Restless despite his fatigue, he tore his gaze away from Bree and stared out the train window at the encroaching darkness. As the lights of passing towns winked by, he allowed his mind to wander back to the moment he’d realized what he felt for Bree was more than the deep, abiding infatuation he normally felt for the women he took to bed.
They’d been in New York together at a birthday party thrown by a friend of a friend. In a slinky silver gown, with her hair elegantly swept atop her head, Bree had dazzled him every time she moved. She looked like modern royalty, sophisticated and demure. He’d been hot for her all evening and was about to suggest they say goodbye to their host and make use of his suite at the Waldorf when the guest of honor received a very special present.
A black Labrador puppy arrived, sporting an enormous red bow. The delighted birthday girl showed off her new pet, and the feisty fur ball made the rounds, kissing hands and licking faces. Eventually, someone handed the squirming creature to Bree. From across the room Chance had watched her face light up with a smile that stopped his heart and made it impossible for him to swallow the last of his vodka tonic.
The dog slurped her chin with its long, pink tongue and nuzzled at her dangling earrings. She laughed and cradled the pup against her like a baby. With its gangly paws draped over her shoulder and its tail wagging madly, she hugged it and crooned into its floppy ear. “Oh, hush, my baby. How sweet you are.”
At that moment a steel band seemed to tighten around Chance’s chest. A feeling welled up in him that left him breathless as he pictured this woman someday holding their child in her arms the same way. The future became crystal clear to him in that one, pristine moment before Bree lovingly passed the puppy on to the next eager pair of hands.
She was the one.
He treasured the memory now, but at the time, it had scared the hell out of him.
How could he have been so foolish to think that he’d eventually get over her?
Here she was beside him and that steel band gripped his heart once again. What could he do to get the jar to Garadeshi and save Sam without endangering Bree in the process?
He didn’t have long to figure out all the answers, and for once in his life, Chance wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to come up with a plan.
They slept in the airport so they wouldn’t miss boarding the flight out of Munich at sunrise. Once they’d settled in their seats for the hour and fifteen-minute flight to Italy, Bree snaked her arm under Chance’s and wrapped her hand around his. She squeezed his fingers and nudged him to draw his attention from the influx of passengers shuffling by their seats. “We need to talk.”
“Maybe this isn’t the best place to do it.” He gave her a cursory glance and turned back to scanning the faces of the people sardined into the narrow aisle of the Alitalia jet. “We’ve got a few hours to kill in Milan. We’ll find a quiet spot in the airport and—”
“You can have the jar.” Just as Bree suspected, that got his attention. He shifted his hand to twine his fingers with hers.
“And what about your problem with Firenze and the CIA?”
“I like the idea of implicating Garadeshi. I’ll give his name to Firenze’s contact and then I’ll disappear.”
Chance’s hand stiffened. She felt his muscles tense and his smoky gaze narrowed on her. “You can’t run from the CIA, luv.”
“Sure I can. In New York, you said if I walked away, you’d make it worth my while. Did you mean that?”
“I did, but that was before I knew how you were involved. I thought you had the option to walk away.”
“I can get lost pretty easily with a little cash to set me up. You could have the jar, save your friend and get Garadeshi off your back.”
Chance shook his head. “I don’t want you to have to run for the rest of your life. We’ll work out something else.”
“What else is there? We can’t both complete our missions.” Bree’s stomach knotted as she spoke. The plan had seemed so reasonable when she’d come up with it. She’d give Firenze a creative snow job that would make it look like Garadeshi interfered with her delivery of the jar. Then she’d melt away, become someone else as easily as she changed her clothes. She hated to admit she’d considered the idea of torturing Chance with her absence, letting him wonder what had become of her in an effort to make up for some of the pain he’d caused her.
“I was thinking of giving the jar to Garadeshi, then stealing it back from him later when Sam was safe,” Chance said. The nervous dart of his eyes told her he was already considering the implications of her plan.
“Too risky. We have the two identical knapsacks. We can engineer a little sting to make it look like I gave the jar to Firenze’s contact. You take my bag with the jar in it to Garadeshi and by the time Firenze is wiser, I’m history.”
“I’m not letting you go, Bree.” Chance’s voice was low, barely above a whisper, but rough as sandpaper. He gripped her hand so tightly she had to wiggle circulation back into her fingers.
“Chance, you may not have a choice.”
“No. I’m not letting you disappear, and I’m not letting you go to jail. We’ll work it out. This time, I promise you, we will work it out together.”
She lowered her voice and drew on the memories of her despair. “Don’t think what happened in Frankfurt means I’ve forgiven you. I’m offering you the jar because maybe we’re better off apart. Maybe we’ll both be safer and happier that way.”
Chance worked hard to rein in his anger with carefully controlled breaths.
He’d gotten what he told Bree he would get from her. Here she was, offering him the jar freely, just as he’d predicted. And here he was refusing.
He would not let her disappear, couldn’t bear the thought of her running forever, never able to settle into the life she deserved.
Worse than the idea of Bree ducking out on her deal with Wendel Firenze and perhaps suffering the consequences was the thought that she was considering going alone. When they’d made love, he finally felt whole again, finally realized he hadn’t really been living without her. If he lost her now, he’d die—again. It cut him that perhaps the thought of being without him didn’t bother her.
“We’ll prepare everything in Milan,” he told her tightly after forty-five minutes of contemplative silence. “We’ll set up the sting and make it appear that I switched the bags and stole the jar from you. You deal with Firenze’s contact, I’ll handle Garadeshi. You said he flies under CIA radar. I’ll bet there’s something they’d like to pin on him, and we can tell them where he is. That information might be worth something by itself.”
“I don’t think Firenze will buy it. To him the jar is worthless. He might not believe someone else would care enough about it to steal it from me.”
Chance grinned, though he felt no humor. “He might not believe it, luv, but that’s the beauty of this plan. It’s the truth.”
Chapter Eleven
At exactly 3:15 PM local time, the Alitalia Airbus touched down on the runway at Cairo International Airport.
The landing was so smooth, Bree wasn’t even sure of the exact moment they touched down, though she sat ramrod straight, eyes shut tight, counting the seconds and waiting for the tell-tale little bump that meant they’d made contact with earth again.
The whine of the jet’s engines changed pitch, and a thousand feet of runway rumbled by under the plane’s landing gear. The pilot’s muffled voice welcomed them in English, Italian and Arabic and gave a quick local weather report.
Bree processed none of it. Her stomach churned. Her breath hitched in her lungs when Chance nudged her, thinking she’d fallen asleep.
“All right, luv?”
“We’re finally here.”
“Bit late, but all in one piece. We’ll be all right. If I have my way, we’ll be having dinner at the Sheraton tonight, and we’ll be on our way to Paris in the morning.”
Bree nodded. It sounded so simple. Unfortunately it wasn’t going to happen that w
ay.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmured, fumbling for the white, plastic-lined bag tucked into the seat pocket in front of her.
Chance turned wide eyes at her. “Now? We’re on the ground.”
“Landings kill me.” She moaned and plunged her hand into the bag to open it. “Can you call the stewardess, please?”
“Right, luv.” Chance turned away, looking to signal a flight attendant as passengers began shuffling around, rising from their seats and jostling to retrieve their luggage from the overhead bins.
Bree doubled over, the airsick bag obscuring her face, while she made a convincing retching sound. With Chance occupied looking for the flight attendant, she slid his knapsack toward her and stuffed her own under the seat in front of him. Then she sat up, coughing miserably into the white paper sack.
“God, luv, it’s those damn caffeine pills. I told you they’d make you sick.” Chance put his arm around her as a dark-eyed stewardess reached their row.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” she asked in exotically accented English.
Bree nodded. “I’ll be okay, really. The landings get to me sometimes.” She handed the empty bag to the woman, who eyed it quizzically but apparently didn’t have the nerve to check inside. “I’m sorry to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble, ma’am. There’s a first aid center in the terminal where you can get something to settle your stomach. Any airport staff member will be happy to assist you.”
“Thank you. I’m already feeling better.”
The flight attendant disappeared as the departing passengers began pushing toward the open doorway ahead. Chance turned to Bree, his eyes dark with concern. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and the gesture caused an ache deep in her belly. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
“Yep. Actually, I think it was the lunch. The chicken was undercooked.” Bree whispered the last part and made a disparaging face.
“All right. Hand me your bag, I’ll carry it.”
“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” Bree retrieved the knapsack from in front of her seat and gamely lobbed it over her shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”
Chance claimed his own bags, and they made their way out of the plane and through the torturous lines at customs. With their passports properly stamped they headed into the airport’s main terminal, a breathtaking, bustling glass and chrome concourse that resembled a shopping mall rather than an airport.
Bree was surprised by the sleek design of the place, the cleanliness, and the orderly procession of the crowd. She’d never been to Cairo before, and the reality of it was far different from her expectations.
Chance took her hand and guided her through the main corridor. “Garadeshi’s estate is about an hour from here, so we need to get a cab.”
“Okay, but I’m sorry. I’ve got to use the ladies’ room first.”
Now. Now. Bree scanned the crowds, the two-story concourse and the brilliant chrome framework that crisscrossed the ceiling above them, hoping for another solution, but she found none. She had to go now, while Chance was off guard, distracted by his concern for her. She had to take this opportunity to get away from him and put her plan into effect before she lost her nerve.
“You’re worrying me, luv. Come on, it’s this way.” Chance squeezed her hand and tugged her along.
They made it two more steps before a sharp object jabbed into the small of Bree’s back. A hand closed over her nape and someone yanked her backward. A hard body stopped her from stumbling, and when she looked up, she saw Chance, hemmed in on either side by dangerous looking, dark-eyed men.
A familiar voice croaked in her ear. “Nice try, dollface. It takes more than a handful of tranquilizers to kill Gino Carloni.”
Chance froze, his brain calculating all the possibilities of escape and coming up dry. Had he been alone, he’d have fought off the two men who had clamped their meaty hands on each of his shoulders. Unfortunately, the gun Gino had jammed into Bree’s back voided all possibilities of an aggressive escape plan. Chance had no doubt the bodyguard would think nothing of spilling her blood on the freshly polished tile of the concourse.
“Gino! Good to see you, chap. Thought you were dead.”
“Hoped, you mean. Ozzie bastard. Nice work, getting your dame to poison me.”
“Mighta’ been nice if it worked,” Chance said under his breath. Gino had been dead, not breathing, no pulse…
“It wasn’t us,” Bree said, a little breathlessly. Chance noticed Gino’s stubby fingers pressing on her windpipe as he shoved his gun into her spine. “I took the pills too. It might have just as easily been me.”
“And then you two cut out on me. Good thing there happened to be some doctor on the flight who gave me CPR. He brought me back before I got brain damage.”
“You mean more brain damage,” Chance muttered. His swarthy bookends tightened their grip, and Gino laughed.
“If I’m so stupid, Ozzie, how come I got to Cairo before you did? And how come I’m the one holding a gun on pretty face, here?”
Chance shrugged. “Honestly, Gino. We didn’t poison you.”
“Yeah, right. Search the bags.” On his command, one of Gino’s compatriots rifled through the knapsacks and produced the Soul Jar, still carefully wrapped in its blue velvet bag. “Good. Now we’re going to visit Mr. Garadeshi, and just to make sure you behave, Ozzie, dollface here is going to be my date until the deal is concluded.” With that, Gino’s hand came up like lightning, and he cracked the butt of his pistol down on the back of Bree’s neck. Her blue eyes went wide with shock, and she crumpled into Gino’s waiting arms.
Chance surged forward, but strong arms stopped him from throttling his nemesis.
“Let her go, Gino. She’s not involved in this.”
“Oh, she’s involved. Trust me. Now, let me tell you something to put your mind at ease. While she’s takin’ her little nap, I’ll take very good care of her. I won’t do anything she wouldn’t want me to do if she was awake.” Gino leaned close to Bree and rubbed his stubbled cheek against hers. “When I’m ready to hurt her, she’ll be wide awake, and you’ll be nearby so you can hear her scream.”
Not one bystander seemed concerned when they put a dark hood over Chance’s head and stuffed him into a car waiting outside the terminal. Chance squirmed in captivity and managed to keep contact with Bree, his shoulder against hers when they dumped her limp body into the seat next to him.
Panic rose up, tightening his chest. What if Gino’s blow had caused permanent damage? What if she never woke up? What if she did, and Gino made good on his threats?
For all the moments he’d pined for her in the last two years, Chance had never missed the fear of losing her. The thought of seeing Bree hurt, watching her suffer, had been his constant nightmare during their dangerous adventures together. He wondered now, as the vehicle sped away through the carnival ride of Cairo traffic, if the pain was worth it. He’d kill if anything happened to her. He’d die without her. Life had somehow been simpler when he’d conned himself into believing he’d set her free and given her the opportunity for a normal life without him. How could he selfishly want her back in his world if this was what it meant for her?
The ride seemed to go on for hours. When the car finally came to a grinding halt, Bree was dragged away from him. Rough hands yanked him out into the dusty air, and he was led along with the barrel of a gun resting below his right ear.
“You’ve got the jar,” he said as his captors led him indoors. “Why not just let us go? Garadeshi has what he wants.”
“He wants you to bring it to him, Ozzie. He’s got plans for you,” Gino answered with an abrasive chuckle.
“Is Sam all right?”
“The doc is still alive. But your little detour was a stupid move.”
Gino shoved Chance forward then, and one of the other men dragged the hood from his head. They stood in what appeared to be a modern office, spotlessly clean,
the air purified and comfortably cool. The walls were painted a dark olive green, a color designed to enhance the luster of the glittering gold artifacts that covered them.
A heavy teak desk stood before a dark paneled door in the far wall, and Gino hurried forward to open it. Behind Chance, the man carrying Bree followed the entourage through the narrow door into a dark space that smelled of dust and sand and oily smoke.
It was like crossing the centuries. They left behind the polished office full of the modern scents of paper and ozone and copier toner and crossed the threshold into the buried past. Papyrus and tallow, sweat and sand took the place of the cool air conditioning and the familiar smell of misused money.
“This is gonna be good,” Gino said with a raspy snicker. He signaled his men, who pushed Chance down to his knees and dumped Bree in a heap beside him. Gino turned his gun on her sleeping form, aimed at her chest. “Just in case you get brave, Ozzie. Tell Mr. Garadeshi, we’re ready for him.”
Urkhat Garadeshi arrived a few tense moments later, followed by a small, nut-brown man in flowing robes. The dim light grew brighter as one of Gino’s entourage flung a hand torch from one wall sconce to the next, igniting tall orange flames. The rest of the details of the room became clear, revealing that Garadeshi had recreated the temple room from the tomb of Ammonptah where the jar had originally been unearthed.
Straight ahead, guarded on either side by life-sized statutes of Horus, sat a wide stone altar. The sandstone slab held a small depression at its center, and when Garadeshi took his place before the altar, he laid his hands on either side of the shallow indentation.
The Soul Jar Page 7
