Stolen Heat Page 11

  She stared at him for a long moment, then turned and rummaged in the truck. When she reemerged seconds later, she was carrying a backpack he hadn’t noticed before and a small white box.

  She climbed in next to him and shut the door without a word.

  “What’s that for?” He nodded toward the first-aid kit.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said without looking his way.

  He eased around to get a good look, pulled the worn sweatshirt out at his back but couldn’t see anything more than a few red smears on the gray cotton.

  She still wasn’t looking at him. And if he expected to see gratefulness that he’d come back for her or concern for his well-being on her all-too-familiar face, he was barking up the wrong tree. She looked like she could give a rat’s ass about him or the car or anything besides herself right now.

  “We should go before we’re spotted.”

  Her voice was dull, her eyes anywhere but on him. As he stared at her determined, perfect profile, he couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the sweet and sensuous woman he’d changed his whole life for.

  “She died.”

  He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud until he heard her voice. He looked back up to her eyes, but her expression hadn’t changed. If anything, it was even more resolute.

  Yeah, the woman he’d known had died. This one was a stranger.

  Pete put the car in gear and eased his foot off the brake, slowing as they reached the end of town. “Which way?”

  Kat hesitated just long enough to make the hair on the back of his neck tingle. “Straight. Toward Wellsboro.”

  Which would then take them toward Philadelphia. Not back to New York.

  Dammit, he wasn’t the ass she thought he was. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to prove to her he had a decent bone left in his body, but he did.

  Before he could change his mind, he punched the gas. “I’ll take you to Philly, but from there on out you’re on your own.”

  “Fair enough,” she said quietly as they sped down the road. “Thank you.”

  Pete frowned. Screw fair. And he didn’t need her thanks.

  It hit him then, the irony of the situation, as a memory of the first time he’d left her flashed in his head. At one point he’d have done just about anything to be locked anywhere with her, but now? Now all he could think about was getting as far away from her as possible.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered. “We still have to get there first.”

  Six-and-a-half years earlier

  Cairo

  “I think I left a mark.”

  “Hm?” Pete sat on the side of Kat’s bed, tying the laces of his boots. “Where?”

  Still tucked into the covers and looking deliciously rumpled, Kat eased up and ran her finger just underneath the collar of his blue button-down. A tingle raced over his skin where she touched him, and a shot of renewed lust kicked him in the stomach as he watched the strap from her camisole slide over her bare shoulder. “Right here. I don’t think I’ve ever actually given anyone a hickey before.”

  His stomach tightened at the memory of her mouth on his skin, licking, kissing, sliding lower. He smiled and rose, then proceeded to load the last of his things in his travel case. “I’m glad I could be your first at something.”

  She settled back into the pillows on a sigh, her dark hair fanning out around her. With her heavy-lidded eyes focused solely on him, it was all he could do to keep packing instead of diving back under the covers for a repeat of the way he’d awoken her from the inside out only an hour ago.

  Man, he couldn’t get enough of her. Loved being beside her, inside her, loved touching her and listening to the sounds she made when she came apart around him. And that was new for him. He liked women, but he’d never had the desire to be so close to one before. And definitely not for so long.

  He’d already stayed in Cairo longer than he’d planned, and if he didn’t leave soon he was going to stay a helluva lot longer. They’d spent two nights locked in his suite at the Mena House, then the last two at her flat. She’d had to go to work yesterday, which gave him a chance to reschedule his appointments and get some much-needed paperwork done on his own, but he couldn’t put off his meetings any longer.

  But the not-knowing-when-he’d-be-able-to-get-back-toher thing? Yeah, already eating at him.

  Had it only been four nights ago he’d rolled into Cairo and swept her off her feet? It seemed like months. There were a thousand things he still wanted to know about her even though he felt like he’d already known her forever.

  She was still watching him with those come-get-me eyes, and he knew if he didn’t say something to distract them both he was definitely going to miss his flight.

  “Admiring your handiwork?” he asked as he threaded his belt through the loops of his khaki pants, then tossed his shaving kit in his bag.

  “Yes. Does it make you nervous?”

  “Makes me hot. Don’t look at me like that.” He buckled his belt. “I’m already late as it is.”

  Her kiss-me lips spread into a warm smile. “You’re the one who insisted on having a shower. We could have gone for round four if you’d skipped it. Or was it five?”

  He zipped his bag. “Tease me now and you’ll pay later.”

  “Promise?”

  His eyes shot to her darker ones, and he saw the same things reflected there he felt. She was putting on a good face, but she was hating this as much as he was.

  Damn, but he should have listened to that little voice going off in his head the night they’d had dinner and stayed away from her.

  He lifted the bag from the foot of the bed and dropped it near the door, then came back to sit next to her on the mattress. “Should I be worried about this ex of yours Shannon keeps talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a sultry grin. “Are you worried?”

  “A little,” he admitted. “He’s here, and I won’t be.”

  She ran her hand up his forearm. “Marty’s just a friend, Pete. We dated for a while, but it wasn’t serious. He’s married to his job.”

  “What does he do?”

  She looked like she wasn’t going to answer, then shrugged. “He works for the U.S. government.”

  “Here in Cairo? Doing what?”

  “Antiterrorism stuff.”

  Pete’s brow lifted. “Like with the CIA?”

  “I don’t know for sure. He didn’t talk about it much, but yeah, that was my guess.”

  Shit. Pete looked at the pink wall across from him. Her ex was CIA. Fabulous.

  Walk away.

  That teasing returned to her voice. “So long as you haven’t committed any crimes, you don’t have to worry about Marty at all.”

  New plan: Don’t just walk away. Run.

  Pete fought to keep from frowning as he stared at the wall and tried to picture all the spooks he knew in the area. “Good to know,” he mumbled.

  Her finger traced a lazy circle on his forearm. “Um, I have a confession to make.”

  He looked over and watched her bite her plump lip in a way he’d learned the last few days meant she was nervous or worried about something. “What?”

  “It’s nothing. Silly, really. You’ll get a kick out of it. But,” she bit into her lip again, “when you took me to the Mena House that first day and I, uh, got the wrong idea about you—”

  “About me not wanting you? I think we cleared that up.”

  She blushed. “Yeah. Well. I was worried you were only interested in me so you could get information about my work site. Artifacts have disappeared from some of the neighboring tombs, and there’s talk of a smuggling operation in the area. Some of the crew’s on edge about it.”

  Pete stiffened, though he hoped like hell she didn’t notice.

  “Crazy, huh?” she said with a chuckle. “I mean, that you would do something like that? I don’t know what I’d been thinking. I guess I was just nervous.”

  Pete turned fully tow
ard her. “I’d never use you like that, Kit-Kat. Never. You know that, don’t you?”

  Her smile faded. She sensed he was making her a promise, and though she couldn’t understand the enormity of what he’d just given her, she did realize it was an important moment between them. “Yes, of course I do.”

  Her hand tightened around his forearm. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

  For your sake? Hopefully never.

  He brushed a lock of hair back from her cheek, marveled at how soft her skin was and called himself ten kinds of stupid.

  Why her? Why was she the one woman to get under his skin when he’d avoided letting any woman inside all these years?

  All he knew for certain was that there was something special about her. Something pure and fresh and wholesome he hadn’t ever experienced before. Something that made him feel whole and fresh and pure. And corny as that sounded, he only wanted more of her. “I don’t know.”

  She put her hand over his on her cheek, tipped her head into his touch in a move that was so tender his heart pinched. “This is really stupid, isn’t it? We don’t have a shot in hell at making this work.”

  “Yes, we do,” he heard himself say, even though he knew it was a mistake. “Because what we’ve got going here is a lot more than most couples who live in the same city have.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Everything.”

  Her dark eyes held his as if she were searching his soul for some truth he couldn’t prove. Then she leaned up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her face slid into the hollow between his throat and shoulder in a way that felt like she’d been made just for him. “I’m very glad you took my tour four times in a row, Peter Kauffman.”

  He closed his eyes and held her tight. And hoped she’d still be saying that a month from now.

  Before he thought of a reason to change his mind, he eased back and reached for his bag on the floor. “There’s something I want to give you.”

  He watched her closely as he handed her the small wooden box he’d been debating over giving her, then held his breath while she opened it.

  Her doe eyes widened, then darted up to his face. “How did you—”

  “It came from a private collection,” he said quickly, hoping to God that was the truth. “I found it in Europe last week, and, well, it made me think of you.” Carefully, she lifted the chain. The gold crouching pharaoh pendant peeked over the edge of the box. “I’ve got the provenance on it, and all the paperwork, just so you know.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “This has to be worth a fortune.”

  It was. But seeing her reaction to it now, the awe in her eyes as she stared at the piece, there was no way he could ever sell it.

  “I want you to have it, Kat. It means more to you than it would some stuffy old collector.”

  “Look at the detail.” She ran her fingers over the gleaming gold. “It’s so beautiful. Made for a queen. This should be in a museum.”

  Gently, he took the chain from her hands and draped it over her head so the golden pharaoh fell over her St. Jude medallion and hung between her succulent breasts. “It looks to me like it was made for you. And it doesn’t even come close to being as beautiful as you are.”

  Her eyes lifted to his, and his heart turned over at the tenderness he saw there. At the trust. And when she whispered, “Pete,” and tugged him close with a hand that felt like heaven and he knew from experience could take him there, he gave in and brushed his lips softly over hers.

  He meant the kiss to be gentle, he really did, but the moment her hands came up to cradle his face and she opened to his mouth, his restraint broke. He pulled her tighter against his body, opened and stroked his tongue against hers until they were both breathless and frustrated beyond words. Then he pressed his forehead to hers and waited until the last possible second before he finally let go and stood.

  He lifted his bag from the floor. “It’s clichéd to say I’ll call.”

  She hooked her arms around her knees. “But you’d better if you know what’s good for you.”

  He smiled at her lusty grin and the mischievous twinkle in her eyes and squashed forever that little voice telling him to walk away. He couldn’t now, even if he wanted to. “I will, Kit-Kat. I promise. Think about me lying next to you when you go to sleep tonight.”

  She let out a contented sigh. “God, I love that.”

  Outside her building, he opened the door of the cab he’d called earlier and paused to glance up. She stood in the second-floor window, watching him with a look of longing in her eyes, the golden pharaoh hanging around her neck. And he knew right then, aside from his gallery, he’d never had anything all his own he’d ever truly wanted to hang on to. Now he did.

  He waved, then climbed into the car.

  “Airport?” the driver asked.

  Pete rubbed his chin as they pulled away from the curb. Any doubt he’d had about what he was about to do next disappeared forever. “No.” He gave the driver the address of a bar in a dilapidated area of Old Cairo. “I have one last thing I have to finish.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Present day

  Philadelphia

  In a run-down apartment in the heart of Philadelphia, Dean Bertrand lifted the gun in his hand and stared down at the lifeless body of David Halloway. Blood from the shot to the man’s head was already seeping into the carpet.

  He unscrewed the silencer from the end of the 9mm with care and placed it in his jacket pocket. Then he tucked the gun in the holster hidden in the back waistband of his pants and eyed the dead man like a cat eyes a writhing mouse. Funny that most would have considered Halloway his friend only moments before. If, that is, Halloway’d had any friends.

  No one would come looking for ex-FBI Agent David Halloway for days. He’d been the solitary sort, no girlfriend, no wife, no kids watching out for him. He’d dedicated his life to the Bureau, and what had he gotten for it? A piss-poor pension and a date with the devil.

  Dean shook his head as he watched the color of the carpet change before his eyes. He figured eventually the stench would seep out into the hall and someone would investigate. Probably that elderly neighbor next door who kept her TV up too loud and let her damn cats wander the hallways. Maintenance would find him when she insisted he was cooking drugs or something else altogether repugnant in his apartment. The police would come, and a case would be opened. Only the authorities would never locate Halloway’s killer.

  Because like a silent shadow, Dean Bertrand had never been here.

  Turning away, Dean lifted the untraceable cell phone from the coffee table and dialed a number he knew by heart but hadn’t used in years.

  He waited while it rang. The link he’d forged so long ago had finally panned out. When Halloway had IMed him moments before and told him of Slade’s phone call, he’d known the two years of watching and waiting had finally paid off. He’d been here within minutes.

  A clipped female voice answered. “It’s been a long time, Dean.” Her Middle Eastern accent was strong, her tone all business. Just as it always was.

  “Yeah. A long time.” He stared out the dingy window at a pigeon balanced precariously on the railing of the fire escape as he thought about the best tactic to use with her. Some women were easily swayed. This one wasn’t. A shark with claws, that was the way he’d always thought of her and still did. “I have something that may interest you.”

  “Oh, really?” Traffic rumbled in the background. A horn blared. “Must be pretty important for you to come out of the dark. Jameson’s death last fall didn’t even rouse you. We thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

  Not quite. But he’d wanted to. More than once. He’d seen and done things in his fifteen years with INTERPOL he wasn’t proud of.

  Of course, none of that was relevant now.

  He ignored her taunt. “I know where Aten Minyawi will be in roughly three hours.”

  Static crinkled across the line, followed by
clicking footsteps, then silence, like she’d entered a building or found a quiet corner to continue their conversation. Oh, yes. Now he had her attention.

  “That does interest me,” she said. “How, exactly, did you come by this information?”

  He glanced at Halloway’s lifeless body on the floor. “A mutual acquaintance informed me of his movement. Katherine Meyer will be calling shortly.”

  Silence.

  Yep. That was what happened when you dropped a bomb like this one. He definitely had her attention now.

  “So Meyer is really alive,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “Alive and on her way to meet me.”

  “You?”

  “Our mutual contact is unavailable, you could say.”

  Silence again as she processed the information. Then, “Minyawi is a top priority for us.”

  “I know. Of course, he’s really just a small fish in a very big pond, isn’t he?”

  “He is. But not for you.”

  No, not for him. Dean had been hunting Minyawi for years. It was why he’d left INTERPOL and gone out on his own. The man who’d murdered his wife was his only priority. And this was as close as he was ever going to get to the sonofabitch.

  “You want to make a deal,” she said.

  “Don’t I always?” He imagined her tapping her toe and twirling the ring on her finger as she thought through her options. He’d watched her do it numerous times in the past.

  “If you’re calling, it means you must need my help. You wouldn’t be telling me any of this simply out of professional courtesy.”

  She’d always been a smart broad. Smart and savvy and deadlier than a snake. On that he could match her inch for inch. And Kelly had paid dearly for it.

  His jaw tightened. “Leak the information Meyer is alive and on her way to Philadelphia to meet with an FBI contact. It’ll get out eventually if it hasn’t already, but if you jump-start it, Minyawi will come running, guaranteed. And then he’s yours.”

  Silence.

  He held his breath as he waited for her response. Did she suspect his real intentions?

  “And what of Meyer?”