No Rules (21 page)

The question made her review everything she knew of Ramesses VIII and the tumultuous times of his reign. The two previous pharaohs had been father and son, also ruling briefly. But Ramesses VIII was not the grandson. Instead, he was the son of the pharaoh Ramesses III. It had been intriguing to speculate about the reason for the string of short reigns, so short that a direct descendant had apparently not been born to take the throne from a deceased parent. Her father had woven exciting tales of possible palace intrigue and assassinations, but it had all been fanciful theories because little was known of their personal stories. The mummy of Ramesses VIII had never been found, and the tomb set aside for him as a mere prince would not have been used once the line of succession unexpectedly came down to him. He would have required his own tomb as a pharaoh, which was…

Jess’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. His tomb! That was why she remembered him.

The canopic chest and vase had obviously come from it. Finally, she understood why her father had wanted her to buy an old vase. She was bursting to tell Donovan the implications of what she knew. They’d been right to bring her along.

Figuring it out was a rush, but with the soaring sense of victory came an urgency to accomplish her father’s mission.

“It’s perfect. I’ll take it. One million dollars,” she said.

Mr. Atallah looked startled by the sudden offer. He hesitated as if intending to counteroffer, but the price she’d stated was generous. He stumbled over his words, and finally managed, “American. Cash.”

“Of course. When can I get it?”

Things seemed to be moving too fast for him. “Uh, tomorrow. The day after, at the latest. I will, uh, notify my contact and have the piece delivered. Shall I call you when I have it?”

“Please do.” She turned to Donovan, lifting an imperious eyebrow. She found him watching her with a startled look, but he recovered quickly and recited a phone number for Mr. Atallah.

“Thank you for allowing me to see these marvelous items. I suspect my husband will be interested in purchasing other items you may acquire.”

Stroking his ego and dangling the bait of possible future sales accomplished its purpose. Mr. Atallah beamed. “I look forward to meeting him and doing business together. Perhaps you could tell me more about him over another cup of tea?”

“I’m sorry, but I have an appointment and really must be going. I take it our escorts are ready and waiting?”

He pulled out a cell phone and tapped out a rapid text as he answered her. “Yes, no problem, the car is out front.” She was already moving toward the front of the store, Donovan and Mr. Atallah falling in behind her as he kept talking. “You are as astute a businesswoman as you claimed, Mrs. Hassan. You must let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”

How about twenty to life in a dank prison cell?
“There may be, Mr. Atallah.” She smiled sweetly as she reached his jewelry-filled showroom. “We shall see. Good day, sir.”

She stepped out the door and found their police car waiting at the curb. The same police officer—if that’s what he really was—held the back door open for them and she studied his face as she smiled her thanks, determined to be able to identify him as an accessory to the theft and sale of antiquities. Inside, she took a good look at the driver, too.

Donovan slid in the backseat next to her. “I take it we’re done shopping?” he asked in a low voice.

There was so much she needed to tell him. But not until they were alone. For now, she speared him with a look that she hoped communicated satisfaction and success. “We’re done.”

They didn’t say anything else, although Donovan took his phone out and sent a couple texts that she assumed were to the other members of the team. When the car pulled to a stop, they were outside the souk where they’d been picked up. She saw the driver meet Donovan’s eyes in the mirror and nod, which seemed to be the only farewell they were going to get. Donovan got out and held the door for her to follow. As soon as he closed it again, the car disappeared into traffic.

They stood on a wide strip of pavement between the street and the outdoor mall. Donovan’s gaze darted over the constant stream of pedestrians before settling on her. “Tell me.”

It spilled out like a dam bursting, and she had to work to keep her excitement from drawing unwanted attention from people around them. “It’s the pharaoh’s cartouche, that’s what my father wanted us to see. Ramesses VIII. I couldn’t figure out why at first, and then I remembered. He’s one of the pharaohs we know very little about, but not just because he had a short reign. They never found his mummy, not even among the large cache of mummies that were moved to save them from grave robbers. He was a prince and was supposed to be buried in the Queen’s Valley—I think there’s a tomb that was started there that’s thought to be meant for him—but he ascended to the throne unexpectedly, and as a pharaoh who would be a god in the afterlife, he suddenly needed his own tomb.”

She paused to see how well he was absorbing the deluge of information. His dark eyes made another pass over the crowd, then focused on hers again. She shivered, which was getting to be her usual response to his intense gaze. “So? No mummy. Why do we care?”

“No mummy. No internal organs in canopic jars. Get it? No tomb. He had to have one as a pharaoh, maybe something like King Tut’s, a quickly converted tomb belonging to a priest or high-ranking official, because he died so soon after gaining the throne. But it’s never been found. Do you see? Those items we saw, the vase and the canopic chest, are grave goods. They could have only been found in his tomb. Donovan, someone has discovered the tomb of Ramesses VIII and is keeping it quiet.”

It only took him a couple seconds. “You mean not someone who got excited and called up
National Geographic
and the Egyptian Ministry of State for Antiquities.”

“Exactly. Someone who kept it secret so they could make a fortune selling it off bit by bit on the black market. Modern-day tomb robbers.”

“I can see why Wally would care. Christ, he must have been ecstatic. Preserving the past was a passion of his. But it has to be more than that. He was probably tracking the activities of our two missing archeology students, and if he stumbled across an illegal operation involving tomb robbers—”

“Then that means they probably did, too.” she finished. “They couldn’t let them go. Maybe the robbers decided two experts on ancient Egyptian tombs would be useful in identifying and sorting through everything. I think that’s where they’re being held—in the tomb of Ramesses VIII.”

“Which is where?”

“No one knows. But now we know how to find out, because someone has to go there to get me a vase.”

Chapter Thirteen

Donovan had to get Jess out of here. Her body fairly vibrated with the thrill of discovery, of solving the puzzle she’d thought was impossible. He understood. She’d done an amazing job of dealing with Mr. Atallah. They’d be nowhere without her. He’d been impressed with how well she played her role, and it was electrifying to think rescuing the hostages was within their grasp. They had plans to put in motion. But first he needed to get her off the street. She drew attention.

She was probably trying not to, but she wasn’t trained at blending in or hiding her emotions, and she certainly didn’t realize the effect she had on others. She didn’t need to jump up and down to draw the eyes of passersby. Even covered in the
abaya
and
hijab
, the sparkle in her eyes and the excitement lighting her face turned her pretty features into compelling beauty. People noticed. Passersby glanced at her, sometimes letting their gazes linger as they smiled. It made him nervous. A man had already made a public attempt on her life. He needed to make them inconspicuous, now.

He got her moving, following the flow of shoppers and tourists down the street. What he needed most right now was the anonymity of the crowds and a chance to talk to the rest of his team. In case their apartment was bugged, the street was the best place to make a call.

Kyle answered immediately. “We found the place, Eye of the Gods. We’re watching from the restaurant across the street. What are we looking for?”

This was the dangerous part. Telling an informer within Omega how much they knew could set them up for an all-out attack, but his team couldn’t be effective if they didn’t have all the facts. He’d just have to continue to play dumb about a possible mole, while being extra-vigilant.

“We ordered a vase and someone has to get it for us,” he told Kyle. “Jess thinks it’s coming directly from a tomb in The Valley of the Kings, unless they already have it warehoused somewhere. Either way, following someone to the vase should also lead us to the students.”

The abbreviated explanation required Kyle to accept his reasoning without details. Asking for more would be a red flag, a sign that he might be passing on information.

Kyle paused for no more than a second. “Got it. We follow any employee who leaves. How many are there?”

“We saw the owner and two others. I hope it’s one of them, and that he doesn’t make a phone call and arrange for someone to bring it to him. But he could, so you’ll need to take note of anyone coming in with a box. It’s going to be big, about…” He gave Jess an expectant look.

“Two feet high, maybe. And heavy.”

“Two feet tall,” he repeated. “And nearly as wide. Heavy.”

“Hard to hide. Good.”

“He’s probably going to have it there by tomorrow, so we either follow someone to it, and to the students, or catch them with it and try to make them tell us where they got it. And I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever knows is willing to die to keep that information secret.”

“God, I hate dedicated bad guys,” Kyle grumbled. “Okay, sounds like we’re in it for the whole night, unless something happens early. We’ll tail people and watch new arrivals. Looks like the owner might live right over the shop, which makes it easier.” He paused. “Hey, what’s this have to do with a river?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the tomb isn’t in the Valley of the Kings. Maybe it’s somewhere along the Nile, which would explain why it was never found. Guess we’ll find out soon.”

He clicked off and met Jess’s expectant gaze. Still radiating excitement. Damn, he wished it didn’t touch that tender spot inside him that seemed to have a direct connection to his dick. She made him feel warm and protective and turned-on, all at the same time. It was disturbing, especially when his mind should not be straying from their mission.

“We need money,” Jess told him happily.

“What? Why?”

“To buy the vase.” She looked surprised that he could be so dense. “One million dollars.”

He snorted a laugh. “Not likely. Besides, we don’t really want to buy it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do we?”

“We might. I was listening to what you told Kyle. What if Mr. Atallah does simply make a phone call and have someone bring him the vase? We might see who delivers it, but we still won’t know where it came from. Or where the students are being held. Do you think if we grab the deliveryman he’ll simply tell us where to find a few billion dollars worth of illegal treasure?”

“Keep your voice down,” he said, scanning the crowds again. “He might if he thinks we’ll kill him if he doesn’t talk.”

She leaned closer, speaking softly. “And what if the other tomb robbers will kill him and his whole family if he does? Tomb robbing is a serious business, and no one wants to risk getting caught. You had it right when you said someone might be willing to die to keep the location secret, because he definitely will.”

“Shit.” It frustrated him that she was probably right. Plus, there was that figure she’d cited. “A few billion dollars in treasure?”

She shrugged. “Priceless, really, if it’s an untouched tomb. Better than Tutankhamun’s. And from what Mr. Atallah told us, there’s a lot to choose from.”

He didn’t like anything he was hearing from her—that his straightforward plan might have a flaw, or the fear that had immediately jumped into his mind, that priceless antiquities might get in the way of rescuing hostages. Jess probably hadn’t realized that they sometimes had to go into a rescue with guns blazing, and how could they do that when bullets might rip into irreplaceable three-thousand-year-old artifacts worth billions of dollars?

Thankfully, discussing pharaohs on the streets of Luxor was normal conversation. “I thought you said Ramesses VIII was a minor pharaoh,” he grumbled. “How can his stuff be worth more than King Tut’s?”

“Oh, Tut was fairly minor, too. A transition pharaoh, really, and only nineteen when he died. He didn’t have time to accomplish much. But the real point is that his tomb wasn’t exactly untouched. It had been opened twice before in ancient times. The amphora—vases like the one I asked for—were emptied of their contents. Probably poured into wine skins and sold on the black market. And who knows what else was taken that was easily sold, or kept as a personal memento? The tomb wasn’t pristine.”

“Then why not take it all?”

“Who knows? It could have been that flooding in the valley kept subsequent robbers out. Also, the entrance seems to have been filled by rubble when another tomb was dug. All we know is it was sealed again and forgotten for thousands of years. Oh! Look at those necklaces.”

She made a sharp U-turn at an open storefront, drawn to a glittering display of jewelry inside. He wasn’t sure why this particular store stood out to her above the dozens of others they’d seen today, but thought it was simply a reflection of her buoyant mood. Since figuring out the significance of Wally’s old vase, she’d been riding an adrenaline high.

Resigned to waiting while she shopped, he watched her run her fingers over the carved designs of golden cartouches dangling from chains. Stroking, turning them to catch the light, draping them over her hand to judge them against her skin. Her hand motions captured his attention, so purely feminine that it stirred a response deep inside him and made him want to adjust himself inside his briefs. He shifted to ease the discomfort, unable to stop watching her hands.

From the back, covered almost entirely in the shapeless black
abaya
, she should have been sexually neutral. Nothing showing that would attract a man. Wasn’t that the whole point of the
abaya
? What kind of horndog was he to be so mesmerized by the slightest bit of feminine beauty? Simply watching her hands sort through chains and pendants fed his own secret high. He imagined her touching him instead, remembering the feel of her hands slipping around his neck. Imagined her touching other parts of him. For a moment the shop and its attentive salesman blurred around her, and he focused on her hands, her smile, the glow on her face as she looked up.

“I love this ankh.” She cradled the tiny cross with the looped top in her palm, the ubiquitous Egyptian symbol of life. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Let me buy it for you.”

She blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He suddenly did, very much.

“A good choice,” the salesman approved. “The symbol of life.” A huge grin split his face beneath his prominent nose.

Donovan pulled out a credit card. “How much?”

“One hundred fifty.”

“Fifty,” he countered.

“Impossible! I lose money. But for the pretty lady, I will make it one hundred thirty.”

“Sixty.”

The salesman looked offended. “I cannot take so little, not for eighteen-karat gold.”

Jess peered closely at the back of the ankh. “Fourteen karat.”

“Ah, my mistake. One twenty, then. Very fair.”

“Seventy is very fair. I’ll give you eighty.”

He started to shake his head, and Jess dropped the ankh as if resigned to losing the sale, letting it swing from its tiny display hook. “Eighty,” the salesman agreed quickly, grabbing the credit card.

She smiled. “Thank you, Tyler, that’s very nice of you.”

“You need something to remind you of this trip.”
And to remind you of me
, he thought, because it was suddenly imperative that she remember him fondly.

The salesman released the necklace from its hook. “I will put it in a box for you.”

“No, please. I’d like to wear it.”

She held her hand out but Donovan snatched the necklace first, opening the chain to put it on her. She studied him with a smile as if she could read his mind, understood his sudden feeling of possession, and was amused by it.

When had the scared little rabbit become so confident?

Part of it had been today—he’d watched it happen. She’d slipped into her role of Mrs. Hassan, the privileged, confident wife of a wealthy businessman, and had owned the part. Her knowledge of ancient Egypt had allowed her to feel sure of herself, and she’d run with it. He’d been impressed, something he hadn’t even taken the time to tell her yet. Apparently he didn’t have to, she was obviously thrilled with what she’d accomplished.

But the other part of her confidence, the part he saw now, had nothing to do with her success in finding the vase. It was purely male-female, the innate knowledge of a woman who realizes she has a man under her spell. He didn’t even try to fool himself about that. She had him.

He’d watched that one develop, too. He’d seen it flicker in her eyes when he’d first kissed her, startling them both. She’d become more confident on the spot, although not as much as she had when he’d kissed her the second time, when she’d stitched him up. The memory was clear. At first he was out of his mind with pain, then she’d whipped off her shirt and bra and he’d been gripped by an equally consuming haze of lust. He still wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen and enjoyed a woman’s breasts before, and the pain should have been a major distraction. But there had been something about her taking a step beyond expectations—both hers and his—that he’d found admirable. And incredibly desirable.

Under pressure, the timid little rabbit had dug down deep and found a core of steel, and an instinct to fight her way through. She was tough and resourceful. It was incredibly
hot
.

That faintly amused look she gave him now said it all—she knew she had him if she wanted him. He didn’t care. He was up to the challenge.

She uncrossed the ends of the
hijab
, revealing her neck, and for a second he paused, holding out the necklace, aware of their cover story, even if the people around them weren’t. Putting the necklace on her, touching her skin, seemed suddenly intimate and improper. Somehow, that made it even more exciting.

The salesman was running his credit card, not paying attention to them in the corner of his shop. Stepping forward, he slipped his hands beneath her
hijab
and around her neck. He fumbled with the clasp, trying to hook it without seeing it, which was strangely more difficult than unclasping a bra. She watched him all the while, laughter in her eyes as she held perfectly still.

He felt the hook catch and pulled back, deliberately trailing a finger along the warm curve of her neck as he did. For an instant, her eyes closed and a tiny shiver ran over her skin. He smiled his satisfaction at the wordless reminder that he had power over her, too.

He took his credit card back as Luxor’s recorded call to prayer sang out from a nearby minaret. Most people around them seemed to ignore it, but several turned toward the mosque down the street. He ushered her through the heart of the crowd, turning east. “The house is nearly a mile away. I’ll get a cab.”

“No, don’t.” She looked up, hopeful. “Can we walk? I want to take in the city. And can we stop and get something to eat? Real Egyptian food?”

He smiled. “Feeling adventurous?”

“A little. It feels like the pressure is off now, you know?”

He didn’t feel that way at all. In fact, the pressure was just starting to ramp up. But he got that her part in it was nearly over. “Time to see Luxor as a tourist?”

“Not exactly a tourist. I know we still have a job to do.”

We
. He was happy she considered herself part of the team after starting out as an unwilling participant. Surprisingly, he also liked the feeling that they were partners.