Ancient Danger

by Jo-Ann Carson

  A muscle in Chasisi’s right cheek twitched as Khalid spoke. He looked away scowling.

  “Please, uncle.”

  Chasisi grunted. “No Tarot, no magic, no mumbo-jumbo crap. And watch your language.”

  “Got it,” Khalid said. “I’ll tell her stories about pretty European cities and gardens.”

  The older man raised his brows.

  “Selected stories.”

  “Chasisi,” he said, “I am Bakari’s younger brother.” He offered his hand.

  His steel-like grip squished Khalid’s fingers, but he didn’t flinch. He would never give him that satisfaction.

  Chasisi leaned towards his ear and spoke in a hushed tone so that Rashida could not hear. “You harm anyone in our family, and your balls will hang on my wall.”

  15

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bakari sat behind his polished desk looking at his son. “How far away can you read a mind?”

  “Depends on the mind.” Khalid, looking like a reluctant teenager, slouched back in the chair opposite his father. The door of the office had been closed and locked. There were only the two of them inside.

  The afternoon desert sunlight streamed through the windows, but no fresh air came in. Everything had been locked up tight. Bakari wanted privacy.

  “There is a woman in New York …”

  Khalid laughed. “You’re asking for help with your love life?”

  “It’s more complicated than that. This woman worked for the CIA and we have crossed paths before.”

  “Does she know about your business?”

  Bakari nodded. “I expect she knows everything.” He folded his hands on the desk.

  “Does she know about your plans to take Tut’s scarab?”

  Bakari’s mouth firmed. “That could be why she contacted me.”

  Khalid looked hard at him for a long minute and then away. “I can see her in your thoughts, like an image in a painting. I can’t read her there, especially since your feelings for her change who she is in your mind. She is more like a dream than a person. I need to be near her to get a reading.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “I have to ask. If you are so attracted to her, why don’t you fuck her?”

  “She’s dangerous.”

  Khalid opened his eyes and smiled. “That’s part of her appeal. You wonder if you can truly possess her.” He laughed. “But that’s something I can’t tell you, old man.”

  Bakari stood and walked to the window. He watched a bird perched on the limb of a tree singing its heart out. “I have had many women in my life, but this one…”

  “If you want her in your life, you need to turn her. You know that. You can’t risk playing with dangerous women.”

  “Yes, I need her on my side. But how? Normal women you can woo with flowers, chocolate or jewelry, but not her.”

  ***

  Khalid closed his eyes for a moment and focused on the woman. He could see her perched on top of the terrace banister, three stories up from a canal. Venice? Her heart pounded and her eyes were on fire. “The woman loves danger,” he said.

  Bakari nodded. “I’ve thought about that. It may be what draws her to me. She knows my life is dangerous. I’m dangerous.”

  “So lure her with more danger.”

  “How—”

  Khalid snickered. “Let her ride the edge between life and death as much, and as often, as you can. That’s what turns her on.” He smiled. “Bring her close to you. Let her feel your true nature. That would be enough to scare any mortal woman.”

  16

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amsterdam

  Back in his office at his art gallery, Eros, in a seventeenth century canal house on Herengracht, Seb worked through the stack of papers his assistant had placed on his desk. Most of them only needed a signature, but they all should be read. Should be… He couldn’t make himself focus.

  Balling an old memo into a tight sphere, he considered where to throw it. Lobbing it high in the air, he watched as it sailed easily into a coffee mug sitting on a nearby side table. If life could only be as easy as that throw.

  He’d planned to spend two weeks with Sadie, not to be fucking with accounts. When he decided to start his business five years ago, he had no idea how much paperwork would be involved. Then he became successful and tons of fucking documents fell from the sky like demonic ticker-tape.

  The morning sun streamed through the tall window beside his desk, overlooking the canal. Doves cooed outside, and the smell of fresh coffee wafted up to his room. Paul, his assistant, trying to make him feel better, had spent the morning brewing pot after pot.

  Rascal, his Siamese cat, leaped into his lap. His steely-blue, cat eyes stared at him through his black mask as he mewed, which sounded a lot like an angry person muttering.

  “Demanding brat,” Seb said. As he rubbed beneath the cat’s chin the babble turned into a purr. The purring grew, lightening Seb’s mind for a whole minute. Is this what he’d become—an old man with a cat? An opinionated cat? Rascal purred louder, obviously liking the idea. He had never been fond of Seb’s women.

  After five minutes of attention, the cat settled on his lap, molding himself to Sebastian’s abdomen. Seb reached over his long body, grumbling as he signed his name on a sales document.

  He shook his head. I’m moaning over a woman when I should be feeling good about life. My life is good. Since he was a little kid, he’d loved art. Creating a business buying and selling it was a dream-come-true. He couldn’t let himself forget that. He had so much to be grateful for.

  Sadies’s soft green eyes came to mind. Shit. He had to stop thinking about her. There were other women in the world, ones who wouldn’t expect him to change to suit them.

  But he didn’t want any of them. He threw his pen against the wall. It made a thud when it hit and left a blue ink stain on the fresh white paint. “Godverdomme.” Rascal jumped to the floor and strode from the room, his long tail erect. Its end curled and twitched. Great, now he’d pissed off his cat.

  Seb grimaced.

  The sound of feet padding softly up the creaky narrow stairway caught his attention. Paul with fresh coffee? It would be his fifth cup, though he hadn’t drank more than half of them. He turned to face the door.

  A few seconds later, his Tante Zenneke entered. She had a tall lean body. Long, blond hair streaked with gray, fell loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes were Dutch blue and her skin porcelain white. Around her neck hung layers of thick heavy jewelry. She was eccentric as she looked, but he loved her dearly. She was more than an aunt, more like a mother.

  He stood to greet her with open arms, then froze on the spot as her expression hit him like a soccer ball between his eyes.

  “What’s wrong? I thought your doctor said you were okay.”

  “What’s going on with you and Sadie?” She grabbed the front of his soccer shirt and pulled his head down to kiss him three times on his cheeks, the Dutch way. First one, then the other, then the first again.

  Seb returned the kisses then gave her a look that would kill most people. She should know better than to ask about Sadie. If Seb had something to share, he would. But he didn’t. At least not yet.

  Wait how did she know? He hadn’t gotten around to telling her he was back in town, let alone why he’d come home early. Had Xander ratted him out? No, probably his wife. The women talked a lot. He ran a hand through his hair. “Good to see you, Tante Zen.”

  “I hear you got drunk with Xander last night.” Her clear voice held no judgment, just fact.

  “I don’t want to talk about it?”

  “I like Sadie.” She glared at him.

  “I know. I do too.” His chest tightened. Did he really have to talk about it?

  “Then why are you letting your relationship fall apart?” Her eyes fluttered around the room like a manic dragonfly, taking in every detail. She stopped at the pen mark, sighed, and went on.

  “It’s not my fault,” he said to dra
w her eyes back to him.

  “Just tell me what happened.”

  “She…” He swallowed. “We…” Where to start? “She’s stubborn and too independent for me.”

  Zenneke cackled. “Look who’s talking!”

  True, Seb had been called stubborn on occasion, but he didn’t see it that way. “I just know my mind. I’m not like her.”

  “What did she do?”

  Silence. He had to tell her something, or she wouldn’t leave. “Sadie thinks I’m too clingy.”

  “So stop the cling.” Zenneke opened her hands in the air, as if it were an easy thing to fix.

  He scratched his chin. “Tante Zen, I don’t want to talk about her.”

  Her soft, wizened face contorted into a grimace, the one she’d used when he brought home bad report cards from school. “Is Sadie still in Venice? Go to her. Work it out.”

  “She’s in New York.” Would this morning ever end?

  “New York?” Her eyes flashed wide.

  “Yah, the Big Apple.”

  “Get off your ass and get moving. There’s a hurricane off the eastern seaboard. They don’t think it will land, but at the very least they will have one hell of a storm.” Her eyes twinkled.

  Seb wanted to tell her that Sadie had an umbrella and could take of herself, but when he caught the glint in her eyes he stopped. The storm could be a good excuse to turn up back in Sadie’s life. There would be no loss of face in the shadow of a hurricane. They could call it a truce until the gale force winds passed and maybe they would be able to work things out in the meantime. With luck they would lose power and have to sort things out in the dark. A smile broke on his face. He stood up and gave his Tante Zen a big hug.

  17

  Chapter Seventeen

  New York

  Sadie fell asleep watching the news on TV, with a bowl of popcorn on her tummy.

  Gasping for air, Sadie stood by the small pond surrounded by dense vines and …. The jungle heat and fetid smells of wild vegetation, animals and people surviving on the edge of civilization compressed her lungs. Drums beat in the village a half mile away. Holding the baby in his arms the witch doctor in the vibrant orange and red robe walked to the empty grave chanting to his gods. His words rhythmical and seductive filled her with a heavy sense of dread. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. If only he would stop. If only she could do something to make him stop.

  Using vines, the shaman strapped the newborn Ja Ja between the breasts of his dead mother lying on the ground. The grave digger watched without emotion. The shallow grave waited.

  “Nooooo,” Sadie yelled.

  Filled with terror, she awoke and sat up. The bowl of popcorn flew into the air and she grabbed at the popcorn cascading in every direction. That damn dream again. Drenched in sweat, she collected her thoughts. She hadn’t had the nightmare for six months; not since she’d met Sebastian. Why now? She picked the bowl up from the floor.

  Sitting on the coffee table, her cell-phone vibrated. May as well check it. It could be Bakari.

  It wasn’t him. She sighed. Or Sebastian. It was a text from Mitchell and that made her smile. Sadie didn’t like models as a rule, but Mitch was different.

  Most models were supreme bitches, the nasty result of the highly competitive world of fashion in which they lived, fueled with cocaine and booze. They believed that a grotesque sense of beauty was more important than anything else in the world. Not true beauty, of course, but the kind that comes with layers of expensive make-up and puking your body as thin as a clothes hanger. They idolized the ability to keep pouting for cameras.

  Mitch was different, a rebel in her world, with a clear head and a big heart. He’d been her best friend for five years, ever since they got drunk in the Alps after a photo shoot that had gone wrong. With finely chiseled features Michelangelo would have drooled over, dominated by big, brooding, brown eyes, people often mistook him for a movie star. He was definitely a fifteen on a ten-point scale of metro-male handsome. She had wanted to jump his bones when she first met him, but soon learned that he preferred his lovers tall, dark and sexy with stubble on their chin.

  “Sadie,” he wrote, “How’s Venice?”

  “In NY”

  “WTF?”

  She smiled. He’d remembered how excited she was about her anniversary plans with Sebastian. She tapped her reply. “Long story.”

  “I can be there in twenty.”

  Thirty minutes later he knocked on her door. She opened it and he rushed in to give her a big bear hug. Sometimes that hug was all she needed to feel happy, but not tonight. She poured them both a glass of wine and she told him her story. Mitch knew a bit about her life as a spy, so she didn’t have to hold much back. It wasn’t usual for a civilian to know so much, but he’d been around her long enough to see what was going on in her life.

  “So let me get this straight,” he said. “Sebastian Wilde, the Sebastian Wilde, the seven-foot mouth-watering Viking warrior, dressed as a genie, offers you three erotic wishes and you come running home to the States?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Woman, I could give him a long list of wishes. That man is so hot, just the thought…” He stopped when she glared at him.

  “There’s more to life than sex,” she said.

  Mitchell peered down his nose and crossed his eyes as if that was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “I didn’t get that memo.”

  “Hmmm.

  He studied her face for a moment. “I get what you’re saying. This is about more than three…” he paused dramatically, “erotic-dreams come true.” His smile turned wicked. “Shake your head darling. The two of you are in love. You both like adventure. You both want to save the world. You’re both bat-shit crazy, if you ask me, but that’s who you are. You are made for each other.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t blow it. Not for the fucking CIA that treats you like a drone with tits, or for your grand sense of justice, or for… shit, anything. Nothing matters more.”

  “A drone with tits? I like that one.” She started to laugh and the laughter grew deeper until it came from deep in her belly. The image was just too much. He joined in. Her shoulders relaxed and she sank into her sofa, feeling as though the world might just right itself again. The Mitch-effect. No matter how bad life became, he found some way to make her laugh. She punched his arm.

  He leaned back in the lounge chair facing her and sighed. “Three wishes…”

  “I have to make him understand.”

  “Good luck with that, darling. He’s all male. He wants to protect you, and no matter how many times you tell him you can take care of yourself, he’ll keep wanting to be your hero. It’s a hard-wired testosterone thing with guys.”

  “I love being a spook. It’s exciting and I get to help our country. Why can’t he get that?”

  “Why can’t you take an easier operation?”

  “Someone had to stop the man. He sells guns to child soldiers. Even to the Islamic State.” She shuddered. “After I get this guy, I can see about easier assignments.”

  “You think Sebastian will wait for you.”

  “Counting on it.” He had to. Right? He had to respect her. He had to understand why she had to do this. When you love someone…

  “Face the facts, sweetie. Going after that scumbag, again, will rip Sebastian apart. Have you forgotten the guy is one of the most dangerous men in the world? Give your head a shake. Sebastian wants you safe. He wants to protect you. Thinking of you out there, putting yourself in danger, will kill him.” Mitch squeezed the bridge of his nose. “And Sweety, screwing the arms dealer takes it to another level. Sebastian will go ape-shit and I don’t blame him. He doesn’t want you in another man’s bed—any other man’s bed—let alone this asshole’s.”

  “You’re sounding Neanderthal.”

  “Honey, I’m just calling it as I see it. You’re expecting too much from Sebastian. Maybe if he didn’t know what you were throwing yourself in
to, it might work, but he does know. He knows you’re fully aware of what you’re about to do and that makes it worse. How would you feel if he fucked a woman for his flag?”

  “If she stirred up as much evil in the world as Bakari al-Sharif, I’d understand. Sex is just a physical act, after all. I’ll think about it like a gymnastic routine with lots of messy fluids.”

  “With another man.” Mitchell’s eyes as molten brown as a Labrador puppy’s, melted into hers. Damn, he knew how to mess with her head.

  “It wouldn’t mean anything,” she said. But a cold finger ran up her spine.

  Mitch winced. “And now we come down to the Mata Hari question. Can you detach yourself enough to have passionate sex with the man, please him in every way he desires to get the information you need, and not have it corrupt you in any way?”

  Sadie’s lower lip slid between her teeth. She hoped so. Sometimes hope was all a woman had. To date she hadn’t screwed anyone for information. Flirted a hell of a lot, but never screwed. She ran a hand through her tangled hair. Bottom line: she believed in doing the greater good. That’s what kept her going, helped her navigate the murkiness of that world. “Hell, yeah.” She swallowed and added, “I’ll fix this. I’ll phone Sebastian and explain it all over again. He’ll understand. I’ll make him understand.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  18

  Chapter Eighteen

  Coffee wasn’t enough. Sadie hit her yoga mat. Finishing her last in a series of ten deep Salutations to the Sun, Sadie stopped her yoga in the standing position. Was that a dog barking? She wiped at the sweat on her forehead. Yup, definitely a dog barking. Now scratching? Whose dog? No one had a dog on her floor. Did they?

  As she walked over to her door the barking grew louder. Looking through the spy hole, she saw a young man with a bored expression knocking. After grabbing her gun from the entrance table, she undid her five dead-bolts. Keeping the safety chain in place she opened the door a few inches. “What do you want?”