Sin and Sacrifice (18 page)

Every stroke of his hips
and hands were commanding, possessive, and the look in his eyes
when he made her his melted the barriers around her heart that
she'd spent a lifetime building. Her nails marked his back and his
teeth scored her throat, leaving blush-bruises that would disappear
by morning. She wasn't so sure that the furrows she left on him
would do the same. They felt deeper, like the imprint of his
passion on her soul. It was more than sex, more than a
release.

And she knew that he felt
it, too.

By the way he stared into
her eyes, touched her cheek, kissed her with the same rhythm of his
hips. Stroke for stroke, branding himself inside her. It unraveled
like a whiplash and she buried his name in his neck, panting and
breathless, while he shuddered and held her like something precious
and sacred.

No words could make it more
beautiful and so they remained silent, touching with gentleness
instead of ardor, until she fell asleep tangled with him in an
endless splay of limbs and heat.

Rain. It drug her up from
the abyss with its gentle pressure pattering in her ears.
Fluttering her lashes open, she saw the designs on the ceiling.
Night still had a grip on the city beyond her windows; her gut told
her that as much as the gloom wrapping itself through her bedroom.
As clarity returned, she realized it wasn't rain but the steady
hiss of water from the shower. Too groggy to figure out if it was
Rhett or Christian—was Christian even back yet?--she sat up in
bed.

Her body ached in all the
right places in all the right ways. Evelyn couldn't remember
feeling so sated and content. Pushing at the wild mane of her hair
with a hand, she slid her legs over the edge of the
mattress.

She smelled like
him.

So did the
sheets.

Struck by a sudden fit of
ridiculous excitement, she got to her feet. It felt like the
universe had cracked itself open and exposed a whole other world
for her to explore. The men she'd chosen to spend time with on this
earth all had their good qualities, but not one of them left her
like
this:
blush
cheeked, buzzing with pleasure, like a lost puzzle piece had
finally found its place. Evelyn had always been practical where men
were concerned, only staying in relationships long enough to enjoy
the company but never long enough to threaten her
safety.

After a while, people were
bound to ask questions when they aged and you didn't.

Realistically, she knew
she shouldn't lead herself on. Shouldn't lead
him
on. But she was too caught up in
all the things that felt right, engaging in a moment of self
indulgence.

The sight of their clothes
strewn everywhere had an air of reckless abandon that appealed to
her. It also reminded her that she needed to get
dressed.

From her suitcase, she
found a pair of jeans and a black shirt with capped sleeves to
wear. Out of habit, she pulled shoes and socks on and stuffed the
pockets with her usual items. Money, identification, credit
cards.

Even if she decided to go
back to bed at some point, she wouldn't sleep naked in Rhett's room
while he was gone on duty. Paranoia assured that she stayed as
prepared as she could be.

In the living room, she
pulled the mass of her hair back into a ponytail and glanced at the
glowing numbers of the mantel clock:
2:05
a.m.

Christian was due back in
less than half an hour. Stifling a yawn, resisting the urge to
interrupt Rhett in the shower, she decided to get a drink while she
waited.

The front bathroom sat
between her bedroom and the kitchenette. She had to pass it to get
to the cooler. Rhett had left the door cracked, doubtless to allow
him to hear in case anyone tried to get in. It was just a glance
she spared in that direction on her way by. The mirror spanning the
sink bounced his reflection back at her; the glass doors, etched
halfway up in designs and hieroglyphics, kept his modesty while
exposing his torso. Even through the vague curl of steam, she could
see him so clearly she might as well have been standing right in
the bathroom instead of out in the hallway.

But it wasn't the broad
span of his back that stopped her, or the way the muscles flexed
under the tawny stretch of his skin. It was a strange
discoloration, like bruises, as if he'd suffered a major injury.
She knew
she
hadn't done that much damage with her nails.

Drawn closer to the door
with concern, she squinted, too curious about what he'd suffered
not to investigate.

His skin seemed to be
peeling back, and Evelyn wondered if he'd been burned. But no, it
wasn't
quite
the
same thing. The bruising, this close, started to take
shape.

...the shape of an iron
cross tattooed between his shoulder blades.

With a gasp of utter shock,
she bumped into the wall behind her.

No.
It couldn't be.

Rhett Nichols could
not
be a Templar. He was
a government agent--

Silly fool. He's been
playing you all along. They probably don't have your sisters but
are hoping you'll lead the knights right to them.

In seconds her mind
connected all the dots; they'd covered up the anomaly with make up
or a skin-like patch of some kind, maybe realizing she might get a
glimpse of his back. Now it was peeling away from the direct power
of the shower spray and maybe a little help from her
fingernails.

The betrayal felt like a
sledgehammer to the gut and shock kept her pinned to the wall as if
she'd been nailed there. He'd lied to her, deceived her. All those
looks and kisses and--

Oh god.

Seducer.

Liar.

The bile rose up the back
of her throat, thick enough to choke her. Christian, Dracht,
Dragar. They were all Templar Knights.

Thoughts of Christian and
the knowledge Rhett wouldn't be long in the shower drove her into
motion. She had money and her identification in her pockets but
there was no time to grab extra clothes or a suitcase. Instead she
went for a weapon.

How fitting he'd taught her
to use it so recently.

From the holster he'd left
on the table, she took the remaining gun. The other was probably in
the bathroom with him for safety precautions. With shaking hands,
she checked the clip like he'd taught her. Seeing the gleam of
bullets, she jammed it back into the weapon and tucked it under the
back of her shirt in her pants. She couldn't just run around Port
Said with a gun in her hand.

Wheezing, distressed, she
glanced at the clock.

2:17

She had to get out of
there. As it was, she might run into Christian on the way down the
stairs. What would she say? What excuse could she give? Creeping
toward the door, she disengaged the locks and the chain as quick
and quiet as she was able to.

“
Evelyn, is that you?”
Rhett called out from the bathroom. His voice echoed eerily off the
walls in there, resonating.

Maybe he'd turned around by
then and had seen her pass by the door in the mirror. She didn't
wait to find out but slipped out into the hall and broke for the
stairs at a dead run. In her mind she determined how long it might
take Rhett to really understand what was going on, get dressed, and
come after her. Rushing headlong, she took the flight at a
dangerous pace, circling down, down, down.

Hitting the door, she fled
into the market without looking back. So many people. Didn't anyone
ever sleep?

“
Evelyn!” Her name snapped
her gaze up to the balcony of their suite.

Rhett stood there, even
then yanking a shirt over his head; he'd already managed to get
jeans on. The man was
quick.

Fear galvanized her into
action; without a word, she charged through the crowd. She made
hasty pardons when she elicited angry curses from the natives.
Panic made her breath shallow. People stared at her, jostled her.
Pushed at her.

“
Evelyn!”

Startled at the ferocious
growl of her name, she glanced back. Before she could look away,
Rhett swung over the railing of the balcony, hanging on with his
hands, and let go.

Yelping in surprise that he
took that kind of shortcut, she watched him aim for an awning to
break his fall. It bowed inward and the supports snapped with sharp
cracks. Evelyn didn't watch more than that.

Rhett was
coming.

Shoving her way through the
milling bodies, she emerged out onto the next street and went left.
Drawing all kinds of unwanted attention, heedless of anyone else or
anything but getting away, she veered down the very next street and
into the throng. Ten feet from the corner, she lurched into one of
the tiny shops, nearly knocking down an older woman with a basket
on her arm. Shouts followed her into the back, where she barged
without permission, looking left and right for some other kind of
way out.

A spiraling staircase led
up and she took it. There was too much noise, too much commotion to
see if Rhett was right behind her. Evelyn ascended to the next
floor, and the next, following the staircase all the way to a door
that led out onto the roof of the building. There wasn't a lock
from the outside, but there was a stray two-by-four on the ground
and she jammed it under the doorknob.

It wasn't a total fix but
it might buy her another few minutes.

Just as she found a fire
escape that would take her back to the main street, she heard Rhett
kick at the door. The bang echoed across the rooftop.

She missed the rail of the
ladder when she flung herself over the edge and for a single,
terrifying moment, she thought she was going to fall all the way to
the ground. But her fingers caught the iron and she crashed into
the ladder with a grunt. Scaling down as fast as she dared, her
feet just made contact with the concrete when she heard Rhett above
her.

Looking up, they locked
gazes.

“
What the
hell
are you doing? Stop
running!” he shouted.

Evelyn took off down the
alley. She refused to stop or slow down. There was no need to
listen to his excuses.
Bastard
. How could she have been so
naive.

The metallic thump of his
shoes on the metal rungs of the ladder encouraged her to go faster.
Zig-zagging through another market, she looked for places to duck
into. Places like the last where she could double back or hide or
come out a different exit on another street that might throw him
off her trail. There were less people here and she didn't know
whether to be angry or thankful.

A jewelry and bead shop
looked like it might connect elsewhere in the building, or perhaps
she could bribe the owner to hide her. Either way she rushed in,
accidentally knocking over a display. Thousands of beads flew
everywhere, a riot of color that made the floor a haphazard
landscape. Several shouts erupted at once and she gave up thinking
to ask the owners to help her. The more commotion they made, the
more it would draw Rhett's attention.

While confusion reigned,
she found a door that led into another shop and she didn't even
hesitate. Running through, toppling racks of clothes and
collectables, she burst out onto another street teeming with
tourists. It looked to be some sort of gathering or
party.

Someone grabbed her
ponytail, wrenching her head back. Screaming, thinking Rhett had
finally caught up with her, she aimed a vicious kick at the man's
knee. She felt it give and bow backwards, hyper extending the
joint. When he howled and fell to the ground, she realized that
it
wasn't
Rhett
but someone who'd probably thought she was a thief and had been
trying to stop her.

Disoriented for a moment,
knowing his caterwauling would draw more attention, she glanced
around to get her bearings. A glimpse of Rhett crashing through the
shop drove her forward, barreling through people and onto another,
less busy street. Here, where she had room to move, she picked up
speed, uncaring at the way passerby whipped their heads around to
watch her go.

A narrow alleyway between
two buildings came up on her right and she swerved into the dark
opening, feet pounding, breath coming in gasps. Not being a main
street, the corridor looked empty, desolate. Muted light from two
bulbs spilled over the asphalt, just enough to see by.

She didn't realize she was
crying until the alley became blurry and out of focus. Passing two
fire escapes, she looked for side doors into shops or businesses
and found three—but they were all locked when she tried
them.

Whirling at the crunch of
gravel underfoot, she saw Rhett standing perhaps twenty feet away,
poised like he'd been stalking her. His chest rose and fell with
heavy, rapid breaths.

He held up a hand in the
traditional gesture of Stop. “Evelyn,
listen
to me--”