The Lost Tomb

by N. J. Croft

  “You don’t think all terrorism is evil?” Peter asked.

  Did he? While he would never condone the use of terror, he could understand why a person might resort to it to change an economic, social, or political system they considered unjust. “Come on, Peter. Both you and I know that one person’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter.” Or government. Christ, there were governments his country dealt with that committed far worse atrocities than the average terrorist on the street. “What defines terrorism isn’t what’s done but who does it.”

  “You’ve always been able to see both sides,” Peter mused. “That’s a strength and a weakness, though you’ve never believed the end justifies the means, which I’ve always found a contradiction.”

  He didn’t ask if Peter believed the same. Some of the things their own government had done would hardly bear close scrutiny. “I will never agree with the means, but I can still understand the motivations.”

  Peter studied him for a moment. “Maybe you’ve been undercover too much. You shouldn’t identify with these people.”

  “I do not, nor will I ever, identify with the Brothers of Jesus.” Noah pressed his fingers into the back of his neck, trying to ease the pressure. “But right now, someone out there is taking advantage of the fact that there are people born into societies that consider terror a viable option for changing the world. Now they’re being used and manipulated for a purpose they know nothing about and certainly don’t believe in.”

  “You don’t consider people have free choice?” Peter asked. It was an argument they’d had many times.

  “If they know what their choices are, sure. It feels like most terrorists are products of their upbringing, unable to break free of the chains that are wrapped around them from the moment they’re born and that tighten every second they spend in their environments.”

  “For a small minority, maybe, but I believe most of us can choose the paths we take.” Peter smiled. “Maybe you don’t believe that because you’re a product of an upbringing you can’t let go.” He studied Noah for a moment. “When was the last time you spoke to your mother?”

  Noah frowned. “What the hell does my mother have to do with global terrorism?” Probably more than she knew. He smiled at the thought, but Peter just gave him a look. Noah sighed. “Fine. It’s been a while, but we’re not talking about me.”

  “You don’t believe you’re a product of your upbringing? It didn’t affect you at all?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I hope you’re speaking to your uncle and not your superior officer.”

  “Of course.”

  “She called a few times while you were away,” Peter said. “I said you’d call back as soon as you were able.”

  Noah gave a humorless laugh. “Was she sober?”

  “I think so. You know, you have to forgive her one day.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “Hah. Anyway, call her and get her off my back.”

  He’d think about it. “Anything else?”

  “Eve called a couple of nights ago. She was trying to get ahold of you. She sounded a little…worried.”

  “Worried? About what?” It could be one of many things.

  “I’m not sure. She said she was just in need of a familiar voice. The call came from Russia somewhere.”

  Noah frowned. What the hell was Eve doing in Russia? Presumably this related to her job, but as far as he was aware, she hadn’t done field work since before they’d met, twelve years ago. She had a very civilized job these days, as a lecturer in archeology at Cambridge University in England. And he couldn’t blame her for wanting that, not after what she’d been through. She suffered from PTSD, and she hated flying. Or, rather, she was terrified of flying. He didn’t think she’d been on a plane since she’d left him and gone back to the UK, five years ago. So what had dragged her out of her comfort zone?

  He glanced at his watch. It would be mid-morning in Europe. He waved a hand at the phone on Peter’s desk. “Can I?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He punched in the number from memory. The call went through, but he just got a weird beeping. He tried again and got the same thing. He sat back and thought for a moment, then put in the number for Eve’s parents. The kids would have been staying there if Eve was away.

  It picked up after a few rings but no one responded. “Hello?”

  “Noah,” he heard Eve’s mother, Stacey, sob on the other side of the line. What the hell was going on?

  “Stacey, what’s happening?”

  “It’s Eve. She’s dead.”

  Chapter Two

  Noah closed his eyes as they lowered the coffin into the ground.

  Christ, he hated this.

  He was angry. Such a waste of life. But if he was honest, most of his anger was aimed at Eve. What the hell was she doing in fucking Russia? She had three children.

  So do you, asshole.

  He could almost hear her words in his head.

  Time to step up.

  It wasn’t as though he had a choice. And that thought made him the asshole she’d no doubt considered him to be.

  To his left, Eve’s mother stood sobbing quietly. Maybe he should try and comfort her, but he’d never been good with crying, and he had no clue what he could say to make things better.

  It had been two weeks since he’d gotten the news of his wife’s death and his life was changed forever.

  They’d been divorced for five years, but despite having three children together, he’d not played a huge part in her life. Or that of the children. He’d believed they were all better off without him. Obviously, Eve had thought that as well or she wouldn’t have left him in the first place. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know who and what he was from the start. They’d met when he’d been part of a military rescue mission sent into Iraq. A group of archaeologists, including Eve, had been taken hostage by terrorists.

  His team had managed to free them, though a couple had died in captivity and they’d all been tortured. Eve had been in bad shape physically—she’d taken a bullet in the shoulder during the kidnapping, which had gone untreated—but in worse shape mentally.

  Even filthy and hurt and scared, she’d been beautiful. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and tiny. She’d made him feel protective. He’d fallen hard and looked her up afterward, needing to check whether she was okay. He’d never thought further than a fling. He didn’t do relationships. After the example of his mom and dad, it was hardly surprising.

  Then Eve had gotten pregnant.

  Neither of them believed abortion was an option without a really good reason, which they didn’t have. And so they’d ended up married. It had happened fast.

  The truth was they loved each other—hell, he loved her even now—but love was never enough. In fact, love might have been the problem. If he’d cared less, he might have coped with marriage better. In the end, it drove them apart.

  The second time she’d gotten pregnant, it was on purpose. A deliberate attempt to tie him to them as a family. Instead, it had driven him away. He was shit-scared of emotional connection, according to Eve. She’d known him so well.

  For the last three months of her life, he hadn’t even spoken to her. He’d been undercover and the risk was too high. Playing his little games, Eve would have said. And she was probably right. In the end it made no difference, and the truth was he’d never been there for her. And now she was dead and he’d never get the chance to say he was sorry.

  A small hand slipped into his and squeezed. He looked down at Lucy, his youngest daughter, who was gazing up at him with her big blue eyes. She was six years old and looked exactly as he imagined Eve would have looked at that age.

  “Don’t be sad, Daddy. Grandma said mommy went to heaven and one day we’ll see her again.”

  Noah managed to hold back his sno
rt of disbelief. His eldest daughter, Harper, standing rigidly on his other side, was not so self-controlled. “Don’t be an idiot, Luce. Heaven doesn’t exist. And anyway, Mommy was an atheist. She didn’t believe in that crap. So if she’s gone anywhere, it won’t be Heaven.”

  Harper was holding onto the hand of Lucy’s twin brother, Daniel. Daniel reminded him so much of Noah’s little brother, Ben, that sometimes it hurt to look at him. Ben had died when he was not much older than Daniel, a long time ago.

  Whereas Lucy and Daniel had been clingy since he arrived, shadowing him as though they were scared he’d disappear, Harper had been distant and also a little disdainful. She was eleven and old enough to realize what a crap father he’d been. Now she held his gaze, her expression challenging. “Do you believe in Heaven, Daddy?”

  Hell, no.

  That probably wasn’t the best answer. “If your grandma believes, then that’s good enough for me. Your grandma knows everything.”

  Harper snorted. “Good answer, but a total cop out.”

  She was bright, though not nearly as tough as she wanted to appear. Her eyes were red from crying, even though there was no sign of tears now. She’d gotten her looks from him, which he was betting pissed her off. She was tall for her age, thin, with shoulder-length black hair and gray eyes.

  She didn’t trust him. Probably believed both her parents had let her down.

  Because, in the end, Eve hadn’t been so different from him. She’d been off chasing some dream of her own when she died. Why? What had changed for her? She’d sworn she would never do field work again—and he was sure she would never have the nerve—so why had she been in Russia?

  The vicar was talking, and Noah let the words wash over him while Lucy hugged his leg.

  Eve had died in a plane crash—ironic when he considered how scared she had been of flying, how she’d avoided it when she could—her body burned beyond recognition and only identified by DNA records. Which meant they hadn’t had the closure of seeing a body. Not that he would have allowed the children to see. But somehow, the lack of definitive proof made her death seem unreal. He kept expecting her to appear in the cemetery.

  He was aware of a lot of attention on him and not particularly friendly attention. But then, most people here didn’t know him. He hadn’t been part of this life, and he didn’t fit in.

  He ran a hand over his scalp where his hair was just starting to grow. The funeral had been arranged by Eve’s parents. She was an only child, born to them late in life, and her death had turned them even older. He’d been staying with them and the children since he’d arrived in the U.K., but they’d never been close. He’d always suspected they didn’t think he was good enough for Eve, and they were no doubt right. They were the real thing, the fucking aristocracy. Five hundredth in line to the throne or some bullshit. They lived in a stately home, and there was plenty of room, but he didn’t feel comfortable, and he was going to have to make some decisions soon.

  No doubt they were hoping he would leave the children with them and disappear back where he came from, and that would be the easy option. And maybe the sensible one. They would be better off without him. And what was he supposed to do if he stayed here? The army was his life.

  Eve’s parents were too old to take on young children, though, no matter what they believed. Her father was close to eighty, her mother in her seventies. And while they could afford staff, did he really want his children brought up by paid help?

  Christ, it was a mess.

  Of course, none of his family was here. Peter would have come, but he was caught up with something that he refused to talk about. Probably the aftermath of Noah’s last mission.

  He’d spoken to his father and briefly told him the news. Asked him to speak to his brother and sister. They’d never been close, and he preferred not to have to listen to their false condolences. They’d never even met Eve.

  A prickle ran down his spine, and he turned his head slowly to look around. Off to the right, a woman stood alone in a stand of trees. He was sure he’d never seen her before; he would have remembered. Striking, she was tall with short black hair, longer on one side than the other. She wore black, though he suspected it wasn’t for the funeral, as she had a goth look about her. Dark eyes and lips, black jeans, tears in the knees, a black T-shirt, and a studded belt. For a moment, she caught his gaze and held his stare, her eyes narrowing on him. Then she gave a small nod and stepped back into the shadows of the trees. He stared after her for a long time.

  Who was she?

  A passing stranger? Or had she known Eve in some way? Why hadn’t she joined them at the graveside?

  At last, the service was over. He just had the reception back at the house to get through and then the rest of his life. He picked up Lucy—she wrapped her arms tight around his neck—and gave the grave a final glance.

  As he headed back to the cars, a woman walked toward them from the gate. Noah recognized her, and his steps slowed, a frown forming on his face. He stopped and waited. Tall with dark red hair, pale skin, and pale green eyes, she was flanked by two men in dark suits. Bodyguards? Secret service, maybe—they had that look. They fell back as she approached Noah, coming to a halt in front of him and holding out her hand. Noah hesitated for a moment then placed Lucy on the ground. He glanced at Harper. “Take your sister and brother to the car. I’ll meet you there.”

  She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but then gave a quick nod, held out her free hand to Lucy, and just about dragged her away. Lucy stared at him over her shoulder the whole time, and he felt the now-familiar stirrings of guilt. He shook off the feeling, turned back to the woman in front of him, and held out his hand. “Senator.”

  Her handshake was firm.

  Michaela Clayton, Senator for Washington and also head of the oversight committee that had given the go ahead for Project Arachnid. While Noah had never met the woman, he’d seen a few pictures. Not many—she kept a low profile for a senator. Apparently, she was a good friend of the president, and his uncle had once mentioned that she was a woman to watch. Would probably be in the White House one day.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Major Blakeley,” she said.

  Noah kept his face expressionless. He had no clue what the senator was doing here. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you at this sad time, but I’m only in the country for the day, and I wanted to meet you in person.”

  He glanced toward the gate. The cars were moving away. Harper stood beside the last one, watching him, her arms folded over her chest in a position that so reminded him of her mother. She was probably tapping her foot as well. “You did?”

  She smiled. “To offer my condolences, but also I have a proposition you may be interested in. I’ve been impressed with your work. Very impressed. Though the last mission was…unfortunate.”

  Translate that into a total fuck up. “Very,” he said drily.

  “Dad?” Harper came up beside them. “Are we going yet?”

  “In a moment.” He turned back to the senator. “This is my daughter, Harper.”

  The senator held out her hand, and Harper took it somewhat suspiciously. “Your mother was a wonderful woman, and I’m so sorry you lost her.”

  Harper mumbled something and tugged her hand back.

  “You don’t want to come back to the house?” Noah asked.

  “I’m sorry, I’m flying home this afternoon. I just wanted to pay my respects and also meet you. Your uncle speaks very highly of you.”

  “He is my uncle, after all.”

  “He’s also a good judge of character. And he believes we have a lot in common. You probably haven’t decided what your next move is. This has all been so sudden. But your circumstances have changed, and I’m guessing that you might decide that military life is no longer…suitable.”

  Noah cast a sideways glance at Harper.
She raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t decided yet. As you said, it’s all been sudden.”

  “Well, if you do decide to leave the army, I may have a position in my organization for you. Along similar lines to your current work but perhaps without the inherent risks.” She cast a smile at Harper. “I won’t go into the details now.”

  Noah was intrigued, but the senator was right. Now wasn’t the time. He nodded. “It was good to meet you, and I’ll look forward to hearing more.”

  “I’ll get my assistant to schedule a meeting. I hope we talk again soon.”

  “I like her,” Harper said as she walked away, her bodyguards falling into place behind her.

  “You do?”

  “She’s sort of…charismatic.”

  “Good word.” And she was right. The senator had an air of authority and an easy charm.

  And a proposition.

  “I’m sorry you got stuck with us,” Harper said. “I know it’s not what you wanted.”

  He didn’t bother to deny it. She was too bright to be taken in by platitudes. “Let’s not worry about it now. We’ve still got the rest of the morning to get through. Then we’ll worry. Right now, we’ll go see what your granny has cooked up for us.”

  She giggled at that. “‘Granny’ doesn’t cook.”

  “Okay, what cook has cooked up for us.”

  …

  Sara watched from the shadow of the trees, tugging at the heavy silver cross hanging from her left ear.

  She’d wanted to get a look at Noah Blakeley to try and decide whether she should approach him or maintain her distance. He was army, which probably meant he would do things by the book. Was that good or bad?

  She wasn’t a by-the-book person herself; more of a do-what-was-needed-and-throw-the-book-out-the-window person. Not that there would be anything in the book about this sort of situation.

  He was tall and attractive in a conventional sort of way. Handsome and brave-looking in his uniform. Black hair and gray eyes, a lean face with a big, bony nose and a little scar that ran down his right cheek. A knife wound from a hand-to-hand combat incident ten years ago. She’d hacked into his file.