“I don't know, Dracht. But I'm not spending the whole night in here while she's out there on the run and vulnerable. She's been withholding information that we need to help them,” Rhett said, standing up off the edge of the bed.
He swayed, and Dracht put a hand on his other shoulder, urging him to sit down. “You need at least one night of rest, Rhett. Don't push yourself.”
“It's a flesh wound. No good will come of me sitting here all night while she puts more distance between us,” Rhett insisted.
“How will you know where she's gone?” Dragar asked. “I don't think she'll be stupid enough to use her own identification to flee Egypt.”
“Because I put a bug on her while she was asleep.” Rhett sat down and reached across his chest to smear the edges of the bandage firmly against his skin. The IV dangled from the bed where he'd ripped it out.
“Why don't you let us pick her up--”
“No, I want to do it,” Rhett insisted, standing up again.
He wasn't as steady on his feet as he should have been. Dracht and Dragar exchanged glances before Dragar left the room.
“Nothing good is going to come of you rushing after her right now. If you pass out somewhere, it'll take us too long to find you,” Dracht said, buying time.
Rhett went to the armoire against the wall and jerked the handle, swinging the door wide. There was a shirt in there that Christian had probably brought earlier. Rhett snatched it off the hanger and shoved his good arm through the sleeve, going slower with the other.
Dracht knew Rhett well enough to know that he wouldn't slow down or stop until he either passed out or was made to pass out. The wound wasn't lethal, but Rhett had lost enough blood to make him woozy. That meant he'd be less attuned to his surroundings and more apt to be off his game. Mistakes often meant death in their business, and he wasn't willing to take that chance.
Dragar came in with the doctor on his heels. Before Rhett understood their intent, the doctor stabbed a needle into his arm and depressed the syringe.
“.. what the hell.” Rhett snarled and yanked his arm away.
Christian and Dracht caught Rhett as he sagged, cursing a blue streak under his breath that faded as unconsciousness claimed him.
Between them, they had no trouble manhandling him back into the hospital bed.
“Sorry old boy, but it's for the best.” Dracht felt not one lick of guilt for their actions.
Dragar shook hands with the doctor and Dracht followed suit. The physician exited after assuring them Rhett would be well looked after.
Tomorrow they wouldn't have as easy of a time holding him back.
Chapter Nine
The small, seedy bar sat at least four blocks away from the shooting. It was the third one on her stop to nowhere, a late night haunt catering to nocturnal tourists. Gloomy, with a long bar against one wall, seating scattered intermittently and pool tables at the back, it had conflicting orange-green color accents and a floor that felt sticky to walk across, even in shoes.
With shaking hands, Evelyn ordered another shot of whiskey and tried to calm the frantic pace of her pulse. Images of Rhett flying back from the impact of her bullet had burned themselves onto the back of her eyelids, forcing her to relive the horror like a film reel on repeat.
She knew he wasn't dead, not with the bullet punching a hole through his shoulder instead of his heart. It had been the very last act of a desperate woman to save herself from certain death. Evelyn hadn't wanted to shoot him. Had not wanted to pull the trigger. She remembered pinching her eyes closed at one point and then had seen him go down after being struck.
And it irked her to no end that she was relieved he would survive even after his betrayal.
Damn Rhett. Damn him.
The bitter deception he'd perpetrated was hard to wash down, even with the burn of the alcohol. At the same time, she wondered how bad she'd laid him up, if at all, and whether he was going to come after her.
Of course he was.
It was only a matter of time.
She wasn't even positive the bullet had gone through him, perhaps only winging him like the last one had. His swift recovery from that incident was downright depressing when she was the one trying to flee him.
Dragging the band out of the ponytail, she ran her fingers through her hair and propped her elbow on the counter. She considered her options while the liquor slipped through her system.
Staying in Egypt was far too risky, and returning to Athens posed a problem because of travel issues. Even in her state of upset, she recognized that she couldn't very well use her passport or her I.D. She couldn't use Galiana's, either. Likely they had hers flagged, too. The Templars probably had every airport monitored in a fifty mile radius.
She thought about trying to take a boat across and dismissed the idea out of hand. Aristo worked for them and would turn her in if she showed up asking for passage. How many others were on their payroll?
What she needed was to be in touch with her sisters. Thoughts of them in the hands of the Templars made her stomach clench. Undecided whether they'd been captured and were being held as bait or were on the run like herself, she glanced along the bar to the woman sitting one stool down. She reminded Evelyn of a showgirl past her prime, with too much make-up, big hair, bright red lips and a misplaced debutante air.
Lola, of Copacabana fame, came to mind.
What held her attention however, was the purse sitting on the stool between them that gaped open while 'Lola' dug through for a lighter that she produced with a drunken coo of triumph. Specifically, the passport and wallet within easy view, which gave her ideas she shouldn't be having.
Evelyn was no ordinary thief. She wasn't a thief at all.
But desperation made her bold. Lifting her shot glass, she leaned a little to close the distance between her and the woman when she offered up a toast.
“To all night bars,” Evelyn said, pretending to be tipsier than she was.
'Lola' billowed a lungful of smoke her way and picked up her own glass, more than willing apparently to toast a stranger. “Honey, we couldn' live wit'out 'em,” the lady slurred.
Evelyn made sure that the tink of their glasses was hard enough to slosh liquor all down the woman's gauzy shirt.
“Oh, I'm sorry! Must have had a few more than I thought. Here, let me help,” Evelyn said, setting her almost empty glass down while she slid off her stool and gathered up a few napkins.
“Crap, it's soaked through,” the woman said, setting down her glass with a thump.
It was in the seconds where the stranger glanced through the dim room for the restrooms that Evelyn snitched out the wallet and the passport. She tucked them under her shirt, into the waistband of her pants. The bartender was too busy breaking up an argument over by the pool tables to notice and everyone else either couldn't see due to low lighting or were in the wrong vantage point.
Although she and the stranger had different color hair and eyes, Evelyn knew she could get around that with the addition of a hat and a pair of sunglasses. Women changed their hair color all the time, and at least she and the woman had similar bone structure to make the ruse less obvious.
“I'll order us another drink and I'll pay for your shirt,” Evelyn offered, dabbing up what spilled on the counter with a napkin.
“Soun's right. Hold my seat now.” 'Lola' grabbed up her purse by the straps and Evelyn held her breath, hoping she wouldn't look through it right then.
She didn't. Staggering off, the woman headed for the short hallway and the neon Ladies sign she must have glimpsed in her search.
Evelyn only waited until she'd disappeared out of sight to pay for her own drinks and depart the bar. Half expecting the bartender to suddenly call her out, she sank into the obscurity of the still crowded street. At some point, the woman she'd left at the bar was going to discover the theft and call the authorities. Or maybe, if she was lucky, the lady would think she'd simply lost them.
Hailing a cab, Evelyn gave th
e driver her destination and breathed a small sigh of relief when no one shouted her name or tried to stop her.
At the airport, feeling too exposed under the glow of florescent overhead lighting, she bought a floppy brimmed hat, a pair of reading glasses and a cheap purse to stuff the wallet and passport into. Sunglasses, considering it was still dark outside, might have been too conspicuous.
In the bathroom, she scraped her hair back into a hasty knot, securing it with a thin band she'd had in her jeans pocket. It helped disguise that her tawny, auburn streaked hair wasn't quite as light as the woman in the photo. Evelyn also decided that it made her own cheekbones look sharper, closer to a match for the identification that didn't belong to her.
As long as the clerk didn't pick apart the differences, she thought she could pass through undetected.
Still, she was nervous when she approached the desk a few minutes later. The hat provided her with a small amount of privacy in the way she glanced furtively around, checking for familiar faces, or even people who seemed too interested in her. Trying to be discreet, she was unprepared when the clerk asked her where she wanted to go.
“Excuse me?” Evelyn said, snapping a glance back.
“Your destination, ma'am?” the girl said with a heavy accent.
“I need something immediately, if you have it, preferably to Spain,” Evelyn replied, hastily choosing a spot out of Egypt and away from Athens but still in the general area. She could travel easily enough from Spain to Greece when she needed to.
“I'm sorry, ma'am, but there are no available seats until tomorrow in the afternoon.”
“All right, let's try France. I can always connect with another flight there if I have to.”
“All seats are booked until eleven-forty-five in the morning.”
Evelyn caught one of the security guards watching her when she pretended to get inside the purse for the wallet. His scrutiny panicked her, although she tried not to show it.
Of course there were no flights to France. It figured.
The security guard strolled a little closer to the desk.
“What seat do you have available right now? The destination doesn't really matter. I'll just have my sisters change their flights tomorrow.” Evelyn played at being a bored jet setter. Ignoring the security guard became harder and harder to do as he took up what seemed to be a casual lean against the high counter six feet to her right. His proximity forced her into a hasty decision to accept the very first flight out of Egypt that she could get, no matter the destination. Timbuktu, England--
“There's a flight to Las Vegas with four layovers--”
Vegas?!
“I'll take it,” Evelyn said, cutting the desk clerk off. She smiled to reduce any sting and chided herself when her hands shook as she passed over the other woman's identification and passport. The clerk didn't seem to think anything was wrong, because she took up both items to start punching the data in on her computer.
Vegas. Well, that was much farther out of her way than she needed to go. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. If, when she got a hold of her sisters, she could tell them to meet her there. It would put oceans of distance between them and the Templars.
Out of the corner of her eye, Evelyn saw the security guard bring a hand up and tip his mouth toward the small radio on his shoulder.
Crap.
He was calling for backup. He'd probably recognized her from fliers the Templars had already sent around, guessing she'd try and flee the country. Thoughts of escape consumed her while she watched the clerk with growing impatience. Fear that more security guards were going to show up escalated her heart rate.
A fine sheen of sweat dotted her brow under the brim of the hat.
The price the clerk quoted was more cash than she had on hand. In a quandary, Evelyn wondered what to do. The pressure was on. She'd already stolen 'Lola's' wallet and passport, probably putting her into a world of hurt so far away from home. To use her credit card on top of that was just adding insult to injury.
Did she have any choice? If she used Galiana's card, the Templars would be alerted if they weren't already. Survival instinct kicked in and she passed over one of the woman's three credit cards, glancing at the name on the front so that she wouldn't have to look like she didn't know it when the time came to sign.
Margaret White.
Not quite a Lola after all.
With the transaction complete, and Evelyn about to jump out of her skin with nerves thanks to the security guard, she accepted the passport and identification back and stuffed them into the purse before signing the slip.
“If you hurry, you can just make it to the gate before final boarding, Miss White,” the clerk said, handing her a ticket and pointing down the airport in the direction she needed to go.
“Thank you.” Evelyn gathered the purse and the ticket. She didn't look at the security guard when she veered away from the counter and took up a brisk pace toward the departing gate. At least she had a good reason to be moving at such a quick clip through the terminal.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Evelyn boarded the plane without being stopped by security. Finding her seat, she sank into the cushions and for now, left the hat on. No one occupied the seat beside her.
All the better. Evelyn wasn't in the mood for small talk.
“See, the great thing about our arrangement here, is that I don't have to wait around to sign out. So either you remove the IV, or I will.” Rhett glared at the doctor.
The sun had come up an hour ago and Rhett was impatient to be on his way. Dracht and Dragar were gone in search of the girls—the sisters?--and Rhett didn't want Evelyn to put any more distance between them. He was sure she'd figured out how to flee Egypt already, unless she'd decided on the age old trick of hiding in plain sight.
It didn't matter. The tracking device would lead him right to her.
“But you need to rest for another day at least. You're going to aggravate the wound and you don't want to lose anymore blood than you already have,” the doctor said, looking slightly nervous.
“I don't have twenty-four hours.” Rhett, standing next to the hospital bed, was through screwing around with delays. His patience had a limit. He shot Christian, who waited in the corner with his arms across his chest, a look that said he'd better be ready to move.
The doctor showed his palms in a sign of surrender and came over himself to remove the needle and tape from Rhett's arm.
Rhett sneered when the physician gave a piece of the tape an especially vicious yank. Versed in controlling pain, he showed no other sign than that before he brushed past the physician. The special arrangement in place for the Templars at this, and many other hospitals around the world, made it convenient to get their wounds treated expediently with utmost privacy.
Already dressed in jeans and boots, he tugged a navy blue shirt over his shoulders, careful not to dislodge either bandage. The pain incurred from the bullet was tolerable with the addition of the pills the doctor had given him, and he had more tucked away in his pocket for later. It wasn't the first time he'd been shot, or shot at, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.
“Did you bring the monitor?” Rhett asked Christian while he adjusted the shoulder holster to fit around the wound. He gave the leather a few yanks until it suited him.
“I did. She's on the move, somewhere over the atlantic,” Christian said.
Rhett arched a brow and slid his arms through the sleeves of a jacket. “Where the hell does she think she's going?”
Christian shrugged his brows. “I have no idea. She must be pretty freaked out to leave the area altogether.”
“Well yeah, she shot me,” Rhett snorted. “She probably thinks she'll be arrested if she's caught. I wonder what she meant by calling those girls her sisters,” he mused.
“That's what they must be, but I don't see how from the pictures we were able to pull up with their information. One is clearly of oriental descent and another African. Maybe the black haired o
ne, but that's all,” Christian answered. He followed Rhett from the room and out into the hallway.
Rhett grunted, ignoring the fawning look one of the nurses gave him. He was all business, trying to think three steps ahead of what Evelyn might do. “Maybe the blonde we found dead, too. I wonder why she didn't just tell me one or two of them were her sisters.”
They exited out into the already arid morning and Rhett squinted against the sun. Drawing sunglasses from his jacket, he slid them over his eyes and flatly ignored a sharp, stabbing pain through his shoulder. It felt like someone jabbed him with a hot poker.
“She must have something to hide, or that she doesn't want anyone to know,” Christian said. He too drew on sunglasses to shield his eyes.
“Or,” Rhett said, following Christian across the back parking lot to a waiting car. “She's simply protecting them from whatever the Templars want. Any news on that, by the way?”
“Man, no one knows what's going on. Dragar can't get any kind of leg up on all this because too many of them are out on missions and he doesn't know who else is involved. Something is going on, that's for sure though,” Christian said, using the fob to remotely unlock the doors to the sleek, black BMW.
Rhett almost insisted on driving. Instead, he got into the passenger seat, scowling, and slammed the door closed. What remained of his patience and good mood were deteriorating rapidly.
“There were four in the subterranean room when I grabbed Evelyn. I'm betting there are more than just those four who are in on it, though. This isn't like your usual interrogation. They've got these girls mistaken with something or someone else. Has to be. The fact that the rest of us don't know anything about it is suspicious anyway,” Rhett said, working out the facts in his mind. Too much of it was conflicting and contradictory. As a Templar, he didn't know all the missions the other Knights went on, but kidnapping and torture of innocent victims was never on anyone's To-Do list.
He angled the seat belt across his body and glanced at Christian as he backed the car out of the slot.
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