Heather Graham (31 page)

“Come on.”

Ignoring her protests, he started dragging her along. “Wayne!” Alex screamed out, digging at his unrelenting fingers with her free hand. “I’m serious.”

She realized then that he was dragging her toward an automobile in the road, a black sedan with its engine running and a driver in the front seat. He had no intention of letting her go.

“Wayne, I mean it!” she cried, but she was coming irrevocably closer to the idling sedan.

“Alex, come on! Hurry. I’m trying to help you. Look.”

She took the time to glance around in the direction Wayne indicated. Zaid had cleared the street crowd and was upon her.

Suddenly her other arm was grasped, and a torrent of angry Arabic was riddling the air.

She found herself becoming the rope in a terrifying game of tug-of-war. Something would have to give quickly. Haman would eventually puff his way to them, and it was doubtful Wayne was traveling entirely alone.

Ali and Dan certainly hadn’t traveled alone. But where were the men of the desert chieftain when she needed them most: She was being used as a giant wishbone, and no one was coming to her defense.

Dan woke with a startled jerk. He glanced around the room, wondering what had awakened him. Nothing was amiss. His alarm clock was ticking quietly and steadily, but besides that, everything was silent. Too silent.

He bolted out of the bed and raced to the door and out into the salon of the suite.

Alex was gone.

Without going back into the bedroom to retrieve his shoes, Dan raced out of the suite, his heart hammering. Where had she gone? Damn, he should have warned her more fervently that she was in danger, that either her old enemy Haman or the ex-husband she loved had something to do with her father’s disappearance.

A fine sweat broke out on his brow. When he got hold of her, he was going to kill her. But what if he couldn’t find her? His mind went blank; chills riddled his perspiration-slicked body. If something happened to her he would go mad.

He forced himself to calm down, to remember that Ali’s men had to be somewhere near her. They wouldn’t allow anything to happen. And Raj should be near her, too, if she had left the hotel.

Dan met Rajman in the lobby. The Egyptian greeted him with a burst of confusion. “I was following her, and watching to see which fish would bite. But both fish went for the bait, Mr. D’Alesio. And she’s out there now. We’ve been trying to make sense of it—”

Dan suddenly saw a hint of the commotion outside the lobby doors. “To hell with the sense of it!” he exclaimed, bolting past Rajman and out the lobby door.

Zaid and Wayne were in the midst of a heated argument; Dan wondered if either could understand the other, since Wayne was shouting in English and Zaid was shouting in Arabic. Alex was between them, staring from one to the other while furiously working at her wrists.

Dan could understand why Ali’s men had taken so long to break it up. Alex was in no immediate danger while the men argued, and there might have been something to learn from the angry words.

As Dan watched, trying not to grin, Alex kicked Zaid in the shins and spun about to repeat the action upon her other heckler. The argument stopped as both men bellowed in pain—but neither released her.

The treasure she could lead them to, Dan thought wryly, was worth a little pain. The argument resumed again, but this time they began to pull on Alex’s arms.

Dan narrowed his eyes. Across the street where the crowd had drawn to curiously watch the action, Omar Khi Haman, ridiculous in business attire, was also watching the proceedings.

It had gone far enough, Dan decided.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ali’s cousin Ahman watching the proceedings, watching him for a cue to action. Dan nodded briefly. Ahman nodded in return and swept a compact revolver from beneath a fold of his galabria. A shot rang in the air, silencing the argument with its loud report.

Alex was as startled by the deafening sound of the gun as the two men holding her. Like them, she went dead still with the sudden shock.

It was then that Dan stepped forward. He was barefoot and bare-chested, and his dark hair was tousled over his forehead. But he had never appeared more menacing. Alex noted vaguely that she had never realized quite how tall he was until she saw him tower over both men, hostility crackling with electric tension from the dark depths of his eyes.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, circling Alex’s waist and drawing her from the hold of both men. “I’ll remind you both that the lady is with me, and I don’t appreciate her being accosted.”

Zaid burst into a stream of angry Arabic. Dan listened. Alex squirmed to see his face, but she was drawn against him, the tip of her head beneath his chin. She was grateful that he held her; she was dizzy with the aftereffects of fear and confusion.

“Zaid says that you were trying to kidnap Alex, Randall. Is that true?” Dan suddenly demanded.

“Scurvy liar!” Wayne exploded. “For one, D’Alesio, I don’t care what kind of lies you’ve fed Alex; she still belongs to me. And this Arab here was the one trying to abduct her—I was trying to save her from him!” Dan said something to Zaid in Arabic. He flew into a stream of Arabic curses, finally lifting his arms in impotent exasperation, and turned to stalk down the street.

“Zaid said you are the liar, Randall,” Dan said with polite inquiry.

“And you’re going to listen to that Arab! The hell with you, D’Alesio.” Wayne’s brows lifted slightly, and Alex twisted to see that she was surrounded. Ali and Rajman and two men she recognized from Ali’s desert tribe were ranged behind Dan.

“You’ve asked for the trouble, D’Alesio,” Wayne muttered suddenly. “Alex, this man is after nothing but a story, This is your last chance. Come with me or take the consequences. I promise you, someone is going to wind up hurt. Don’t let it be you, because this tough has decided to use you.”

She was surprised when Dan suddenly released her. She turned to see his eyes, flaming jet, staring into hers. “I’m not holding you, Alex. Randall, the choice is hers.”

Alex stared from Dan to Wayne, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. Suddenly a knot seemed to form in her chest. She was being used by everyone. They were after the priceless treasure of the ancient tomb; all she wanted to do was find her father.

She took a step back from them both, overwhelmed by the ridiculous urge to burst into tears. “I think you should both rot in hell for an eternity,” she said heatedly.

Then she spun around, blinded by the tears in her eyes, and pushed past Rajman and Ali and the tribesmen to reenter the hotel and race through the lobby to the elevator. She went straight to the suite and into the bedroom, slamming the door closed behind her. She was able to throw herself on the bed and bury her head in the pillow before the tears came.

They were cleansing. When the torrent ended, she did feel better. I will find my father, she promised herself. I’ll expect nothing from any man; I’ll use Dan and Ali as I’ve been used until Jim is found. Dead or alive.

Jim could be dead, but she didn’t cry again with the admission. She just felt numb. It was a possibility she had to accept, even as she had to accept that she must work against it. One way or another she would find out what had happened to her father. And then she would put all this behind her—the curse of kings, the curse of men. The curse of being in love, and not knowing if she was being totally used in return.

Alex remained on the bed, lethargic and listless. Shadows began to fill the room. She had half expected Dan to come after her, furiously berating her for leaving the room, reminding her that she was more trouble than a horde of cobras. But hours passed and he hadn’t come near her. She didn’t even know if he was in the suite, and she didn’t know if she should care.

Her eyes closed and she fell into a restless sleep.

She was awakened while the moon still rode high in the ancient land of temples and the Nile. There was a single rap on the door.

It didn’t open. She heard Dan’s voice. Curiously, it wasn’t riddled with the anger she had expected. It was soft and husky.

“Alex, if you ever walk out on me like that again, I’ll—I’ll wring your neck.”

She closed her eyes. Was Dan, like everyone else, merely after the tomb? He didn’t need money, and Alex believed he honestly cared for Jim. But he was a broadcast journalist; he lived on danger, on excitement, on the stories of the century. And he was very much a physical man, energy and vitality personified—a demanding lover, a giving lover, an all-consuming lover. … But his sexuality never stood in the way of his determination. He molded his needs to his current situation.

She was his at the moment. He could be the fury of a storm; he could be the tenderness of the lapping tide on a moonlit night.

He had done her a favor. He had taught her a few things about Wayne. He had taught her that she could be deeply, passionately involved with another man. He had taught her that she possessed a vast sensuality and a capacity for love far greater than she had ever known.

And he was sure to leave her devastated. He had threatened to wring her neck. His anger had been controlled, but it was still there: pride; male ego; his determination to find the tomb and James Crosby.

She was faintly surprised that he didn’t bang down the door and wring her neck right then and there.

She heard his voice, soft, husky. “Please, Alex, don’t do anything so dangerously foolish again.”

She bit her lip, suddenly wishing that she hadn’t bolted the door or that he would bang it down. He was capable of doing that, she knew. And she didn’t have the courage to stand up and open it. She was feeling so very vulnerable. He would realize that she loved him, and he would probably be as blunt as he usually was. He wanted no ties.

She didn’t open the door, and neither did he.

He left her alone for the entire night.

Alex lay awake, praying that he at least remained in the suite.

B
Y NIGHTFALL IN WEST
Thebes, the vast cliffs and dips of the Valley of the Kings truly belonged to the world of the dead.

The tourists who came daily to traverse the known tombs of long-dead pharaohs had left. Only the villagers of Qurna remained; a people who eons ago had made their homes on the very cliffs that housed the tunneled chambers of the dead. The Egyptian government had been trying to move these villagers for years; doubtless they would keep trying for years to come, with the same lack of results.

Those who lived in Qurna were tenacious and obstinate—and wary of those they dealt with in the Valley of the Kings. The government officials Dan and Ali had contacted about their work had warned them to be leery of the villagers. But when night fell upon the encampment, the people of Qurna seemed as far away as the distant stars.

The tents that housed the expedition party were modern canvas affairs; battered tin coffeepots perked over open fires. They were once again upon the brink of the desert, but the circumstances were as different from those at Ali’s camp in the oasis as night was from day. The simple, primitive beauty of the sheikhdom was lacking—the essence of elegance within the desert, the touch of silver, the feel of silk. No Arabian stallions raced these sands; donkeys and water bison were the beasts of burden. The modern world had so intervened that there could be nothing so simple as a sheikh ruling his people with love and patience.

Alex sighed as she stared out at the cliffs, mournful shadow-lands in the dim light of the moon. This was it: the Valley of the Kings. It was a place of ancient magic and ritual, of culture—of intrigue and romance. The story of a civilization lay within the cliffs, a story that had begun to be unraveled in Paris in 1826 when Jean-François Champollion had founded the science of Egyptology by learning to decipher the ancient hieroglyphics, the knowledge of which had been sealed for some two thousand years.

Today they had explored the known tombs. She had gone through all the open tombs with Dan, Ali and Raj, and at Dan and Ali’s gentle insistence, she had spoken the entire time. She had told them what she knew about the design of the chambers, the methods of mummification, the reigns of the pharaohs, the utensils taken into the tomb to remain with the dead pharaoh for his rebirth as a god. They studied doorways to see how granite blocks could seal the tombs; they studied every nook and cranny of the layouts. Alex explained that Tut’s tomb had been so very hard to find because workers for Ramses II’s tomb during the nineteenth dynasty had built their living quarters above the entrance to his tomb; years later sand and earth and rubble had hidden the sixteen steps that led to Tut’s tomb.

During dinner she had pored over her books on Egyptology, showing the men page after page of the treasures discovered in Tutankhamen’s tomb: the disassembled golden chariots, the death masks, the thrones, the caskets and coffers; finely carved figurines in ebony, alabaster and multicolored glass; cases for the sheep’s-wool wigs worn in the day; bracelets, earrings, necklaces; an ivory papyrus smoother. The list was endless.

And Tut’s tomb had been robbed in antiquity. Still, so little had been taken. The robbers must have been accosted in the act, and the tomb resealed.

Alex was sure that when they found Anelokep’s tomb, they would discover that it too had been robbed sometime over the millennia. But if they were lucky, they would find it resealed, as Tut’s had been.

She glanced up at the few stars that twinkled over the dismal night in vast necropolis. Here we are, Jim, and where are you? I have reached this point; we have announced that we will find the tomb. The world is waiting, and I still haven’t the faintest idea of what I’m doing. I’ve studied all the plans, Jim. I walked the tombs today until my feet blistered. I’ve read until my eyes closed on me. And I still don’t know what I’m doing. … The world is waiting, and I’m a fraud.

Alex stood and stretched and rubbed her derriere. The rock she had been sitting on was hard and jagged, but she had barely noticed when she had been swamped by her thoughts.

Suddenly everything bothered her. Her ankle itched and she couldn’t scratch it because of her boots, but she didn’t want to take off her boots because night might have brought out a number of scorpions or snakes. She glanced back toward the camp, wondering what had caused her to wander away in the first place.