Tiger Eye (8 page)

Dela explained the market, the old woman who had sold her the box, and the strange man who had watched the transaction and then tried to kidnap her.

“It is a simple thing,” Hari said, feeling ill. “Someone knows you have me. If they kill you, I return to the box, ready for a new owner.”

Dela frowned. “Surely the same person can’t be responsible. That knife was stolen months ago. Who could foresee …” She paused, and then, “I mean, it just doesn’t make sense that the two events are related. Killing me with my own creation is way more personal than just trying to knock me off so the box changes hands. Besides, I don’t think this morning’s bad guy knew who I was.”

“Then you have two problems. My apologies, Delilah. I have added to your difficulties.”

“Hari, you saved my life.” Her voice was low, serious and earnest, a match to her stubborn frown. “Listen, we’ll find a way out of this. Every problem has a solution. Even your curse.”

He laughed, but it sounded cold, hollow. “I suppose you could destroy the box.”

“Would that set you free?”

“I do not know. It might kill me, but I think I would prefer to die, rather than continue on in darkness, enslaved.” It was a choice he had never dared voice before now.

Hari saw her consider it. He also saw her falter.

“Seems to me fighting is the better option.” Dela’s voice gained strength. “You can’t give up, Hari.”

“And what do you know of fighting?” he asked, deliberately harsh. “I have spent the past two thousand years as a
belonging
, enduring humiliation, torture, committing atrocities. You have no idea what that means.”

“Maybe not.” Dela narrowed her eyes. “But I know cowardice when I see it.”

Hari stiffened. “Are you accusing me of dishonor?”

“If you ask me to kill you without even attempting to find an answer to your problem, then yes. I am.”

Her words stung. Hari stood, but the room suddenly felt far too small. He ended up at the window, arms braced on either side of the thin glass. The city sprawled beneath him, unspeakably alien, strange objects moving at miraculous speeds. People, tiny at this great height, traveling in numbers greater than he had ever imagined. In that moment, he hated it all.

“What would you have me do?” he growled.

“Live,” she said, rising to stand beside him. He glanced at her.

“Live for myself, you mean? Everyone I know is dead. I am alone.”

He expected anger. Instead, Dela looked down at her hands, quiet and thoughtful. Which was almost worse.

“I once knew a girl,” Dela finally said. “An orphan. She was completely alone, as much as you. A very bad man kidnapped her, and hid her in a hole beneath his home. She stayed there for a week, in the darkness, and he did terrible things to her. Just terrible.” Dela swallowed heavily. “But do you know how she survived? She fought. She fought every time he came to her, and one day she got lucky and was able to escape.”

“Delilah,” he breathed, appalled. “Tell me you were not that child.”

Her smile was infinitely sad. “No, but Amy was my best friend. She’s dead now. After all she went through, she contracted some rare brain cancer. Didn’t last six months. But she fought that, too.”

Silence descended. The moral of her tale was painfully clear, and Hari could barely stand to look at her as his anger leaked away, down his belly through his toes.

“You shame me.”

“I play dirty.” Dela touched his arm, her fingers gliding down his skin. “And I’m not ashamed of it, especially if it keeps you going. You’ve lived for two thousand years, Hari. What’s a couple more, especially now, when you’ve got a friend?”

“Friend?”

Dela pointed at herself. “If anyone needs one, it’s you. Unless, of course, you prefer to go it alone.”

“It is what I am used to,” he said, finding it difficult to speak.

She smiled, and it was too much. Their kiss had been powerful, but Dela had a way of overwhelming him with her actions and words that was completely terrifying. Hari was twice her size, but he knew, even without the curse, that this woman could bring him to his knees with her voice alone. With a smile.

Hari made room for Dela at the window.

“I bet this looks strange to you, huh?” And then, when he did not immediately answer, she said, “You told me the spell can only be broken by finding your skin.”

Hari sighed. “It has been two thousand years, Delilah.”

“Well, what is it? Fur?”

Hari had to laugh. “No, not fur. When the Magi stole my skin, he stole a piece of my heart. A piece of my heart, in the shape of my sister. To find my skin, I have to find my heart, and I do not know how to do that with my family dead.”

“Would it help if you found others of your kind?”

“I doubt it.”

Dela quirked her lips. “At least we’re not looking for some mangy piece of hide that’s been buried for two thousand years in some godforsaken jungle.”

“There is that,” he said dryly.

She smiled. “Everything has an answer, Hari. Even your heart.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, I show you this world. I take you home.”

“And if there are no answers?”

Dela touched his face. Her fingertips were cool, light as butterfly wings. He wanted to kiss her palm. “Then you live, Hari. You live, with all the time you’ve got, and the life you want.”

Dela turned away from him, and it took all Hari’s willpower not to wrap his large hands around her waist, to hold her against his body. He wanted to share something intimate, if only for a moment. He was so hungry for such things, for some soft touch. Before, when he kissed her, he’d thought one taste would be enough, but he now realized his mistake.

Be careful
, whispered his mind, a litany not powerful enough to suppress the emotions and desires he thought long dead, shrugging free of the places he had buried them. Dela’s presence was the key. She made him want more. She made him believe freedom was a possibility. She made him want to live again.

Stories and lies
, he told himself, but he did not care.

How beautiful
, he thought, his doubts and fears falling silent as he watched Dela rummage through her bags.
Perhaps I
do
have a friend.

I am losing my mind
, Dela thought, watching Hari disappear into the bathroom to finish the soak that had been interrupted by both assassin and meal. He seemed clean enough; she suspected he just wanted to put some distance between them, a bit of breathing room.

Fine by her. It gave Dela more time to contemplate her burgeoning insanity—a first-rate madness in which a kiss was suddenly more important than inexplicable assassins, magic boxes, and immortal shape-shifters.

I am losing my mind
, she thought again.

But oh, her lips still burned, her entire body flushed with desire. Dela had never been kissed like that. Just the press of Hari’s mouth, his taste and scent, and fire had roared through her body, shearing muscle and bone, convulsions twisting her lower stomach.

She had been so prepared to box his ears—if she ever recovered from the smoldering, devastatingly erotic way he looked at her—but once he touched her neck, her mouth, all coherent thought had fled screeching into the dark recesses of her mind.

Dela wanted him. Bad. And it shocked her, how wanton she felt. Priorities, priorities. The only thing that had kept her from falling from her chair into his lap like an overeager poodle had been the knowledge that Hari was still a stranger. A stranger who might push, interpreting her desire as an invitation to do more.

But Hari had not insisted. He had pulled away, apologizing. Hearing him speak, she wanted to hold him, lay her cheek against his throat.
Make no promises
, she wanted to say, and yet, she was glad for them—thankful for the vow of distance. Her control around men had always been perfect—distant, even cool—but Hari was a completely different force to be reckoned with.

She blamed the echo of his spirit still resonating inside her head; he was a part of her in a very intimate way, his presence as familiar as her own, as though she had known him her entire life.

Disturbing.

She shook herself, and opened the address book she had just retrieved from her luggage. Using her phone card, Dela placed a call to Roland Dirk in San Francisco.

Part bear, part lumberjack, and part GI Joe, Roland had been a member of Dela’s inner circle and family for almost ten years. He was dirty, twisted—a criminal mastermind of the lowest order—and
one of her favorite people in the entire world. He was also the perfect person to help her.

It was midnight there (or as her night-owl brother Max liked to say, “freakishly early”), but this counted as an emergency. The phone rang once, twice, and Dela fought panic.

Come on, you big pussy. Answer the damn
—

“Yo,” Roland groaned. “Whassup? Better be good, ‘cause I was having the best wet dream.”

Dela rolled her eyes, knowing he could see her and inviting his commentary.

“Stop that, Del.”

“I hate you,” she groused affectionately. “Cellulite has more personality.”

“Especially yours. Now, what d’you want? Must be good, calling from China—unless you finally decided to give in to my demands for phone sex.”

Ah, pleasantries. “Papers for a friend,” she said, getting down to business. “I need a passport, social security number—the whole works. Plus, an airline ticket out of China. I need to be on the same flight as this individual, so I’ll give you my confirmation number, let you work out the details.”

A moment of silence. “For a minute there, you sounded like my mother.”

“No wonder you’re so screwed up.”

“That’s your brother’s fault. He drives me nuts. You know what crazy shit he’s into this week?”

“Does it have anything to do with South America?”

“Right on, babe. He’s down there like some Rambo wannabe, stirring up rival guerilla groups, trying to get them at each other’s throats so he can ferry some kidnapped tourists out of the Amazon. A
distraction
, he calls it. He’s going to start World War III, just for a simple snatch and grab.”

“Hmph,” she grunted. “Max can take care of himself. What about those papers?”

“Jeez. Okay. You needed them yesterday, huh? Something about this friend I should know about?”

“Nope.”

“Sure? You know I’m always looking to extend invitations.”

“Oh, God, no.” The thought of Hari working for Dirk & Steele horrified her. He was dangerous enough, without having the Kamikaze King on his back. “This guy is a friend. I promised to help him out.”

This time it was Roland who grunted. “Just a friend?”

Dela blushed, and he instantly sighed. “Okay, babe, no problem. You know I got your back. What’s his name?”

“Hari. H-a-r-i. No last name. Feel free to make one up. And thanks, Roland. You’re a sweetheart. I’ll take a picture of him with my digital camera and send it to you.”

“Whatever. Anything else?”

She hesitated, but Roland had to be told. The attack might have been personal—but if not, then the target was much greater, more important than just herself. Everyone in the agency might be at risk.

“Someone’s trying to kill me.”

The result of that particular announcement required Dela to hold the phone away from her ear while semi-inarticulate gurgles emerged from the earpiece.

“… AND DON’T YOU HOLD THAT PHONE AWAY FROM YOUR HEAD! I CAN SEE YOU, AND IT DRIVES ME CRAZY!”

Dela grimaced, and returned the receiver to her ear. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t calm down. You know what the doctor told you.”

“Calm down? Jeeeezus, Del. Who the hell is trying to kill you?”

She told him about her attacker, giving him a full description. She also explained the knife and her fears regarding the agency.

“We haven’t been compromised,” Roland said. “I would know. What about you, though? Enemies?”

“None I can think of, and most of the people I meet are at fancy social gatherings. I’m perfectly charming at those things.”

“Which means you’ve probably got a dozen people who want you dead, and who could afford to do it right.”

“Only a dozen? I’m hurt, Roland.”

“Sarcasm will get you everywhere, babe. Don’t worry, Dirk & Steele is officially on the case.”

“Lovely.” She meant it, too. “When is the earliest you can get me those papers?”

“Tomorrow evening, or the morning after. I’ll twist some fingers, pour in some cash. I’m worried about you, though. I can send some locals to watch your back.”

“I’ll be fine, Roland. No extra help needed. Or wanted. And don’t tell the family. Please. The last thing I need is them freaking out.” Or getting involved.

“Give me Max, at least. I answer to your family if you croak, Del. Your grandmother alone will nail my hide to the wall.”

“Not before she shaves off your balls with Grandpa’s antique razor.”

He sucked in his breath. “You’re evil.”

Dela smiled.

She asked Roland to send someone to check on her personal assistant, Adam—it stood to reason anyone close to her could be a potential target—and after sharing her contact information at the hotel, they ended their conversation with a simple ‘bye.

Still grinning, Dela looked up to find Hari studying her. A simple thing, but she forgot how to breathe.

In the shadows of the hotel room, his tawny skin seemed to glow warm and golden. His deep scars did not mar the perfection of his body, covered only by a towel wrapped around his lean waist. Hair still wet, slicked away from his face, Hari’s cheekbones appeared higher, more pronounced, and Dela could see the tiger in his face, in the flush of his sun-drenched eyes. Water beaded on his chest and shoulders, and for a moment, she felt the insane urge to press her mouth against the hollow of his throat, to taste his wet body with her lips and hands.

Down, girl.

Dela wanted to laugh. This was all too absurd. Still, she could not take her eyes off him. It occurred to her that Hari would be completely at ease walking in public with just that towel. Not because he was arrogant or vain, but because he was so comfortable in his own body. Hari might have been a slave, but it was in name only. He still owned himself where it counted. He owned his soul.