by Linda Conrad
Yep. That was all settled. Having sex was the plan.
But first she had to make sure he stayed alive.
Two hours later Rylie’s ears were popping again as she crept through the quiet corridors looking for any sign of Darin or the Taj Zabbar kidnapper. The train must be heading lower, going in the direction of the lake below the mountains. Rylie could almost feel gravity pulling her downward.
She must’ve been just missing Darin and the kidnapper while she searched. It was possible they had ducked into a cabin or hidden behind a closed door when she’d gone by. But she had traveled the length of this train twice, looking. Now she wasn’t sure what was left to…
The train rounded a steep U-curve right then, and Rylie got a good view through the windows into another corridor as the snaking cars doubled back on themselves. There, maybe only two or three train-car lengths ahead, she saw two men locked in mortal combat in the well-lit corridor of a sleeping car.
Darin.
Blasting out of her own corridor at a dead run, Rylie swore under her breath. She should be covering his back. She was the one with the gun, after all.
She pushed through pressurized door locks and tramped across the little vestibules that connected two cars. Through one car. Then into the next.
By the time she hit the third empty corridor in a row she was breathing hard and very confused. She’d seen them. Clearly. It hadn’t been a dream.
Then she heard a noise coming from the end of the car. It sounded as though someone had momentarily gone through the pressurized door onto the next vestibule. Shoving hard to open the door, she blinked at sudden air movement and turned her head in that direction.
To her amazement, she saw shoes as they disappeared up a ladder that she’d never noticed before. A ladder to the roof of the train? Why?
After she heard a distant shout, sounding for all the world like Darin’s voice, the why didn’t seem too important. If he could chase someone to the roof of a train, she could follow.
She carefully checked to be sure the gun was secure in her waistband. Then, shaking her head at the craziness of the whole idea, she began to climb.
A cold blast of wind whipped prickles of ice at her body as she neared the roof’s edge. But that didn’t stop her. Nothing could’ve stopped her until she found out what was going on up above.
Peeking over the edge of the roof, she saw a sight that took her breath. Darin and the Taj Zabbar would-be kidnapper battling with each other. One swung wildly and then the other did the same. Both had knives drawn and were swearing at each other in different languages.
Rylie eased her body onto the roof and lay there spread-eagle, wondering if she had the nerve to stand up while the train was traveling on a twenty-degree incline. Then the car leveled out some while the train rolled across a well-lit trestle above a deep, glacial-cut ravine.
She watched as the kidnapper struck out at Darin’s hand and his knife flew free. Darin whirled in a defensive move and the kidnapper’s knife went sailing, too.
Sucking up courage, Rylie pulled the gun free and came up on her knees and elbows. Pointing the weapon at the kidnapper, she screamed over the roar of the wind.
“Stop! Stand still. I’ve got you covered.”
When Darin turned his head toward her, his face went deathly pale. Before she could blink, he dove in her direction and tried to shield her with his body.
“Here.” She thrust the gun at him.
He turned it on the kidnapper, but the man was close and scrambling toward both of them with desperation in his eyes.
Everything seemed to happen at once after that.
Darin fired. Ducking, the kidnapper slipped on a patch of ice and started sliding. Darin reached out, trying to give the man a hand. Rylie watched in horror as the man’s fingernails scratched deep grooves in the paint with his futile attempts to stay in place.
And then, without a noise, without any sound at all above the howling winds, the Taj Zabbar kidnapper was gone.
Vanished into the nothingness of the dark night.
Chapter 9
Back in their cabin, Darin and Rylie sat together in silence on the newly made-up bed. Both of them waiting for their heart rates to settle. Grasping her hand to assure himself that she was truly alive, Darin couldn’t believe how close he had come to losing her for good.
What was he going to do with her? Part of him was fascinated with her independence and that amazing self-confidence in her own abilities. She stirred something in him in a place that no one had ever reached before.
But another part of him, the more rational and coherent part, was horrified at the chances she took. He could never keep her safe if she kept undermining his efforts at every turn.
But how would he ever manage to talk her into walking away from a fight that was not her own? Darin feared he was partially to blame. He had been keen to keep her close. Secretly dying for a chance of the two of them becoming intimate. He had been positive that having sex with her would disabuse him of his powerful obsession.
A nearly fatal mistake on his side.
He must change all of that—and quickly. His obsession would have to be buried now, without the benefit of seeking out an answer to his questions of why. The real truth to the matter was that they were obviously unsuited. A committed relationship between them would be out of the question. This whole obsession thing had to have been born out of pure lust. And lust could always be conquered by the power of the mind. Or buried by the power of determination.
Yes, things must change. He would find a way to send her away by feigning disinterest. Now that her would-be kidnapper was gone for good, Darin could pretend to be more interested in the Taj Zabbar war and in his family business than in her. He could stop mooning over her and treat her in a rude and perhaps even crude manner. He searched his mind for an example—and came up with his father’s attitude toward women.
Darin wasn’t sure he could even playact such arrogance. But he could try.
“You were lucky,” he said in as cold a voice as he could remember his father using. He dropped her hand and slid a short distance away. “But foolish. Next time do as I tell you.”
Her head came up and she glared at him. The exact reaction he had hoped she would have.
“Don’t give me that.” She folded her arms around her waist, as though he had delivered a blow. “You’re alive because I brought you the gun. Just say thanks and be grateful I didn’t follow your orders.”
She had slipped right back into the wrong attitude. He would have to keep trying. Opening his mouth to deliver the next hit, he froze in midthought when a knock sounded at their door. Both of them jumped up and stared at the back of the door as if the knock had been a hiss from a poisonous viper.
“What’ll we do?” she whispered.
He reached out toward the handle. “We’ll answer and find out who it is.”
When he opened the door, the porter was on the other side and a small commotion could be heard going on down the corridor. “Pardon. May I speak to monsieur and mademoiselle for a moment?”
“Certainly.” Darin brought the man inside the cabin, but he stuck his head out past the threshold, trying to find out what was happening.
He turned around, shutting the door behind him. “What’s going on?” he asked the porter.
“Ah, yes. The reason why I must speak with you. It is feared a terrible accident has occurred.”
“An accident? What kind of accident?”
“A man has reportedly fallen off the train to his death.”
Darin’s blood pressure blew off the charts, but he forced a mild, surprised look instead of the guilt he was feeling. “Oh? What makes anyone think that?”
The porter lowered his voice conspiratorially. “A couple, older I believe, say they saw ze man fall. They were standing in a darkened compartment, staring out ze window, when zis form of a body passed by their view.”
“Really? That seems odd. Are they sure?” Darin lowered h
is voice to match the other man’s.
The porter nodded. “Sì. They say they were awakened by sounds—” he pointed above his head “—on ze roof. When they looked out…le voilà!”
Darin shot Rylie a look. She was pale, and he imagined he saw her trembling, but she pursed her lips and held herself together.
“What’s happening now?” Darin asked the porter.
“The train staff, we are checking each compartment. We match tickets to passengers.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes as if to say he did not believe their search would find anything. “If a man is missing, we will find out.”
“Then what?” Rylie’s voice was shaky, but Darin could hear her trying to stay strong.
“We arrive at ze town of Bellinzona momentarily. Ze Swiss police, they will question all passengers.”
Darin’s mind rifled through ideas. He couldn’t speak to the police. He was no good at lying. Not like Tarik was.
When nothing else came to mind, he said, “Oh. But we were counting on resting at Bellinzona. And seeing the sights. My—” he gestured to Rylie “—my friend is not feeling too well. A little motion sickness, I think. Can’t you help us out?”
While the man hesitated, Darin could feel the train slowing. Heard the slight screech of brakes against the rails. It was now or never.
Darin put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a wad of francs. He began peeling off bills, one at a time, and handing them over.
“Sì,” the man said as he shot a fast look at the closed door behind him. “You are already checked by me, no? When ze train stops, I will lower steps from zis car for easy exit. You will go to the inn of my cousin. Unfortunately, not many hotels are to be found in Bellinzona. But La Villa di Ticino will be comfortable for the mademoiselle. Yes?”
Rylie put out her hand and gently touched the man’s arm. “Thank you.”
The porter bowed his head, his eyes twinkling with concern for her in return. “Sì. Sì.” He patted her hand. “The train, it will stop for several hours, mademoiselle. You may rest easy at the villa.”
Maybe Rylie would rest easy. But Darin wouldn’t rest at all until she was on her way out of the country, out of Europe and away from both the danger—and from him.
Fifty miles away in Milan, Sheikh Newaf Bin Hamad Taj Zabbar prepared for a mourning ritual by donning the ceremonial white tunic and red sash. The colors of innocence and blood.
In his mind he chanted the ancient rituals. Rituals based on the unique mysticism of a historical militant sect. These teachings, brought from across the centuries via the god of Time, were given to Taj Zabbar elders by their tutors and guardians—the early Assassins.
Their one true belief, the foremost revelation by the Sheik of the Mountain, was clear to everyone who followed. All that matters is action. Action, along with total loyalty to the master.
According to the teachings, a loyal warrior’s suicide and martyrdom shall lead to the Assassins’ paradise in the Shadow of Swords. But Hamad had read the historical facts and knew that the original sect of Assassins, called the Nizari, had built a model paradise in a valley near Persia. They had wished to fool their followers into devoting their lives and deaths to the sect.
The Assassins’ very real paradise on earth was described in detail centuries ago by the great Marco Polo after he was brought to the valley by the original Imams.
In a beautiful valley…lies a luxurious garden stored with every delicious fruit and every fragrant shrub…. Palaces of various sizes are to be found, ornamented with works of gold, with paintings and with furniture of rich silks. By means of small conduits…streams of wine, milk, honey and some of pure water were seen to flow in every direction…. Elegant and beautiful damsels, accomplished in the arts of singing, playing upon all sorts of musical instruments, dancing, and especially those of dalliance and amorous allurement were seen continually sporting and amusing themselves in the garden….
Such a description of paradise might be enough to lure some into martyrdom, but Hamad preferred to find his own paradise in life first. He vowed to maintain at least one of the teachings of his ancestors: death and blood shall bring followers the reward of eternal life. As part of that doctrine, Hamad would use the mourning ritual to assist his foolish cousin Taweel forward to his death’s reward.
Hamad could’ve predicted such an end to his not-terribly-bright employee. The man was not a snake, as his ancestors demanded of their followers. Nor was he fit to wield the poisonous dagger.
The Taj Zabbar were descended from the best of the Assassins. And Hamad believed he was the best of the best. Deadly—of course. But smart, too. Smart enough to use modern means to rid himself of both enemies and unworthy friends. He had been informed of the exact instant when his cousin’s life had expired. The computer chip implanted in his chest had showed the time of death with an immediate transmission to Hamad’s computers. A great cheer had gone up among the men at Taweel’s martyrdom.
“Pardon the interruption, my sheik.” Another of Hamad’s men entered his private chamber after a quick knock. “You asked to be informed about the progress of the train. It has stopped at Bellinzona and will be searched by the Swiss police.”
“And the whereabouts of the coded communiqué sent by the elder Mugrin?” Hamad was still annoyed over the elder’s stupid and dangerous choice of writing his message down on paper. Certainly, that elder would have to be eliminated sooner rather than later after this move.
“It is believed the Kadir son known as Darin still has it in his possession, my sheik.”
“And do we also believe the Hunt woman continues to travel with Darin Kadir?”
“Yes, Excellency.”
This news might be good. Hamad could bring down several threats with one throw of his dagger.
“I want a team of our best trained men—men trained in the ways of our ancestors. Send them to the train and waste no time bringing the communiqué back to me.”
“What about the woman?”
It took a few seconds for Hamad to make a decision about the woman. “If it is possible, bring the woman alive, as well. We have profitable uses for a beautiful woman such as that one.”
“And if it is not possible?”
Fuming over too many questions about a subject that should be clear, Hamad narrowed his eyes at his assistant. “It is the communiqué that is all-important. It must not be allowed to be decoded by the Kadirs. Do whatever you think necessary to bring it to me. I don’t really care what you do with either the man or the woman to accomplish this task. The Taj Zabbar war of retribution has been uncovered. The Kadirs now know the truth. There is no need for further secrecy.”
“Yes, my sheik.” The man backed out of the room and quietly shut the door.
Hamad bowed to the makeshift altar before him. Gingerly picking up the ceremonial dagger, he used the blade to slice a line across his wrist. Bloodred droplets spattered onto the stark-white linen cloth.
A Taj Zabbar warrior must be honored and assisted to his paradise. Revenge for his death would be had later—all in due time. Hamad recited the seven mystical laws based on personal concentration and supreme loyalty, clearing the way for cousin Taweel to his paradise.
“Enjoy your reward for the effort you expended, my cousin.” Hamad whispered the chants against the roar of time moving forward and then added a personal postscript. “Darin Kadir shall join you on your journey, cousin, before the sun sets over Zabbaran once more. I swear to it.”
“Come on.” Rylie swung back around, urging Darin to follow her down the train tracks and into the old town of Bellinzona. “What’s wrong with you? I thought you were the one who wanted to sneak away from the train until the cops were finished questioning people.”
Darin stood, staring at something on the outside of the car they had exited—but finally he turned. “Huh? Oh, yes. Let’s go.”
He was certainly acting strange. Almost as if he were trying to memorize which car they’d left. But why?
&n
bsp; She grabbed hold of his shirtsleeve and dragged him along beside her. When they rounded the end car of the train, they had to make a dash for the dark shelter of an alley between the edge of the station and the old rock buildings beyond.
La Villa di Ticino was six long blocks away. Rylie wouldn’t feel really safe until they made it there.
Considering all the commotion at the train station, the town itself seemed fairly quiet. A few street vendors were selling their wares along the sidewalks closest to the station. But at dawn, not many other people seemed to be out and about.
“Hold on a minute.” Darin dragged his feet, tugged against her hand and brought her back toward him.
He pointed to a large black shawl hanging over a street vendor’s wagon. Within seconds Darin had negotiated a price with the vendor and was draping the handmade treasure around her head and body. It almost covered her completely from head to toe in black knit. And after being put into place, the shawl left her practically suffocating and nearly blind.
“That should help keep us from being discovered while we travel these streets,” Darin told her as he threw his arm around her shoulders and helped her navigate the cobblestone walks.
“You think we look like a local couple now?”
“Not to the locals. But hopefully to the national police, at least from a distance.”
Rylie shifted enough inside the shawl so that she could see out. They raced past five-hundred-year-old castles and a few even older churches that had been made entirely out of rough-cut stone. She worked hard not to trip on the uneven terrain.
The medieval architecture and the quiet morning should’ve been enough to bring her peace—and maybe would some other time. But right this moment her heart was pounding and her palms sweating as they hurried along toward the inn.
At last they came to the side street where La Villa di Ticino was located. A small sign swinging over an old wooden door was the only marker. As she was about to knock, the door opened.
“Buon giorno! Vieni dentro.” A stout, middle-aged woman beamed at them as she dragged them over the threshold and into a small reception area.
