they needed to be.

So why couldn’t he shake the feeling of being watched?

With casual movements, he leaned against the building and dug into his bag, breaking off a bite of scone. He worked the street in quadrants with his gaze, following the groups of people as he searched for anything out of the ordinary.

When several minutes of searching turned up nothing unexpected—no one loitering or standing up above the crowd—he balled up his now-empty paper bag full of crumbs and tossed it in the closest trash can.

Damn it, but he needed to calm the hell down. First the upset-lover routine over Rowan’s cold greeting this morning. Now the weird reaction to a busy crowd.

The throng of people sucked him back in, and Finn considered how to play the morning with Rowan. While he wasn’t immune to her, he wasn’t a fifteen-year-old boy. He could control his feelings and be a professional.

And he’d take some solace that she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended, so they’d both be in hell on the trip to Egypt.

Images of her in a pair of shorts, work boots and a tank top filled his mind’s eye as he rubbed at his forehead. It was going to be a long three weeks and—

His thoughts vanished as a hard shove came at his midsection out of nowhere, his coffee flying into the air at the heavy push. A quick, shooting pain hit his side before instinct had him pushing back at the threat.

Every instinct he’d attempted to squelch since leaving the coffee shop came roaring back to life as a heavy form, clad in a sweatshirt jacket with the hood up, took off, zigzagging through the crowd. People screamed and one woman even tossed her bag at the man but the guy was off and down the sidewalk, shoving people as he went, clearly bent on destruction this morning.

The man was well out of range, but Finn took off after him anyway. He’d sensed he was being watched and it was clear now he was the target. Finn followed the same zigzagging pattern down the sidewalk, but the heavy throng of people and the loss of breath had him slowing down. Why the hell did he get that scone? He never ate that crap.

And why the hell did his side hurt so bad?

On a heavy breath, he looked once more for the hooded figure, but saw nothing in the sea of morning commuters heading for the building.

On a resigned sigh, he turned and headed for his office, the entire experience nagging at him in the deepest corners of his mind.

Was that intended for him? And to what end?

He beelined for the elevators as soon as he was back in the building, his mood even fouler than when he’d walked in. The coffee had been a bust, his head was throbbing and he needed to check his damn side. The dull ache hadn’t subsided, but was growing progressively worse.

The walls wavered as he stepped off the elevator, the glass shimmering as he saw clear through each of the panes, all the way through to the windows on the far side of the floor. With stubborn determination, he focused his gaze on Rowan, still perched at his desk right where he’d left her.

Colors added themselves to the wavering walls as he marched toward her, keying himself in to the office through the secured door in the lobby. His feet felt as if they were encased in lead, and each step was agony as he walked down the hall.

His foot caught on the carpet and he stumbled, slamming into the glass wall that made up the conference room next to his office. The impact must have been enough to draw attention because Rowan looked up from her computer, her gaze going dark before she leaped out of her chair.

She must be mad about something else....

The thought tumbled through his mind as the image of her running toward him wavered, just like the glass.

“Finn!”

His name echoed through his head, but the sound came from far away, as if he was underwater, and he laid an arm on the glass wall for support. It took her forever to run the distance from his office to where he stood in the hallway, and then she was there, her arms wrapping around his waist.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

Side. Tell her about your side
.

The voice in his head thought the words but he wasn’t sure if they made it to his lips. And then he fell on top of her, his arms wrapping hard around her shoulders as he stumbled on his feet. Why didn’t his feet work anymore?

“What happened to you?”

Words floated to his mind—did they float to his lips?—when she shifted, her hand coming down hard on his ribs. He screamed, the sound an embarrassment to his ears, before the soft, crooning tone of her voice broke through the agonizing pain to calm him.

“Shhh. Shhh, Finn. Come on. A little farther to the couch in your office.”

Those strange colors continued to fill behind his eyes and he vaguely realized people had come out of another conference room when he saw Rich and Mark race toward them.

“Okay, Finn. Take it easy.”

Large hands grabbed him on each arm, lifting his weight from Rowan’s shoulders, and before he knew it the soft leather of his office couch cushioned his body.

Rowan leaned over him, dragging at his suit jacket before she took a sharp intake of breath. “You’ve been stabbed.”

Chapter 11

R
owan took a deep breath and tried to remember what she’d been taught in all those stupid classes Kensington was always foisting on them. She snagged the scarf she’d worn that morning and bunched it up to stem the bleeding before she barked out orders to the two men who’d helped Finn into his office.

“Is there a doctor in the building?”

“I don’t know,” one said as the other shrugged.

Celeste barreled into the office, her face set in efficient—and worried—lines. “There is one. Rich, call the concierge and tell them we need a doctor. They’ll know what to do.”

“Do I tell them why?”

“Of course.” Celeste shot him a dark glare. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“He’s got a knife wound.”

“Which means the doctor needs to come prepared.” Celeste barked out the order and Rowan mentally gave the woman points for stoic British efficiency. She gave her even more points when the woman came near Finn, her voice gentle as she gave instructions. “Hold that against his side and don’t let up on the pressure.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to wait by the elevators for the doctor. I’ll leave you to it. You’ll be fine.” Celeste patted Rowan’s arm, the move going a long way toward stemming the trembling that had started in her legs when she caught sight of the red stain expanding on Finn’s white dress shirt.

“Finn, can you hear me?” She tried to keep her voice level but the same quivering in her legs seemed to have migrated to her throat. “Finn!”

His lashes fluttered briefly before his eyes opened to small slits. “Rowan? What happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. You were stabbed.”

“Side. Hurts.” His eyes closed again as a shiver racked his body.

“Yeah, I know.” She turned, looking for something to cover him with, and saw her jacket hanging off the back of the guest chair. “Finn! Come on, stay with me.”

“What?” He mumbled the word, but his voice was stronger.

“Hold your hand right here.” She pressed his hand to the scarf and fought the hard, choppy waves of fear that buffeted her as her gaze landed on the bloody material. “I want to get something to cover you.”

His eyes blinked open once more. “I’m cold.”

“I know. I’m going to get my coat but I need you to keep the wound covered.”

“What wound?” His eyes opened wider and she saw the dawning of understanding in his gaze. “What happened to me?”

“It looks like you got stabbed.”

“What?” He struggled to sit up and she pressed on his shoulders to keep him prone on the couch. “Outside?”

“Oh, no, you don’t. And yes, presumably outside, since I’ve yet to see any knife-wielding lunatics in your offices.” She laid her hand over his until she was satisfied he’d keep the scarf in place over the wound, before she jumped up and raced to get her coat. Within moments she was back, wrapping the coat around his body.

“There’s a doctor in the building. Did someone call for them?”

“Celeste’s waiting for the doctor at the elevator.”

“Can you wrap me tighter?”

A quick glance at the coat and Rowan knew it wasn’t going to do much to keep him warm, until she hit on an idea. “Do you have the wound covered?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to do my best not to put pressure but you need more heat.” She climbed up next to him, the deep plush of the leather couch ensuring she had enough room to stretch out next to his large body.

“Can you get closer?”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

“Are you keeping up the pressure on the wound?”

“Yes.”

She stretched farther, avoiding any contact with his arm that held the scarf in place, and entangled her limbs with his. Her chest pressed against his unharmed side and her legs wrapped around his. “Are you feeling anything?”

“I think so.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not with you here.”

She glanced up, the slightest edge of teasing in his voice tipping her off. “Are you getting off on this?”

“Kind of.”

“Finn Gallagher!” She wanted to leap off the couch but another shiver racked his body and she was afraid to move. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing worth worrying about.” He wrapped his free arm around her, that smile still firmly in place.

“But you were passed out. And you’re cold, which I think means shock.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then let me up.”

“I need your warmth.”

“You need your head examined.” Rowan muttered the words and kept up a good front, but she was inordinately pleased to see him responding so well. His skin had lost some of its earlier pallor and his gaze was clearer. “I can’t believe this happened. Did you see who it was? And where were you?”

“I went to get some coffee and was walking back. I got a weird feeling and stopped, pretended to loiter for a few minutes but didn’t see anything. Figured it was my mind playing tricks.”

“Only no tricks.”

“Evidently not.” He shifted and grit his teeth, and she didn’t miss the raw agony that flashed across his face. “Bastard pushed into me like he was stumbling and then shivved my side.”

“Who do you think’s doing this?”

Finn was prevented from saying anything by the arrival of the doctor, a genteel-looking woman who marched into his office with stiff, efficient movements that would give Celeste a run for her money. “So what have you done now, Mr. Gallagher?”

“I swear it wasn’t me.”

Doctor Efficient’s tone stayed firm but a small smile lit her mouth. “You always say that.”

Rowan shifted off him to give the doctor room. “It’s a knife wound, doctor.”

The older woman shook her head before she kneeled in front of the couch and removed the coat. “When I took this job I expected I’d hand out aspirin for headaches and take a look at the occasional person who tripped running too fast. And then Gallagher International moved into the building and my work has been far more interesting.”

“I’ve only seen you twice before.”

She ripped open a sterile pair of rubber gloves dug out of her medical bag and snapped them on. “Yes, and seeing as how you’ve only been in this building for ten months, I would hardly say that’s a good track record. Especially since the first time was for stitches when you thought it’d be fun to rappel between floors and the second was to make sure you didn’t have a concussion from a small and still unnamed accident on your way to work.”

Rowan tried her best to pick her mouth up off the floor at the litany of Finn’s injuries. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, not only am I serious, I was told by building management Mr. Gallagher over here was going to need to get an incremental rider on his insurance premiums if he didn’t shape up.” The woman lifted the bloody scarf and let out a heavy exhale. “Looks like they were smart to cover their bets.”

“I’m not suing the building.” He grit his teeth once more as she probed the wound. “Especially since it’s my own bloody fault this stuff keeps happening.”

The doctor pulled a syringe out of her bag. “
Bloody
is certainly the operative word.”

She worked in silence for a few minutes, the same efficient movements she’d exhibited when she walked into the office the bedrock of her treatment. “You’re awfully lucky. The wound is clean and not all that deep.”

“I don’t need stitches?” Finn’s gaze drifted to where the doctor applied a liquid bandage to his wound before he shifted his focus. “Hear that, Rowan? I’m not quite the menace I seem.”

The doctor finished up and wrote a prescription Celeste offered to go fill. Finn was sitting up and joking, and Rowan knew she needed to calm down and just be happy he was alive.

The doctor pointed to the now-discarded scarf on the floor. “Is this yours?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you weren’t all that attached to it.” The woman dropped it into a small plastic bag she’d used for the other medical waste. “I need to take it with me.”

“I’ll live.” Rowan heard the distance in her tone and wondered at the letdown from her own adrenaline rush. “And apparently he will, too.”

“His hide is surprisingly stubborn and resilient. I would ask that you keep an eye on him. See that he takes it easy for a few days.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow night for Egypt.”

The doctor appeared to weigh her words before she finally spoke. “I prescribed sleeping pills along with the antibiotic. See that he takes both.”

Rowan wasn’t sure when she’d become Finn’s caregiver, yet she couldn’t say she was all that upset with the role. “I will.”

“Excellent.” The doctor nodded as she gathered up her medical bag and the waste. “I’ve got one last question.”

Finn edged to a sitting position on the couch. “Of course. What is it?”

“How exactly did you end up with a stab wound?”

* * *

Finn stood from the couch, unwilling to sit in a less-than-advantageous position for the discussion. “
Stab
implies internal organs. I had a small brush with the sharp end of a knife. Bad commute this morning.”

“You want to try another one, Mr. Gallagher?”

The good doctor’s patience was clearly at an end and he quickly hunted for something a little less cheeky. “I’m only half joking. I ran to get some coffee and breakfast. Ms. Steele was using my office and I wanted to clear my head for a bit. We’ve had some late nights prepping for our business trip.”

“Go on.”

“Someone was stumbling through the crowd. He ran into several people and I can only think I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Seems like a habit with you.” The doctor dragged a phone from her pocket. “I need to report this.”

“You’re welcome to, but I hardly think there’s anything to report. I didn’t even need stitches.”

A play of emotions whipped across her face and he held his breath for the briefest of moments.

Would she buy it?

Or was he about to spend a good portion of his day with the police?

“And you truly don’t think you were the intended victim?”

“Hardly.” The lie tripped out with ease and Finn deliberately avoided Rowan’s gaze. He was already in her personal doghouse. Deceiving a medical professional likely wasn’t doing him any favors.

“As you so aptly put it, the wound hasn’t punctured anything, nor did it require anything resembling major medical attention.”

“No, ma’am.”

“I am, however, going to write it up. And if anything else suspicious happens, I reserve the right to rescind my generosity.”

“Of course.”

“And could you please
try
to stay out of trouble?”

The wry tone of her voice suggested she had no faith he’d even make the attempt, but Finn couldn’t resist one last assurance. “Of course, Doctor.”

He had to give Rowan credit. She waited until the doctor had not only cleared his office but until the elevator doors closed on her watchful form before she exploded. “What in the hell happened to you? And why are you lying to a doctor?”

“She didn’t believe me.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“Actually, it does. The small flesh wound I have can hardly be considered an actual stab wound—”

“Even though we both know that’s what it is.”

He held up a hand. “She can’t prove there was anything malicious behind it, nor did it require all that much attention. And do you really want to spend the day with a team of police nosing around our business?”

“Why does everyone suppose we’re a team on this? Any time spent with the cops is all about you, buddy.”

“Oh, really?” He couldn’t resist moving closer, pleased when she held her ground. “And don’t you suppose they’d want to talk to you, since you were with me during our attempted mugging the other night? Two hits in almost as many days raises suspicions.”

Whatever she was about to say faded from her lips. “What the hell is this about, Finn? And who wants to keep us from going to Egypt?”

“I wish I knew.”

“You’ve done other work for the museum and so have I. We both know the players involved. Why does it feel like there’s something just out of reach? Like someone’s pulling the strings?”

“I don’t know.”

He might not know, but he couldn’t argue with Rowan’s assessment. From the very start, the entire project had the strangest feel to it. And the imagery of a puppet master, dragging the strings offstage, was an apt one.

“I got lucky and spoke to my brother earlier. He’s pulling one of his all-nighters. He’s looking into the web forum. I can have him do some more nosing around.”

“Nosing in what? From what Will’s said, there’s a small online community tied to these forums.”

“Campbell can get into Baxter Monroe’s email, if you want him to.”

Finn was used to taking every advantage he could find, but even he had to admit Rowan’s brother had some serious skills. “He can do that?”

“He’d kill me if I said yes, but yes, he can do it. And if I give him a good reason why we need to know, he’ll do it without getting all uppity and moral about it.”

While he was the last person who should be pointing a finger in judgment, he couldn’t quite ignore the irony of her statement. “Isn’t the ability to do that sort of the opposite?”

She leaned in, her voice low. “Would you steal for just anyone?”

“No.” As an afterthought, he added, “And it’s not nearly that sordid.”

“Go with me for a minute.” When he only nodded, she continued, “You don’t do jobs for the hell of it. You do them to some personal code that only you know and understand. Despite my recent reaction, I do understand that.” Her gaze dropped. “I never had that. My personal code wasn’t nearly as refined. Or discriminating. It was a sickness.”

Whatever direction he’d expected their conversation to take, Rowan’s sudden admission wasn’t it. “That may be the case, but you weren’t entirely wrong last night, either. Our choices do define us. Who we are. The jobs we take.”

Jobs
.

Something stopped him and flipped the entire problem on its ear. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“You’ve got a point on taking jobs.”

“In what way?”

“Who stands to gain from the dig in Egypt?”

“Monroe’s certainly lining his pockets. He’ll make a fortune in speaking engagements for the rest of his life, not to mention book deals and whatever salary increase he can command at the museum.”