Six-and-a-half years earlier
Valley of the Kings
Pete hung at the back of the group and waited, trying to look entranced by a Middle Kingdom pottery shard resting on a workbench at his side. Worth maybe twenty bucks, he figured, if he could hock it. There was no market for crap like this, though, and so far he hadn’t seen anything even remotely exciting in the last four tours he’d signed up for.
Christ, it was hot. He lifted the wide-brimmed hat he’d
purchased from a street vendor in Cairo, wiped his brow and replaced the damn thing. It was late March—high tourist season in Egypt, when the temperatures were supposed to be bearable—but out here in the desert it was still hotter than sin. Pretending to be the tourist he wasn’t, he pulled his camera from his backpack and snapped a picture of the workbench and its smattering of useless artifacts. Then he lifted the lens and photographed the worksite. The tomb’s entrance. And lastly, the crew meandering around.
This tomb would probably end up being a bust like all the others he’d visited so far this trip, but he’d learned long ago that sometimes a photo picked up things you missed on first examination.
And if there was one thing he was meticulous about, it was his research.
Unfortunately, that research had all been for crap so far. And his contacts were giving him shit as well. If he didn’t score big soon, he was gonna be flying coach back to Miami.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention. The tour is about to begin.”
Pete turned like the rest of the herd and looked toward the sun shelter where a woman dressed in khaki pants, a work shirt and boots was giving directions to the group in both Egyptian Arabic and English. He couldn’t see her face, shielded by a worn Mariners cap pulled low over her brow, but her voice had an unusual lilt that piqued his interest.
One, it was American, and anytime there was an American woman working the site he was scanning, he had an immediate in. He hadn’t met one who’d been able to see through his bull.
But two, and most importantly, she had the kind of voice that did it for him. Smooth and direct, but hinting of sinful sex all at the same time.
He lifted the camera and snapped her picture. Maybe this tour would be different from the others after all.
He shifted his pack to his back, looped his camera strap around his neck and moved the equipment so it hung down his chest. Then he slipped his hands into the pocket of his cargo pants and waited to be bored out of his mind.
Except he wasn’t. As the tour progressed and their guide—a Katherine Meyer—showed the group of mostly American tourists the worksite and outlined the project’s goals, he found himself intently listening. The woman knew her stuff. She managed to make the dull artifacts they were unearthing sound mysterious and exciting. And when she hinted that the tomb could possibly be the last resting place of Nefertiti, she had the entire group
ooh-ing
and
ah-ing
like she was Jacques Cousteau about to un-cover buried treasure from the bottom of the ocean.
Half an hour into the tour and he still hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, but he had the impression of dark eyes and hair, a slim body and graceful hands.
She gave directions for the group to enter the tomb and move down the corridor, then to the right where they would enter the first burial chamber. Pete knew the really exciting stuff would be cordoned off from tourist view, so he listened carefully to what she had to say about the religious texts and images adorning the closest chambers. It often gave clues to what or who was buried deeper within.
But as she stood at the entrance to the tomb and the group filtered past her, disappearing down into the darkness, Pete found himself strangely stunned into stupor. Up close she wasn’t just attractive, she was a knockout. Mahogany hair that fell to her shoulders in a gentle wave, dark chocolate eyes, a straight nose and one damn sexy mole on the upper right side of her perfectly pink mouth.
He put the two together—that sultry voice he’d been
listening to all morning and those sinful lips he was now staring at—and even roasting in the hundred-plus-degree heat, he grew rock hard.
“Are you all right, sir? You look a little pale.”
He nodded slowly but couldn’t seem to get his brain to click into gear so he could stop staring.
“Here.” She pulled a water bottle from the pack looped around her waist and smiled. The sweetest grin he’d ever seen. Which only jacked him up another ten degrees. “Take mine. It just gets hotter once you get inside.”
Holy hell, she had no idea.
He took the bottle she held out for him, waited while she passed by and headed into the corridor. Then guzzled the whole damn thing as he watched her sexy ass sway as if for his eyes only.
Normally he’d be thinking of all the ways he was going to get her flat on her back so he could seduce her into talking about the site, the relics and what was really going down. But for some reason, watching Katherine Meyer walk away right now, he wasn’t just thinking about to-night.
He was thinking of a whole lot more.
And wondering what the hell had just happened to him.
Present day
New York City
Kat bit her lip as she sat behind the wheel of the luxury car, waiting for Pete to come back from dropping off his date.
Date? Good God. That woman wasn’t a date. She was a piranha. The way she’d pawed at him in the backseat? Kat was sure the woman was going to eat him for dessert right there on the expensive leather upholstery. Just what did he see in a woman like that?
Oh, yeah, right. Kat clenched her jaw. Like she couldn’t tell? Big boobs, skinny butt, class and sophistication and money.
All things Kat had never had and wouldn’t ever attain.
Not your problem. Don’t go there. What he does and with whom isn’t why you’re here. You don’t even care, remember?
A car honked behind her. Kat jumped and whipped around in her seat. It took moments to realize it was just another limo wanting her space. She put the car in gear and pulled forward until she was halfway up the block. Two women dressed in clingy silver outfits and sky-high heels climbed out of the limo and headed for the same building Pete had disappeared inside.
Kat blew out a breath and tried to refocus as the car behind her pulled away from the curb and turned the corner. But thinking about her current situation did little to quell the nerves in her gut bouncing around like Mexican jumping beans.
She rubbed her forehead. Seeing Pete again had thrown a major kink in her plans. She’d just committed a theft of major proportions, and now she could also add car-stealing to her list of little misdemeanors. It wouldn’t take long for Pete’s real driver to put out a notice on the missing vehicle. She’d lucked out that he’d left his cap and jacket on the front seat when he’d gone in to take a leak, but lifting this limo was
completely
off the plan chart.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d have the cops on her in a matter of minutes. Like she needed that on top of everything else?
She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes tight. Why hadn’t she just walked away?
Tired of arguing with herself, Kat dropped her hand and eyed the building again. He’d been in there too long. What if he’d gone upstairs with the piranha? What if he wasn’t coming back down like he’d said? What if—
oh,
shit
—what if he was having wild jungle-sex with her right this minute?
Definitely
not going there.
A shadow in her rearview mirror caught her attention. Thoughts of Pete slipped to the back of Kat’s mind as her instincts jumped to alert. Slinking down in her seat, she reached up slowly and tipped the mirror so she had a better view behind her.
It was a man. Broad shoulders, long legs. Tall. Wearing a full-length dark coat. He glanced around the empty street several times before crossing the road and heading for the piranha’s building.
He stepped under a streetlight for a brief moment, then eased back into the shadows. But not before Kat saw his arm lift toward the sky. Metal glimmered in his hand. Seconds later, the light went out with a near silent pop.
But one second was all it took. In that moment he’d been in the light, Kat had a clear view of his face. Of his close-cropped hair. Of his beady eyes.
Busir.
The hair stood up on her arms, but she didn’t avert her eyes. Not even when he slinked into the shadows along the building and then stopped. Slowly, she reached for the backpack she’d set on the passenger seat, flipped it open and pawed around until she found her 9mm. Her fingers closed over the cold metal with stunning force. Though she was expertly trained in how to use the firearm, a rush of adrenaline swept through her. Would she be able to take a life after all?
She wasn’t sure. If she did, it would put her on the same level as the men who had killed Sawil and Shannon.
She knew only one thing for certain: Busir and his goons had come for Pete just like she’d predicted. Her conscience wouldn’t let her sit back and do nothing.
After slipping the Beretta into the pocket of her jacket, she searched the backpack again for the small stun gun
her self-defense instructor had suggested she buy. She’d much rather use that if she could. Gripping it and an extra cartridge in her hand, she climbed out of the car, careful to stay low and silent.
A quick glance back confirmed Busir wasn’t alone. He’d brought a friend, though not the same one she’d seen at the auction. This one looked American. Kat inched her way around parked cars, well out of both their view, until she got to the alley. Once there, she kicked up her feet and ran down the wet pavement, made a trip around the block until she came up from the south behind their car.
She was breathing heavily as she ducked out of sight and moved close to the vehicle. Busir was still waiting in the shadows. His counterpart sat in the driver’s seat, awaiting his signal.
Long seconds passed while she waited. Her breathing slowed, but the adrenaline rush sent the blood pounding in her ears in time with her heart. She let instinct and years of training finally sink in, tried to block the selfdoubt on the fringes of her subconscious. Logic told her she couldn’t take out both men on her own, but she had surprise on her side. And she’d make the most of it.
Pete suddenly emerged from the lobby, head down and arms crossed over his chest. A frown cut across his face when he looked up to where the limo had been. One quick glance around, and then he turned toward the car. Tucking his chin against his chest, he headed up the street, oblivious to what was about to go down around him.
Perspiration dampened Kat’s skin. It nearly killed her, but she waited until she saw Busir make his move.
Then she made hers.
As Busir slinked out of the shadows and followed Pete up the sidewalk, Kat gripped the driver’s door and pulled. The man in the front seat jolted around to face her. She
was sure she’d never seen him before, but that didn’t stop her. She gripped the stun gun and hit him hard, right in the neck to avoid his coat. He jerked and yelped, but she held her ground and counted to four.
The man seized, then fell over on the front seat. He wasn’t unconscious, but he was incapacitated. At least for the time being.
And for a moment, Kat’s eyes widened at what she’d just done. Images flickered through her mind like a silent movie. The tomb. The sounds. The struggle. And running.
She closed her eyes tight and took large breaths to calm her nerves. But two was all she could afford. She opened her eyes, ready to find Pete. And that was when she noticed the empty vial on the console. She reached around the man’s body and lifted the small glass container.
Lorazepam.
Oh, dear God.
A loud crack, followed by a grunt, jerked her attention away from the vial and toward the street. She looked up just in time to see Pete and Busir disappear into the alley.
Her feet skidded on the icy sidewalk. She nearly lost her balance twice before she reached the entrance to the dark alley.
Where her mouth fell open.
If she’d thought Pete needed protecting, she’d been wrong. He had Busir pinned against the side of the brick building and was easily in complete control of the situation. Blood trickled down his temple. Redness and the beginnings of what looked to be a nasty bruise were forming near his eye. But what stopped her cold was the look of pure malevolence in his eyes as he stared into the face of a killer.
This was the side of him she hadn’t known. The side that turned a blind eye to what was right, negotiated deals
on the shady side and stayed one step ahead of the law along the way. It was also the side that contracted with rapists and murderers and men who would do whatever it took to get what they wanted.
No.
She didn’t realize she’d spoken the word out loud until Pete’s head whipped her way.
Surprise and confusion raced across his bruised features. “What the hell?”
Busir used that moment to take the upper hand. He lifted his arm, and with a move Kat barely tracked, plunged a hypodermic needle into Pete’s neck.
Pete hollered, jerked his attention back to Busir. His eyes flared. He reached up, pulled the needle from his neck and stared at it. In the split second of Pete’s confusion, Busir shifted out from the wall and plowed his fist into the side of Pete’s face. Pete hit the wall, ricocheted off. He lunged at Busir, taking them both down to the ground hard.
Kat screeched and jumped back as the two grappled. Fists flew, and bodies smacked the hard concrete. She knew she needed to do something, but she was too stunned to do more than stare, especially because Pete was handling his own and beating the crap out of Busir.
Until, that is, he threw a punch that missed its mark by a foot. And another. And another.
Oh, God. That needle had to have hit an artery or a vein. He was fading fast and losing whatever advantage he’d just gained.
Blood and sweat dripped down Busir’s face. When Pete blinked and gave his head a swift shake, Busir wriggled out from under him and pushed to his feet. Back to her, looking down at Pete who was fighting to stand himself, Busir let out a low chuckle. One Kat had heard years before and would never forget. It was all she needed to shock her right back to reality.