He ducked his head back in. “You’re what?”
She swallowed as old memories surged. The pain and broken arm, most of all the raw fear . . . Had she not landed on a pile of garbage that had cushioned her fall, she’d have been killed. As it was, she’d been seriously injured. “I fell out a second-story window when I was a kid and ever since I get sick from heights, Syn. Really, really sick.”
Just the thought of it . . .
She wanted to run.
He let out a slow breath. “Great, leave it to me to find the one tracer in the universe afraid of a little height.” He clenched his teeth, then looked back at her. “Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
A loud thud sounded against the front door. “Open up, old man. Or we’re blasting through!”
“It’s me or the Rits, Shahara. Who do you choose?”
That was a choice?
But in the end, she knew he was right. She had to suck this up and be a woman. “I choose option three,” she said, giving him her hand.
Syn pulled her into his arms. “Hold tight and don’t look down.”
Shahara did as he said and swallowed her panic. Strong arms wrapped around her in a protective cloak an instant before they shot upward at a dizzying speed.
She looked up at his steely features. “What the . . . ?”
“It’s a spring-loaded cord.” He pushed her up over the lip of the roof.
Trembling, Shahara crawled to safety and did her best not to think about how far above the ground they were. “What did this accomplish?”
“Not much.” Syn pulled himself up over the ledge and pressed the button to rewind his cord into its wrist compartment. He surveyed the surrounding rooftops, then pulled a baton from the pocket on the outside of her backpack. “Grab the one out of mine.”
Frowning, she did as ordered while Vik circled back to them with another report that more were coming.
Syn pressed a button in the center of the twelve-inch metal cylinder and the baton expanded to six and a half feet. Before she could ask what it was for, he pole-vaulted over the lip of their building to the top of another.
Her head went light at the mere thought.
Surely he wouldn’t . . . “C’mon,” he said, looking back at her.
Oh, hell no . . . “You’re crazy!”
“Certifiably insane.” He flashed a charming grin. “Now move before we get caught.”
I’m gonna die . . .
She heard the blasters firing in Digger’s apartment and knew she had no choice except to follow.
Holding her breath, she duplicated Syn’s pole vault even while she feared her limbs or the pole would collapse. It seemed to take forever before she reached his side.
He gave her a chiding stare. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
She glared at him.
With an irritating laugh, he left her side and skipped over two more roofs like a graceful dancer.
Shahara watched with envy. “You make this look so easy,” she breathed. “If I fall I swear I’m going to kill you.”
Once she caught up to him again, he retracted the poles. “Remember where this is. It’s the best friend a thief ever had.”
“I’m not a thief.”
“Oh yes you are, baby. You stole me from the Rits. And I assure you Merjack considers it a worse crime than grand larceny.”
“I really hate you. And stop calling me baby!”
He pulled her up against his steely chest. His eyes twinkled with merriment and he dipped his face so close to hers that his breath tickled her lips.
“As long as I evoke some strong emotion from you,” he said, rubbing his nose against hers, “I’m happy. Anything beats apathy.”
He released her and looked around as if considering his options. She had to admit, he made a sexy sight as he stood tall and proud while surveying the rooftops that surrounded them. There was a feral grace to his stance that the woman in her couldn’t help but appreciate.
Shouts erupted as Vik swooped down. “They’re on the other roof.”
Her panic swelled. There wasn’t a door or any other means of leaving the roof they were on. “Where do we go from here?”
He leaned over the side and looked down. “How much do you weigh?”
“A hundred and three, why?”
He didn’t answer as he pressed the keys on his wrist computer.
“How are we getting off this roof?”
That damnable grin she was learning to despise returned to his handsome face. “You don’t really want me to answer that question.”
A cold chill crept up her spine. “Why?”
He spread his arms wide. “Come to papa, darling. We’re going to take another ride.”
She shook her head. “If you think I’m scaling down the side of this building . . .”
“We don’t have time to scale it.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
He spread his arms wider and winked at her. A horrible lump grew in her belly. She must have died and been sent to hell.
Shots fired around them.
Vik dipped below the building. “Better hurry, bonebags.”
“C’mon, Shahara.”
Cursing, she moved to stand in front of him. He took out a strap.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he wrapped it around her buttocks and secured her to him in a most distracting way.
“Hold tight.”
She was beginning to despise that phrase. Dutifully, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Wrap your legs around my waist.”
She glared at him. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s not sexual. Just do it.”
She obeyed, then wished she hadn’t. They were locked in such an intimate embrace that it brought fire to her cheeks. Between her legs, touching the very part of her that begged for him, she could feel the tight muscles that lined his stomach. Her breasts were pressed firmly to his chest where they took up a dreadful throb of their own.
What was she doing? She never touched a man like this.
And before she could finish that thought, he put his arms around her waist and stepped over the edge of the building. “Oh my God,” she screamed as they plummeted toward the alley far below.
“Stop that shrieking before you pierce my eardrums.” His arms tightened around her. “Just hold on to me and pray.”
Shahara buried her head against his shoulder and locked her limbs tightly around him.
Suddenly, she heard him curse over the rushing wind. “What is it?”
“We’re going to die.”
“What!”
“Hold on.”
“Hold on,” she repeated in stunned disbelief. “What do you mean hold on?” If she held him any tighter, she’d snap him in two.
Then she felt it. They were finally slowing down.
With one last jerk, they stopped falling. Or maybe they were dead . . . Syn’s arms tightened around her and when he spoke, there was a note of humor in his voice. “You can open your eyes now. We’re safe. But you can stay in my arms as long as you like.”
Shahara looked up at him, wanting to kill him. But her body wouldn’t cooperate. Weak with relief, all she could do was hold him close. “I hate you, convict.”
He laughed, causing his stomach muscles to touch her in the most intimate of places.
Shahara just glared at him. “How can you find this funny? You almost killed us.”
“Me? You’re the one who lied about your weight.”
“I don’t think so. When was the last time you stepped on a scale?”
He cocked a brow. “Good point.”
She extracted herself from his arms, then punched him in the shoulder. “You could have told me you had antigrav boots. I thought we were dead.”
“I didn’t want to tell you what I was doing in case you decided not to jump.”
“That was mean.”
“You’ll get over it.”
�
��Only after I kill you.”
“There they are!”
They looked up in unison to see two men running toward them. Syn grabbed her by the arm and headed in the opposite direction as Vik flew toward their pursuers to slow them down. As they ran, Shahara decided she didn’t like being on this end of the chase. At all.
She much preferred being the hunter.
Syn led her down a dark alleyway. They jumped over garbage bins and homeless derelicts, and all the while, she could hear her pursuers coming ever closer while Vik insulted them and they shot at him. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. Syn looked so calm as he ran, checking over his shoulder every now and again, that she felt like strangling him.
Suddenly, a fence cut them off. She started climbing it only to find razor wire lining the top. “What are we going to do?”
“Jump down.”
She did and he caught her against him.
Terrified, Shahara looked past him to see two men coming straight at them.
Syn pulled a hand-sized canister out of his pack, then tossed it at their pursuers. Smoke exploded.
“Hold your breath,” he said, taking out his baton. He extended it to half its length and used it to pry up the bottom of the fence. “Go.”
She crawled through the space, then looked back at him. With one graceful move he rolled under the fence, retracted the baton, and put it back inside his pack.
She heard their pursuers scrambling through the smoke and taking more shots at Vik. “How long will that hold them?”
“Not long.”
Grabbing her hand, he headed for a temple across the street.
She ran to keep up with him. “What are you doing?”
“Trust me.” He opened the door to the temple and slid inside.
Her trust wearing thin, she followed.
Inside the dark foyer, racks of unlit white candles lined the pale pink walls. Syn grabbed two and handed her one. “Just do what I do.”
He opened the intricately carved wooden door to the chapel and walked slowly down the aisle. Her legs trembling, she kept wondering if the men had seen where they’d gone.
And if they had, would they follow?
The last thing she wanted was a confrontation inside a holy place.
Realizing they were in a Kiloran temple, she looked at the intricately carved statuary of various saints that stood on pedestals every few feet. It was actually quite beautiful and serene.
With his heels clicking lightly against the hardwood floor, Syn led her past their watchful eyes to the velvet-encased altar, where an eternal oil lamp was set. He knelt before it and tapped his forehead twice before touching his heart. Then he kissed the candle and lit it from the lamp.
“Now you,” he whispered.
She duplicated his gesture. He cupped his hand around the flame and walked to a prayer bench just to the right of the altar, near a small door. Kneeling down on the bench, he placed the candle in a small holder.
She followed suit. All around the elaborate, gilded temple, she could hear people whispering their prayers.
All except Syn.
With his head sedately bowed, he said nothing as he appeared to pray. Until she noted that his eyes were open and he was discreetly searching the temple for something.
The chapel door creaked open. Shahara turned her head to see one of the men entering.
“Syn . . . they’ve found us.”
He looked to the door, then blew out his candle and took her hand. Shahara barely had time to blow out her own before he pulled her through the side door.
Her heart lodged painfully in her throat and choked her. He wasn’t actually going to lead them through the temple’s private grounds, was he?
Wasn’t that illegal or something? Or at the very least a grave sin?
The cold, dark hallway went on forever without a door. Syn pulled her down it until they came to a small alcove. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into the shadows with him. Wanting to protest, she held her breath as she heard the door open and heavy footsteps approach.
Then she heard the gruff sound of a man coughing. Her heart stopped. This time, they were definitely caught. There was nowhere else they could go.
CHAPTER 10
Syn held her close against his chest. So close, she heard the pounding of his heart. Felt the rigidness of his body. And even though she should be terrified of what was about to happen, she found his presence soothing.
Another door opened just ahead of them and she heard several female voices whispering in a language that sounded an awful lot like the one Syn used.
The man came to a stop.
“What are you doing here?” one of the women demanded in an angry, intimidating tone.
At first Shahara thought they were talking to them, until she heard the unknown man respond. “I saw a murderer take refuge here. I’m looking for him.”
“Not on our private grounds you’re not. Get out.”
Two priestesses walked past their hiding spot without seeing them. As a third one paused beside them, Syn reached out and touched her arm.
The priestess glanced at them, then gaped. Closing her mouth, she took a step past their alcove so that she could shield them with her own body. She cleared her throat. “See to it that this man is thrown out on the street. Make sure he never disrespects our temple again.”
Once the doors closed behind the man and the two priestesses, the remaining priestess turned back to them and smiled tenderly at Syn. “My goodness, child, trouble is definitely your handmaiden.”
Syn released Shahara and straightened up like a guilty child confronting an irate parent. He hung his head and she cocked a curious eyebrow. She’d seen Syn angry, hurt, and contrite. But shame was a new emotion and she wondered what about the priestess made him feel it now.
“I’m sorry, Mother Anne. I shouldn’t have come here while I was being pursued. It was wrong to bring them here. But I didn’t know where else to go.”
The priestess touched his cheek. “Never be sorry for needing help, child. We all do at some point.”
Still, shame burned in his dark eyes and it made Shahara want to comfort him.
She shifted her gaze to the priestess and her golden robe. It shimmered in the dim light like a vibrant candle flame and it looked as soft as a cloud. Her bearing as regal as a queen, the priestess’s gray hair was braided and then wound around the crown of her head.
Though the priestess was probably thirty or more years older than Shahara, she held the look of a vibrant teen. Only a few wrinkles creased her kind face, and those marked the woman’s years of laughter and smiles.
No wonder Syn trusted her. It would be hard not to trust someone with such kind eyes.
Mother Anne’s sharp gaze fastened on her. “And whom have you brought with you?”
“Shahara,” she answered.
Mother Anne smiled a smile that lit up every corner of her face. “You are as beautiful as any angel. Never let anyone tell you differently.”
Turning back to Syn, she gave him a reproachful stare. “I wish you’d come under better circumstances. For years I’ve wanted to show you what we do with all the money you donate.”
Syn looked embarrassed. “I have no need to check on you, Mother. I knew you’d do good with it.”
Ushering them out of the alcove, she tucked her hands into her shimmering sleeves and led them the rest of the way down the hall back toward the temple. Syn opened the thick wooden doors that led to a wondrous courtyard.
Shahara stared at the quiet garden. Flowers bloomed everywhere with a bright colorful bounty that stunned her. Birds sang sweetly while chimes swayed in the wind, making a lilting sound that whispered serenity. Even Vik sat silently, sparkling on a branch, as he eyed them with a cocked head.
A fountain, with bubbling waves, marked the center of the yard and, just a few feet away, she saw a huge maze made of hedges that took up much of the left side of the garden.
Mother Anne led them t
oward it. “You know, Sheridan, we have just opened another home with your last donation, on Kildara this time. And we now have over three hundred homeless children living here in the Talia Wade Memorial Home.”
Shahara started at her words. Just how much money had he given to them that they could provide for so many?
Syn said nothing.
Mother Anne smiled at him. “Every night we have them offer a prayer for you, child.”
Syn shook his head and some strange emotion hovered in his eyes. “Not for me, Mother. My soul was lost a long time ago. Just have them pray for Talia.”
Mother Anne pursed her lips and Shahara could tell she longed to argue, but knew better. So they walked past the fountain and to the maze made of bright green shrubs.
“Anne?” an angry voice snapped.
Syn moved quickly and pulled Shahara behind a tall shrub. He placed a finger to his lips to warn her to silence.
“Yes, High Mother,” Mother Anne answered.
“Please send Omera to the infirmary. There is a patient there in need of her special talents.”
“Yes, High Mother. I will see to it right away.” Mother Anne stepped to their hiding place.
Syn shook his head. “I can’t believe she’s still alive.”
Mother Anne pursed her lips together. “Yes, and extreme old age hasn’t mellowed her in the least. If she catches you in our sanctuary this time, she will demand your blood.”
“I’m sure of that.” He looked at Shahara. “We need to get to the catacombs.”
Shahara gaped as a wave of apprehension went through her. She could just imagine a crypt of stacked bones and decaying bodies. “Catacombs? As in where dead people are buried, catacombs?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me a fierce tracer, a sworn seax no less, is scared of a little tomb. Good go . . .” He looked to Mother Anne and blushed. “Gracious,” he corrected himself. “Is there anything you’re not afraid of?”
“You for one,” she snapped. “And I’m not afraid of the tomb. I . . . just don’t want to go there.”
The look on his face told her his thoughts. Me or the Rits. Well, at the moment, she was definitely leaning toward the Rits.
Mother Anne smiled reassuringly. “You’ll be all right, child. Sheridan knows his way around them better than anyone.”
Sherrilyn Kenyon - [League 02] Page 19
