After a half hour of tossing restlessly, she got up and wandered into the corridor. There were four other bedrooms on the yacht; two of them were on the same deck as her own. When she passed an open doorway, she saw Rhett's duffel bag sitting on the end of the bed. A small lamp—really nothing more luminous than a nightlight—had been left on in apparent anticipation of his return.
An intense curiosity about the man who'd risked his life twice to save her drew her into the room toward the duffel bag. She knew she shouldn't look. Shouldn't invade his privacy. The corridor had been empty though and she didn't think Rhett or Christian would be down here any time soon.
No one would be the wiser for her snooping.
The zipper slithered along the teeth with a quiet hiss. Peeling the edges of the bag apart, her first sensation was the scent of him. It lingered on the folded layers of jeans, t-shirts and boxers she sifted through. Under those was another, smaller leather bag, a laptop and two more guns. Several clips of ammunition lined the bottom. Between two thin, ribbed sweaters, she found a handful of passports. She picked up the top one and opened it.
Rhett Nichols. Thirty-four years old. Hometown: Twenty-nine Palms, California. She remembered seeing the name of the city on a map once upon a time.
“Find what you're looking for?” Rhett asked from the doorway.
Startled, she yelped and dropped his passport so she could cover her thundering heart with her hand. When they locked gazes, she expected to see him scowling or frowning. Instead, he wore an unreadable expression that she found almost more disconcerting than if he'd just been annoyed or angry with her.
“I'm sorry. I was just--”
“Snooping,” he concluded for her. “What did you expect to find?”
Shuffling in place, she lifted a shoulder. “I don't really know. I was just curious about you, I guess. I didn't mean any harm by it.”
“Maybe you should ask me what you want to know.”
Sheepish, she bent to pick up his passport off the floor and dropped it back into the bag. Patting the clothes down, she zipped the duffel closed. Evelyn could hardly believe she'd just been caught going through his personal things red handed.
“It was just general curiosity. I mean, you've risked your life for me twice.”
“That's what government agents do, Miss Grant. I think I said something to that effect earlier.”
An awkward moment stretched into two. She wasn't sure what passed between them just then, but the low curve of a smile that crept over his mouth reassured her that she hadn't offended him too badly.
“Try and get some rest while you can,” he said, and turned to stalk away down the corridor.
Evelyn clapped a hand over her forehead. What the hell had she been thinking? In all the years she'd dated men, she'd never been caught going through their things. Then again, come to think of it, she'd never had a reason or the urge to do so before.
Back in her own stateroom, she sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated taking off her shoes. Four or five hours rest would do her good. She couldn't quite shake the hunted feeling though and in the end, she flopped back, one arm over her forehead, shoes still on her feet. Cautiousness had served her well at the safe house that hadn't been so safe at all.
Evelyn wondered how the Templars had found her. Found them. Myriad scenarios ran through her mind while she stared at the ceiling. None of them were especially pleasing. Phone taps, a tail on the car. A satellite bead? She couldn't be sure just how much paranoia was too much in a situation like this. The Templars had extensive backing and resources. All the sisters had known that for hundreds of years.
During the crusades, the Knights had been able to move between countries unfettered and unhindered. Whatever mission they were on, they were allowed to go about their business without question. She doubted much had changed over the centuries. Their technology and ability to find what they wanted had only improved exponentially with the advent of computers and lightning fast communication.
The girls had adjusted as well as they were able to. Alexandra, to help give them some kind of advantage, had become an expert in computers and could hack her way into just about any database in the world. It was how they changed names and identification and photos and backgrounds. Without it, Evelyn knew their chances of successfully staying free for any length of time were slim to none.
A distinct beep interrupted her inner monologue. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the cell phone she'd left on the nightstand. When the screen lit up, she saw the small text icon and thumbed it so the message would open. It must be her sisters.
Finally. An answer and contact.
Enjoy your temporary freedom. There won't be any escape the next time.
Evelyn's eyes widened. She checked the sender: Unknown.
A dizzy spell struck when she realized the Knights had somehow discovered her cell phone number. It wasn't on any block lists, so they'd probably searched some internet directory and eventually discovered which Evelyn Grant was her.
Lurching up off the bed, she ran out into the corridor and down the stairs to the lowest deck. Dark water stretched for miles in every direction. A curling, salty breeze drifted across her skin while she glanced wildly around for Rhett. She didn't see him and immediately wondered if the Knights had somehow boarded the yacht between the time she'd seen him and now. The paranoia ran thick and deep.
“Rhett!” Panic infused her voice. Every sense on alert, she gripped the cell phone so hard that it left imprints on her palms. Distantly, she was aware that even after knowing him only a short time, it was Rhett she wanted close by. He had successfully extracted her from two dangerous situations and it only exacerbated the secure feeling she had in his presence.
One after the other, Rhett and Christian came running from different parts of the boat; Rhett, gun drawn, hurtled down the stairs from the top deck and Christian did the same but from along the side of the yacht.
“What is it?” Rhett asked, voice tense. He walked right up to her, checking in every direction for a threat.
Christian flanked them, darting looks around the water. Everywhere.
“They sent me a text. I think they know where we are,” she said, flashing Rhett the front of her phone.
He paused and glanced at it, then took it out of her hand. Manipulating buttons with his thumb, he handed it back when he apparently didn't glean anymore from it than she did. His posture relaxed, the gun tucked into the shoulder holster.
“Is your phone unlisted?”
“No.”
“Then that's how they found your number,” he said. “I think if they knew where you were, they'd act first and taunt later.”
“Doesn't look like there's another boat in sight,” Christian added, sliding his gun into the waistband of his pants in the back.
“Are you sure? Maybe they're waiting in Cairo.” Evelyn wasn't convinced that the Templars didn't know where they were.
Christian, standing at her side, shook his head and met her gaze. “I agree with Rhett. If they knew where you were, they would have come after you instead of warning you. If they're waiting in Cairo, we'll have to deal with it when we get there.”
“Then why text me at all?” she asked, annoyed that the Knights were able to set her on edge like this.
Rhett and Christian both gave her the same look. Did she really need to ask?
“To do just what they're doing. Planting doubts, forcing you to stay tense and worried,” Rhett said, spelling it out for her.
“Well, that's just lovely.” Evelyn maneuvered through the menus until she found the one she wanted. “We'll see how they like being blocked.”
Rhett and Christian gave her understanding glances.
After turning the phone off, she made her excuses and disappeared into her room. Determined to get some rest, she kicked back a shot of bourbon from an array of tiny bottles left on the dresser and stretched out on the bed. Rest didn't consist of sleep—she
couldn't after the text message—but she did make plans for their stop in Crete on the way to Cairo. She would have an hour to find access to an unmonitored laptop and check the email account to see if any of the girls had left messages. They weren't responding by phone, which could mean a number of things, but there was a much greater likelihood that they'd found a way to leave a note for her there. It was the contact center of last resort and one they all knew to use in extreme circumstances.
If they were all okay, Evelyn planned to depart the agents' company in Cairo and go her own way. She couldn't rely on their help forever and the sooner she began the changes required to disappear from the Templar's radar, the better.
The Old Venetian Harbor in the port of Heraklion buzzed with brisk business. Boats motored slowly by, coming and going, while Aristo guided the yacht into a waiting berth. Other boats bobbed in their slips and people milled around the marina, each on their own agenda. The morning sun, bright and rising in the sky, spilled warm rays that Evelyn tipped her face into when she stepped out on deck. All her belongings were in the pockets of her jeans rather than in her purse so that she didn't give her intentions away.
Crete had always been a favorite place to visit and vacation for the sisters. Evelyn found it mildly ironic that she was here when she hadn't planned to be, without her siblings, in the company of government agents. With effort she steered her thoughts away from Galiana and surveyed the bustling activity on the docks. She wondered if the Templars knew she was here, and whether they were watching her even now. It made her plans for the day riskier after the text but she was set on her course.
Aristo disembarked with a promise to be back in one hour exactly. Something about refueling and restocking the yacht for the second leg across the Mediterranean.
Rhett appeared from inside with a tray in his hands. He looked like he'd been awake all night with his heavy layer of whiskers and wrinkled jeans. Despite that, the smile he gave her lacked weariness that she could see. Under the glow of the sun he seemed golden, from his skin to his hair, and she would have never guessed he'd suffered any kind of injury by his confident posture.
Setting the tray on a table under the shade of a blue and white striped umbrella, he glanced her way.
“Lunch. Hope you like chicken salad,” he said.
Surprised, Evelyn walked over to inspect the bowl and the food. The lettuce looked fresh. Grilled chicken lay in strips over the top with several cherry tomatoes sitting to the side. Rhett's talents ran beyond his commendable ability as an agent.
Meeting his gaze, she said, “You didn't have to do that, but thanks. You're not eating?”
Having lunch with Rhett might have been appealing if she didn't have something she needed to do. He gave her an out a moment later and she hid her relief behind a neutral facade.
“No. Christian's on the phone with our boss and I'm heading in to take a shower.”
“You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?”
“I will after we set sail and get out into the open water again.”
“How's your wound?” She squinted at his side.
“It's just a scratch and already on the mend. Your face and hands look a lot better than they did yesterday,” he pointed out.
Evelyn snapped a look up from the bowl to find him studying her. What remained of the bruising had faded down to yellowish smudges and the split in her lip lacked even a scab this morning. She had healed even more than she'd thought she would given time to rest. Self conscious, she touched her cheek and nodded.
“I'm lucky it's healing well. Thanks again for lunch, Mister Nichols.”
“I didn't know what you wanted to drink. Help yourself to water or bottles of juice and whatever else he's got stocked in there.” Rhett gestured toward the small bar in the parlor before turning on a boot heel and disappearing inside.
Evelyn watched him, fiddling with the utensils he'd rolled into a linen napkin. He hadn't pursued the subject of her unnaturally fast healing and for that she was thankful. It made her curious what he thought though. Rhett Nichols did not strike her as a slow man who let obvious things get by him.
Sitting in a chair, she attacked the salad and glanced around for Christian while pretending to be absorbed in her meal. Which was excellent, she noted, while spearing a slice of seasoned chicken. The other agent seemed to be elsewhere on the yacht. She doubted he would have disembarked with Rhett needing some downtime, leaving her unprotected. Evelyn weighed her options and the risks. She could stay here and not try to make contact with her sisters, or she could hurry about her errand and return before anyone noticed her gone.
She made her decision after another discreet check of the deck.
It took her less than fifteen minutes to disembark, hail a taxi, and have him drive her to a small café bordering the marina. Bustling with tourists, the café had floor to ceiling windows along the front, a small seating area around the doors and palms in pots lining the walkway. She went inside and bought herself a ten minute block of time on one of the public laptops lined up on a long counter facing the harbor.
Feeling strangely vulnerable out in the open without Rhett at her side, she engaged the search directory and typed in the email address for the private account. Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the faces of the customers, looking for anyone who seemed too interested in what she was doing. No one, in her estimation, was paying any attention.
Fingers flying over the keys, she typed in their user name and password and hit enter. The account scrolled into view. No new messages. Evelyn checked the spam folder and the sent folders too, thinking maybe her sisters might have hid something in there so that it wasn't seen at first glance on the screen.
Nothing.
Two days was more than enough time for one of them, if not all of them, to make contact. An uneasy pang clenched her stomach. Alexandra, at the very least, would have found a way to access a computer. Which meant her other sisters had suffered the same fate as Galiana, or they had been captured after their escape from the parking lot and were sitting underground somewhere like she'd been. Tortured and interrogated.
There was no way she would be able to find them without outside help. Help like Rhett and Christian could give her. It was part of their job, wasn't it, to recover kidnapped Americans in foreign countries? They'd recovered her.
As dangerous as it was to continue interacting with the government on such intimate levels, they had access to information and resources she just didn't have. This kind of situation was their specialty, she thought, and it certainly wasn't hers. Unless there was a message waiting when she arrived in Cairo, she decided to stay with the agents a while longer.
Going through the history, she erased any trail of where she'd been on the laptop. Leaving the seat with time still on the 'clock', she wove her way through the bodies and back outside. Brushing wayward strands of hair from her cheek, she glanced left and right and hailed another taxi. With directions to take her to the nearest bank, she settled in the seat, watching the buildings flash by out the window. The architecture never ceased to amaze and mesmerize her although her appreciation was a distant thing compared to her growing consternation.
The taxi pulled up outside a string of businesses on Agapo street and she paid the driver extra to wait.
Climbing out, she crossed the sidewalk and went inside the bank. The interior of the older structure had been redone in marble with spiraling columns and a long counter beyond a sitting area with several couches for the customer's comfort. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows and highlighted a bank of ATMs that she passed on her way to one of the available tellers. She needed more money than the ATM would allow her to withdraw on any given day.
The teller, a black haired woman with clear skin, a hook in her nose and a pair of brown eyes greeted her with a heavy, English accent. “Welcome to the Bank of Herstos. May I help you?”
Evelyn fished out her identification and bank card from her pocket. Smiling at the teller, she pas
sed both over and snatched a withdrawal slip from the stack to the side to begin filling out. “Hello. Yes, I'd like to make a withdrawal.”
“Do you have an account with us?”
“No, I don't. But I'd like more than the ATM will give me,” Evelyn explained. “Can you do that?” She pushed the withdrawal slip over while the teller examined her I.D and the card.
“Yes Ma'am. There will be a short wait and a transaction fee, you realize.”
Evelyn nodded. She'd expected as much. “I'll wait. Thank you.”
“Let me verify this and then we can discuss currency.” The teller punched in numbers into her computer, watching the screen through the fine veil of her bangs. She frowned and clicked through another series of information on the keyboard.
Unable to see the screen, Evelyn watched the woman's face instead. “Is something wrong?”
“It seems your account has been frozen, Ma'am.” The teller spoke with clear hesitation.
“Frozen?” Evelyn frowned. “That can't be right. I haven't closed it out or even accessed it in several days.”
“Excuse me for a moment, Miss Grant. Let me see if my supervisor can make a call.” The teller smiled cordially and took her card, her I.D and the withdrawal slip with her away from the counter. She spoke with a balding, rotund man in a voice too low for Evelyn to hear. They spoke at length while he took the information to a different computer behind a desk in the back, tapping through numbers and screens. Evelyn could see their eyes scanning each different one that popped up.
Unease ate at her insides. What could be the problem?
After several minutes, the man came back with the teller and took up the spot on the other side of the counter. He had an even thicker accent than the woman.
“Miss Grant, I am the manager. I'm sorry to tell you that your account has been frozen, and I will be required to confiscate your card.”
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